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kpopfanfictrash · 2 months ago

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Clichés and Canapés (M) (Pt. 2)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: best friends to lovers; fake dating; billionaire au

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (f)

Word Count: 40K

Author's Note: Part of the In Bloom collaboration with @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @syllviere, @leahsfavefics, @suga-kookiemonster, and @cybrsan. Unfortunately, this is so long it has to be posted in two parts; please interact with both!

Synopsis: After twenty years of friendship, you’d think you were used to Seokjin’s proposals by now. In the past he’s forced you to participate in skydiving, skinny dipping, and even staging a rescue from the local shelter. Seokjin has always had big ideas but this time, even he may have gone too far. Granted, break-ups are stressful, and Seokjin’s latest one up was bad. Really bad. As in, they-ended-things-in-December-and-now-she’s-dating-his-brother bad.

It almost makes sense then, when Seokjin asks you to come home with him for his parents' party. Almost makes sense when he says his family assumed you were dating, and he didn't correct them. What doesn’t make sense is the longer you fake things, the more you find yourself wondering if this was real all along.

Rating: 18+; explicit sexual content.

Warnings (explicit content): oral (f. receiving), nipple play, delayed orgasms, sex w/out a condom, cum play, semi-public sex, light spanking, fingering, dirty talk, mention of voyeurism

Warnings (other): depictions of micro-aggressions, mentions of divorce (past tense), emotionally abusive/manipulative parents (side character)

A/N: this is not Part 1. Read Part 1 here.

The next two days pass without incident. Seokjin continues sleeping on the couch, even though you protest and offer the bed. Both dinner parties are mostly uneventful, except for an incident with the Morgan family on Wednesday. Mrs. Morgan drinks too much and snips something about how gracious Mr. and Mrs. Kim are to allow Emilia into their home, at which Jaesuk sets down his fork and point-blank asks them to explain the remark.

Mrs. Morgan got cagy and apologized, but she and her husband left swiftly following. You had to admit, you kind of got what Emilia saw in him then. Jaesuk isn’t as funny or outgoing as Seokjin, but he puts his foot down when needed – actually, he and Seokjin are alike in that manner.

The rest of your days are spent in the larger library. No one else is around, so it lends an aura of peace and quiet. Seokjin grades papers while you search the internet, make Pinterest boards, and finish an outline – all in the name of writing progress.

Slouched on the couch beside him, you peer over your laptop at Seokjin. It seems improbable that someone like him would happen naturally. Suspiciously, you wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Kim concocted him in a lab. Even his flaws – for example, near-sightedness – end up hurting you, since Seokjin is wearing wire-rimmed glasses while shuffling through his papers.

When he glances up, you look down and pretend to be working.

Softly, he chuckles. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”

You frown at your laptop. Tonight is the cocktail party before the main event. The Morgans will be back, along with several others – at least the Astors won’t be there. You only met Emilia’s parents once and can’t say you care to repeat the experience. If billionaires were ranked on a scale of questionable to terrible, the Astors would fall towards the latter.

Part of what you agreed to this week though, was putting up a façade, so you nod.

“Yep,” you agree. “I have a dress, don’t worry.”

Seokjin watches you over the rim of his glasses. “Okay. I think I’ll get ready in the room next door so we can both shower. Does that work?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He seems to wait for something and, when that doesn’t come, he exhales and looks down. Sinking deeper into the couch, you stare at your laptop. The party starts at seven, but you need to get ready before then.

With a heavy sigh, you shut the screen. “I’m going to head up now,” you announce.

Seokjin nods without looking, and you exit the library. Outside in the hall, you hover before heading upstairs.

Cranking the heat up on the shower, you step inside and stare at the brightly tiled wall. Even the bathrooms here are beyond your pay grade. When you worked in consulting, you made good money, but nothing like this. This much money only comes from generational wealth, and while your parents were middle-class workers, billionaires they are not.

Possibly this weighs heavier on you than usual due to tonight’s guest list. You haven’t been in a room with these people in nearly a year. Not since you quit your job and started pulling away. The idea of pretending to be with Seokjin and pretending to fit in with the upper crust makes you want to scream.

With a sigh, you turn the heat higher. And then… there’s the fact that Seokjin broke up with Emilia.

You’ve been trying not to overthink this since Monday. Still, the memory beckons, and you dive in again. Turning it over and over, you pick at it like a scab until it starts to bleed.

At that moment, you didn’t pay attention to Seokjin’s face, but now, the memory haunts you. He seemed beseeching, as though there had been more to his words. Each time you try to think what, though, self-preservation kicks in. You two have been friends for twenty years and nothing has happened.

It seems foolish to think something could happen now. This was the entire reason you pulled away in the first place. If Seokjin ever felt more than friendship, he should have told you. He would have told you. If there’s one thing you know about your best friend, it’s that he goes after what he wants.

When he wanted to pursue academia, he did. When he decided to start running, he began the next day. One time, Seokjin terminated his lease and moved the week following into an apartment that opened above his favorite coffee shop.

He would have told you if he cared.

Despite this, you can’t remove the small seed of doubt. The way Seokjin looked at you Monday continues to replay in your mind, wedging a crack in the friend façade.

Turning the knob on the shower, you linger another long moment. It took nearly twenty years to admit your feelings for Seokjin. What if he’s been experiencing the same thing?

The thought stays while you dress, mechanically fixing your hair and make-up. Glancing at your phone, you realize the time is nearly seven and swear, hurrying into the bedroom to grab your outfit. The staff took it the first night, steaming it and ironing wrinkles from silk.

Placing it on the bed, you dig out your heels and search for your bra. “Fuck,” you hiss, realizing you forgot your strapless at home. You’ll have to go without. Stepping into the fabric, you shimmy this upward and pull on the zipper – and it sticks. “Fuck, shit, fuck.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Hang on!” you yell, hopping to gain better leverage. Desperate, you tug harder, but nothing budges. “Crap!”

“Are you okay in there?” Seokjin calls through the door. “It sounds like you’re tap dancing, and Y/N, I’ve seen you dance. No need to add metal.”

“I’m a – ugh – great dancer!”

“Of course, you are. Can I help with something?”

“No, no – well,” you sigh, coming to a stop. “Yes. Come in?”

The handle turns, and Seokjin slips inside to shut the door. Glancing at him, your brain short circuits. Seokjin is wearing a suit. Logically, you knew he would dress up but seeing it in person is an entirely different matter.

The dark, three-piece suit fits his body in a way that’s obscene. It takes everything in you not to blurt something stupid like, what the fuck – or – hey, let’s skip this party and make out on the bed.

Seokjin turns and stops in his tracks when he sees you. His expression shifts from concern to – well, something different. Slowly, agonizingly, his gaze drags down your body.

“You…” Seokjin croaks. He shakes his head. “What did you need help with?”

For a moment, you don’t remember. Clutching the dress, you ensure nothing is visible, but something about him still leaves you bare.

“The zipper,” you blurt out. “It’s stuck.”

A beat passes between when you turn, and Seokjin walks closer. Delicate straps hold up the silken sheath of the dress. You don’t typically show this much skin, but evening dresses are made to show off.

His fingers brush warm skin before he pulls back. “Sorry,” Seokjin murmurs, then grips the zipper.

You can’t help but shiver and know he must see when Seokjin clears his throat. Continuing to clutch the dress, you focus on the wall. After a moment, Seokjin curls a hand over your hip to brace himself and tug upwards. The zipper catches, then glides all the way to the top. Still, he doesn’t move.

If anything, his grip on you tightens. A beat passes, then another, and your heart starts to race. The space between you feels so small, either of you could close it with a single step – and yet, neither of you does.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door.

Seokjin coughs and withdraws, his warmth gone in an instant. You shakily exhale, taking a moment before turning around.

“Hey,” Seohyun calls from the hall. “Mom is asking where you are. Wanted to let you know before she sends staff upstairs! Get decent and come down.”

You only move once her footsteps recede. Briskly crossing the room, you grab your heels and slip them on. “Ready,” you declare.

Seokjin watches you, inscrutable from beside the door.

Everyone always says Seokjin is the expressive one. And in some ways, he is. He wears his optimism like armor, making others laugh to detract from discomfort. Most people only know him this way. Few know him as well as you do and can tell something’s wrong in this sudden silence.

Before you can ask what is wrong though, he holds out an arm. “You look beautiful,” Seokjin says, folding your arm around his. “Before we go down and deal with all… this.” He pauses. “I just want you to know that.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself.” While you mean it to sound joking, the words come out solemn.

Seokjin holds your gaze a second longer than necessary, then nods and leads you to the door. You head down the main stairs – according to the itinerary, the party starts in the main hall. Indeed, once you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by a wait staff with a tray of champagne.

You accept a tall flute, noticing heads already turning. Mr. and Mrs. Kim spot you from across the room, beaming with their own glasses. They’re the only ones that seem happy to see you. Seohyun is grimacing, conversing with Mr. Goldenrod, and Emilia speaks quietly in a corner with strangers.

Grabbing a quiche from a tray, Seokjin stuffs this in his mouth. “Eat up,” he says over the string quartet. “Who knows if they plan on serving dinner?”

You laugh, clutching his arm when he leads you towards the nearest couple. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a slight paunch and his young, blonde wife.

“Mr. Brown,” Seokjin says, shaking hands. “Thank you for coming. Have you met my girlfriend, Y/N?”

Mr. Brown nods, barely sparing you a second glance. “Ah, yes. I heard you were dating someone new.”

When he ends the sentence, Seokjin’s face tightens. “Not new. Y/N has been a friend of the family for years.”

“Lovely.” Mrs. Brown jumps in, her smile saccharine. “Are the Astors here tonight?”

When a muscle tics in Seokjin’s jaw, you step in.

“No, they’re not.” Your smile is sweet enough to match hers. “But we’ve been enjoying spending time with Emilia this week. Are you close friends of the Kim family?”

“Well, we –”

“We’re neighbors,” adds his wife.

“Oh, yes.” Seokjin frowns, the very image of faux concern. “Wasn’t there a whole incident with the gazebo last year? Something about your builder crossing property lines?”

Mr. Brown’s face turns a bit purple. “That was – that’s not –”

“Of course, my mistake. Enjoy the party,” Seokjin says, taking your hand in his. Your stomach flips at the contact, although you play it cool. Once you’re out of earshot, his expression sours. “What I wouldn’t give to be back in the library. I don’t know how Jaesuk does this type of thing.”

“Why did your parents invite them?”

“Oh, you know. Politics.” Seokjin frowns. “My mom needs funding for her latest project downtown. She wants to subsidize housing in rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods for families that have lived there for more than twenty years. Obviously, it’s not popular amongst real estate moguls.”

“Ah,” you say, and take a sip of champagne.

Seokjin exhales and faces the foyer. Black and white tile stretches from here to the windows, where the sun is beginning to set over the lake. It would be beautiful if it were only you here, but the reality of this evening stretches before you. The itinerary listed at least twenty names – nothing compared to Saturday, which will host one hundred – but more than the cozy oblivion you’ve had until now.

Near the fireplace, Seohyun, Jaesuk and Emilia chat with several people who look close to your age. Seeing them, Seokjin raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a surprise,” he murmurs. “Seohyun and Emilia. Your doing, I assume?”

You take another sip. “Who, me? Maybe you finally got through to your sister.”

“Unlikely.” Seokjin nicks a cocktail from a passing tray. “Seohyun has ignored me since she was five. Jaesuk used to be the only one who could reach her.”

His use of the phrase used to be hangs between you, reminding things are different since Seokjin and Emilia. Their entire family dynamic has been uprooted. Lifting the glass, you finish off your champagne.

Seokjin begins walking, and you follow. “How… did he tell you?” you ask.

“How did Jaesuk tell me about him and Emilia? He told me in person. It was very considerate of him. In February.”

You look at him, surprised. “I thought they didn’t tell you until March?”

Seokjin nods. “That was after they started dating – when they knew things were serious. Jaesuk came to me in February though, before he asked her out. He wanted to get my side of the story, to understand what all happened – all he’d heard was Emilia’s version.”

“Emilia’s version?”

“Yeah.” He pauses at the window. “Partly my fault. I broke up with Emilia the week after my birthday. There were a lot of holiday events with both our families invited and I… well, I asked Jaesuk to go in my place.” Seokjin frowns. “At first, he was standoffish to her. He didn’t know the full picture, but he knew I was hurting, and then… I don’t know. They started talking.”

“He should never have done that,” you say sharply, surprised by how tightly you’re gripping the stem.

Gently, Seokjin reaches over to take your empty glass. “To be fair, there are usually only a handful of attendees at these things under forty.”

“Seokjin.”

“Y/N.” Fondly, he mocks the tone. “I know. I was mad at first, also. But then…” Seokjin sighs, and something about him seems tired. “I told him the truth. I wasn’t in love with Emilia. He asked if I minded if he asked her out.”

You can’t help but bristle. “You shouldn’t have had to respond to that.”

“Maybe not.”

“Not maybe,” you insist, lowering your voice to move closer. Seokjin watches you carefully. “Seokjin, I know you look up to Jaesuk. I know you feel… I don’t know, indebted to him? That’s the wrong word. He took over the Kim family empire and left you free to do what you wanted. But just because Jaesuk made that decision doesn’t mean you need to pay him back.”

His expression softens. “You see right through me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches, hearing the break in his voice. Setting aside your drinks, Seokjin takes a step closer.

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “Really. And I know this. I won’t say… I mean, I do feel guilty about Emilia. I dated her for a year before realizing what I wanted. I feel guilty about Jaesuk paving the way for Seohyun and I to do what we wanted. But… if I had any real problem with any of this, I promise I’d say so. Do you believe me?”

You stare him down until eventually realizing Seokjin is serious. “Fine. I believe you,” you exhale, poking him in the chest. “You must be a better person than I am.”

Chuckling, he grasps your finger and pulls you close. “Disagree,” Seokjin says before turning around.

Casually, the two of you drift towards the fireplace. Considering his newest revelation, you can’t help the nagging feeling you’ve missing something important. Suddenly, you realize.

“Seokjin,” you say slowly. “If that’s true, and you’re fine… then why did you ask me to come here this week?”

He seems to miss his next step. Seokjin’s eyes dart around the room, assessing, but his hand tightens in yours.

“Seokjin!” Mrs. Kim interrupts, gliding into his side. She grasps her son’s arm. “Thank goodness. I need your help. Mr. Hoang has technical questions about the program. Can you talk to him for a few minutes?”

Seokjin hesitates, and you see indecision war across his features.

“Go,” you say, patting his arm. “It’s fine – I need another drink, anyways.”

Although he seems dubious, Seokjin nods. His mom thanks you profusely as he bends, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be right back,” Seokjin promises.

The warmth lingers on your skin after he leaves. You don’t recognize anyone around you, so you make good on your word, and head towards the bar. Mrs. Kim has set up a drink station near the dining room, arranged on an antique bar cart with black lacquer.

Ordering another glass of champagne, you drum your fingers on the counter. Taking a long look at your face, the bartender pours longer than usual.

“You look like you need it,” he chuckles, sliding it towards you.

You grant him a smile. “You’re not wrong.”

Steeling yourself, you wade into the crowd. Part of the reason Seokjin brought you was as a buffer, to deflect from the talk of Emilia and his brother. Spotting a group near the bookshelves, you head in their direction. Some of them you recognize from past parties, and you join with champagne in hand as the conversation shifts.

“Oh, good,” says a woman – Mrs. Hurst, you think? – with a smile. “Another woman to save me from endless golf talk. Unless you play,” she hastens. “In which case, you’re in good company.”

“I don’t play often,” you confide with a smile. Years of corporate mixers have prepared you for this. “You can commiserate safely.”

“The hint’s been dropped, boys,” booms a man with red cheeks. “Let’s move on to more interesting topics.”

“Such as?” asks the man beside him.

Mrs. Hurst leans forward. “Have any of you attended the theatre recently? Or the symphony? Henry and I attended a performance last month featuring that lovely, young violinist. Oh, what was her name? I always pronounce it wrong.”

“Midori,” supplies the first man.

“Yes!” she gasps. “Oh, she was exquisite. But you know, it’s no surprise. People like her are just better at the violin, aren’t they?”

Your smile tightens. “People like who?”

“Oh, you know.” Aimless, she waves and takes a sip of her drink.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you say, wide-eyed. “Could you explain the reference?”

The rest of the circle shifts uncomfortably. A man coughs and looks down; the other man pulls out his phone, leaving Mrs. Hurst to fend for herself. She seems sufficiently flustered until you give in and change the topic.

“I’ve been to the theatre recently,” you offer. “Have any of you seen Titanique?” you add, referencing the parody musical.

Blank stares greet you.

“No,” Mrs. Hurst says carefully. “I can’t say that I have. But I’m sure it’s an… experience.”

“Where do you work, Y/N?” asks one man, putting down his phone. His expression has hardened, and you know your comments have revealed you to be an outsider.

“At a coffee shop in the city. I worked in consulting until about a year ago, then quit to work on my novel full time.”

The other man perks up. “Which consulting company?” When you offer the name, he vigorously nods. “I know the CEO! Kevin,” he says to the other man. “Terrible golf game ever since his wife left, but who can blame him? She took half of everything he owned since the idiot agreed to no prenup. Always get the prenup,” he says sternly in your direction.

Unconcerned, you nod.

Mrs. Hurst continues to watch you. “What kind of book are you writing, dear?”

The infantilization in the word ‘dear’ makes you stiffen, but you do your best not to react. People tend to assume you’ve suffered a breakdown when you tell them about your abrupt career change. As though realizing corporate life sucks is a symptom of a broader illness.

“Fantasy.”

Politely, she nods. “How exciting.”

“Kevin’s the one who was living a fantasy,” grumbles the other man, “if he thought his wife wouldn’t take him to the cleaners after that prostitute in Munich. Or was it Rome?”

Conversation reverts to Kevin and his divorce, and once your glass is drained, you excuse yourself for another. No one seems to mind or notice as you walk away.

Another glass of champagne is pressed into your hand at the bar, and you drain half on the spot. Turning around, you make eye contact with Seohyun, who waves you over to her smaller group.

When you reach her, she clinks her glass with yours. “I might have to start double fisting,” she mutters. “Each person I talk to is worse than the last.”

“Tell me about it. I just escaped a conversation about violinists, prenups, and prostitutes.”

Seohyun perks up. “Okay, that sounds way more interesting than the conversation I had about Bitcoin.”

“Oh, god.”

You both laugh until a woman breaks from the circle. “What are you gals talking about?” she simpers.

The circle expands to include you, and suddenly you find yourself faced with several similar-looking women. Swiftly, you rack your brains for appropriate conversation.

Managing a smile, you tip your head towards your glass. “We were debating whether champagne has become overrated. A lot of sparkling wine regions are vastly overlooked.”

A thin, redheaded woman places a hand to her throat. “Oh, no. None of them have the same history as champagne. You can’t overlook that often a person pays as much for the label as for the product.”

She’s not wrong, but you feel inclined to point out that many other regions have history in winemaking, as well.

A stout woman nods. “Too true, Beth,” she chortles. “Champagne is incomparable.”

Beth sniffs and looks you over. “Is the cuvée not to your liking…”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I often find when I’m not familiar with a region, it’s harder to discern its true quality.”

Another woman – thin and brunette – turns to hide a laugh in her palm. You pause, hearing exactly what Beth intended. Essentially, she called you poor by saying champagne wasn’t something you had often, insinuating it was beyond your price range.

Seohyun hears this as well, glaring daggers at Beth. “Y/N is right. I have my sommelier license, and a lot of champagnes – especially those from big houses,” she adds, and you feel like you missed something earlier, “are vastly overrated. You get a worse product for a higher cost.”

“Oh, dear.” Beth’s tone becomes pitying. “I’m afraid I only know what my sommelier tells me. I haven’t the time to take, ah, classes. I’ll have to take your word for it.”

God, you hate these parties. In their world, getting an education or having interests is somehow an insult.

Seohyun bristles, but you place a hand on her arm. “Well, it seems the debate has been settled,” you say, taking her empty glass. “I’ll have to taste more to become a true expert. Excuse me, ladies.”

Tossing them a bland smile, you head for the bar. After three glasses of champagne, you feel a bit buzzed, but if you pace yourself from now on, things should be fine. Playing on your phone, you wait for the bartender to finish and then, a new drink in hand, you scan the room again.

Mrs. Hurst has joined the group you just left, so that’s out. A group of men in the corner is also low on your list – unless you want to discuss golf or prenups again. While you stand there, deciding, a throat clears itself to the side.

“Enjoying the party?”

Hoping for someone bearable, you turn and are immediately disappointed.

Bradley Wainright lounges against the wood paneling, his hair disheveled and suit vest only half-buttoned. You remember him from childhood, and not fondly. He attended a neighboring private school but ran in the same circle as Seokjin’s family. Bradley is the type of guy who uses his trust fund to get himself out of messes rather than help other people.

Seokjin never liked him – in fact, he hated Bradley with a passion you never quite understood. Sure, Bradley was an ass, but so were a lot of people. All you know was Bradley did something to him in high school that took them from neutral to enemies. If Bradley is here tonight, he’s likely up to no good.

“Pass,” you mutter as you turn around.

Bradley chuckles and pushes himself from the wall. “Is that any way to greet a former classmate?”

“We didn’t go to the same school, Bradley. Ergo, not classmates.”

Stopping before you, his gaze drops to your cleavage. Fighting the urge to cross your arms, you take a long sip of your drink.

“Ah, yes,” he says, looking up. “You went to public school. My, how you’ve risen, Y/N.”

Choosing to ignore him, you look around the room. Bradley continues to nurse his whiskey, not looking away. Eventually, you give in.

“Clearly not that high,” you mutter, draining your glass. “If I’m standing here talking to you.”

Softly, he laughs. “You always were smart. Too smart to be wasting your time with Seokjin. I told him as much once, you know.”

You should know better than listening to anything Bradley says, but this piques your interest.

“What do you mean?”

Plucking a glass from a passing tray, Bradley exchanges your empty champagne for full. “Oh, you know. I wanted to ask you out in high school, but Seokjin told me to get lost. He didn’t think I was ‘good enough’ for you,” he drawls with air quotes. “Although now I suppose his true intentions are clear.”

You can only stare at him, mind reeling from more than the alcohol.

Noticing this, Bradley pauses. Genuine curiosity shines in his gaze. “Did Seokjin never tell you? Odd,” he comments, sipping again. “I would have assumed it came up at some point.”

“No. No… it never did.”

Bradley nods before his expression sharpens. “Word to the wise, then, Y/N – be careful. Playing in these circles is hard enough with the money, with the bloodline. Just ask Emilia. This group is downright ruthless when a stranger swoops in and takes something the elite views as theirs.”

Uncertainty churns your stomach. “And by something… you mean Seokjin?”

He merely shrugs.

Realizing you’re strangling your glass, you ease off the stem. The room around you feels blurry, the result of five – or was it six? – glasses of good champagne. It loosens your tongue, your next words spilling out.

“Why am I even listening to you? You hate Seokjin.”

Bored, Bradley swirls his whiskey. “True. I can’t say my motives are pure.” His canines flash when he smiles. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

You search for a response and when nothing comes, he chuckles again.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His cologne drifts past when he leaves. “Tell Seokjin I say hello.”

Left standing alone, you stare at a painting on the wall that must weigh more than you. A floor to ceiling recreation of a famous Monet. Stomach swooping, you examine the paint pattern – it may be the Monet. Feeling vaguely ill, you drain the rest of your glass and hand it to the nearest waiter.

Striding away, you stumble and realize you might be past your limit. The notion seems dull, far away, and you easily push it aside. Every conversation from this evening blurs into one, echoing one another as you order another drink.

Often a person pays as much for the label as for the product. Playing in these circles is hard enough with the money, with the bloodline.

Lifting the champagne, the room spins, and you immediately set it back down. “Fuck,” you mutter, gripping the edge of a table.

A man nearby notices, turning to his companion to mutter something in his ear. They both laugh and leave, and you scowl hard at their backs. The hypocrisy is ridiculous. Most of the people here are either drunk or high, and they have the audacity to look appalled when you imbibe a little.

“I wouldn’t say appalled,” Seokjin says, appearing at your elbow. He smirks, and you realize you’ve spoken out loud. “Maybe a little morally superior – or vindicated, depending on the person in question. You’ve made quite the splash tonight.”

You do your best to turn sideways but somehow trip over your own shoe. Smashing into Seokjin’s chest, a soft oof leaves your lips.

Obedient, he wraps both arms around you. “I didn’t know you wanted to dance this badly,” Seokjin murmurs in your ear.

Throwing your head back, you squint. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“No,” you grumble. “You’re supposed to stay here longer.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “Not true. I came, I chatted, and I convinced several families to donate to my mother’s causes. The dance floor has started – albeit on the other side of the room – and my duties are done. Let’s go.”

“Your duties,” you groan, laying your head on his chest. “You have sooo many duties.”

He hums. “Right now, my only duty is getting you into bed.”

“I wish.”

Seokjin stills, and you feel his heart stutter. He restarts after a moment, palms sliding to your elbows. “You’re drunk,” he says, tugging you onward. “Come on.”

You follow him reluctantly, taking his hand in yours. Vaguely, you see heads turn in your direction but can’t bring yourself to care. Seokjin makes it to the foyer before he bends abruptly and scoops you into his arms.

You squeak, arms wrapping tightly around him. Head resting on his shoulder, you examine his profile while he walks upstairs.

Deeply, you inhale. “You smell good.”

“Thank you.”

“Like, you always smell good. Do you wear cologne on top of the body wash? Or is that a super-secret super-special scent only rich people know?”

Seokjin chuckles, the sound vibrating your chest. “Yeah, that’s it. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Might be worth it.”

He laughs, louder this time. “You got me, Y/N. I’ll show you the bottle when we get to our room.”

Contented, you hum. Mid-nuzzle into his neck – Seokjin has stiffened beneath you – you realize something and pause.

“Oh no,” you blurt, looking up. “Put me down!”

Seokjin fumbles, one foot over the threshold. “Why? Do you have to pee? Is this spring break 2014 all over again?”

“No, and for the last time, I didn’t pee in that bar! Someone spilled their drink on me.”

“Down the inside of your pant leg?”

“Yes.”

Seokjin chuckles. “Okay, fine. Why are we stopping now?”

Wide-eyed, you watch the corner of his jaw. “You shouldn’t be doing this. Helping me.”

He pauses, then cocks his head. “Why not?”

“Because,” you whisper, “we’re alone.”

“And?”

“No one’s around to see!”

His brows sketch upwards. “So, someone has to be around for me to help you? Sounds like a shitty friendship.”

“No… but… this is more than what friends do.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Let me help you, Y/N.”

Miserably, you nod.

“Besides. If I thought this was too much, I would say so. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say in a small voice.

He would have told you if your actions were over the line. He would have told you if the situation with Emilia was painful. Over and over, Seokjin keeps insisting he’ll tell you when there’s something important. Again, making it highly unlikely he’s harboring any secret feelings.

Your disappointment must be etched over your face, since Seokjin notices and frowns. His grip on you tightens when he enters the room and kicks shut the door. Not breaking stride, he crosses the room to set you on the sofa.

“Stay,” he says, as though you were a dog. Chuckling to himself, Seokjin walks into the bathroom. Minutes pass before he emerges – during that time, you might drift off a little. “Okay,” he announces, emerging from the bathroom. “I started the shower. Can you stand by yourself?”

“Of course!” you huff. Seokjin stares at you long enough that you wilt. “Maybe… you might have to unzip me.”

He hesitates, then nods and takes a step closer. Rising to face the window, you brace your hands on the sill. Seokjin steps behind you, brushing baby hairs from your neck as you fight back a shiver. His fingers drift lower, grasping the zipper to drag slowly down.

For the second time tonight, you find yourself clutching the dress to your front. Inch by inch, your back is bared, leaving you dizzy from more than champagne.

“Done,” he rasps.

Quickly, you nod and flee to the bathroom. You don’t dare look back at him, and once the door is shut, sag against the counter. Dropping the dress, you step under the spray before you can think. Overthinking is bad. Overthinking leads to why you drank so much and got yourself into this mess.

Body dry and face washed, you hover at the door with a towel wrapped around you. Eventually, you push it open a crack.

“Seokjin?”

Through the crevice, you see Seokjin seated on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. His tie has disappeared, and his shoes are arranged neatly beside the closet door.

His head snaps up. “Yes?”

“I… need pajamas.”

“Oh.” Seokjin has clearly been running his hands through his hair. “Right, yeah.”

Awkwardly, he rises and heads for the wardrobe. Pulling out a t-shirt and boxers, he crosses the room. “Do these work?”

“Yep. Thanks,” you blurt, snatching them quickly and shutting the door.

With a barrier between you, it’s easier to piece the night together. Seohyun, champagne, Mrs. Hurst, more champagne, Bradley Wainright – you stop trying after that.

Tugging on the t-shirt, you realize it belongs to Seokjin. The shirt smells like him, clean fabric and a spicy, peppery scent. Inhaling deeply, you remember you did this in the hall and nearly groan out loud.

When you re-emerge, Seokjin stands next to the sofa. He’s changed into pajamas, much to your disappointment.

Before you can say anything, he gestures at the nightstand. “Drink the water before bed, okay?”

Nodding, you avoid eye contact as you slip past. Sliding between the sheets, you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the way the room spins. You shouldn’t have let those people get under your skin. Despite what they all said, the only person who matters to you is Seokjin.

Speaking of whom – cracking open one eye, you watch him remove a decorative pillow and ready the couch for bed. Seokjin adds a blanket while you watch from the covers.

“Are you… are you really going to sleep on the couch tonight?”

He pauses, then straightens. “I was planning to, yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.”

A bemused smile. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You swallow. “I was just thinking… it’s silly. We’re both adults, right? We can share a bed without it being weird.”

Seokjin watches you intently. He remains silent for so long you begin to wonder if you said anything at all. Maybe you drank so much you entered an alternate reality where you never made a fool out of yourself, never asked Seokjin to share a bed, and he never rejected the prospect.

That would be nice.

“Alright,” he says, and your brain short-circuits.

“Wait, what?”

Seokjin freezes one step away from the mattress. “Are you retracting the offer?”

“No, but – I’m not still drunk, right? You did just say yes?”

Lips twitching, he pulls back the covers. “Those are two different questions. Yes, you are still drunk. Yes, I said yes. Like you said, it’s not weird – right?”

Unable to answer the question without giving yourself away, you stay silent while he lowers his weight to the mattress. The divot from his weight forces you to cling to the edge so you don’t roll inward. Switching the light off, Seokjin rolls over to settle his head on the pillow. It takes several moments for your eyes to adjust, and once they do, you find Seokjin watching.

“Right,” you whisper, answering his question.

His smile curves upward. “Why are you whispering?”

“It’s nighttime.”

“Oh, right,” Seokjin whispers back. “Should I tell a scary story, or something?”

“No need. I have the perfect one. Did you hear that Kevin didn’t sign a prenup and now, his ex-wife is taking half of everything in their divorce?”

Seokjin mock-shivers. “A modern-day Poe tale.”

“Oh, I heard worse things,” you murmur. “Apparently, you’re someone else’s villain.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Who did I terrorize this time?”

“Bradley Wainright. He said he liked me in high school, but you forbade him from asking me out.” Unbidden, a giggle escapes. “Can you imagine? Forbade. Like you were my chaperone or something, and I was an unruly debutante.”

“That’s…”

Seokjin struggles to respond, and you stop talking, wide-eyed. Some of your earlier buzz has faded, allowing you to think clearly. “Wait,” you say slowly. “Is it true?”

A flush creeps up his ears. “Kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?”

Seokjin groans and rolls onto his back. “Bradley was an ass in high school. He kept a list of people whose virginity he’d taken taped in his locker. So yeah, when he said he wanted to ask you out, I told him not to.”

You stare at his profile, limned in moonlight. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know.” Seokjin sighs. “I know you can make your own choices. I was just a stupid kid back then.”

“No – well, yeah. You were. But even if Bradley had asked me out, I would’ve said no. I hated him then. Still don’t like him much now.”

Seokjin smiles at the ceiling and places his arms at his sides. “Well, consider yourself in good company.”

“Oh my god, no.”

“What?” Seokjin looks over, alarmed.

“You are not sleeping like a fucking vampire beside me.”

His eyes widen. “I was trying to be polite! If I sleep on my back, I won’t roll around as much.”

“I am telling you right now – I will go downstairs and ask Bradley to take me to his hotel if you don’t sleep like a normal person.”

“What, like this?” He folds both arms over his chest in an x. “Is this how normal people sleep?”

“Seokjin!” Reaching over, you tug his arm down. “Stop!”

“Oh nooo,” he groans, half-rising from the mattress. “I feel the dark forces upon me!”

“NO!” Laughing, you throw yourself sideways. Dragging him down to the mattress, you helplessly giggle.

Seokjin’s entire body shakes with laughter while wrestling your arm from his body. Somehow your hand winds up beneath him, one of your thighs flung over his leg. Seokjin falls back, his chest rising and falling. You’re suddenly aware of every dimple, laugh line and mole on his face.

Slowly, his laughter fades. Seokjin reaches between you to brush his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Eyelash,” he murmurs.

“Make a wish.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like you – too breathy. Too soft. Seokjin doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze again on your lips. Heart hammering, you think he might close the distance until his face shifts, and Seokjin pulls back. Gently, you tug your hand free to tuck it against you like armor.

“Well,” Seokjin says quietly. He searches your features. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

Rolling onto your side, you stare into the darkness while he shifts behind you. Eventually, his breathing evens and you assume Seokjin sleeps. You, on the other hand, stay awake for much longer.

Even when you do sleep, your dreams are full of hedge mazes, running towards a nameless something which moves further and further away.

At some point in the night, you become a cover hog. Your first thought the next morning is how pleasantly warm it’s become within the confines of your sheets. Arching a little, you wriggle backwards – only to freeze when your ass hits something hard.

Your eyes open.

The surrounding warmth isn’t the covers as you imagined, but a toned arm. The weight at your back isn’t a pillow, but a heavy, male body – Seokjin’s heavy, male body. Realizing this, heat floods your core, and you go utterly still within the confines of his grasp.

He must be asleep, since he squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face in your neck. Breath held, you nearly melt when you realize your t-shirt has ridden up your belly. Seokjin’s thumb absently strokes your bare skin, coming dangerously close to the top of your panties.

With how close you are, your ass is pressed to his front. He must be asleep, because there’s no other way this could go on for so long. Quietly, you attempt to dislodge only to make matters worse. His hand cups you closer, and you find yourself sinking back into his chest.

Murmuring your name, his hand drifts even lower and you give up entirely. Seokjin’s fingers brush your shorts, then your panties and a soft whimper escapes you. For years, you’ve wondered what this would be like. For years, you’ve repressed the tiny voice in your mind wanting more, but now it roars back, voracious.

Casually, you push your ass backwards, inhaling when you feel his stiff member behind you. Seokjin is large. You suspected as much but had lasted until now with plausible deniability. Now though, you’ll be forced to imagine his size with complete accuracy and can only assume the effect will be devastating.

Seokjin groans, shifting closer – and freezes. Several moments pass until he clears his throat.

“… Y/N?”

Cursing internally, you say, “Morning.”

Lightning-fast, he rolls over and yanks his hand away. “Fuck,” Seokjin wheezes. “I’m – I’m so sorry, Y/N. That was just... my body just…”

Turning to face him, you see he’s buried his face in his hands. Cheeks hot, you realize what he’s referring to. “It’s fine,” you assure him. “I have slept with men before. I mean, I’ve woken up next to them. I mean, I’ve also had sex, but –” Cutting yourself off, you shake your head. “That’s not relevant, I guess.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “I’m not usually this… clingy.”

You snort.

Dropping his hands, he scowls in mock-outrage. “I’m not!”

“Seokjin. I’m friends with your sister. She told me all the horror stories of you sharing beds on vacation.”

The tips of his ears redden. “I can assure you that this” – Seokjin waves to his lower half – “never occurred with my sister.”

“Well, I should hope not.”

“Y/N,” he groans, dropping his hand to stare at the ceiling. “Can we just forget this ever happened?”

A beat passes, then two.

Stomach sinking, you nod. “Sure. Right.”

Hearing your tone, Seokjin rolls over to face you. His gaze is intent. “I’m saying this because I’m embarrassed, Y/N. I basically groped you in my sleep.”

“Groping is a little extreme.”

“Just… let me bask in my embarrassment in silence.”

Right. Of course. Because touching you is embarrassing.

Shoving away the barrage of emotions this brings, you push back the covers. Still not meeting his gaze, you swing your feet to the floor. On most days, you’d be able to deal with his jokes. Not today. Irritation pinches the longer you lay here.

“Don’t bask too long,” you say, heading for the bathroom. “Tomorrow is the big night. I’m sure your parents have plans for today.”

Your head pounds at the door, forcing you to remember the events of last night. Wincing a little, you turn and find Seokjin watching. His expression seems hesitant, almost wary.

“Are there painkillers in the bathroom? And, uh, water?”

He nods. “First drawer on the right.”

“Thanks,” you say and walk inside.

Every inch of frustration goes into your lather. Scrubbing suds from your body, you imagine you’re removing each trace of Seokjin. This is your own fault – for reading into his actions, for believing him when he says nothing, for seeing something real that just doesn’t exist.

You knew this when you accepted his offer. You knew being this close to Seokjin would raise feelings, and yet, you told yourself it wouldn’t matter. That you didn’t care.

You lied, obviously. And now you’re paying the price.

For a moment, you stop and simply concentrate on breathing. Every emotion from the past week washes over you, again and again. No matter what you do, you can’t win. Seokjin is your friend. You should be there for him. You know this and yet, it’s impossible to hide your true feelings.

Outside of the shower, your phone rings.

Hastily, you finish washing and turn off the water. Stepping onto the bathmat, you wrap yourself in a towel and scoop your phone from the counter. A missed call from Jimin. Seeing this, you press redial.

“Hello?” you ask, wondering if the house is on fire.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Jimin tsks. “What have you done?”

Blinking, you turn and rest your ass on the counter. “What do you mean? Why are you calling?”

Jimin snort-laughs. “Y/N. Do you not remember texting last night?”

Frantic, you lower your phone and open your recent texts. Several threads rise to the top, the one with Jimin first and foremost. Scanning the messages, you groan.

“Jiiiiimin. Seokjin wore a suit tonight. I’m gonna combust. Also, rich people suck,” Jimin reads, pausing for effect. “But champagne is yummy. You know who else is yummy? Seokjin. He looks soooo –”

“Okay, okay,” you hiss, glancing at the door. “I get it.”

“Do you?” His tone is gleeful, and you imagine Jimin in his dress robe kicking up his feet. “The ten text messages you sent suggest otherwise.”

Sluggishly, you pilfer through your memories of last night. Closing the toilet cover, you collapse on the seat.

“I was inebriated,” you moan.

“I mean, clearly. The first five texts alone would’ve been a cry for help. Ten is just… sad.”

You slump against the wall. “It is sad, isn’t it?”

“You don’t want me to answer that. Where are you now?”

“Just got out of the shower.”

“Y/N, you dog!”

“Alone,” you hiss.

“Oh, that’s less fun. But seriously – is everything okay?”

You pause for a moment, glancing again at the door. Before you can decide either way, Jimin sighs.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

You close your eyes. “Mhm. You could say that.”

“For how long?”

You open one eye to peer at the wall. “We’ve been friends for twenty years. I guess… I don’t know. A part of me has always wanted more.”

Jimin hums but stays silent.

“I’ve tried to pull away a few times before now,” you confess, the words quiet. “Somehow, I keep going back. Last year I tried to stop being friends entirely. I got pretty close, too. But then…”

“He called.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.”

You laugh, soft. “Yeah.”

A chair creaks in the background. “So why haven’t you told him how you feel?”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“If you like him, why haven’t you told him so?”

“Because,” you sputter. “We’re friends – best friends. If I tell him how I feel it would change things. What if he doesn’t like me back?”

“And… what if he does?”

“Even then.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “What if we date, then grow apart and break up? I’ll have ruined our friendship – and for what? My friendship with Seokjin is one of the most valuable things in my life. I’d be an idiot to mess that up.”

Jimin hums again, and you know he doesn’t agree.

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Y/N, I’m going to tell you a story.”

“Oh, great.”

“Once upon a time, baby Jimin entered his freshman year of college.”

“I love a time jump.”

“Shhh. Anyways, baby Jimin entered college wanting to be pre-med.”

“Wait, really?” You straighten. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. And stop interrupting. Anyways, I got two years into undergrad taking all the pre-req courses. I had straight A’s but… I wasn’t happy.”

Frowning, you play with a thread on your towel. “Really?”

“I kept convincing myself it was fine, you know? I wasn’t even in the field yet. The stuff I was learning was just framework – it would be different when I was actually practicing medicine. But I think I knew from the start it wasn’t right.”

“What did you do?”

“Changed my major junior year.” Jimin pauses. “The arts aren’t lucrative, per se, but I’ve never felt as relieved as I did leaving my advisor’s office.”

“Well, that’s good… how’s this supposed to apply to me?”

“I’m getting there. What helped me to switch was realizing I’d already reached my point of no return. I wasn’t happy in pre-med. My feelings had changed, and they wouldn’t go back. The only option I had was to make a new choice. A different one. I think that’s what you need to consider with Seokjin. Y/N – you have feelings for him. Your friendship has already changed. The question now is… what do you do?”

His words wash over you and for a moment, you have no response. Then you swallow. “Damn, Jimin. How dare you be rational and make sense?”

“It’s a curse, I know. I’m hot and smart.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that because your advice was actually… helpful.”

“I want you to be happy, Y/N. That’s all.”

Vision blurring, you blink back your tears. “You’re a good friend, Jimin. And you’re right,” you sigh. “I’m in love with Seokjin. I have been for a while. Which means… I guess a normal friendship is kind of out of the cards. Right?”

“You can probably answer that better than I can.”

You nod to yourself because yes, you can. You knew the answer before you came on this trip. Cast in that light, you realize you already made a decision last summer. When faced with being Seokjin’s friend and confessing your feelings, you chose a third option and decided to leave. Either way, the friendship you once had has ended.

Put in that light – what do you have to lose?

“Okay,” you sigh. “This was helpful. But I need to get dressed.”

“You’re talking to me naked?”

“You called me in the shower!”

“You could have gotten dressed!”

“I’m hanging up now,” you say, standing from the toilet. “Bye, Jimin. You’re the best. I’ll be home on Sunday.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re the best, too. Tell me all the details after you and Seokjin hook up.”

He hangs up in the middle of your panicked squawk, and you spend the next ten minutes recovering enough to exit. When you do leave the bathroom, you find the room empty. Seokjin has gone again.

It gives you time, though, to plan your next move because Jimin is right. You need to tell Seokjin how you feel and let the chips fall where they may. Granted, telling him before his parents’ anniversary party might not be the best call.

At the very least, you owe it to him to fulfill his last request as your friend. Until Sunday, you’ll be the best fake girlfriend Seokjin has ever had.

And then – well. Either way, then things will change.

Saturday arrives with little fanfare. Seokjin returns to the couch Friday night, and you don’t ask him why. Instead, you focus on writing more and trying not to be a bother. Mr. and Mrs. Kim are gone most of the day, answering various party-related questions from the staff.

The anniversary party is being held in a tent on the lawn behind the main house. Heaters are stationed around the brick patio, fairy lights strung above in a million constellations. Near sunset you find yourself ensconced in a dressing room with Seohyun and Emilia. The surprise of entering and finding Emilia present has lessened over the course of your glass of champagne – only one, this time.

Seated at the vanity, Seohyun struggles to put on her lashes. “I hate getting dressed up,” she moans. “You think next time I can wear a suit? Men’s formal wear is so much more comfortable.”

“Except for the tie,” says Emilia, fiddling with her zipper. “I bet your parents wouldn’t care either way.”

Turning around, you lift a brow. “Except for the tie, huh?”

Seohyun laughs when Emilia freezes, looking as though she’s been caught. “I may have dressed as Don Draper for Halloween one year,” she admits.

Hiding a smile, you duck into the bathroom. Your dress hangs from a hook on the door, steamed to perfection by the staff this morning. The dress code tonight is black tie, leaving you few options from your closet at home. Removing your dress from its hanger, you hold it up to the light.

Sleeveless with a v neckline, the A-line silhouette is fully covered in sequins. Tiny, bronze details that shimmer beneath the light. You’ve only worn it once – to a client fundraiser required by your former employer. It was way too expensive even then, but you broke the tag in the bathroom and were unable to return.

Seokjin attended that event, also. He went on behalf of his family, and you’ll never forget his face when you entered the ballroom. It was like he’d never seen you before.

Slipping your robe off, you step into your heels and buckle them. Next comes the dress, shimmied up your body and pulled over your shoulders. Although you twist and turn, the zipper remains where it is. Apparently, this is just your lot this weekend.

Cracking open the door, you look pleadingly out. “Help.”

Emilia laughs and motions for you to join them. When you do, both hers and Seohyun’s eyes widen.

“Wo-ow,” says Seohyun, standing to help. “I don’t usually feel bad for my brothers, but I feel bad for Seokjin tonight. He might just keel over.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you scoff, glancing down. “It’s just a dress.”

“No, Y/N,” Emilia says softly. “You really look amazing.”

Her words contain no trace of bitterness, and it strikes you that Emilia really does want Seokjin to be happy. Whether it’s from her own guilt or not, you suppose it doesn’t matter. Jaesuk and Emilia are good together, and in five, ten, twenty years – will anyone care how they got together?

(Well, probably – rich people tend to have long memories. But one thing you can be certain of is that in a matter of weeks, there will be another scandal and Emilia and Jaesuk will fade to distant memory.)

“Your dress is beautiful, too,” you say.

“Thanks.” Emilia frowns and pulls at the fabric. “My mom thinks I look best in blue. It’s just easier at this point not to fight.”

Seohyun grimaces. “Sorry to say it, but your mom is the worst.”

“Seohyun,” you hiss.

She blinks, unapologetic. “What?”

“No, she’s right.” Emilia shrugs. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

She doesn’t seem hurt by this, so you figure the statement must reflect an old wound. Joining Seohyun by the mirror, you reapply lipstick.

“I get that,” you respond. “My parents are good people, but… they can be self-involved. During their divorce, it was like they forgot all about me and my sister. Ever since…” Exhaling lowly, you shake your head. “My older sister kind of thrives on her own. My mom always forgets to tell us where she is with her latest boyfriend. My dad is better, but I always have to call him.”

“Communication with purpose and without passive-aggressiveness,” muses Emilia. “What would that be like?”

“Beats me.” You shrug.

A knock sounds at the door. “Open up!” Seokjin calls. “Your group has been selected to participate in a survey –”

Rolling her eyes, Seohyun yanks open the door. “Declined,” she says and sits down. “You can stay,” she clarifies to Jaesuk when he steps inside.

Jaesuk smiles and, upon noticing Emilia, nearly misses a step. For the first time, you watch his face when he sees her. He seems to be in awe, as though unable to believe his own luck. Right behind him, wearing a similar expression, is Seokjin.

His navy, double-breasted tuxedo is designed for heartbreak. Charcoal bow tie askew, his fingers hover just above, as though he were in the middle of fixing. Before he can move, you stand up and adjust it.

“There,” you murmur, brushing lint from his shoulder. “You look… really fucking good.”

You expect Seokjin to laugh or crack a joke but instead, his fingers slip beneath your chin. Gently, he tilts your face upward.

“You’re beautiful,” Seokjin murmurs.

So simple and yet, his words undo you. The sincerity in his voice drives another crack through reality, yet another life-fissure you can’t repair.

You realize his hands are still on your face, but Seokjin seems to neither notice nor care. Instead, he moves his thumb to skim the line of your jaw. When your lips part, his face darkens.

“Are you ready to go?” Seohyun stands at the door with her clutch. “Mom asked us to all be downstairs before guests arrive.”

“Yes, mom,” grumbles Jaesuk.

Emilia huffs and pushes him out the door with one hand. Seohyun follows close behind, leaving you alone with Seokjin. Before you can leave, Seokjin catches your hand.

“Hey,” he says, drawing you close. His fingers wrap around yours. “Before we head down there, I just…”

“Yes?”

His gaze sweeps your face. “Do you ever wonder… what would have happened if we’d met somewhere else?”

“Like, on the slide instead of the monkey bars?”

“No.” He smiles, only for it to vanish quickly. “Like, what if we had met during college? Or after?”

“Are you asking me if we would have been friends?”

“No. Maybe. I –” Exhaling roughly, Seokjin frowns. “I don’t know what I’m asking.”

You tilt your head. “Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should –”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Seokjin interrupts. His expression clears and, still holding your hand, he tugs you away. “I’m fine, I swear.”

“O-kay. If you’re sure. But if –”

“Y/N. Let’s go spend a horrible night celebrating my parents.”

You snort, following him to the hall and down the main stairs. Seokjin shifts your hand to his arm, so you don’t slip and fall. When you enter the backyard, you find Jaesuk and Emilia talking to Mr. Kim on the patio. The sun sinks beyond the lake, painting the water vivid orange and turquoise.

Beneath a banner congratulating the Kim’s on thirty-eight years of marriage sits a giant cake covered in frosted flowers. Photos rest on the table beside it, portraying their life together over the years. Music drifts from a band in the corner, a pianist easing their fingers over the keys.

“Canapé?” asks Seokjin, handing you a bacon-wrapped date.

“Gesundheit,” you say, popping this in your mouth.

Seokjin’s gaze lingers a little too long on your lips. Heat licks down your spine, but before you can speak, the music starts up.

“Oh, Y/N!” Mrs. Kim appears and squeezes your arm, not wanting to mess up your dress. “You look absolutely lovely. Seokjin,” she adds, frowning in his direction. “You treat her right; do you hear me?”

His gaze stays on your face. “I plan to.”

She moves to squeeze her son, as well. “What a good boy.”

Rushing away, she goes to check in with the caterer. Struggling to respond, you grab two fancy waters from a passing waiter. One thing you’re certain of is there will be no repeat of Thursday.

“So,” you say, passing a glass to Seokjin. “How many investors do you plan on snagging tonight?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

“On how many you dare me to snag.”

Your laugh is so sudden, you nearly snort your drink. Grabbing a napkin from a close table, you dab at your glass. “You can’t do that to me,” you complain.

Seokjin watches you, hiding his smile. “And why not?”

“As your girlfriend” – a deep wink – “it’s my job to impress partygoers, not make them wonder why you took me on.”

“Please.” Seokjin’s gaze flicks over your shoulder. “At least five different guys have ogled your ass while we’ve been standing here.”

Again, your drink is in peril of being spit out. Seokjin’s lips twitch when you glower, taking another step towards him. At the last second, your gaze snags on his tie – crooked again. Huffing gently, you fix it.

“I should have known I’d find you by the food.”

Glancing sideways, a familiar face makes you grin. “Taehyung!” you cry, breaking away to wrap him in a hug.

He squeezes tightly, enveloping you in Grand Soir cologne. Before the hug can end, you find yourself tugged away and into Seokjin’s side. He frowns at Taehyung over the top of your head.

Taehyung Kim is around Seohyun’s age and one of the few elites you can stand to be around. Unlike Seokjin, Taehyung is heir to his family’s company, but unlike Jaesuk, he’s committed to making himself the family villain. Every low-handed, devious corporate decision his father makes, Taehyung tries to reveal it. It’s gotten to the point where he’s persona non grata in most social circles – making it all the sweeter the Kim’s decided to invite him, regardless.

He also holds no relation to Seokjin’s family, which makes it even understandable that Emilia didn’t know who Jaesuk was. Taking a step back, Taehyung shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Long time no see, Y/N,” he says, then glances at Seokjin. “I see you finally got your head out of your ass long enough to ask Y/N out. Good for you.”

You roll your eyes, playing it off but inside, your heart races. The word finally makes it sound like everyone knew this was coming and anticipated the change. Little do they know everything about this is fake.

“Great talk, as always,” Seokjin says, although you know he doesn’t mean it.

“Hey, incoming,” Taehyung mutters. His gaze darkens at something – or someone – over your shoulder. “Bradley Wainright is headed straight for your sister.”

Seokjin twists. “Where do you –”

“On it,” says Taehyung, slipping into the crowd.

You watch him go, contemplative. “You know,” you muse. “Has Taehyung always been so protective of Seohyun?”

Seokjin blinks down at you. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he likes her.”

“Are you saying… friends can’t be protective?”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “I guess it depends.”

Seokjin gives you a strange look, but before you can process, Mr. Kim appears. “Seokjin,” he sighs, adjusting his glasses. “I could have sworn I left the” – a furtive glance – “special sheet music near the band, but they can’t find it anywhere. Can you look in my office?”

Your ears perk up. “Special sheet music?”

“Yes.” Mr. Kim sighs again. “I had Eunji’s favorite song arranged for our first dance – but I can’t find the sheet music anywhere, and the dancing is about to start.”

Glancing around, you realize the party has filled out. The patio, once mostly empty, is now crowded with evening gowns and other tuxedos.

Already nodding, Seokjin sets down his water. “I’ll go look,” he assures his dad. Stepping closer, he adds, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Of course,” you murmur, dazed by his proximity.

Mr. Kim and Seokjin head in the direction of the house, leaving you alone in a sea of people. Nervously seeking something to do with your hands, you slowly sip your drink and move through the crowd.

Spotting Bradley near the dance floor, you slip behind some people and head towards the garden. A hedge maze takes up the northern side of the lawn. Although you don’t enter, you linger near its entrance. The fresh air makes it easier to process everything you’ve been feeling. Eventually, you hear the band start and return to the tent.

Hovering just inside the flap, you drink the last of your water and watch the speeches. First, Jaesuk introduces the band. Then Mrs. Kim speaks about thirty-eight years of marriage, only for Mr. Kim to join her and announce the first dance. Their song starts to play, Mrs. Kim gasps and her husband whisks her away to the dance floor.

Your vision blurs, watching them lean on each other. You want that. You want the certainty of knowing someone loves you as much as you love them – the solidness of a relationship built on trust and friendship. Remembering your conversation with Jimin, your stomach tightens.

Tonight is the last night you have to pretend.

Tomorrow, things will change one way or another. You’ll either tell Seokjin or you won’t and either way, your future will be different. Hovering on the outskirts, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to date him. To really be the woman in Seokjin’s life, his plus one to all these events.

While you love Seokjin’s family, you don’t like the people here. And they don’t like you. No matter how many pretty dresses you wear or topics you memorize, you will never belong to places like these. Not like Seokjin does, or even Seohyun or Emilia.

This time when your head swims, you can’t blame it on alcohol. Depositing your empty glass on a tray, you step from the tent and head inside the house. You could use a few minutes alone before mingling – a quick bathroom break, and then you’ll return.

The house is blessedly quiet, nothing but ambient music playing over the speakers. You head for the bathroom on the right, knowing the other is usually occupied. Washing your hands, you survey yourself in the mirror. It’s strange to think about all the years you’ve stood in this exact spot.

Oddly enough, it brings a moment of clarity. Even if you don’t fit in with most people here, it hasn’t stopped Seokjin from wanting to be your friend. It hasn’t stopped his family from asking you to stay. There are people here who like you, who want you here – even Emilia, a woman who should probably hate you, asked to bury the hatchet.

Emboldened by this, you exit the bathroom – only to jump, realizing someone is standing outside.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you say, and then freeze.

The woman standing before you, chin quivering with indignation, is none other than Mrs. Astor. Emilia’s mother.

She realizes who you are at the same moment you do, her expression shifting from bored to borderline fury. Immediately, your fight or flight instincts kick in, and you try to edge around her.

Loudly, she says, “So. I hear you’re dating Seokjin?”

Your feet slow to a stop.

Part of you wants to gloat. Part of you wants to run. But the largest part of you recognizes this conversation is happening. Mrs. Astor is not the type to let things go. It will only be worse if this conversation happens outside.

Turning around, you meet her gaze. “Yes,” you respond.

Her nostrils flare. “For how long?”

“Since April.” Unable to stop yourself, you add, “A little after Emilia and Jaesuk started dating.”

“That’s beside the point, young lady.”

You restrain yourself from adding that’s exactly the point. Years of experience have taught you that with people like Mrs. Astor, it’s best to give them nothing.

Taking a step forward, her eyes narrow. “My daughter might be too polite to say anything, but I see right through you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course, you do.” Drawing herself upright, she looks at you down her nose. “Don’t play stupid with me – I know you’re intelligent.”

“Thank you.”

Her scowl deepens. “You’d have to be, to pull off what you’ve done.”

“And what, exactly, have I done?”

Despite yourself, some annoyance leaks through. You came here for Seokjin, and tonight is supposed to be in celebration of his parents. Outside, the party continues but here you are, trapped in a hall with a bitter woman who could financially decimate you with a snap of her fingers.

“I’ve held my tongue for long enough,” she seethes – something you seriously doubt. “I’m not going to let you waltz into this household, flaunting your relationship before my precious Emilia. Do you know how embarrassing it was for her to be dumped? To be told over and over that you’re just a friend, only for you to spread your legs the second she was out of the picture?”

Heat burns in your throat. Unthinking, you take a step backwards, as though that will save you. Your brain stutters, leaving you without a response at the worst moment possible.

“That’s…” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t…”

“That’s enough, mom.”

Head turning, you find Emilia marching towards you. Her lips are set in a thin line, hands balled into fists on either side. She stops between you and her mother, fully five inches shorter but glowering upward.

Mrs. Astor has the decency to look chagrined. “Emilia, darling, I was just –”

“I know exactly what you were doing,” she snaps. “You’re mad that people are talking about us, so you’re taking it out on Y/N. When will you learn my life is none of your business?”

Your eyebrows raise at her obvious venom. Obviously, the feelings have been building for a while. Oddly enough, it snaps you from your trance and forces you back into fight mode. A dozen retorts rise to your lips, but you swallow them. Emilia seems to be doing just fine.

Mrs. Astor bristles, her gaze landing on you. “It becomes my business when people heavily imply that you cheated on Seokjin, when it’s clear to me he was fucking this harlot on the side.”

“Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me,” Mrs. Astor huffs. “There's no need to –”

“Oh, I think there’s every need,” Seokjin interrupts, striding down the hall. His voice is tight with fury, and he stops beside Emilia, presenting a united front.

Mrs. Astor visibly wilts. “Now, Seokjin. Let’s not act hastily.”

“He’s not,” Emilia says shortly. “I told the Kim’s they didn’t need to invite you, but they wanted to extend an olive branch. They thought it might smooth things over and create a new path, but you can’t let things go.”

“Let things go?” Mrs. Astor puffs up again. “This man” – a vague gesture at Seokjin – “tossed you aside like garbage for someone with no connections, no money. Nothing of worth! Nothing beyond a passably pretty face, and I refuse –”

“To stay a minute longer,” Seokjin cuts in. “I agree. George?” He motions behind him. “Will you please escort Mrs. Astor to her vehicle? Have the staff find Mr. Astor and bring him, as well.”

George melts from the shadows at the end of the hall. “Right away, Mr. Kim.”

Mrs. Astor flushes crimson. “How dare you? We are here as guests –”

“Exactly,” Seokjin interrupts. “You are guests here under my family’s roof; a privilege I am now revoking. You’re welcome to bring the issue to my parents, but I imagine that would cause an even bigger scene. You should consider yourself lucky I’m allowing you to leave now.”

Sputtering, Mrs. Astor looks askance at her daughter. “And you really want to stay? When this is how they treat your family?”

Casting your gaze downward, you squirm with guilt. Inadvertently, you’ve caused a huge problem for Jaesuk. Emilia might not want to stay after Seokjin kicks her mom out, no matter what she said a few minutes ago.

Emilia steps forward, standing with Seokjin. “Mom,” she says. “If Seokjin hadn’t asked you to leave, I would have.”

The two of them make a formidable pair, side by side. Their designer apparel complements one another, and each of them seem confident their rule will be obeyed. You wonder what it would be like to have that type of confidence. That type of wealth and power behind your every decision.

It dulls something within you that, only a few minutes ago, felt new and shiny. Even if Seokjin doesn’t love Emilia and has fully moved on, it doesn’t change the fact that they made sense together. Mrs. Astor isn’t wrong about that.

For once, Seokjin was in a relationship with someone like him. Someone from the same social status, with the same background and upbringing. It would be unfathomable for him to move from that to someone like you. Someone who has nothing figured out, who currently works in a coffee shop and can’t finish their manuscript.

Your frustration reaches a boiling point when you realize this is a moot point. Seokjin and you aren’t even dating. Everything here is based on a lie. All that’s happened between the two of you were a few long looks and tension, all of which can be chalked up to the stress of the week.

When George takes Mrs. Astor away, you mutely step aside. She protests down the hall, insisting that this is outrageous, and her lawyers will be contacting Seokjin immediately. Not that you’re worried. Mrs. Kim is a lawyer, after all.

Once she’s gone, Emilia touches Seokjin’s arm. “I’ll get my dad,” she says and turns. Before she walks past, she gives you a sad smile. “Sorry you got caught in the middle of that. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.”

You nod, unable to voice your agreement out loud. An ugly voice insists it could have been about nothing else. Pressure builds in your mind, circling closer and closer to a breaking point.

Emilia walks away, her heels clicking down the hall. Once she’s gone, Seokjin exhales. “Are you okay?” he asks, turning to face you.

“I’m fine.”

He hesitates. “You don’t… seem fine.”

You laugh, the sound brittle. “I don’t know, Seokjin. Should I be? Mrs. Astor was cruel, but she wasn’t wrong.”

You step from his reach but not fast enough, and somehow, your wrist ends up in his hand. Before you can go, Seokjin marches the two of you in the opposite direction of his parents’ party.

Leading through the dim maze of halls that make up the east wing, he doesn’t break stride. Eventually, Seokjin pulls you into a darkened room – a library, you think – before shutting the door and whirling to face you.

“What are you talking about?” Seokjin demands.

For the second time tonight, you have nothing to say. Rarely have you seen Seokjin so heated. He glowers down at you, standing too close to be anything but purposeful. Your breath hitches, and you know Seokjin sees from the way his jaw tightens.

Still, if there’s anyoneyou can speak openly to, it would be him. Lifting your chin, you take a deep breath. “What Mrs. Astor said out there – she wasn’t wrong.”

“Which part. Specifically.”

The flatness to his tone sends a chill down your spine. “I have no connections. No money. No – oh my god,” you groan, rubbing your temple. “I sound like that woman in Pride and Prejudice.”

Seokjin’s face doesn’t move. “Charlotte. And technically, you made more money than me in your old job. You’re also friends with my family – I’d call that a connection.”

“I’m not in my old job. I work in a coffee shop and fail to finish anything I start. And your point about connections isn’t helping the way you think it is.”

“But her words didn’t mean anything,” Seokjin insists. “Even if – if – what she said was true, who cares about your money and connections?”

For a moment you see red, because he can be so infuriating. Sometimes, Seokjin is so willfully ignorant of the world around him.

“Your people care!” you blurt. “And that’s not all she was right about.”

“Again, you’ll have to be more specific.”

Exhaling, you force your gaze away. It’s too hard to look at Seokjin and confess your deepest, darkest fears. Heart beating wildly, you feel vaguely nauseated by what you have to say.

“If this relationship were real,” you mutter. “Seokjin… you have to be reasonable about how it would look.”

“I think I’m being very reasonable.”

“If we were dating, I’d bring nothing to this relationship,” you say, a fiery fist squeezing your heart. “Emilia’s family is right. When it comes to your world, your kind of people… I have zero worth.”

Tears burn your eyelids, and you frantically blink them away. In the next breath, Seokjin’s hands slide to either side of your jaw. His grip is gentle, thumb soothing your cheek as he tilts your face upward.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says quietly. “The only true thing that woman said was that you’re pretty. But even then, jealousy got the best of her. If she had been honest, she would’ve said you were the most beautiful woman in the room. In any room. In the entire universe. I haven’t done a full sweep to confirm, but I feel pretty confident.”

You scowl up at him. “That’s not funny, Seokjin.”

“I’m not being funny. I’m telling you the truth.”

“The most beautiful woman in the universe?” A hiccup. “Come on, Seokjin.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Fine,” you huff, aware he hasn’t let go. “I hear you. You think I’m beautiful. Great. That doesn’t change the fact that this fight is stupid. We’re not actually dating. We never were. My ego was hurt by the things that woman said, but I’ll get over it. When I leave here tomorrow, things will return to normal, and I’ll be fine.”

A muscle tics in his jaw. “And if I said I don’t want things to go back to normal?”

“Why would you say that?”

Seokjin stares at you a long moment, then roughly withdraws. Leaving you cold, he paces to the window and shoves a hand through his hair. He comes to a stop at the glass, lit by the moonlight.

Staring out at the lawn, he exhales. “Do you want to know the real reason I broke up with Emilia?”

You stare at his profile. When you don’t respond, Seokjin turns to face you. His expression is set, determined.

“No, actually,” he rebuffs. “It goes further than that. Do you want to know the real reason I told Bradley Wainright to back off? It wasn’t just that he was an ass – although he was – it was because I was hopelessly in love with you. Well.” Seokjin hesitates. “I don’t remember if I called it love yet. I just knew the thought of you dating him was physically painful.”

The room swims before your pulse speeds up. Seokjin still doesn’t move, continuing to watch from the windows.

“And then in college,” he says, his voice low. “I thought I’d accepted we wouldn’t happen. You started dating David in high school. I forced myself to date someone too, to entertain the thought of someone else. It didn’t work.”

“But,” you blurt, unable to stop yourself. “You… were devastated when Lisa broke up with you.”

Seokjin shakes his head, walking forward. “And then, with Emilia…” He sighs. “I liked her. A lot. She was the first person who made me think maybe. Maybe this could work, maybe it could be enough. You seemed happy on your own, and I wanted to be happy, too. And then my birthday happened.”

Stopping before you, he breaks. His devastation is familiar – intimately so, since you’ve often felt the same. Each time he dated someone new. Each time you watched him be happy and felt selfish for worrying you’d never feel that way about anyone but him.

Shoving both hands in his pockets, Seokjin exhales. “I was drunk that night, but that’s no excuse. You had been pulling away, and I didn’t realize how much I missed you, how much I resented your absence until you showed up. And” – his breath hitches – “I almost kissed you.”

Barely a movement, you nod.

“I’m glad Emilia appeared,” he admits, looking down. “I’m glad we didn’t…”

A stone sinks in your stomach. “Oh.”

His head snaps up. “Not because I didn’t want to. No. I wanted to. God, I wanted–” He cuts himself off. “I’m glad that we didn’t because it would have ruined… this… forever. I did realize I was a fool, though. Thinking anyone could be happy being second place in my life. Because,” Seokjin admits, his voice hoarse, “they would always be second when it came to you.”

You blink up at him, dazed and questioning your grip on reality. The longer you stand there, the more Seokjin’s expression seems to waver.

“Y/N… I know that was a lot, and I –”

“I love you, too.”

For once, you’re the one to leave him speechless. Seokjin stares blankly, hand still in his pockets like he’s forgotten their use.

Taking a step forward, you place both hands on his chest. “Seokjin,” you whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” he also whispers.

“Shut up.” Your lips twitch. “I’m trying to say I’ve been in love with you since – well, I don’t really remember when it started.”

“Mm. Specific.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hitting his chest – damn. Solid. “It was when you were dating Emilia, though… that I knew. This wasn’t something I would get over. That was why I pulled away from you. I knew the way I felt wasn’t healthy, and I wanted… Seokjin, I always want the best for you. It’s just –”

Moving in one fluid movement, Seokjin steps closer. His hands cup your face, crushing your mouth to his. Everything falls apart, reforming around him, around you, around the two of you together.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, pulling back long enough to angle your jaw and dive in again. His mouth slants over yours, hands sliding backwards to cup your neck. His mouth is soft, and then not. His touch careful, then not.

Somehow, your spine flattens to the bookcase. Seokjin continues to kiss you, one hand braced on a shelf and the other gripping your waist. Breaking away, he trails heat down your throat.

“Should we” – a groan – “I don’t know” – you gasp – “talk about this?”

Seokjin pauses, then nips your earlobe. “Yeah, let’s talk. What do you want from me, Y/N?”

Abruptly, you pull back and hit your head on the shelf. “Ow!” you huff. “What do you mean, what do I want?”

Seokjin gently cradles the back of your head. “Well, I told you what I want. You. Selfishly, I’d like for us to be exclusive. I want to call you my girlfriend, and not just for this week but honestly, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs.

Uncertainty mars his expression. “Unless… I misread things.”

“No,” you blurt, clutching him closer. “No – you didn’t misread anything. I was just… wondering if I’m dreaming.”

He smiles so wide it nearly breaks your heart. “If you’re dreaming, I’m dreaming.”

“… is that a riff on the Notebook?”

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

The moment washes over you, more surreal than anything experienced this week. Seokjin in a suit, hair falling over his forehead, telling you that he wants you and always has. Albeit in a way that makes you want to roll your eyes. Happiness swells in your heart.

“Mm,” you say, cleverly. You’re having a hard time looking away from his mouth. A fact Seokjin realizes, since his smirk widens.

“So.” Bending, he brushes a soft kiss to your jaw. “We’re agreed?”

“About?”

“That we’re exclusive.” He presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“Yes.”

His lips curve. “You’re my… girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

Another kiss, this time to your forehead. “You love me.”

Silent, you nod.

His lips tug downward. “I’d like to hear it, please.”

“Seokjin,” you sigh. “I love you. And if you don’t kiss me now, I’m going to march back out there and ask Bradley Wain –”

Seokjin growls, capturing your lips and pressing you into the shelf. Curling your arms around his neck, you arch up against him. Seokjin’s hands find your waist, brushing the sequins and holding you tight. Your heart hammers, fully aware this is Seokjin touching you. Seokjin’s lipsroughly descending your throat.

“Ah,” you breathe, rolling against him.

Seokjin’s hands are everywhere – around your waist, up your back, and then cupping your ass. When he slots his knee between yours, you feel his whole length and shiver.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking away long enough to press his forehead to yours. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?”

“Probably… about the same as I have?”

“No. Definitely more.”

You laugh, although this quickly fades at the look on his face. “What did you think about?”

Seokjin considers. “Everything,” he says, splaying one hand on your thigh. “Sometimes I just thought about kissing you. Other times…” His lips brush your neck. “The other night, when you asked me to zip up your dress… I thought about how easy it would be to slide my hands underneath. To slip the straps from your shoulders.”

Your breath hitches. “You should have.”

“I wanted to touch you so badly. To run my hands” – he illustrates in real time – “up your body and tease your pretty nipples.”

“Seokjin,” you gasp, core tightening.

“What are you wearing underneath this?”

“Guess.”

Darkly, he chuckles against your collarbone. Removing his hand from the bookshelf, Seokjin bends to grasp the edge of your dress. Slowly, he stands and drags the hem with. “I’ve been watching your ass in this dress all night,” he murmurs, stopping at your knee. “I don’t think you’re wearing anything beneath it at all.”

Tantalizing silence stretches as slowly – so slowly – he inches the fabric upward. Seokjin’s hand skims your thigh, circling to firmly grip your ass. Casually, he strokes two of his fingers dangerously close to where you’re dripping wet.

“Scandalous, Y/N.” A brow lift. “Why, anyone” – shifting his hand, his index finger brushes your center – “could have their way with you if you wanted.”

“That’s kind of the point,” you say, breathless.

His gaze becomes heady. “And if I ask?”

Not saying a word, you grip his wrist and guide his hand lower. Seokjin inhales when you show him how wet you are.

“God,” he groans, reaching to stroke your clit. A shudder wracks your body, and you clutch him tighter. “But first…”

Seokjin withdraws and you glance down, confused, before he drops to his knees. With both feet on the ground, your chest rises and falls against the bookshelf. Removing his tuxedo jacket, Seokjin tosses this to the nearest armchair. His bow tie follows, leaving him in only the button-down, vest, and trousers.

Easing your hem higher, Seokjin hands you the fabric. “Hold this,” he demands, and you obey without thought. “Lift.” He taps your thigh and again, you obey – gasping when he places your leg on his shoulder. The motion bares you fully, sparing no modesty. Your pussy spreads indecently, showing Seokjin how badly you want him. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching down to palm himself.

Slowly, you lean your weight onto the shelf. Seokjin continues to watch, and unfortunately, it’s the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life. You can physically feel yourself clenching, needing him inside you.

When Seokjin finally bends to press a kiss to your thigh, a whimper escapes you. His gaze flicks to yours. Still watching, Seokjin moves his mouth to where your legs part. Gaze locked on yours, he slowly sucks your clit.

“Ho-ly fuck,” you groan, back arching.

You feel him smirk, one hand rising to cup your backside and open you wider. From there, everything is a blur. Heat from his mouth, soft flicks of his tongue, and the sound of him moaning between your spread thighs. At some point, both of his hands find your ass, coaxing you lower so he can tilt you towards him. You lose track of time after that, chasing the heat of his mouth as you roll your hips.

Broken, you reach down to grip his hair with one hand. Seokjin growls, nose nudging your clit as he licks you open. Your body coils tighter and tighter, on the brink of coming when he tears away – mouth wet – to gasp, “Come for me, Y/N. Wanna feel it like this,” and you break.

Everything muffles, exploding outward in a riot of color. Seokjin holds you through it, easing you down from the momentous high. When you open your eyes, your legs trembling, you realize you’ve eased halfway down the bookshelf. Seokjin grins at you from the ground, his neck flushed.

“So,” he says, fumbling to close his vest. “Shall we return to the party?”

Your jaw drops.

Starting to laugh, Seokjin pushes himself upward to stand. In a fluid movement, he pulls you with and smooths your dress down. “If you think I’m letting anyone else see you like this,” he murmurs in your ear, “you’d be wrong.”

Pleasure spirals through you. “If you think we’re leaving this room without you coming, you’re also wrong.”

Seokjin considers. “How about a deal?”

“Sorry, you already offered to do my laundry.”

“An offer you turned down,” he points out. “But no – that’s not the type of deal I meant. I propose we move to my room and in return, I’ll make you come twice more tonight.”

“Three times.”

He pauses, then flashes a wicked grin. “Deal.”

“Wait – what?” you blurt, suddenly panicked. “Hang on, Seokjin, I didn’t mean it. I’m sensitive! I can’t handle that many orgasms in one night, I’ll explode or –”

Gripping your hand, he steers you towards the door. “We’ll see.”

Before you can protest, he has you in the hall. His suit jacket and tie are grabbed before the door shuts and thrown over one arm. Still holding your hand, Seokjin pokes his head around the corner to check the coast is clear. Once certain, he tugs you forward.

You giggle when he repeats this around the next corner. It’s so surreal because on the one hand, you know Seokjin. This side of him is familiar – the funny, charismatic best friend. At the same time, everything about it feels new. The ease of him touching you. The sheer relief in your chest at having nothing hidden. At knowing he wants you the same way you want him.

He proves this in the next hall, abruptly turning to press you against the wall. Seokjin kisses you hungrily, one palm cupping on your jaw. When he pulls back, his gaze is lidded.

“What was that for?” you breathe.

He smiles. “Do I need a reason?”

“Well, no.”

“Great.”

His lips find yours again, and you lose track for a while. Eventually, you force yourself to surface once more.

“We need to keep moving,” you tell him.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “You forget that my family owns this place. And that everyone here already thinks we’re dating.”

“It’s your parents’ party, though! Shouldn’t we… I don’t know…”

He stops to consider. “Are you saying you want to return to the party and pretend nothing happened? That my dick isn’t hard, and I didn’t just have my face between your – actually,” Seokjin muses, seeming to change his mind. “I take it back. That could be fun.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss.

Grinning, he bends to kiss your forehead. “What can I say? I’m making up for lost time. Which – on that note, let’s head to my room. My parents won’t care. And if they do, I’ll take the blame.”

You mock-swoon. “My boyfriend, the hero.”

“See, I know you’re trying to insult me, but all I heard was you calling me your boyfriend. And that” – voice dropping, he takes your hand to press to his front – “really makes me want to forget where we are.”

Breath quickening, you tentatively cup his length through his trousers. Slowly, you stroke and feel his cock harden. You’ve always known Seokjin was large. One summer break during college, he convinced you to go skinny dipping in this very lake. Both of you closed your eyes and promised not to peek as you dove, again and again, from the floating dock.

You lied, though. You peeked. Even soft and in the dark, you could tell Seokjin was big, and this knowledge fueled fantasies for the rest of the summer. Now, you find yourself faced with this knowledge first-hand and feel some trepidation.

Watching your face, Seokjin sees the shift. “Hey,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. There’s no pressure – we can go as fast or slow as you want. We have time.”

Hearing him say this melts all remaining reservations. Curling your fingers into his collar, you pull him closer. “I want you,” you say. “All of you. Tonight.”

Seokjin’s gaze burns. “Alright. But just because you say that now doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. We’ll go slow – okay?”

“Okay.”

Taking your hand once more, Seokjin moves down the hall. Several turns and two short staircases later, you find yourself in front of your bedroom. Seokjin must have taken you the back way to avoid the foyer.

Reaching the door, Seokjin pauses. He frowns at the knob.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

His gaze moves sideways. “Nothing is… wrong. I just find myself suddenly worrying about everything that could happen. I don’t want to… disappoint you, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen, not having expected this to be going on in his head. Seokjin comes off as so confident but again, you remember this is your friend. This isn’t some guy you’re about to hop into bed with but the man you love – a man who loves you, and who knows this is more than a fling.

Sliding both hands to either side of his face, you force Seokjin to look at you. “You can’t disappoint me,” you reiterate. Seokjin grimaces, and you shake your head. “You can’t. Even if it takes time for us to figure this out, I still want you. And besides,” you mumble, face hot. “If what happened downstairs is anything to go by, I don’t think you need to worry.”

Seokjin surveys you seriously. “God,” he exhales, drawing you close to wrap both arms around you. “I missed you so much these past months.”

“I missed you, too.”

After a moment, Seokjin opens the door and pulls you inside. He tosses his jacket and tie on the sofa, stepping free of his loafers to stand in the middle. Seeing him do this, you bend to remove your own shoes, but Seokjin clears his throat.

“You… should leave those on.”

Your fingers pause on the straps, and slowly, you straighten. Seokjin walks towards you, coming to a stop mere inches away.

Lifting a finger, he slips it beneath your dress strap. “Turn around,” he murmurs.

“Yes, sir.”

When you obey, you feel Seokjin’s breath at your throat. “Now, Y/N,” he murmurs. “If you keep doing exactly what I tell you to do, I might forget the terms of our deal. Might make it four orgasms. Maybe five.”

A delicious shiver runs through you. Seokjin grasps the zipper and drags it down your body. When your back is exposed, he keeps the dress on and slips both hands inside.

“We haven’t talked about that,” he says. “What you like in bed. What I like in bed. Shouldn’t best friends know that?”

“I – I don’t know,” you gasp as his hands slide up your front to gently cup your breasts. Seokjin hums, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“So,” he continues. “Tell me, Y/N – what do you like?”

“Do you want an itemized list?”

“Yeah. Send it to my email. But for now,” he breathes. “Do you like me teasing your pretty nipples like this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Tugging gently, Seokjin’s other hand slides down your stomach to press you against him. “Based on what happened in the library, I assume you like oral?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yes,” he says simply. His hand travels even lower, resting below your belly button. “I’ve thought a lot about what your lips would look like wrapped around my cock, Y/N.”

“So, it seems you like dirty talk – ah, fuck,” you groan when his finger slides between your legs.

“Tell me more things you like.”

Eyelashes fluttering, you lean your head to his shoulder. Seokjin applies gentle pressure, slowly massaging your clit.

“I like delayed orgasms more than multiple,” you admit.

His finger pauses. “Yeah,” Seokjin grunts and resumes. “That’s even hotter than what I was picturing. What else?”

“I like being told what to do.”

“Good.” His hands withdraw. “Take off your dress.”

Turning around, you slide the straps from your shoulders and let the dress drop. Seokjin watches, gaze dark and your nipples tighten. Dizzy with want, you press your thighs together.

“Fuck,” Seokjin groans, shoving a hand through his hair. “This… you…”

He looks nearly broken, and you glance at your body. It looks the same to you but seems to be causing him physical harm. Before you can speak, Seokjin closes the distance between you and crushes your mouth to his.

“I should probably confess,” Seokjin says between kisses, “I totally peeked that time we went skinny-dipping.”

Rather than scold him, you start to laugh. Seokjin swallows each sound, gripping your ass to lick up your throat.

“I also peeked,” you confess. “I needed to know if you were lying about the condoms.”

Only a month prior, Seokjin had caused a minor scandal in the grocery store when a king-sized condom flew out of his wallet. You had ribbed – ha, pun intended – him about it for weeks, only to dream about it each night.

Smirking, Seokjin puts your hand on his cock. “I wasn’t.”

“I know that now, you – oh!”

Bending, Seokjin lifts you over one shoulder to walk towards the bed. He drops you with a thump, watching your tits bounce as he lowers one knee.

“As enjoyable as these were,” he says, removing your shoes. “They could be a hazard. What else?” he demands, covering you with his body.

He’s still mostly clothed, and you’ve never felt so desired in your life. Your breasts brush his shirt, core grazing his thigh as he gathers you to him.

“Tell me what you do when you come on your own.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Y/N.” His gaze drags down your body. “You’re naked beneath me. I was licking your cunt barely twenty minutes ago. Don’t tell me you’re too embarrassed to talk about masturbation.”

“No,” you breathe, but honestly, you stopped thinking around when he said cunt.

“Y/N…”

“It depends,” you say, lowering yourself to your elbows. “Sometimes I’m in a hurry and I use my vibrator. Sometimes I touch myself. Sometimes...” Heat climbs your throat. “I like using a dildo.”

Lowering a hand between your bodies, Seokjin parts your thighs. “Oh? Do tell.”

Your breath hitches when he slowly starts stroking. Up and down, up and down – lightly, he teases your swollen folds.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how you use your dildo.”

“I don’t know. How do most people use a dildo?”

Seokjin shrugs, continuing the same, maddening motion. “Some people bounce on it. Other people fuck themselves with it. Some like ass play or using two dildos at once. Me?” Voice dropping, he slips a finger inside you. “I think it’d be fun to have you rub against it, trying to get off without something inside you.”

Your eyes have gone glassy and somehow, you find yourself clutching his sleeves. “Yes. Holy fuck, yes.”

Lightly, he laughs and moves his finger inside you. “You’re so perfect, Y/N. Such a tight little pussy. I can’t wait to stretch you out.”

“You will,” you whimper, rocking your hips.

With one hand, you reach for his pants to palm him through the fabric. Seokjin has gotten harder, and you audibly swallow.

He groans. “Careful, Y/N.”

“I need more,” you whine, shifting beneath him.

Seokjin obediently adds another finger. His thumb rubs your clit, working his fingers deeper inside you. Panting, you lay back on the bed to watch. Seokjin seems fixated on your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Hold these,” he murmurs, pushing your knees to your chest. Grasping one in each hand, you spread yourself wider. With an appreciative sound, Seokjin withdraws his hand to undo his vest.

Your whimper dies when he tosses this and his shirt to the floor. Fully naked from the waist up, he lowers himself to his stomach and drags his mouth up your thigh.

“Fucking delicious,” he breathes, licking your cunt again.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, still holding your thighs.

He isn’t gentle this time, sucking your clit hard enough you see stars. With one orgasm down, you can take it. He slides two, and then three, fingers into your pussy, stroking your g-spot over and over.

The noises you make would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so fuckinggood. Seokjin isn’t quiet either, grinding his dick to the mattress while eating you out. You watch his hips move, shoulder muscles bunching in a way that drives you wild. Sliding both hands under your ass, he pulls you closer and sucks hard again.

“Holy – fuck!” you gasp, the pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter.

Seokjin works you with his tongue, fucking you with his fingers and right as you’re about to come – he withdraws.

“No!” you sob, collapsing back on the mattress.

Seokjin sits up and grins, wiping his mouth with one hand. “What’s wrong?”

Scowling up at him, your chest heaves. “You know what’s wrong, asshole. I was about to come.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Guess I should try again.”

Your legs shake when he bends, immediately picking up where he left off. Sucking hard on your clit, he eases both fingers inside and strokes the same spot. Higher and higher he brings you, your hips undulating against him, until–

“Seokjin!” you curse when he pulls away.

“Ohh.” Seokjin nods, cupping the bulge in his pants. “I see what you mean. Yeah, I’m taking your feedback into consideration. Instead of four more orgasms let’s do one delayed orgasm.”

Immediately, your whole body tightens. Seokjin arches a brow at your peaked nipples, squeezing his cock once before he releases.

“I guess you like that,” he murmurs, lowering himself to the mattress. This time, Seokjin is gentle while licking your clit. “What” – he circles his tongue – “about” – a long, leisurely suck – “this?”

His index finger circles your entrance, maddeningly slow. Every so often, he dips his finger inside. By now, your orgasm is so close, your entire body is shaking. You think a light breeze might do it, but then Seokjin chuckles and spreads your pussy with both hands.

Locking gazes, he spits straight on your clit. Before you can move, he sucks hard and pushes two fingers inside.

You break. Helpless, you collapse against the onslaught of pleasure. Over and over, waves drag you under until slowly, you resurface to Seokjin’s touch. He presses a kiss to your thigh, easing your legs from their open position.

Kissing his way up your body, he captures your mouth with his. You taste yourself on his lips and savor the moment. Humming, you happily pull him against you and lock both legs around his waist.

“Y/N,” he mumbles.

You arch underneath him.

Seokjin swears. “Y/N,” he grunts, breaking away long enough to see you. “What do you want to do next?”

Blinking upward, you don’t understand the question. Then you realize what he’s asking and heat courses through you.

“I want you inside me,” you say, determined. Your hands reach for his pants. “Please.”

Seokjin nods, helping with the button as you yank down the zipper. Slipping your hands under his boxers, you shove these down to free his cock. Seokjin manages to get them all the way off, joining his pants on the floor.

His length bobs between you, and now, your mouth waters. You thought you understood Seokjin’s size before but there’s something entirely different about seeing him in this context. Your dildo at home will wither with shame – Seokjin is fully eight or nine inches, thick and veiny with a bead of cum at the top.

Awed, you encircle him with one hand. Seokjin shudders. “O-kay,” he huffs, gripping your wrist. “As fun as it would be to come in my pants, let’s save that for later – alright?”

Your eyes widen. “Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Seokjin leans over the nightstand, presumably for a condom, but you hold him in place. Frowning, he pulls back.

“Actually,” you say. “What if… you didn’t?”

“You don’t… want me to wear a condom?”

“I mean, you can if you want.” Breathless, you add, “But I have an IUD. And I got tested last month and am clean. I haven’t been with anyone else since. So…”

Seokjin pauses. “I was tested two months ago and was clean. I haven’t been with anyone since my break-up.”

You glance down, then up. “So… you don’t have to wear one if you don’t want to.”

“Y/N, are you sure?”

“Seokjin,” you groan, reaching between you. Gripping his length, you swipe the tip with your thumb. “Please. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Wrapping his hand around his cock, Seokjin strokes himself roughly. Leaning forward, he presses the tip to your cunt. Casually, he drags himself up and down to get his length wet.

Keeping your leg open with one palm, his other hand guides his cock to rut against you. You whimper at the motion, then moan when his cock catches at your entrance.

“Not yet,” Seokjin murmurs. “You’re being so good. Drenching my cock, and I’m not even inside you.”

“Seokjin,” you pant. Each time he brushes your clit, you nearly shatter. “Please. I need it.”

“Need what, Y/N?”

“Your cock.”

Still gripping his length, he slaps your clit. You make a noise so needy and sinful, you nearly come on the spot. Seokjin does it again, watching your whole body tremble – until he simply gives up, notching at your entrance and pushing inside.

You groan when he fills you, stretching your body. You don’t come, but nothing – nothing – has ever felt so good. Seokjin seems to feel the same way, arms trembling as he holds himself above you. Only the head of his cock is inside, but the stretch feels so good, you can barely take it.

“Seokjin,” you whimper, both arms around him.

He looks down at you, breathless and slowly pushes inside. Each roll of his hips works you open, your hips lifting to take him even deeper.

“You’re so… so big,” you groan.

“I know,” he murmurs, lowering his thumb to your clit. “You can take it. That’s nearly half.”

“Half?”

Lazily, he thrusts. “You’re doing so well.”

With soft praise and coaxing, Seokjin continues to fill you until he bottoms out. You moan when you feel his balls flush to your ass, practically split in two by his massive cock. Seokjin lowers himself to one elbow, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck.

“Look at me,” he demands, pulling out to the tip. You whimper, and he languidly thrusts in again. “That’s it. God, I could watch you take my cock for hours.”

You pant, gaze locked on his when he does it again. Stuffed full of his cock, you wonder how he lives without bragging about this to everyone. You’re going to have a hard time keeping your mouth shut after this. For various reasons.

Seeing the shift on your face, Seokjin thrusts harder. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you groan. “I was just – ah – thinking about sucking your cock.”

He pauses, then swears. “You can’t just say that, Y/N,” he complains, lifting himself to his elbows. Seokjin thrusts into you harder, deeper. “I’ve been thinking about this for years. It’s probably embarrassing how often I’ve thought about you spread out beneath me.”

“I thought about it, too. I – I couldn’t help it.”

“Neither could I,” he confesses, moving faster. “I tried to stop. Tried to tell myself it was wrong. And god, was I wrong,” he groans, licking a strip up your neck. “You’re even sweeter than I imagined, Y/N. I need to fuck you everywhere in this house.”

A giggle escapes, turning into a moan when he does something with his hips. “That would take a long time,” you pant, locking both ankles over his ass. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I am, though. My mind is going to crazy places, Y/N.” Shifting his hips, he hits a deeper angle. “I want to keep you in this bedroom for weeks. I want to come inside you, lick your pussy clean, then come in you again. I want to fuck you against the window and make Bradley watch.”

“Fuck,” you choke out.

“Do you like that,” he pants. “Do you like hearing how badly I want you?”

“Yes,” you moan, lifting your hips to match every thrust. “I like it. What else did you think about?”

“I want you to ride me. I want to fuck you against a wall. I want to have you half out of your dress, bouncing on my cock where people could hear.” His gaze darkens. “I want to take you from behind. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all week. Bending you over, licking that pussy and then pushing inside.”

His last words sound gutted, Seokjin’s gaze heavy with lust. Reaching between you, you rub your clit and let out a whine.

“Do it,” you demand. “Flip me over. I want you to fuck me like that.”

Seokjin pauses, then abruptly pulls out. Left empty, you whimper, but he swiftly turns you around to lay on your stomach. Yanking your hips in the air, he bends forward and brushes a kiss to your neck.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N. I love you.”

You try not to squirm, but it’s hard with him positioned behind you like this. Pussy bared to his gaze, Seokjin runs his middle finger up and down your wet cunt.

“Ah,” he groans, sinking his finger inside. After his cock, it barely feels like a stretch. Seokjin chuckles, withdraws and slaps you on the ass.

You moan, melting a little. “Again. Please.”

“You like that, hm?” Smacking your ass again, he sinks two fingers inside you. “I can’t believe how perfect you are, Y/N. All for me.”

“All for you,” you agree.

Unable to hold back any longer, Seokjin positions his cock and thrusts inside. You groan, going from empty to full in a matter of seconds. Turning your face on the pillow, you watch him as he fills you. Seokjin withdraws, then pushes back in with agonizing slowness.

Pressed into the mattress this way, his cock is so deep, you can feel yourself trembling. It won’t take long to come in this position – a fact Seokjin seems to realize. Clutching the pillow, you watch him move in and out, fucking you slowly and building momentum.

He keeps your knees spread, his grip on you tight while easing you back on his cock. You bite down on the pillow when his pace increases, slamming again and again into your needy pussy. When you tighten around him, Seokjin grunts.

“Don’t touch yourself yet,” he pants, going harder. “How badly do you want to come, Y/N?”

“So, so bad,” you say with a hiccup.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there. Just relax and let me do all the work. You’re taking my cock so nicely – such a sweet, tight pussy. Going to feel so fucking good when I fill you up with my cum.”

You cry out, ass shaking as Seokjin pounds into you deeper. Lifting your hips, he spreads you wide and slams into your g-spot. Everything narrows to the feeling of his cock inside you. You’re glad of the position because you don’t need to think about holding yourself up on your own.

Reaching around you, Seokjin brushes your clit and that’s it. Game over. Your orgasm overtakes you, body collapsing with endless waves of bliss. Vision blurring, you push back on his cock when you feel him go deeper.

Gasping your name, Seokjin comes as well. His cum fills you in pulses while he slowly thrusts and comes down from his high. You feel some of his cum drip from your body, and when he pulls out, you squeeze to send another gush.

Seokjin says something not repeatable in good company. “Fu-ck,” he groans, dragging his fingers through the mess. “How did we spend so long not doing this?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, collapsing onto your side.

Seokjin drops beside you, looping his arm over your waist to drag you against him. He kisses you deeply, thumb stroking your hip.

When you surface, you wince. “These sheets are definitely ruined.”

“There are some in the wardrobe,” Seokjin says lazily. “Or we can move to one of the many, many open rooms on this floor.”

Your smile grows. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me out for that. I very obviously wanted to sleep with you.”

His eyes go wide. “Excuse me? You made me take the couch!”

“You put yourself on the couch.”

Seokjin sputters, clearly incensed as your grin widens. Rolling from his grip, you head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. When you reemerge, Seokjin is busy stripping the bed.

“Kind of pointless, if you ask me,” he grumbles. “We’re definitely doing that again before sunrise.”

Abruptly, your core tightens. “It’s not fair,” you complain, collapsing once the fitted sheet is on. “You know way more about what turns me on than I know about you.”

Seokjin throws the next sheet over your naked body and joins you beneath it. He pulls you against him, unable to let go. “I think I said I wanted to fuck you and have Bradley watch. Was that not intimate enough for you?”

You shiver when Seokjin kisses your neck. “Yeah, yeah – that was good,” you say, placing one hand on his chest. “But next time, I want to start with a blow job.”

Against your thigh, Seokjin immediately hardens. Cracking up, you fall back on the bed and Seokjin follows, nipping your collarbone. Eventually you go still, gazing at him beneath the rosy hue of the bed sheet.

Seokjin’s gaze traces your face. “I just want you to know,” he murmurs. “I’m all in. This is… nothing will change the way I feel about you. Ever. This is it for me.”

Your heart swells, overflowing as you bury your face in his chest. “Same,” your whisper, voice cracking slightly. “I love you, Seokjin.”

And suddenly, you realize there are no more gaps between you and what you want. All the crevices are filled in and your world feels fully whole.

After all, Seokjin is it for you, too. Time may be relative, but the future before you feels long.

Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR READING! It is so good to be back here, posting again. Thank you to everyone who waited for me, and WOOHOO BTS IS ALMOST BACK!

Second Author's Note: I really, really wanted L2H!Jungkook to make a cameo at one of these parties but unfortunately, L2H!Seokjin is happily married to Yoongi, so it just wouldn't have made sense. Know that in a non-canon universe, CC!Seokjin and L2H!Jungkook are friends LOL

#seokjin fanfic #seokjin smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #jin smut #jin fanfic #jin fanfiction #seokjin fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fic #jin fic #seokjin fic

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fairlyabookie · 3 months ago

Text

the things you do that got them head over heels (pt. 2)

Part 1 here! feat. second years (I severely underestimated how many second years in the roster, so I'm splitting this up into parts!)

Azul - matching his wavelength

Azul’s mind works fast, and boy, does he work fast. The minute he gets working, no one can break his concentration. Many would question him, adding to the fuel of irritation just as he was about on a streak. Either people were on board or they’d have to get out of the way. One of the other, no one could stop him from going forward with his antics.

You, on the other hand, catch on fast; asking him the right questions, listening thoughtfully to his explanation, and lastly, understanding his intentions. His heart soared as you lay out your thoughts, your opinions, a refreshing perspective against the same old song of doubt and affirmations.

What he really needed from this endeavor was someone who could challenge him and take his opinion into account if they ever became so unkindly to his target audience - besides, he had to be more ethical with how he ran things in business. Commodifying individuals was ugly, but he had to hear them out at least. Once you had finished your train of thought, Azul couldn’t help but send a smile to your direction, already writing down a summary of your explanation on a sheet of paper.

“Thank you, [Reader], I shall consider your proposal.”

Ruggie - food

A simple platter of food, from a home-cooked meal or a to-go meal from Mostro Lounge, was enough to capture Ruggie’s heart - he’d accept with no hesitation, already scarfing it down the minute he saw the item. Sure, he’d have a whole carton of donuts, but nothing beats a delicious meal, one that was nutritiously filling for him, enough to satiate him, for the day, enough to leave a smile on his face.

He’d offer a portion of food for you, as a means of thanking you for the trouble of getting him food. As an extra, he’d even ask how much you paid for the food and the location of the restaurant so he could pay you back. Yet, you choose not to disclose; watching his micro expressions, from devouring the food to enjoying every morsel of it.

You encourage him to eat more, citing more to come in the future. The second year’s ears pull back, his eyes of glassy gray widening in surprise. He makes a protest, yet your fingers seal his lips shut. A smile lingers on your lips, one of sincerity and unfiltered kindness, a gesture that didn’t merit transaction but the generosity of one’s heart.

“Please enjoy your meal, Ruggie. You deserve it.”

Riddle - a ride with the horses

Riddle noticed you weren’t in the best of spirits, citing a poor performance on an alchemy assessment. From just that, the thought of hitting the books one more time tired you out, and Riddle knew just the thing to lift your spirits: a ride with the horses. Of course, he lets you choose your horse, while he went for Vorpal, the very horse he had been riding with since he became a member of the club.

Soon, the two of you embark on your steads in a grand pasture, the roaring wind teasing your hair in bursts as the horse matches their pace with Vorpal. In replacement of stress, exhilaration courses through your being, stress melting away each passing second. You peer over to Riddle, his gaze fixated upon you, sunshine gleaming into eyes of granite, slivers of gray and purple.

A mask of vulnerability, a disarming smile that left your heart thundering against your chest, even louder than the hooves against the pasture. You muster the courtesy to smile back, averting your gaze to your horse, your pounding heart lost in the chaos of galloping.

“This is refreshing, Riddle! No wonder you enjoy this so much!”

Floyd - fit check

Floyd’s phone chimes, a notification badge lighting up his phone. He doesn’t hesitate to unlock his phone, seeing your text message pop up with a picture. Oh, what did Shrimpy wear today, huh? A toothy smirk graces his lips as he sees your profile.

Standing before the mirror with your phone pointed towards your figure, Floyd had to hold back a wolf whistle - for modesty and professionalism, of course. He looks back and forth, and twice again for good measure, before whipping up a response.

Azul would certainly scold him for not doing his job, but Floyd didn’t care: you looked delicious. With just a sweeping glance over the photo, he could tell of the brands you were wearing, the way you appealingly styled your attire, and the way the colors complimented your skin, oh, would he love to steal your outfit for a day. He sends an extra message, one just to make sure you know you looked good.

“Whoa, you really liked it, huh, Floyd?”

#handle with care #twst x reader #floyd x reader #riddle x reader #azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland ruggie #riddle rosehearts

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gghostwriter · 3 months ago

Note

something fluffy i thought of is how spencer never had friends his age so he never got to have a real sleepover, so reader decides to change that and does all the cliché sleepover stuff with him (building a fort, pillow fights, facemasks,...)

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff w.c: 1.5k A/N: I’ve been in a writing funk lately so really took a while, so sorry about that! I wrote this with early season!Spencer in mind, think s1-s2. Not proofread cause i will second guess myself. Special thanks to @thegloryofliterature for helping me power through! Masterlist

Cucumber Slices. // Spencer Reid

Two pretty glasses on the kitchen counter, ready for use? Check.

Non-alcoholic wine chilling in the fridge? Check.

No clutter in sight? Check.

Your eyes flitted all over the apartment, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be—no stray pair of shoes, overflowing from your cabinet, strewn all over the wooden floor. It was a problem you’d need to tackle soon or later, your lack of space in this otherwise tiny apartment and your shopping addiction, but that wasn’t top priority at this very moment.

No, the cause of concern was making sure all went well tonight with your new beau, Spencer Reid.

It was all thanks to a cup of spilled coffee down at your favorite shop that caused this new development. You remembered how wide-eyed, afraid, and guilty the FBI agent looked as he took note of your state of distress, pale pink blouse turning sheer from liquid. Your lips must have wobbled then, thinking about how your new top was ultimately ruined, that caused him to clumsily remove his plaid coat, smelling of cedar wood and worn pages, and wrapping it all over your slight frame.

With his tenor voice, he repeatedly apologized and proposed to have your top dry cleaned, hoping to salvage it, all the while offering a spare button down from his leather worn satchel. Honestly, you didn’t know why you accepted it then and why you shyly gave away your contact information. It was like his amber doe eyes, teary from stress, hypnotized you to saying yes.

Catching sight of your reflection, you assessed the mirage in front of you. Hair casually blown dry, not too curled, and makeup kept to a minimum, a hint of gloss, that’s it.

You didn’t want to come off too dolled up for his very first sleepover in history, a fact he humbly disclosed during your fourth date and a fact you wanted to rectify immediately, and for his first sleepover as your new official (the thought made you want to squeal) boyfriend.

Looks? Check.

The corners of your cherry flavored lips lifted into a smile just as a hesitant knock echoed through your tastefully designed apartment.

Boyfriend? Check.

“Coming!”

As you reached for the locked door knob, the excitement palpable on your face, a small inconspicuous package caught the corner of your eye.

It was a box of protection you bought, just in case.

You sucked in a breath, afraid of what could have happened if you just left it there. Quickly running to your bedroom and pulling the bedside drawer so harshly the contents rattled, you shoved the box away, face burning from the thought of being caught.

To be fair, it really wasn’t in your list to buy during the quick run to the grocery. It had caught your eye while checking out and added it to the cart without really much further thought. You definitely wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight, knowing how fresh the relationship is and how shy Spencer is to any type of physical affection. He did once rattle off a fact how hands touching transfer more bacteria than kissing and at that moment, all you could think of was leaning in and meeting his lips with yours.

There was another knock.

“Just a moment, Spence!” You called out, voice cracking at the end as your feet slid against the waxed floor.

You paused, trying to catch your breath before swing the door wide open to the view of Spencer shyly smiling at you, weighed down by the amount of items on his hands.

“Uh—hi, hey,” he breathed out. “I-uh, I brought over some stuff we might need for the sleepover.”

You giggled. “Did you bring your entire apartment with you, by any chance?”

“What? No, no of course not! I just—” he stepped inside your apartment, lowering the bags on the kitchen counter. “—I didn’t know what a sleepover would need so I did research and it—” gesturing towards the items. “—just snowballed from there.”

You stretched on your tip toes, softly giving his cheek a kiss. “That’s sweet of you, Spence. Can you tell me more about what you found?”

His face brightened, very much used to people not wanting to hear him talk on or off tangents. “Well, I brought a couple of games, one I borrowed from Penelope—” he pulled a chess board, a deck of cards, and Monopoly. “—I also got us assorted slice fruits to share, I read that people in sleepovers tend to eat take out, pizza or Chinese, which I brought too, and I wanted us to have a healthy dessert on hand and although chocolate seems to be the usual meal treat, it is primarily made of concentrated sugar with little to no added nutrients. Fruits, on the other hand—”

He paused, eyes slowly tracking the contours on your face. “—do you want me to stop? Usually the team would have cut me off by now and I don’t want to bore you.”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no! Not at all, Spencer! I love to hear your voice and i think its so cute that you researched.”

Rocking on his heels, he pressed his lips into a tight smile as his ears reddened in color.

“Well,” you sidestepped to stand beside him, back facing the counter. “Should we get started?”

Spencer nodded, eyes earnestly looking at you for guidance.

“In my mind, a sleepover isn’t complete without this,” you gestured towards the ingredients laid out earlier.

A chopping board and it’s matching knife, one piece of unsliced cucumber, a tub of unopened Greek yogurt, and a bottle of honey.

“Is this for our snack?”

You giggled, bumping the side of his hip with yours. “You’ve got plenty to learn, my young padawan.”

***

“Are you sure this—” Spencer gestured to the concocted bowl in front of him. “—is sanitary? I don’t think I ran across this step when I was researching.”

Laughing, you pinched slices of cucumber between your manicured fingers and gesturing him to lean slightly back. “Of course it is, Spencer! I did trust the washing and cutting to you, didn’t I?”

“It’s just—I’m not quite sure what benefit we’re supposed to get.”

You leaned in, keeping a critical eye on your handiwork as if you were a painter inspecting the masterpiece. He smelled fresh, having taken a shower before settling on the couch in front of the opened television—he smelled of your body wash with a hint of his own scent you couldn’t describe.

Pulling back, you gestured for him to do the same to you, covering your bare face with the homemade face mask.

“Well, according to Paolo, the cucumbers actually do nothing but it’s nice to just get into the mood, don’t you think?”

The space between his brows threatened to disappear as the tip of his tongue peeked between his lips in concentration. It was absolutely adorable to see him wracking his expansive mind as to who Paolo was.

“Should I know who that is?”

You faux gasped. “From Princess Diaries?”

Spencer shook his head, leaning away from his finished work.

“As your girlfriend, I fear it’s my duty to get you up to date with romance movies. Which is why—” reaching for the remote to press play. “—I chose one I’m sure you’d know.”

Classical music started to play through the speakers matched with a sunrise on an empty vast field and slowly, the title card appeared, Pride & Prejudice.

He chuckled, settling in on your off white sofa, shoulders brushing against each other.

As the movie progressed, Spencer softly whispered commentary under his breath, his voice rumbling from his chest, lulling you to ease. It felt so easy being with him. There was no second guessing the meaning behind his words, the meaning behind his actions. You still couldn’t believe your luck that you found The decent man of your dreams through a cup of spilled coffee, it was worth having your designer silk blouse as the casualty.

On screen, Mr Darcy had reached to guide Elizabeth Bennet up to the carriage, bare handed. The camera cut then, focusing on his hand flexing from the touch of her hand.

Your heart rate picked up, this scene had always been your favorite. Such an inconspicuous move but quite scandal during their time.

Spencer cleared his throat, adjusting his position beside you, hand mirroring Mr Darcy’s. Slowly, as if he was unsure of your consent, he brushed the back of his palm with yours, intertwining the two pinkies together.

Breath caught in your chest, you wove the rest together. Both palms slightly damp from the nerves, he squeezed three times and in that minute, you knew.

This relationship was for keeps.

My inbox is currently closed for requests but comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot

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poweredbycoffee · 4 months ago

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Ateez if you were marrying them

Hongjoong:

money is no object when he’s in love, the engagement ring is custom made with your input during the process and he insists upon taking you to dinner so he can propose afterward even though you know what’s coming

will hand over his credit card and tell you to have fun when you start dress shopping, fashion king that he is can’t help but ask what you looked at and suggests that if you can’t find what you want he knows a few designers

writes his own vows even though it takes him a week to figure out how to convey how much he loves you in a few sentences

gets a tattoo of your wedding date during your honeymoon because when it comes to commitment he’s all in on your future together

Seonghwa:

proposes while you’re on vacation together, sneaks a selfie of the two of you into one of his Instagram posts because he wants to show you off

who needs a wedding planner when your husband to be is this good at making things look elegant, wants you to be surrounded by your favorite flowers for the ceremony

most likely to have a destination wedding somewhere like Italy because he wants to be married in a place that will always remind him of you

saw Lego wedding cake toppers online and had to have them, saved them after the wedding and displays them with the rest of his collection

Yunho:

proposes on the balcony of your apartment the day he gets the ring because he cannot wait to show you that he got the one you’ve been dropping hints about for three months, the neighbors applaud when you say yes and he picks you up for a kiss

imo the only member who has his wedding at an actual church instead of the usual wedding hall because to him marriage is a spiritual commitment as well as an emotional one

wears a black or dark blue three piece suit instead of a tuxedo for the wedding because it’s more comfortable and has the added benefit of making you unable to take your eyes off him the entire time

you bet your ass he carries you into the hotel lobby in your wedding dress when you check in for your first night as husband and wife

Mingi:

so nervous when he proposes that you say yes the second he presents you with a ring so he doesn’t have to worry about flubbing his words when popping the question, he looks visibly relieved and utterly adorable

pays for a wedding planner so neither of you have to stress over the details

most likely to risk his life getting a peek at you in your dress before the ceremony because he can’t stand the suspense and wants to tell you as much as possible how pretty you are

works his ass off with help from Yunho to make sure his first dance with you as husband and wife is all you hoped it would be

San:

total romantic that he is, proposes at the same place where you first met

asked every last one of your friends and family members which engagement ring he should buy because he wanted it to be perfect, including the correct size so you could wear it right away

cries more than you do on your wedding day because he’s so happy he gets to spend the rest of his life with you

definitely a custom made designer tuxedo kind of guy, looks like a whole ass model waiting at the altar for you

Yeosang:

proposes to you in bed one morning where he’s had the ring hidden in his nightstand because he thinks public proposals are a bit too forceful, takes you out for breakfast after to celebrate

shyly asks if he can go dress shopping with you because he wants to be there seeing your face light up when you find your dream dress

loves when you tell him how handsome he is and feels confident enough to not cover his birthmark with makeup for the wedding pictures

most likely to have a civil ceremony so he can spend more on an amazing honeymoon for the two of you

Wooyoung:

brace yourself because this man will propose in public in front of a historic building to make sure it’s an unforgettable memory for you

he talked about wanting to so much that the other members had a bet going as to when he’d actually ask you(won by Jongho who guessed the shortest timeline)

throws the biggest reception of all the members by far, plenty of food and dancing into the night

sneaks you outside for making out once the party’s going so no one notices you’re both absent

Jongho:

proposes somewhere secluded like a park or a beach so he feels more at ease asking you and kissing you once you accept

has a small wedding, friends and family only, and pretends to protest when you try to feed him a bite of wedding cake but secretly likes it

surprises you during the reception with a song in Korean or English depending on your first language because it’s one of the ways he wants to show you he loves you

apologizes after if you cried because he would have felt bad for ruining your makeup but you made sure to wear waterproof mascara just in case, still brushes your tears away

#ateez #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #wooyoung x reader #ateez fic #kpop fic #ateez fluff #ateez imagines

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bejeweledblondie · 2 years ago

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Headcannons

A/N: these are loosely inspired from real life experiences I’ve had living on a military base, these men have a on & off switch it’s crazy

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Warnings: NSFW

• Simon first saw you while he was in the States for a training exercise, he was out at one of the local bars with some of the other soldiers he was with

• Soap had actually asked for your number first & since he was so intoxicated you turned him down

• Simon apologized for Soap & that’s how you met

• he did have a heart attack when he found out there was a bit of a age gap between you two but quickly got over it when he realized how mature you were

• it was a long distance relationship at first (from personal experience it sucks in the beginning)

• there were times when he couldn’t talk due to the risk of potentially exposing his teams location so you had to write letters every now & then

• you cried constantly whenever you saw some horrific news in the paper about what was going on overseas, the anxiety was awful

• but when he returned the reunions were euphoric

• you have a bottle of his cologne & aftershave so you can always feel close to him

• and you’d spray your perfume on the letters you sent so he couldn’t always smell the paper when he was missing you

• it took him sometime to open up to you about what had happened to him in his past, & your respected that

• when he first met your family, he was shocked by all the support he had received from them

• he asked your parents to marry you the first time he met them & showed them the ring too (ofc they said yes)

• he proposed to you in private after a nice dinner, he got choked up during the proposal

• your dad specifically was elated, he got to brag at how bad ass his son in law is

• your mom if she’s a teacher, had her entire class send cards, candy, anything they’d need in care packages Soap nearly cried when he opened the sweetest letter from a little girl (this actually happened irl my mom’s class did this & one guy got really choked up)

• Simon always would be your fiercest protector

• since he’s like an freakin tree he will guide your head with his bear paw of a hand in crowds

•he CANNOT sit with his back facing the door it stresses him out

•this man is strapped 24/7 whether that be a knife, bear spray etc. he’s ready

•he has a trauma kit in his car because “you never know”

•Simon is 1000% one of those apocalypse preppers you have freeze dried food, medicine, water, etc. he’s always on edge

• he sleeps with a damn rifle next to y’all’s bed

• you have a whole security system too

• your guy’s apartment is impeccable like you could eat off of the floor

• hell your guy’s bed has damn hospital corners

• Simon adopted a cat so you don’t feel as lonely when he’s deployed

• He’s your chonky boy & you do send plenty of photos to Simon when he’s deployed

• Gaz & Soap tease him about him living his “cat dad” life

• you start trying for a baby two years into your marriage

• Simon does fall victim to the “curse of the infantry” (which is not a negative thing btw it’s a running joke that infantry soldiers have all daughters) he makes girls

• he was deployed during your pregnancy & was worried sick he nearly missed the birth of your daughter

• that little girl is the most well protected baby in the whole world, the Task Force gifted him not just baby stuff but damn security for the nursery

• He watches your baby from his phone in the nursery on deployment, he was silently crying once when he was watching you sing a lullaby to your baby girl

•Price had to comfort him father to father

•In reality Simon has a very hard cold exterior at work for the sake of keeping his mental health for the profession he’s in but deep down he’s always held a soft spot & your relationship just brings it out

✨NSFW ✨

• there is a big size difference between you two & it drives him insane

• the first time y’all had together he didn’t want to break you in half

• when he returns from deployment y’all go at it like rabbits for multiple rounds, your poor pussy was so sore afterwards

• has a massive corruption & daddy kink

• he’s an ass man I don’t make the rules here so any position where your ass if the focal point is his favorite

• y’all have made so many sex tapes for him when he’s deployed, he has a whole folder on his phone & jerks off to them in the bathroom or the porta potty (it’s a canon event, trust me) to them

• he lets your cockwarm him constantly when you’re on the couch, when he’s working, hell y’all had even fallen asleep like that

• I know people say he has a Prince Albert piercing but alas per army regulation that is safety risk I think it’s more likely he’d use a cock ring on you

• during a military ball you two snuck off & fucked in a supply closet

• he couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel room after seeing you in your gown, it was red his favorite color

• and he just looked so fucking good in his dress uniform, that was the night you totally conceived your baby girl

• he groans into your ear when he cums & he’ll use his body to just eclipse yours

• “one more baby girl” & “c’mon pretty girl use your words tell me what you want”

• is a sucker for babydoll lingerie it brings your innocence & triggers his corruption kink

• moral of the story Simon Riley fucks

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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 10 months ago

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Please can we have more Yan justice league?

Maybe the reader has a boyfriend in the military so she doesn't see him much and when he comes back to visit, the go on a fancy date before they crash it?

It would make it even better if they reacted to the boyfriend about to propose to her!

A Day in Life: Heartbreaks

Synopsis: A day in your life where your yanderes find a secret of yours and tell you another one.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Modern!40s!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Tw: Bucky you’re one of my fav characters from Marvel, I'm so sorry I did u dirty😭; Heavy mentions of cheating and NO forgiving; Stalking; English isn’t my 1st language.

Word count: 1k

Requested? Duh.

Extra notes: I should be studying instead of writing this. Also omg I got so many requests in just a few hours, thank you very much!! I'm writing them all!!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Since most of your days became filled with stress and anxiety, you started appreciating even more moments where you could just forget all your problems, from small ones — like, lack of motivation to go to the gym, bad hair days and an ingredient you forgot at your fridge and became rotten—, and big, out of your control ones — like seven superheroes, who you see almost everyday, stalking you.

Your boyfriend getting back was one of the best dic(k)strations.

Bucky was a sergeant, he spent weeks, even months, away from you on missions. It was hard, but you were both busy people, so your mind was usually too stimulated to think about boy problems only all day, most adults were, and you believed the hard work would be worth it one day. The future was hopefully bright.

The League never mentioned him. Actually, some of them implied more than once that they thought you were available, so they probably didn't know about your relationship. You didn't use much social media and your boyfriend got especially busy this year, so it made sense.

He paid for you to get your nails done earlier and took you to a nice restaurant. After that, Bucky took you for a walk around the city, lively and beautiful even at night, and stopped at the park where your first date happened. Everything was fine, until he got on his knees. Suddenly, seven, mostly colorful, figures descended upon you from out of nowhere, screaming.

— (Y/N)! YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM! — Flash’s voice startled you, confirming your suspicions to who the group was.

You growled.

— SERIOUSLY? LEAVE ME ALONE! IT'S MY DAY OFF! — Bucky, who had swiftly gotten up with his fast reflexes as soon as the heroes charged, blinked at the sight. He looked between you all.

— Doll? What’s this? — You looked apologetic at him.

— Sorry, Bucky. Since I got my job, my bosses got… Protective over me… — You didn't want him to get hurt. Bucky and his friends had a great sense of justice and hated bullies. He would surely want to do something if he knew the true extent of things. You also didn't want to ruin the vision he had of his idols.

Since their obsessive behavior started, you just counted your lucky stars that they would just get tired of you one day or wouldn't sabotage your relationships. They seemed fine with you having friends, but dating was different.

You turned to the League.

— Go! — They shook their heads.

— You can't trust this bastard, darling. We have proof of his betrayal to you. — You looked at Wonder Woman skeptically and crossed your arms. Bucky gulped.

— Oh, really? How so? — You raised an eyebrow.

Batman fiddled with his wrist computer, a second later, a protection was shown and different pictures and videos of your man talking and being very intimate with someone very familiar to you appeared. Your stomach churned and your heart ached.

— This is fake! Doll, you have to believe me! — Bucky cried out and got in front of you, holding your shoulders, trying to cover your vision from the images. You took a step back and kept looking at the images.

The League had more than enough means necessary to fake all of this, but you knew Natasha was Bucky’s ex, and they were still friends and coworkers, even with their intense heartbreak. You sometimes got insecure and worried since they spent so much time together, but he always told you you had nothing to worry about…

You gulped.

The League was all glaring at his back while he shouted a hundred words per minute, desperately trying to convince you he was telling the truth.

Superman growled and walked forward until he grabbed Bucky by his shoulders and pulled him away from you.

— Stay away from them, you asshole. (Y/N), I would never do that to you. — You ignored Green Lantern's words, like you were doing since the pacifier incident. You knew he was getting desperate and that made you specially scared, but at least he gave you some distance.

— Not now. — Batman took a step forward. — A few hours ago, we discovered your relationship. For security reasons, we searched, and found these pictures and conversations from his second social accounts, that he uses to commit his cheating.

— He didn't try to hide much, he thought he wouldn't get caught. — Flash stated.

— I-I need more proof… These could be old… — Your first words spoken made Bucky shut up. Mind scrambling for something.

— Let the Lasso of Truth speak for him. — In a second, the Lasso was thrown around Bucky's torso and he was squirming. — Speak, you worthless mortal! — Wonder Woman ordered.

Bucky was able to struggle for a few seconds, before he blurted out.

— It's truth! It's truth! I told her we broke up and started dating her again! I thought I could have you both at the same time!

You gasped. Your hand shot to your chest.

Flash was on your side in a second, trying to hug and comfort you, but you pushed him away. You started crying from heartbreak and anger.

— HOW COULD YOU?! — You glared at him and pointed at his face.

— Doll… I swear I love you both. But I'm also narcissistic, insecure and look down on women. — The Lasso was really doing its job. You laughed humorlessly.

You had nothing to say anymore. No reason to stay. You took advantage of his tied arms and got close, punched his nose, and stomped away.

The League contemplated going after you and trying to bring you comfort, but Batman and Martian Manhunter decided to just let Bucky go (after intimidating him so as to not get close to you again) and follow you discreetly, watching you from the shadows, intervening only if necessary.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

Taglist:

@wandalfnation

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pukefactory · 30 days ago

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•☽────✧˖°˖ VOCAL REMOTE ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader Who Vocal Stims

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ The first time you meowed mid-conversation, ENA blinked once, paused, and offered you a deal on faux cat ears.“Meow? How quaint! May I offer you a three-for-one promotion on emotional support accessories?” You’d blurted the sound without thought—a little chime of contentment—and she’d answered it with a business proposal, solemn yet too bright-eyed. You laughed. She did not. Her eyes narrowed at the sheer marginal profit loss of wasted dopamine. Later that day, when you meowed again, more stressed this time, Meanie barked, “OH, IS THAT YOUR DISTRESS CALL OR ARE YOU JUST BROADCASTING TO THE DAMN ANIMALS?” You didn’t answer. You just meowed louder. Somehow… that felt like mutual understanding.

☆ You have a habit of repeating her last words under your breath, like an echo that got lost and never found its way back. ENA always notices. “Let’s arrange our next ambush at the scene—” “Ambush at the scene,” you echo, soft, almost reverent. She tilts her head, intrigued. “Practicing for the pitch? Or just haunted by my phrasing?” You hum, dodge the question. But you catch her testing it later. She throws out complex words like bait—“extrapolate,” “obfuscate,” “phenomenological transcendence”—just to hear your little trailing voice imitate her like a living reply. Meanie, however, hates it when you mimic her yelling. “STOP IT!! NO, I SAID STOP IT!! NO, I SAID!! NO, I—!!!” You both go in circles until you collapse in laughter. She does not laugh, but she does shut up.

☆ You tap rhythms on the countertop like Morse code for people who never learned it. Your fingers go tap-tap… tap tap tap… tap— ENA pauses her tea-stirring. “Hm. Is that jazz or a secret complaint about your eggs?” You shrug. You don’t always know yourself. Later that week, she starts replying with percussive desk taps of her own. It becomes your thing. Communication without speech. Her dual-colored hands dance out rebuttals, agreements, warnings. Meanie once banged the counter so hard trying to “respond” she snapped a spoon in two. “I’M SENDING A MESSAGE TOO, DIPSTICK!!” The message was, presumably: aggressive affection.

☆ When you stim by circling around your words, starting sentences with three false starts, ENA listens like it’s poetry. “Today I was—so I was going to—I mean I was thinking about…” She finishes it for you, gently: “Getting the lemon cake? Getting lost in a daydream? Getting ready to cry?” All three were right. You sniffled and nodded. “I read between the ellipses,” she said, smug. “Consider me your translation service for complicated feelings.” Meanwhile, Meanie had already thrown the menu across the café. “FOR GØD’S SAKE JUST SPIT IT OUT! SPIT IT, HACK IT, LAUNCH IT FROM YOUR STUPID THROAT!” She didn’t mean it unkindly. That’s just her love language: verbal bashing with a side of simmering loyalty.

☆ You sometimes sing little songs under your breath—tuned nonsense, soft melodies with no lyrics. ENA pretends to critique your pitch. “Hmmm…could use more vibrato. Also, have you considered writing jingles for our future cult?” But she never interrupts. Never mocks. Never tells you to hush. In fact, the one time you stopped mid-hum and said, “Is this annoying?”, she immediately looked wounded. “Darling. Your noise is the only sound in this world that isn’t static.” You didn’t expect her to say that. You never told her, but you wrote it down and stuck it in your pillowcase.

☆ One day, when you asked her to sing back… ENA tried. It wasn’t melodic. It wasn’t good. ENA cleared her throat like she was about to deliver a corporate anthem and then started crooning a strange, clipped verse: “Profits in the moonlight, margins in your eyes, return on emotional investment—” You burst out laughing. She looked pleased. Later that night, Meanie howled her own song through the hall. Off-key. Screaming. It was about frogs and debt and possibly your name. It was, against all logic, deeply moving.

☆ On your overstimulation days, when your stims get loud, clicks, taps, words that loop like caught records—Meanie at first doesn’t get it. “YOU’RE JUST MAKING IT WORSE! DO YOU WANT TO BE A WIND-UP DOLL ON THE FRITZ?!” But you flinch. Go quiet. She pauses. Squints. “…Hey,” she mutters, kicking at the floor. “You can, uh. Do the thing. Just… not near my megaphone.” By the third time it happens, she builds you a personal sound corner. A little cardboard tent of peace. She calls it dumb, but she’s careful never to rip it.

☆ You once meowed in public, startled, anxious and someone laughed. You shrunk. Went quiet. ENA stepped in front of you immediately, blocking the laughter with a smile sharp enough to bleed. “Dear friend,” she said sweetly to the stranger, “were you planning on finishing your sentence or just chewing your own tongue in futility?” Then, to you, quietly: “Your voice is valid currency. They just tried to pay with lint.”

☆ There’s a special stim you only do when you’re around her: a soft little click at the back of your throat whenever she talks too fast. Click. Click. Click. Like punctuation. At first, she didn’t notice. Then she started slowing down mid-sentence. “Let’s—click—organize—click—our next—click—ambush—click—” “…Are you editing me in real time?” You grinned. Clicked twice for “yes.” She laughed. She actually laughed. “I should start charging for the service.”

☆ The day you had a meltdown, full noise, spiraling echolalia, screaming, panic, ENA didn’t leave. She sat with you. Right there on the tile. Meanie yelled at the noise, not you. “OH SHUT UP, YOU STUPID PANIC, STOP TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS!!” Salesperson held your hand. “This moment is not your enemy. It’s a very intense coworker. Shall I fire it?” You didn’t answer. You just clung. Eventually, the sounds softened. The static in your mind thinned. And ENA, both of her, remained. Because love isn’t silence. It’s who stays when the noise is at its loudest.

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absurdthirst · 2 months ago

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The Wedding Planner {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 28.k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, lying, developing feelings, almost/barely kiss, guilt, mentions of menstrual productions/periods, sex, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, condoms, cock riding, protected sex, squirting, one night together, goodbyes, cock worship, body worship,

Comments: You are Javier and Lorraine's wedding planner. Feeling incredibly guilty about developing feelings for the handsome sheriff's deputy. Unknowingly becoming the reason that Javier never shows up at the church. Spending the night together and sending him off to the DEA. Only to reunite when you happen to plan his cousin's wedding.

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.

“Red roses with baby’s breath.” You scroll down your checklist as you wait for the couple to arrive. Wanting to double check everything for them to sign off on since the bride has already changed her mind a few times and you know that this has the potential to backfire and blow up in your face. Wedding planning can be amazing and rewarding and other times….. it can be exasperating, especially this couple.

Javier Peña and Lorraine Smith, the sheriff’s deputy and the rich girl. It’s bad that you have those snarky thoughts, but you have heard about how the Smith’s are very influential around town. Seen it in the way that the bride flashes a brittle smile and a pointed barb to a few of your vendors. It doesn’t help that every time you meet with them, you have to tamp down your growing attraction to the groom.

Javier sighs as he opens the door to his truck, letting Lorraine out and he sees the way she checks her reflection in the window after he shuts the door for her. He hasn't got time to attend all these wedding appointments but Lorraine is insisting. There's word of a drug haul coming over the Rio Grande and he wants to help the DEA handle it. He is eager to help stop the drug routes but it feels hopeless. Lorraine takes his hand as she walks into your store. It's a little place in a strip mall but it's got all the options on display. Christ, Javier knows he shouldn't find you attractive but you standing there in the middle of the store has his stomach twisting and his cock twitching in his jeans. "Hi!" Lorraine squeals, letting go of his hand to embrace you even though she's criticized you behind closed doors.

“Hi to you!” You let her hug you and return it, but your eyes flutter back to where Javier is awkwardly standing, shuffling and propping his hands on his lean hips. He looks so effortlessly sexy in a pair of jeans and a beautiful blue short sleeved button up. Aviator glasses perched on his nose and made the mustache he sports look even sexier in that Tom Selleck, Burt Reynolds kind of way.

"I know it's been a tight timeline but I want to make sure the caterer knows to get the truffle that I want for the potatoes." Lorraine insists and you nod, looking down at your checklist. "It's ordered and the caterer knows to put it in the mashed potatoes with the steak." You confirm and Lorraine grins, "excellent. We just couldn't wait to be married. I know it's been stressful to do this all so quickly." Javier wants to scoff and tell you why it's a shotgun wedding. Lorraine is pregnant but she doesn't want anyone to know. She's old school and wants her family to think she did things the right way. So of course when she told Javier she was pregnant and showed him the test, he made sure to do the right thing. It's what his ma would've wanted. He proposed and Lorraine has set the wedding date for two months. Enough time for her to not be showing and enough time for Javier to admire the wedding planner before he's a married man. You are gorgeous. Funny, smart, and more organized than the damn sheriff's department. You handle Lorraine with grace and he wants to learn your ways, certain it could help him with his impending marriage to the strong willed woman.

“Oh, we want a truffle butter sauce too.” Lorraine adds and you hum, “I can ask the caterer, but you know that truffles are expensive.” You remind her, knowing that it will be another add on to the already tight budget. You don’t have to glance over at Javier to know that he’s grimacing. They’ve already had plenty of heated discussions about the amount of money she’s spent on this wedding so far. “We could save that expense to use on the extra candles you want?”

Lorraine turns to look at Javier, “baby. I just want this to be perfect. I will talk to my daddy. He can pay for the difference. He wants the best for his little girl. I can only hope Jay will be as good a daddy for our kids.” Lorraine giggles and Javier bites the inside of his cheek. He hates it when she calls him Jay. No one else does and it’s not his goddamn name. He shakes his head, “we can’t ask your daddy to pay for more of this wedding. I- I can swing it.” Javier promises, looking over at you to nod his consent.

You scribble the note in your book, nodding in agreement even though you think it’s a ridiculous expense. Truffle wasn’t even good in most of the applications, and you didn’t care for the way that the caterer used it with the potatoes. However, it’s not your wedding. “Filet medallions with truffle potatoes and truffle butter and asparagus.” You glance back up at the couple to make sure there aren’t any changes to the menu. Lorraine nods and you bite your lip as you look back down at the list. “And have you decided on your final wedding colors?”

Javier bites his lip, unsure of why he even has to be here. Lorraine has already decided on these details and she damn sure didn’t ask him for his opinion. She beams, “pale yellow and pastel green.” Javier resists wrinkling his nose, knowing the colors are her choice but Jesus, did she have to have such bad taste? “My bridesmaids have already gotten their dresses. My dress is ready for alterations. Just need Jay to get his suit and we should be nearly there. The girls I picked for my bridesmaids will make me look extra pretty if you know what I mean.” Lorraine smirks and Javier scoffs, “isn’t one of my cousins a bridesmaid?” He asks and Lorraine shrugs, “she clearly didn’t get the looks from your gene pool.” Javier shakes his head, clenching his jaw to try and keep his annoyance in. He isn’t doing this for him. He’s doing this for his child. That’s what he keeps reminding himself.

You can tell that Javier is annoyed, his eyes tighten and his jaw does this sexy clench thing that bulges out slightly. It makes him look a little dangerous and you try to ignore the way that your stomach flips. “Do we want a best man?” You ask, realizing you had never talked about that with them. “Groomsmen?”

“Oh, Jay’s best friend is serving overseas. He won’t be here for the wedding and my baby isn’t one for social events.” Lorraine coos, caressing Javier’s chest and he stiffens under her touch. “I have friends in the sheriff’s office. I couldn’t invite them because you insisted on inviting so many from your side. I had to make sacrifices.” He says through slightly clenched teeth. Lorraine has railroaded him down the aisle without a say in the damn wedding. He barely managed to get his family invited to make way for her nail tech and her husband.

Your eyes flicker back over to Javier and his own dark eyes seem to communicate his unhappiness, but there is nothing you can do. “Do you want me to make an appointment with the tailor?” You ask the couple. “Classic black tuxedo or suit?”

“Tuxedo.” Lorraine answers for him and Javier frowns. He wanted to wear his cowboy boots. A true Texas wedding. Lorraine wants something less Laredo and more Dallas. He knows it’s best to not argue so he nods his agreement and you nod, “I’ll make your appointment.” Lorraine tilts her head, “make sure it’s the best in town. I don’t want a tin pot tailor.”

You smile blandly, almost insulted by the comment. “Of course.” You assure her, as if you would not work with the best. “That’s all that I have on my list.” You glance down again and make another little note. “Is there anything else either of you need? Javier?” You hate how the groom gets shoved aside and he looks frankly miserable.

“I was wondering if we could do a photo of my mom. On a chair in the ceremony.” He asks and you nod, a soft smile on your face. “Of course.” Lorraine frowns, “baby…we have limited space at the front and my sister is bringing her boyfriend. She asked if he could sit so we need every seat we can get. You don’t mind if he sits on your side?” Javier frowns, “in the front row?” Lorraine nods, “yeah.” Javier shakes his head, “instead of my mom’s photo?” He asks incredulously.

You bite your lip, watching as Lorraine skips over Javier’s wishes like they don’t matter. “Baby, don’t fight me on this please?” She begs, pouting in an exaggerated manner and you want to roll your eyes at her blatant attempts to manipulate. “If you’d like, we can have a photo on a stand at the end of the front row?” You offer, wanting to give him what he wants. “It wouldn’t take a chair and it would keep her photo in your sight when looking out at the guests.”

Javier bites his lip, grateful to you for considering his wishes, and he nods, “that would be great.” Lorraine wants to argue that it will ruin the symmetry but she knows when to pick her battles with Javier. She caresses his chest, smiling at you, while Javier keeps his dark gaze on you. He wonders what you’d say to your fiance if he requested a photo of his mom on a chair. He’s certain you’d say yes. From what he’s seen, you appear to be a beautiful person inside and out. He wishes Lorraine could be considerate and loving but she clearly only loves herself. He’s an accessory to her. Something to own and show off about. He was taken in by her, still grieving his mom, and she was fun. A distraction. One that took a turn.

“Javier, if you will get me the photo you want displayed and her name, I will make sure that the display is tasteful and honorific.” You promise, feeling the weight of his gaze and having to look away for fear of your attraction to him becoming obvious. You already feel your cheeks heating up.

Javier swears he sees your eyes darken and he blinks and the gaze is gone. His stomach twists at the mere idea that you could be attracted to him but Lorraine distracts him by dragging him over to the displays. “I want us to write our own vows.” She tells Javier, touching the vow keepsake on the wall. “I want to hear how much you love me.”

You move over to your desk, trying to settle your nerves and give the couple some privacy. You’ve never been this attracted to a groom before and it rattles you. Sure, you’ve thought some were attractive, or even sweet, but none of them have made you nervous like Javier does. Feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush and it bothers you. It’s unprofessional. You sit down and start to make a list of the calls you need to make tomorrow, knowing that this wedding needs to be finalized quickly. Once Javier is married, the attraction will fizzle away. At least, that’s what you hope.

Javier glances over at you, watching you as you make notes and he half listens as Lorraine rattles on about the last minute details. She’s only twelve weeks pregnant but the wedding is coming up fast and Javier wants to bolt. Christ, he doesn’t want this but he has to follow through. He has to do the right thing.

From the way that Javier is staring off into space when you look up, you know that he’s not paying attention to Lorraine. You wonder how the hell they ever made it to this point, considering that he doesn’t seem to be enthusiastic about this wedding, although she had said he wasn’t much of a social creature.

It doesn’t take long to wrap up the meeting and Javier offers you a nod and a smile as Lorraine gushes over you, hugging you and making you promise this is going to be the best wedding you’ve ever planned. Javier takes her hand and guides her back out into the hot Texas sun. “This wedding is going to be the talk of the town for years to come.” She boasts and Javier hums, unlocking his truck as he resists the urge to look back at your place.

****

“Whiskey. Neat.” Javier orders, tapping his fingers on the counter after he takes a seat at the bar. It’s rough and ready, sawdust and peanut shells on the floor along with the odd cigarette butt while country music plays on the jukebox. Lorraine would never be caught dead in here and that’s what Javier is relying on. He doesn’t want to go home to her and he needs a drink. He lost a high school kid today to an OD. Fucking cocaine. The kid died in his arms when he tried to save him while the paramedics were on their way but it was too late. The cartels are winning and killing innocent people and there’s nothing he can do. He pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket, thanking the bartender when the glass is set down in front of him, and Javier curses as he tries to find his lighter.

“This round is on me.” You promise, grinning as you push away from the pool table after laying your stick down. Turning to the bar, you see a familiar set of shoulders and look around for Lorraine. When you don’t see her, you’re a little relieved that you might not have to talk about wedding details. Walking over and smirking when you see Javier fishing for a lighter. “Here.” You offer, reaching into your pocket for your zippo when you lean against the bar beside him. “Looks like you need that smoke.”

Javier is surprised by your appearance, his eyebrows raising as he puffs on the cigarette and he reaches up to hold it as he exhales the smoke. “Thanks. Didn’t think you smoked?” He says, tilting his head and you chuckle, “I don’t. I just - I use it for candles for weddings. Always have a lighter.” You confess and Javier chuckles, tapping the smoke on the ashtray. “Always prepared. Guess that’s what makes you the best wedding planner in town.” He smirks, reaching for his drink.

His compliment makes you grin and you turn towards the bartender as he walks back over. “Another round of Budweisers.” You order before you watch him take a healthy swallow of his whiskey. “And another round for him.” You add, thinking that he might need it after essentially killing most of his drink already. “Lorraine meeting you here?” You ask.

Javier shakes his head, lifting the cigarette to have another drag, “she’s with her mom going over the final alteration for the dress. I got kicked out and uh, it was a rough day at work so I needed a drink. I should be buying you a drink for putting up with Lorraine’s demands.” He chuckles and exhales the smoke from the side of his mouth.

“Nahhhhh.” You shift slightly, turning towards him as you frown slightly. He looks upset, or sad. Either one almost makes him look annoyed if it wasn’t for his eyes. “You look like you need it more than me.” You murmur softly. You know he’s a cop, so whatever happened had to be bad. “Wanna talk about it? Or just drink?”

He knows he should go to his pa's or at least finish his drink and leave but your eyes are soft and inviting. He feels comforted by just your presence and he sighs, taking another sip of his drink. "Lost a teenager today to coke. I tried to give CPR but he was gone." He confesses, "I feel like the drugs are endless. Whenever we have a bust, there's another mule bringing more across the river. It's an endless fight."

“Oh god.” Your heart shatters and you reach over to lay your hand on Javier’s arm. “I am so sorry, Javier.” You murmur softly. “I can’t even imagine how much that hurts.” You know that he has to be blaming himself for not saving the kid even though there was nothing he could do beyond what he had tried.

“It’s - I feel like it never ends. I want to do more to stop it. I see so many people dying from drugs and I want to help save lives.” He confesses, “I was considering joining the DEA.” He admits, “I got the application from work but I’m not sure.”

“Do you think that you would be able to better help there?” You ask seriously, knowing that Lorraine has talked about when she convinces Javier to leave the sheriff’s department. “If you think you can, maybe you should do it.”

Javier sighs, "Lorraine wants me to quit the sheriff's office to go work with her daddy in his furniture stores. I don't - I'm not a salesman. I want to get these assholes who are killing innocent people." He murmurs, sucking on his cigarette.

“You can’t do that.” You shake your head, reaching for the beers that the bartender brings back over along with the new glass of whiskey for Javier. “If you do that, you’ll end up resenting her for making you change your career.” You tell him. “Hang on for a second. Let me deliver these beers and I’ll be right back.” You don’t want to stop talking with him since he needs a shoulder to lean on but you need to tell the guys you were playing pool with that your sitting out the next few games.

Javier nods, thanking the bartender, and he squashes his cigarette in the ashtray as you come over to the bar again. "You don't have to babysit me, hermosa, if you are out with your friends." He says and you shake your head, "it's not babysitting." He snorts until he softens, turning to look at you. "Thank you." He murmurs, knowing you are trying to be a good person. "It's just been a lot. With the wedding and Lorraine and the - well, I- it's been a rollercoaster."

“I understand.” You tell yourself that you are just providing support for the upcoming groom. Ignoring the way your step seems to bounce as you walk back towards the pool tables, almost giddy to talk to Javier alone.

Your perfume is light and fresh as you settle on the barstool next to him, and he finds himself comparing it to Lorraine's heavy and sweet perfume that she got for Christmas for herself on his card that makes him slightly nauseous. Thankfully she hasn't been wearing it lately. "So...are you planning any other weddings?" He asks, eager to hear you talk a little more.

You laugh. “I am.” You admit, leaning against the bar and taking a sip of your beer. “I’ve got three that are coming up in the next month, and several that are over the next four months.” You are proud of the business that you have slowly been building. “With more women working, having a wedding planner makes things easier for them.” You shrug. “I’ve also planned parties for companies, so I do pretty much anything someone pays me to do.”

He can't help but be impressed. You are impressive, managing all those events, dealing with impatient brides. He smiles and hums, taking a sip of his whiskey, and he pauses after he swallows. "How many weddings have a groom that isn't sure if he wants to get married?" He asks quietly, his dark eyes meeting yours.

It’s a loaded question and one that you need to tread lightly on. His unhappiness seems to pour from his eyes and you don’t want to make him feel like he has to do this. “Quite a few.” You admit honestly. “Sometimes it’s just due to nerves, fears of the future.” You sigh. “Other times…..” you trail off and take another sip of your beer and let his imagination fill in the rest.

****

Javier snorts as he sets his empty glass down. You’ve had a few rounds and he feels relaxed, the horror of his work day pushed aside while you make him laugh at a story of a groom who was so drunk he fell into the wedding cake. “Shit. Lorraine would probably kill me if I did that.” He murmurs and you reach out to touch his arm, “the bride was furious but she laughed. The groom fucked up but she loves him so she let it go. That’s what marriage is, right? Forgiving the other when they mess up because you love them.” You say and Javier taps his fingers on the counter, knowing that Lorraine would probably annul their marriage if he fell into a cake. “Yeah. I guess so.” He sighs, “this guy at the station got married a few months ago. We took him out for a bachelor night and of course he wanted to go to the strip club. We went, sat down and ordered drinks, and they announced the first dancer…his face when the girl came out on stage…it was his sister. He didn’t know she was a dancer. Too scared to tell him.” Javier snorts, shaking his head, “he just about had a heart attack.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes widen as you start to laugh. “Talk about ruining his entire night. He just wanted to see some tits, but not his sisters!” Javier throws his head back and laughs, exposing the long column of his throat at that gorgeous Adam’s Apple. You have to stare, realizing you’ve never seen him laugh like this before, the sound making your stomach flip and your cunt clench around nothing.

Javier chuckles as his laughter settles down and he nods, “he was mortified and took her home. That was the first stop, so bachelor night was cut pretty short.” He turns to look at you after glancing along the bar. “The guys are planning on making it up on my night.” He says and you smile, “it will be epic then.” Javier nods and turns to look at you, “how the hell have you not planned your own wedding yet?” He asks, confused how someone like you is single.

“You know that old saying that those that can’t do, teach?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “I’ve just never found someone that is willing to put up with me, I guess.” You shrug, feeling a little vulnerable.

Javier nods, his eyes burning into yours as he sees the vulnerability there. “Well, I’m sure you’ll meet someone who thinks you are worth putting up with.” He promises, reaching out to touch your hand that’s on the counter.

You don’t think about how inappropriate it is, or how he’s just being polite. Your attraction to Javier makes you lean in to kiss him before you can catch yourself. It’s only when his eyes widen slightly in shock do you realize what you are doing and jump back guiltily. “Oh God. I- I should go.” You stammer out quickly, embarrassed at how big of an ass you are. He’s getting married, he’s a client and you just tried to kiss him. Standing up, you reach into your pocket to pull out money to cover your tab. “I’m so sorry.”

Javier doesn't get a chance to say anything as you rush off and he frowns, his lips tingling from the brief touch of your lips on his, and he sighs. He can't say anything to Lorraine to risk your job but also, he wants to keep this secret. For a brief moment, Javier had a glimpse into a life without Lorraine and he liked it. Just as he considers going after you, the bartender comes over and tells him he has a call. "It's Lorraine." The bartender says and Javier sighs, reaching for his wallet to throw some bills down before he walks to the phone, knowing Lorraine will be chasing him to come home.

****

“Just pretend he is any other groom.” Since that night, you have steered clear of the bar, of the gas station where the cigarettes are the cheapest. Any place that Javier Peña might be. Wallowing in shame, you had halfway expected a screeching call from Lorraine to fire you. Relieved when you hadn’t and hating that you put Javier in that position. Now, one week from their wedding, they are on their way to your office and you are nervous about seeing him again.

Javier opens the door for Lorraine as the bell above your door rings to announce your presence. “Oh Jay. Look at these.” Lorraine rushes over to the mock table to admire the new gold chargers you got in the other day. “Hmmm.” Javier acknowledges her as she admires the table but it’s already been decided and he’s not ready to start the process again.

You swallow down the urge to flee, not even looking at Javier as you stand up and walk over to Lorraine. “One week to go.” You feign excitement, knowing every bride is looking forward to their big day.

Lorraine is beaming as she nods at you, "one week to go until I can call this handsome man mine." She winks at Javier but he doesn't react. Lorraine takes no notice of his lack of excitement and she walks over to where you have a mock set up of the table placement. "I just want you to confirm this is what you want and how you want it." You say and Lorraine eyes the setting while Javier shoves his hands in his jeans. His eyes meet yours and he offers you a small smile, wanting you to know it's okay even though he's really been thinking about that kiss every damn minute. As brief as it was, it consumed him and that made him anxious because he's getting married next week.

You nod awkwardly, trying to keep your demeanor professional, even though you are dying inside. “You know, I don’t think I like the flowers.” You barely resist the urge to groan, knowing that Lorraine had insisted on this arrangement. She had sign off on it. “It’s the red roses with baby’s breath, like you ordered.”

Javier wants to scream as Lorraine changes her mind again. “Baby.” He walks over to her, “I thought you wanted red roses with baby’s breath? Remember? Your cousin had them and you told me you wanted more than her.” He says, knowing that reminding Lorraine of how much she loves to be better than others will get her to agree to this without creating more work for you.

“I know, but it looks a little plain, doesn’t it?” She tilts her head as she looks at the centerpiece. You had made sure that everything was perfect and the were full. “I saw a floral arrangement where there were red, white and pink roses.” You don’t show how frustrated you are, listening to her as she rambles. “I think we should do that.” Shaking your head, you disagree. “I think it would take attention away from your wedding colors.”

Lorraine’s head spins so fast to look at you you swear she nearly breaks her neck. “I want this to be perfect. You want to it to be perfect, right baby?” She coos as she turns to look at Javier who nods and offers you a soft smile, “yes of course but it will clash with the colors you’ve picked. Let’s stick with what you picked. I think you’ll love it on the day.” He says, trying to calm her down.

“No, I want red, pink and white roses.” Lorraine hisses, slapping away Javier’s hand when he reaches for hers. You cut your eyes away and clear your throat. “The flowers have been ordered.” You remind her gently. “Last minute changes will be costly. Especially white and pink roses.”

Javier clenches his jaw, knowing that Lorraine is being completely unreasonable but he knows that provoking her will make this worse. “Fine. How much? I’ll pay for it.” Javier says through gritted teeth, not wanting to ask her daddy to pay for anything else. He’s already ragging on Javier for not making enough money to support Lorraine…he doesn’t even know the whole story.

You wince, knowing that it won’t be cheap, “I’ll have to call the florist, but with the arrangements we have, probably another $600.”

Javier winces at the amount. That’s way more than he imagined but Lorraine is looking at him like he hung the moon and she’s been reminding him that she can’t get stressed out so he nods, reaching for his wallet to write you a check.

You know the florist is going to be upset, but you will buy her a bottle of wine and help her redesign the arrangements. Javier scribbles his name and rips it out of the book, holding it out to you. You hesitate, biting your lip and Lorraine giggles. “Go ahead and take it. It’ll clear, I know he’s good for it.” She coos, reaching out to caress his chest.

Javier tilts his head slightly, wanting to ask if you can wait a couple of days until his payday but he doesn’t. He will ask his Pa for a loan until he’s paid and then pay him back. He’s tired of how much this wedding has cost and he’s a proud man. He doesn’t want to owe Lorriane’s family a dime. He wants to be his own man.

“It’s going to be a few days,” you tell him, folding the check over after taking it out of his hands. “I don’t pay for the flowers until they arrive.” What you don’t say is that you want to wait until Lorraine cannot possibly make any more changes.

Javier nods, a little relieved, and Lorraine squeals, leaning in to kiss him. “I can’t wait for the wedding. I have so many family members coming into town. They are so excited to see me.” She grins and your frown catches Javier’s eyes as Lorraine rushes back over to the table. He had to sacrifice his own family member’s invites to make way for Lorraine’s.

You swallow, unsure of what to say to him, so you don’t say anything until he murmurs your name. “Javier.” You rush out at the same time and then there’s that awkward pause but you push forward. “Have you finalized your fittings with the tailor?” You ask, reminding yourself that this mind is getting married in seven days.

He nods, “yeah. I, uh, I’m due to go in on Tuesday for the final fitting.” He explains and you nod, “good. That’s perfect.” Lorraine smiles at you, a little unnerving, but she wants everything to be perfect. She wants the town to talk about this wedding for years to come.

“Is there anything else we need to discuss?” You ask. “The seating chart is set and the venue will set up the sweetheart table instead of a family style wedding party table.”

Lorraine squeals again, “it’s going to be incredible and I get to make this gorgeous man mine. All mine.” She leans in to kiss Javier and his mind flashes back to the kiss you put on his lips. Fuck, it’s hard to not be reminded of it every time he looks at you. He swallows down that feeling, shoving it from his mind as he kisses Lorraine on her hair. “It’s going to be amazing.” He agrees but it doesn’t sound authentic to his own ears

“Amazing.” You agree, clapping your hands together after a moment of awkward silence. “Well, I know you two probably have a lot to do, getting ready for your big day, so I’ll let you two get at it.” It sounds embarrassing and awkward, but you just give them a smile.

Lorraine grins, “yes. Lots to do.” She smirks at Javier who offers her a bland smile. She wants sex which is strange because she hasn’t fucked him since the night he proposed. He loves sex, craves it, but he never pushes himself on his partner. He has waited for her to come back to him and apparently tonight is that night. “I’ll see you soon.” You promise and Javier nods, thanking you as he takes Lorraine’s hand to guide her from your place.

When they leave, you sit down at your desk and sigh. One more week and you can put all of this behind you. Javier will be married and starting his perfect life with Lorraine. You just need to make it through.

****

Javier exhales as he adjusts his suit jacket. He stares in the mirror as he takes in the sight of his wedding attire. Today is the day. The day he’s going to marry Lorraine. He sighs, rubbing his freshly shaven chin and he’s anxious. His pa is getting ready and Javier feels like he needs some fresh air before he heads to the church. “Pa! I’m going to get some air. I’ll meet you at the church!” He calls out and Chucho chuckles as he lowers his razor. He knows that his son isn’t marrying the love of his life today. He remembers when he married Maria. He could hardly contain his excitement. Hell, he would’ve eloped if he could. Javier slams the door to his truck, taking a moment before he turns the key to start the engine and he reaches for his pack of cigarettes. “Shit.” He groans. He’s out. He decides to head to the store he knows will be open on a Sunday. His usual place will be closed for church.

“Shit, shit.” You had been dragged into the bridal suite at the church to quell another crisis. The fifth one of the day, but this one has a time crunch. There aren’t a lot of stores open today and it’s just your damn luck that the extra supply of tampons you keep in your purse is gone. Now you are hunting down a box for the bride since she just started. “Where the hell is the fucking tampon aisle?” You hiss, unfamiliar with the layout of this store.

Javier strides to the front, pulling out his wallet, and the cashier tilts his head, nodding when Javier grunts “Marlboros.” He points to the pack he wants and the cashier nods, working on getting the pack and ringing him up. Javier taps his fingers on the counter and he turns his head just as you come barreling towards the cash register. He says your name, eyes wide and he looks down at the box of tampons in your hand, raising his eyebrows.

Your eyes widen in surprise to find Javier standing in the store in his wedding tuxedo. He looks damn good and it makes your cheeks burn when he looks down at the box in your hand. “Oh they aren’t for me!” You blurt out, resisting the urge to hide the box behind your back. You’re a grown ass woman for Christ’s sake. “Lorraine started her period, so don’t be surprised if she’s not feeling up for anything tonight.” You wince again, knowing that wasn’t very helpful to blurt that out, but he is about to marry her today. Surely he’s been disappointed when she was on her period.

Javier is frozen. He frowns, his gaze flicking down to the box in your hand. “I’m sorry. You said - you said Lorraine started her period?” He asks, eyes wide when he looks at you in shock. “Yeah?” You frown, confused, “she said she needed them right away so she didn’t get blood on her dress.” Javier shakes his head, glancing around the store and his eyes meet yours as he shakily inhales. “Lorraine is supposed to be fifteen weeks pregnant.”

“Oh….oh god.” At first, your heart drops. Thinking that Lorraine is going through something horrible until you remember what she said. “How? She said that she hated being on her period during her bachelorette weekend.” You had to listen to her complain about her plans being ruined and you had just assumed she had meant the wedding night and honeymoon activities.

Javier shakes his head, “unbelievable.” He can’t believe it. She’s lied to him. He saw the scan. She went to the doctor alone because he had to work and he believed her. He fucking proposed because she got pregnant. “Fuck.” He growls in anger and he shakes his head, turning to the cashier who has wide eyes. “Pen and paper.” Javier demands and the cashier hands it to him with shaky hands. He scribbles a note and hands it to you. “Give this to her.” He orders, grabbing his cigarettes, “and take her the damn tampons.” He throws some cash down for the box, his heart pounding and his blood boiling as he strides out of the store.

You are so confused and your heart is pounding in your chest. The sinking feeling that you had just done something horrible settles in your stomach and you quickly pay for the tampons and rush out to your car. You want to read the folded note, but you can’t. It wouldn’t be right. “Shit.” You huff, knowing you have to go give Lorraine this letter and instinctively knowing it’s not good.

Lorraine is admiring herself in the mirror when you return and she turns to look at you. “About time. Took forever to get some damn tampons.” She scoffs and the bridesmaids giggle despite their puffy dresses that make most people wince. “So-sorry. I, uh, bumped into Javier and he gave me a note to give you.” You say, setting the box of tampons down after giving her the note. Lorraine grins, grabbing the note and she turns to look at the others, “probably a note to tell me how much he can’t wait to marry me. He’s a secret romantic.” She coos and opens the note. Her smile falls as she reads and then re-reads the note. It says ‘I know there’s no baby, Lorraine. It’s over. I’m not marrying you today.’ She gasps, crumbling the paper, and she looks at the box of tampons and then to you. “Did he see these?” You choke, unable to answer, and Lorraine screams, tossing the box across the room. “What’s happened?” Her maid of honor asks and Lorraine turns to them. “Javier has run off. He told me he can’t marry me. He’s left me at the altar!” She starts to sob, desperate to garner sympathy for this.

You sigh softly, knowing that you will need to be the one to tell the guests that have started gathering that there won’t be a wedding. You step back as the bridesmaids swarm around Lorraine and coo, immediately bashing Javier for being too much of a coward to face you himself.

Javier doesn’t know what he’s doing. He drives and drives until he stops at the only phone box in town. He curses as he grabs some change and pulls the piece of paper out of his jacket that was written on the letter he received a few days ago. He was going to throw it in the trash, considering it a pipe dream that would never happen, but was nice to know it was possible. He taps his fingers on top of the metal box as the line rings and they answer. “Houston DEA office.” Javier gives the name of the letter sender and he’s connected through after a few beeps. “Hi, it’s Javier Peña. When can I start?” He asks, feeling this is the right thing to do in his gut.

It’s hours later before you pull up to your house. Exhausted and wrung out from the questions, tears and blame that had been bandied about. Mr. Peña, Javier’s father, had walked into a shit storm when he arrived at the church. You had quickly shuffled him out the door and explained the options. There wasn’t any way to get any money back from the wedding, so you had suggested they go enjoy the reception and eat the food and drink the booze. Luckily enough, the guests liked the idea and Lorraine had been escorted from the church, weeping, by her parents. You sigh as you gather up your purse to go into the house, eager to strip off your dress and soak in a well deserved bath.

Javier doesn’t know why he’s here. He called the office and got the address, ignoring the questions of why he wasn’t currently getting married. He parked up and he’s pacing, the sun beating down on his face as he takes a drag of his cigarette. When your car pulls into the driveway, he exhales the smoke and tosses it to the ground, snubbing it out with his polished dress shoe.

Getting out of your car, you toggle your keys in your hand to find your house key. Eager to get inside and take off the practical flats you wear when working. Someone saying your name captures your attention and you turn to find Javier hurrying towards you. “Javi!” You gasp out in surprise to find him in front of your house. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you, seeing the compassionate glaze in your eyes and he can’t help it. He surges forward to cup your cheeks, his lips meeting yours in a kiss he’s imagined so many times since you pecked his lips at the bar.

Any questions die when he presses his lips to yours. The small squeak of surprise turning into a groan when he takes advantage of that to slide his tongue inside your mouth, your hands coming up to grab his shoulders, to either push him away or pull him closer you couldn’t decide, but you ultimately press your body as close to him as you can and give into the attraction you have for him, kissing him back just as eagerly.

He groans, his entire body lighting up, and he has never felt this way when he kissed Lorraine. He pulls you closer until he realizes that you’re outside and he needs to strip you down, hear you moan his name like he’s ashamedly imagined. He reluctantly pulls back, your lips chasing his until he nudges your nose with his own, needing you to take a beat. “Baby. Baby. Keys. Inside.” He demands, “if you want. If not, if not I’ll leave now.”

You search his gaze, finding need and lust swirling in the dark depths of his eyes. You should feel guilty, knowing that you contributed to him not showing up to that church tonight, but you just take a shake breath and nod. “Inside. Yes.”

He steps back, allowing you to walk to the front door to unlock it with your keys. Your hands shake a little and he keeps his hands to himself until you push the door open. His hands find your hips and he pushes you further into your home, kicking the door shut, and he wastes no time pushing you up against the wall of your hallway, his lips finding yours again.

You moan into the kiss. Reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulder and give into the need that you had felt for him. You know that this is wrong, that you should be talking to Javier rather than kissing him, but you can’t stop.

He's grateful he took the bow tie and tuxedo jacket off in his truck so your hands can explore his back over the thin material of his shirt. His tongue sliding back into your mouth and his hands are everywhere, finding your ass to squeeze the flesh, pulling you against his hardening cock.

You can feel him growing against your hip, making you moan into his mouth. Your fingers pull at the crisp white shirt, dragging it free from the neatly tucked in edges under his pants.

He feels like he's been consumed by desire for you. Every sordid thought he's ever had and felt guilty about is surfacing and his hand slides up your thigh, under your dress. His fingers play with the cotton of your underwear and he slides his digits along to press against your clit through the material.

You shiver and moan again. Feeling the firm pressure of his fingers and knowing that this man is talented. There’s no hesitation in his touch, just the eagerness to hear you make a sound for him, considering how his cock twitched in his pants when you moaned.

You are damp through the material and that makes him groan your name. His lips press against your jaw while your hands slide along his back under his shirt until you start to fumble with the buttons. "Fuck, hermosa." He murmurs when your palms slide against his bare skin while his fingers rub your clit.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You pant, trying to reason with him and yourself even as your fingers pluck the buttons from their slots. “You were supposed to be married by now.” Javier snorts and his teeth nip your pulse, making you whimper. “But I’m not married.” He points out.

He knows this is sudden. He just left Lorraine at the altar and now he's here. You should slap him, tell him to fuck off. Instead, you're grinding into his touch and caressing his skin. "I want you." Javier murmurs, "haven't stopped thinking about that kiss in the bar."

“Me either.” You admit breathlessly. “I shouldn’t be so attracted to you. You are - were - engaged.” You flick the end of his belt open. “But I want you so bad it hurts.”

“I’m not engaged anymore. I told her in that note that it’s over. It was before I found out she was pregnant.” He confesses, “I was trying to do the right thing. This feels like the right thing.” He groans, pulling his hand away to grab the hem of your dress and he leans back from you so he can pull it over your head.

“Fucking against the door of my house feels like the right thing?” You laugh, pulling his belt open and freeing it from the loops of his pants. “I have a bed.”

“No. Fucking a woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about and not marrying the one that lied to me about being pregnant is the right thing.” He clarifies and tosses your dress to the floor. “Bed. Now.” He orders, needing you to guide him to your bedroom.

You grin at his order, enjoying the way his raspy voice drops roughly. It makes your cunt clench as you slide by him, reaching down and squeezing his cock briefly. “Come on and I’ll show you what I’ve been thinking about.”

Javier groans your name, toeing off his shoes before following you down the hall, and when you open your bedroom door, he’s shrugging off his shirt. You turn towards him and his breath catches when he sees you standing there with eager eyes. “Hermosa.” He murmurs, stepping closer to kiss you again.

You lick your lips, reaching up and caressing the smooth, tanned skin of his chest. He’s lean and strong, muscle sinewy under your fingertips. “You are beautiful.” You breathe out, body tense with need. You lean in and press your lips to his neck before he can kiss you.

He groans when you kiss him so softly, his hands gripping your waist and he slowly walks you backwards towards your bed while his fingers fumble with the clasp of your bra. “Want to see all of you.” He murmurs against your chin as he drags it down your arms. He groans at the sight of your tits and he wastes no time ducking his head, his hand cupping your breast to tilt it so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You moan, loving how eagerly he touches you. How it’s not just stripping you down to slide inside you. He sucks and flicks his tongue over the hard nipple, making you whimper in pleasure as you run your fingers through his hair, the crunch of the hair gel and hair spray making you giggle.

He wishes you could run your fingers through his hair but his hair is slicked back for the day for what was supposed to be wedding photos. He groans as you grip his shoulders and he sucks on your nipple, biting down before he switches to the other one.

You whine his name, loving how attentive he is to your body. Groaning against your tit and continuing to suckle like he is a man starved. Lorraine is a beautiful woman so you have to be proud of the fact that this man wants you. His hard cock digs into your thought and you reach down between you to slip your hand in his pants and you hum when you find no underwear and wrap your fingers around his cock.

He hisses against your skin and you fumble to unbutton his pants, shoving them down a little before you take his cock in your hand once more. “Lay down.” He rasps, needing to see all of you. You reluctantly let go of his cock and lay down, allowing him to shove his pants down and kick them aside, stumbling as he peels off his socks. He’s fully naked in front of you and his gaze is dark as he reaches out to hook his fingers in your panties.

Biting your lip, you lift your hips and let him drag them down. They aren’t sexy, they are just practical cotton, comfortable for work but you don’t think he cares. He tosses them aside and groans as he looks down at you. His cock twitches and you get the best view in the world as he reaches down and squeezes his cock before he slowly starts to stroke himself. “Fuck.” You moan, reaching out with your foot to run along his calf. “I want you Javier.”

He nods, happy you are as eager for him as he is for you. He grabs your calf, letting go of his cock to slide his hand along your leg until he is pushing your thighs apart. “Wanna taste you.” He murmurs, shifting to kneel between your thighs and he presses kisses to your skin as he works his way up to your cunt.

“You don’t have to do that.” You promise, trying to close your legs, but his broad shoulders are wedged between them, keeping them open. “Javi-“ you whine. “I haven’t shaved.” You hate shaving, but your ex boyfriend would barely touch you if you didn’t have everything nearly bare. And he never wanted to go down on you, complaining that he didn’t like it.

Javier scoffs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pushes your thighs apart. “I don’t care about that.” He promises, knowing that Lorraine was meticulous about shaving or waxing but he didn’t care. She became boring during sex, laying there and he lost his passion for her. Right now, there’s passion burning inside him and he is starving for you. He leans in, sliding his tongue through your folds without hesitation .

You gasp in complete awe as he starts to devour you. His dark eyes flickering up to your face and then down to your heaving tits as you open for him. Your stiff legs relax and fall open even more, yielding to whatever he wants as long as he keeps going. It’s been so long since someone touched you with such desire. “Javi.”

He doesn’t have forever to spend between your legs, he has places to go, but right now, he takes his time to slide his tongue through your folds. Flicking it over your clit and he loves the strangled cry that escapes your lips as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh god.” You moan and roll your hips down to his tongue, wanting more. Still, you want him inside you more. “Javi, baby, you need to fuck me.” You beg, fumbling for the nightstand to pull out a condom. You haven’t had sex in a long time, but you believe in being safe.

He was going to ask if you had a condom. He’s been with Lorraine and he doubts she cheated on him but he wants you to be safe. He pulls away from your cunt, licking his lips, and he shifts to kneel between your spread thighs, hand held out for the condom.

You could cry in relief when you grab the foil packet. Practically flinging it at him and lunging up to wrap your hand around his cock and pumping it as he rips open the condom. He twitches in your hand, making you groan. “I want to suck your cock .” You decide.

“No. No. Wanna be inside you.” He says, batting your hand away so he can roll the condom down his length. He’s so fucking eager for you. He’s twitching as he grips himself and shuffles closer to you. “Are you sure?” He asks, his gaze meeting yours.

Your eyes meet his and you don’t hesitate. “Yes.” You pant, leaning in and pressing your lips to his as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and drag him back down to the bed with you. His other arm braces his weight so he doesn’t crush you and your legs immediately lift up to his hips as he falls into place between your thighs perfectly.

He reaches between you to grip his cock, positioning himself at your entrance, and he slowly starts to sink into you. “Fuck.” He exhales, his gaze flicking between watching his cock disappear into you and your face as he stretches you out.

Your eyes slip closed in bliss as he slides inside you. The thickness chasing away the lonely voids and any sense of guilt or doubt as he fills you. The pinch of pain mixing with the pleasure, making you groan in awe of Javier Peña fucking you. “Oh fuck.”

He exhales shakily as he fills you to the hilt and he takes a breath before he starts to move. It’s slow at first, your whimpers making him twitch inside you, but he is soon picking up the pace to push deep into your pussy. His hand shifting to squeeze your tit.

Every thrust of his hips feels like magic to you. Pushing, filling, only to make you lift your hips to beg for him back when he draws back again. Your nails start the slow, deep drags down his back, digging in when he hits perfectly as you moan. “Fuck, baby, so good.” You whine. “More, harder.”

He can’t deny you. This is more than he’s ever felt when he’s been with other women. You bring something out of him that has him ravenous. He groans your name and fucks you harder, his skin slapping against yours as grunts escape his lips.

You take everything, loving how he’s slowly starting to lose control. The dark pleasure in his eyes is made even hotter by the clench of his jaw. The way his teeth snap together when you clench down around him. Both of you need this, that is obvious and you make sure that you aren’t passive, wanting him to feel just as needed as you feel right now.

Your legs wrap around him, pushing him deeper into your cunt, and Javier pants, loving it. “Fuck, hermosa.” He wants you to cum for him. Adjusting the angle, he grinds his pelvis against your clit, needing to hear you fall apart.

“Oh fuck, fuck Javi.” Your eyes roll back as he changes the angle. Pressing into you perfectly and making your body sing with every roll of his hips. “I’m so close.”

He leans closer to press kisses to your jaw up to your ear, “cum for me, baby.” He demands and you cry out as you clamp down on his cock. “Shit.” He hisses at how tight you grip his cock and he tries to work you through it. Your nails dig into his skin but he doesn’t care. He slows down and kisses your neck. “So fucking good.” He murmurs and he shifts to roll over, bringing you with him. “Want you to ride me. Take what you want.” He orders, smacking your ass.

You are sprawled on top of him, your entire body limp with pleasure but you want to feel more. Kissing him, you push up off his chest, groaning at how deep he feels from this angle. “You just want to watch my tits bounce.” You tease, taking his hands and bringing them up to your breasts as you start to swivel your hips.

He chuckles, squeezing your tits and pushing them together as you start to move on top of him. “Baby, want to watch all of you bounce on top of me. Fuck. So fucking pretty.” He groans, cock twitching inside you as you rock your hips.

You’ve never felt sexier. Javier twitches and groans as you start to pick up the pace. His thighs spreading and squeezing together under you as he lifts his hips slightly, chasing the tight heat of your cunt. This is obviously a man who loves sex and you can see why. He feels incredible. “Fuck baby, so good. Fuck you have such a good cock.”

He loves your praise, his hands squeezing your tits before they slide down to grab your ass, helping you rock on top of him. "You're so goddamn gorgeous. I - fuck - thought it when we first met. Tried to ignore how gorgeous you are but you are so fucking kind. So fucking sweet." He confesses breathlessly as you grind down onto him.

“Thought you were so sexy.” You feel guilty, but push that thought away. “From the beginning, I was jealous of Lorraine. You are caring, you let her be herself.” You snort and lean down to press your lips to his. “Thought you were too good for her.”

Javier chuckles, "enough about her. Wanna focus on you." He demands, sliding his hand across your hip until his thumb is pressing against your clit. "Want to hear you moan for me again. Wanna feel that tight pussy clench." He murmurs, eyes dark as his gaze trails up to your face from your cunt.

You moan his name, loving how dirty it sounds coming out in his raspy voice. “Soaked for you.” You promise breathlessly. “Gonna cum for you.”

He groans, cock twitching and he’s close but he wants to see you fall apart again. He rubs your clit a little harder, thrusting his hips up into you, desperate to feel you clamp down on his cock again.

Your tits are pressed against his chest as you rock down on his cock desperately. Pressing his hand between your bodies as he rubs your clit. “Javier.” You whine against his lips, rocking back upright again and tossing your head back. “Javi!” You cry out in pleasure as your cunt clenches down around him and soak him with your cum.

He watches you writhe above him, eyes squeezed shut and jaw dropped as you soak his cock and he growls, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you close so he can thrust up into you. He is a man possessed as he fucks you through your high and he’s soon climbing to his own. He pants your name, thrusting up into you as he grips your skin and finally he lets out a choked version of your name as he cums, spilling into the condom.

You collapse against his chest, his arms locked around your body as you pant. Trying to catch your breath and giggling in pure bliss as you sigh. “That was fucking amazing.” You hum, turning your head and kissing his jaw.

He hums in agreement, turning his head towards you so he can kiss you, his tongue languidly sliding against yours until he gently bites down on your chin. “Better than I imagined.” He confesses with a little guilt in his tone.

“I know.” You promise, pulling back and caressing his cheek. “You just broke up with your fiancée. You feel guilty because you should have been imagining her. But I think everyone has fantasies about others. You didn’t act on it. I kissed you, and I’m sorry that I put you in that position. I was completely wrong.”

Javier takes your hand from his cheek and presses a kiss to your palm. “I shouldn’t have encouraged you.” He confesses, knowing he wasn’t in a rush to get back to Lorraine and he might have flirted a little. He shifts, rolling you over so he can pull out of you, keeping his grip on the condom before he ties it off and tosses it into the waste bin next to your bed. “I, uh, I’m not staying in Laredo.” He confesses, looking at you after he caresses your leg.

“I figured.” You admit, reaching out and stroking his side. “When you mentioned the DEA, I heard how badly you wanted to do it in your voice.” Your heart aches but you know that he can’t stay here. Not after jilting Lorraine at the altar. It’s going to be the talk of the town for months to come. “When are you leaving?” You ask softly.

“Tomorrow.” He murmurs, glancing across the room, “I called the office before I came over here. I wanted to explain to you properly why I called off the wedding. Lorraine told me she was pregnant. Showed me the test she took and basically said I had to do the right thing. I knew my pa would kill me for leaving her pregnant so I had to propose. Her dad basically got the shotgun and told me what I had to do. I didn’t want to get married. Hell, I didn’t want to marry her. I was railroaded and she wasn’t even fucking pregnant.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes.

“Oh god, and when you found me buying tampons for her…..” you shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Javier.” You murmur, stroking his chest over his heart. “At least you found out before you got married, you got to break free.” You snort. “And you’re leaving, so you don’t have to put up with the backlash from leaving her.” You sigh. “There are some things I might be able to get your money back on.” You tell him. “Do you want me to send any of it back to your dad?”

Javier nods, “yeah. Give it back to my dad but don’t stress yourself out getting it back. I’m honestly glad I didn’t have to get married to her. I fell out of love with her. Watching her plan this wedding…it was all about her. What she wanted. It didn’t matter what I wanted at all and that made her ugly to me.” He admits and takes your hand in his to press a kiss to the back of it.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh softly. “Sometimes, wedding planning brings out the worst in people, or maybe it’s that it shows who they truly are at their core.” You shrug. “But now, you are going to go do what you really want to do. Go help stem the drug problems in the country.” You smile. “I think that’s incredible, Javier.”

“It’s what I feel is right, what I need to do. I told Lorraine I wanted to go but she told me to be serious and focus on making money to provide for our family. She didn’t support me.” He sighs, “but that’s over. It’s over. I’m sorry I can’t stay. If things were different…I’d take you for dinner…dancing. Treat you right.” He offers you a half smile.

“Oh god, could you imagine the scandal?” You snort, your eyes widening comically. “Lorraine would come for my head!” You giggle and shake your head, leaning up and pressing your lips to his. “I understand.” You promise. “How about I order a pizza and we drink the beer I have in my fridge?” You suggest. “Or are you more of a hamburger kind of guy?”

Javier chuckles, “I’ll eat anything but Pizza sounds good. Order it and there’s cash in my pocket. I’m paying.” He insists, shifting to stand up so he can grab his pants, pulling them on and leaving them unbuttoned. “I’ll go get the beers.” He winks and strides out of your bedroom, stepping over the strewn out clothes.

You chuckle and lean over to grab the phone off the cradle to dial the local pizza place that will deliver to you. “Hey, you want a supreme?” You call out as you dial.

“Sounds good, hermosa.” He calls back and he checks your drawer to find the bottle opener. He works fast to open the bottles and he tosses the caps before he takes the bottles and hands one to you where you’re leaning against the doorway with the phone in your hand.

“Ummmhmmm.” You hum into the phone. “Deep dish.” You raise your eyebrows at him to make sure that’s okay and smile when he nods. “Extra sauce, um, everything. A supreme.” You listen for another moment, taking a swallow of the beer and humming in pleasure. “Yeah. Okay, yeah, we’ll pay cash. Twenty minutes? Thanks.” You reach over and hang the phone up and grin. “Pie will be here in twenty minutes. Enough time to smoke and have a beer or two.”

He watches you put the phone back in the holder and he reaches for you, grabbing your waist to pull you against him. “Every fucker in Laredo is a goddamn fool if you haven’t been planning your own wedding yet.” He observes, wanting you to know what he thinks since he’s leaving tomorrow.

You smirk and let yourself lean against him. “You should be tired of weddings right now.” You remind him. “Maybe one day.” It’s not a priority for you right now, not when you are establishing your business.

Javier chuckles and nods, letting go of your waist. “You mind if I smoke in here?” He asks and you shake your head, stepping back to grab him an ashtray while he finds the pack of cigarettes he bought earlier, working fast to light on and he inhales the smoke while watching you wear the white shirt he bought for his wedding day. “I hope you don’t get shit from Lorraine.” He says after he exhales the smoke.

You know that it’s possible but you shrug. “She was too busy spinning the truth to make herself look like the victim.” You admit. “I’m afraid your own reputation is going to be mud for a while.”

Javier shrugs, walking over to tap the cigarette on the side of the ashtray. “Good thing I won’t be here to find out about the shit she says. You’ll look out for my Pa, though? Make sure he doesn’t get dragged into it when people ask you for gossip.”

“Of course.” You promise, watching as his shoulders roll down in relief and you kick your lips. The man should not be this attractive. “And I’m not going to say anything about you.”

Javier snorts, bringing the cigarette to his lips as he pulls the chair out to sit at your kitchen table. “Like I said, I won’t be here to hear the whispers but hopefully it will die down in a few months.” He says, pursing his lips to exhale the smoke. “She will bring the town on her side but it doesn’t matter. Let her process it how she wants. I’m not married to her. That’s all that matters.”

“True.” You take another sip of your beer and sigh. “You get to decide how you live your life, no nagging wife.” You chuckle. “No kids that you didn’t really want.” You don’t know if Javier wants kids ever or if he just didn’t like the idea of kids with Lorraine. It’s not really any of your business. “You can do whatever you want. Fuck whoever you want.”

Javier chuckles, nodding as he picks up the beer bottle and takes a gulp, “I love sex. I do.” He smirks and drags his eyes along your form, “and I’m going to stop these fucking cartels while you grow your business but damn if I won’t think about you while I’m alone in bed.”

“Honestly?” You tilt your head. “I don’t see you being alone in bed often.” You admit. “I can see that you’d be the type of man who needs sex to forget about his troubles.” You take another sip of your beer. “That night in the bar….I just wanted to take you into the bathroom and suck your cock.”

“Fuck.” Javier murmurs, tapping the cigarette on the ashtray as he leans back in the chair, slumping slightly. “If I was single, I wouldn’t have objected.” He confesses, “shit happens. I could be alone. If I get assigned somewhere…hell, I could be in the middle of the fucking desert with just my hand.”

“There’s a sexy image for me to think about.” You tease, winking playfully. “Javier Peña stroking his cock as he thinks about a pair of tits, a warm cunt.” You chuckle. “Maybe even mine.”

“Definitely yours.” He chuckles, feeling light despite the heavy events that have led to this moment. “Definitely. Yours.” He drags out before he snubs his smoke in the ashtray and he pats his thigh. “Wanna find out what I’ll be thinking about?” He teases, a cocky smirk on his lips.

“Absolutely.” You immediately take up the invitation. “We’ve only got one night, after all.” You won’t guilt him about it, so you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. You’re lucky to just get tonight, he could be dancing his wedding dance to Lorraine right now.

He reaches out to caress your cheek, his tongue sliding against yours, and he is happy to have you in his lap. He groans when you tangle your fingers in his hair and he lets you tug on it, pulling his mouth from yours and his neck stretched as you tilt his head so you can kiss the skin there.

You take your time. Learning that he grunts in amusement when you kiss right below his ear, as if it tickles. His pulse quickens against your tongue. The spicy scent of his cologne is heady and you groan at the slightly salty taste of his skin.

You are worshipping his neck and he doesn't think he's ever had that before but fuck, he likes it. His cock hardens beneath you and he reaches down to squeeze your ass, rocking you on top of him.

“Ready to go again?” You giggle, continuing to kiss and nip at his skin. You’re ready, but you find yourself craving him more and more. “Think we can do it before the food arrives?”

"Gino's Pizza delivers in twenty minutes or less so we have about ten minutes. I think I can make you cum twice in that time." He smirks, grabbing your ass and he stands as he lifts you, turning to put you on top of your kitchen table. "Bend over." He orders, reaching into his pants for his wallet to grab the condom he had in there before Lorraine got pregnant. You follow his order and he tosses the wallet onto the table while he pulls his cock out and rips open the packet to roll the condom down his cock. "Nine minutes." You count and he chuckles, pushing his shirt up your hips, and he kicks your ankle to spread you wider before he positions himself and pushes into you.

The way he pushes into you makes you cry out. Gripping the edge of the table and lifting up onto your toes as you try to push back. “Fuck!” He chuckles, fingers digging into your hips as he starts to move. “Oh fuck me hard.” You beg breathlessly. “Want to feel it.” You want to feel him for days when you move or sit down, loving that ache in your pussy when you are fucked right.

He won't deny you anything right now so he starts to fuck you harder, the table scrapping against your linoleum floor as he thrusts deeper, harder, and faster. His hand grips your hip, the other pressed against your back, and his jaw is clenched. "Feel so goddamn good, baby." He murmurs, sweat starting to bead on his forehead as he gives you everything.

“M-my line.” You pants out, moaning as you turn your head to press your cheek against the cool wood of the table. You love how deep he gets, the harsh thrusts making your ass jiggle as he slams into you. You will think about it every time you sit here after he’s gone. “Fuck baby. So good.”

He grunts, nostrils flaring in the effort he’s taking to push you over the edge. He desperately wants you to cum again for him. Then again. Before you have pizza. Your ass jiggles and he can’t help letting go of your hip to smack the flesh, watching it jiggle and he squeezes it then pulls your cheek apart so he can watch his cock disappear into your greedy cunt.

“Oh god.” You whine, feeling your body pull tight as he changes the angle. Leaning back against you and holding your ass cheeks wide while he hammers into you. It’s filthy and so sexy that it makes your stomach twist as you get closer. “Gonna cum.” You manage to garble out right before you clench down around him, the wordless cry loud as you come apart.

He growls as you squeeze his cock, your cry echoing in the kitchen, and he doesn’t stop. He continues to push into your cunt that’s gripping him like a vice. He pants your name, “need you to cum again.” His hands let go of your ass and he grips your shoulders, leveraging himself to work into your pussy harder than possible.

“Oh, oh- oh fuuuuuuuuuck!” You squeal as he pushes you through your orgasm and into overstimulation. Your legs shake and you would collapse if the table wasn’t holding you up.

He carries on fucking you hard like you wanted. Your cries hit his ears but his heart is pounding as he works himself into your pussy and it squelches around his thick length as the table moves another inch from its original position.

He’s like a man possessed and it’s not long before you are winding up again. “Oh god, oh fuck, Javi!”

He loves the way you cry out his name. You’re shaking beneath him and he is fucking you like a madman. Lorraine never let him get rough. Didn’t want to get her hair messed up. He groans and grabs your thigh, lifting it onto the table so he can sink deeper, “cum for me.” He rasps his order, bending over your body to bite down on your shoulder.

The next thrust spears up against that perfect spot inside you. Making you scream in pleasure while your walls pulse around him. Soaking his cock in your cum as you start sobbing his name over and over again.

You’re gripping him so tight he can hardly push into you but he throbs, pushed over the edge with the way you’ve soaked his balls with how hard you came, and he twitches as he spills into the condom. Your name choked from his lips as he leans over you, burying his face in the back of your neck.

Both of you are silent as you try to catch your breath. The tick of the clock on the wall the only thing that you can hear until there is a knock on the door. “Just in time.” You joke, smiling when he huffs and groans against your skin.

He chuckles and shifts to grip the base of his cock, pulling out of you, and he works fast to tie off the condom. He tosses it in your trash and pulls his pants up, grabbing his wallet from the table and he makes his way to the door. He opens it and the teenager he pulled over last week for speeding has wide eyes. “Officer, uh, Peña.” He murmurs in surprise and Javier sighs, realizing he’s been spotted here. He doesn’t care about his reputation but he does care about yours. “Listen kid. I’ll give you a damn good tip if you didn’t see me here.” He says and the teenager nods, “yes sir.” Javier nods and hands him the cash plus a decent tip, taking the pizza, and he quickly shuts the door.

You see his face when he walks back into the kitchen and you bite your lip. “Everything alright?” You ask, and he nods, giving a little sigh. “Driver recognized me.” He admits as he sets the pizza on the table. “Oh.” You wince, understanding that he wouldn’t want word of this to get out. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“I- it’s not about me. Baby, I don’t care because I know the truth about what happened but I want to protect you. He’s a kid. He doesn’t know who you are so he will probably forget and I gave him a nice tip to get him to keep quiet.” He confesses, “I want to protect you. I’ll be leaving tomorrow and you’ll be here.”

“That’s sweet.” You smile and walk over to drop a kiss on his lips. “You’re sweet. And I appreciate it. Something like that could affect my business so I am glad you thought about it like that.

He nods, “he should leave it alone. Especially if he doesn’t want his momma to know that he got pulled over for speeding.” Javier chuckles and watches as you grab some plates. “I, uh, realized that I don’t really know much about you. Apart from your work and where you live. You got family nearby?” He doesn’t know of any of your family members in town.

“No.” You shake your head and chuckle, setting the plates down and opening the box before moving back to grab napkins and more beer. “I wanted to move away from family. The drama was too much for me.”

Javier nods in understanding, “I get that. Their loss.” He says as he reaches out to open the pizza box and he grabs a slice and puts it on the plate for you. “Here you go, baby.” He murmurs, setting the plate down after you sit down with the beers and napkins.

“Thank you.” You are surprised by his thoughtfulness, although maybe you shouldn’t be. “Yeah, I honestly just picked a town. I liked Laredo.”

Javier snorts, "you picked it? Christ. I have been here my whole life and I - I wasn't sure I wanted to stay here. Most guys leave by joining the army but I don't really take orders well so that was out but then I met Lorraine and then she - well, I thought she was pregnant." He shakes his head and picks up his beer, taking a swig.

“It’s not so bad.” You snort. “There’s a quiet kind of peace here.” You hum. “Sometimes I like to walk along the river at sunset and just look out at the water.”

"And see the drug mules. You gotta be careful, hermosa. You could get hurt. Don't go there at night." He orders, picking up a slice of pizza. "There's bad men out there."

You understand his concern but you huff slightly. “I know. But you’re gonna make it safer.” You point out. “So I can walk at night. Get rid of the drug mules.”

He nods, hoping that's the case, and he takes a bite of his pizza. "Just be careful, sweetheart." He says after he swallows his bite and you nod, taking your own bite.

Javier nods, “that’s a good idea but you need to go to classes. Learn how to use it. Too many people die from accidents not knowing how to use a gun. You gotta respect it. It’s a weapon.” He says, “I’ll talk to Julio at the station. He does gun safety classes for civilians.”

You hum, knowing that it is sweet that he cares. “You are going to make a lot of good changes.” You predict with a smile. “Agent Peña with the DEA.”

Javier smiles, ducking his head a little, "we will see. Maybe I'll be back here soon. If I don't pass the academy." He sighs, admitting something he was worried about.

You snort. “You’re smart.” You him. “Lorraine bragged on you, even if she didn’t understand why you got a degree in philosophy and criminal justice.” You lift a brow. “I have no doubt you will breeze through the academy.”

“Thanks.” He winks at you, picking up the pizza and you both eat in comfortable silence. It’s nice to not have the constant chatter. Lorraine never stopped talking while they would eat dinner but nothing of substance.

You notice that he finishes his beer quickly and get up to grab him another. “Here, baby.” You kiss his lips and then grab another slice of pizza. “What time are you leaving tomorrow? I’d imagine it would be pretty early.”

He nods, “gotta leave by 8 and I need to go to my pa’s to get my things.” He says and leans back in his seat as he picks up his beer. “Do you want me to go home or stay the night?” He asks, not wanting to assume.

“I’d like you to stay.” You admit selfishly. “But I understand if you want to get a jump on things.” This could never be more than what it is right now, a night. You’re grateful that you get that, so you won’t make him feel guilty for leaving. “Up to you.”

He tilts his head, reaching for your hand to squeeze it. “I want to stay. We only get one night and I want to be here.” He says, “is that okay?” You nod and he smiles, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it.

The pizza is put up and dishes cleared away. Javier helps throw away the trash and you smile at how easy this is with him. “Let’s go back to bed.” You suggest with a grin. “Still have to suck your cock.”

He smirks, wiping his hands on the dish cloth after he washed them, and he reaches for you. “You are a devil.” He teases, his hands squeezing your hips and they slide down to your ass to pull you against his body. “Too beautiful for your own good.”

“Don’t know about that, Peña.” You tease. “But your last night here in Laredo is going to be spent in my bed and I damn sure plan on making it memorable.”

****

Javier groans as he glances at your alarm clock. It’s six in the morning. He blinks a few times, his hair all over the place, and he turns to look at you. You’re still sleeping and he shifts to kiss you, wanting to wake you up so he can say goodbye.

“Hmmmmm.” You are drawn out of your sleep slowly, feeling the warmth from his touch as you come to. Smiling to yourself as your eyes start to flutter open. “Mornin’.” You mumble, kissing him back after the next kiss and you feel him roll you onto your back. “What time is it?”

“Six.” He answers, kissing your jaw, “wanted to say goodbye before I left.” He says, kissing your neck, and he shifts between your thighs, his hand squeezing your breast through your tank top.

You want to pull him close, beg him to stay a little longer, but you can’t do that to him. It wouldn’t be fair. He has a dream, a goal and you wouldn’t try to manipulate him like Lorraine had. “Should make some coffee.” You moan when you feel that he’s already hard, wanting you again.

“Let me say goodbye to you properly.” He demands, shifting under the covers and he wastes no time pulling your panties aside so he can slide his tongue through your folds.

Your stomach immediately starts to clench, it doesn’t matter how many times you came last night, your body responds to him. “Javi, fuck.” You gasp out, reaching down and tangling your fingers in his hair. “Oh fuck. Hell of a goodbye.”

He chuckles against your flesh and flicks his tongue over your clit. He sucks it between his lips and his hand slides up to drag your tank top down, squeezing your breast when it’s free from the material.

He loves tits, but he also seems to be an ass man. Or maybe it’s just that he loves a woman’s body. You have never felt more appreciated, more worshipped than you have over the past few hours. Your hand covers his and you moan his name.

He loves the way you moan his name, his tongue sliding through your folds until he’s pushing it into your cunt. His nose pressing against your clit, and he groans when your fingers tangle in his hair.

The way he lazily eats your cunt is almost deceptive. You would think that it would take so long to get worked up, but every flick of his tongue is so perfectly placed, already leaned what makes you shake. You whine as he pushes his tongue deep. “Fuck baby, I’m gonna miss that mouth.” You pant,

He groans into your flesh in agreement. He’s only just had you but he’s going to miss you. This pussy. He will definitely be thinking about you when he’s alone. He slides his tongue up and takes your clit between his lips, sucking in an effort to push you over the edge.

Your eyes close and his name becomes a prayer, chanted out again and again as he rolls you closer to cumming. Every push of his tongue makes you until he sucks one last time to send you careening into space as stars burst behind your lids. “Javi!”

He groans at the way your thigh clamp down around his head and he works you through it, lapping at your soaked pussy, pushing his tongue into you to lap it up while you relax beneath him.

“Oh god.” You pant, chest heaving and you lift the covers to look down at him. “One more time.” You hum with a grin, “I want to feel you inside me one more time before you go.”

He nods, shifting up your body, and his cock is aching. He didn’t wear anything in bed so he is pressing against your thigh while he kisses your neck. “Baby. Get a condom.” He orders against your skin.

You moan in agreement, shifting the side to open the drawer and fish around in it. “Last one.” You hum, pulling out the box and one final rubber to press into his hand. “Fitting.”

He chuckles, taking it from you to rip it open and he works fast to roll it down his cock. He inhales deeply as he shifts to position the head at your entrance and he slowly pushes into you. His eyes adjusted to the dark so he can see your face as he pushes into your pussy. “Fuck baby. So goddamn tight.” He hisses, stretching you out and he leans down to press his lips to yours.

You feel the pinch, knowing that you are going to be sore after this, but you wouldn’t stop him for anything in the world. “Just for you.” You moan breathlessly, clenching down around him and giggling when he hisses again. “Gotta keep you pining for home when you leave.” You tease, reaching up to caress his side. “Promise me you will be careful, Javier.”

He nods, knowing he can’t really promise that but he wants to give you something. He rocks into you, his hand grabbing your thigh to lift it higher so he can press into you. “But I’ll think of you, of this pussy.” He promises, sinking deeper into you.

“Yessssssss.” You hiss, tilting your head back as he completely takes over. “I’ll be thinking about you.” You promise, knowing that the specter of his presence in your bed will be felt long after you are a distant memory in his mind. “So good, Javier.”

Your praise rings in his ears and he grunts, grabbing your other thigh and he lifts your legs onto his shoulders. “Wanna see you cum again.” He groans, bending you over. He wants to wreck you, leave you aching for him when he goes.

“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen in surprise, but immediately you are moaning from how good he feels. Your walls are tighter around his thrusting cock and he is hitting something inside you that has you squealing when he drives into you again.

Your cries are loud in the early morning air and he loves it. Grunts escaping his lips as he fucks you harder and your cunt starts to squelch, fluttering around his cock as you get closer to your high. “Cum for me, baby.” He orders through clenched teeth.

His neck muscles are bulging and he looks magnificent in the soft light of daybreak. It contrasts with the concentration and dark look in his eyes as he fucks you. Your nails dig into his forearms as he hammers into you, pushing deep when you cry out again, your cunt soaking him and you feel the wave of your juices soak his stomach.

“Fuckkkk.” He groans, looking down at his stomach as you squirt over his cock. “Fuck, hermosa. Look at that.” He murmurs, continuing to fuck into you. The squelching noise is deafening as you cry out and he pushes deep, chasing his own orgasm.

You continue to spasm and squeak as he fucks you. Your body tensing and bowing in pleasure while he thrusts in and out of you at a pace that has your tits shaking. “Javi, Javi, Javviiiiiiiiiii!”

He pants, thrusting to work you through it but it only takes a few rocks of his hips for him to let out a guttural groan. He buries his cock deep and his cock throbs as he spills into the condom. He struggles to keep his body from smothering yours and his arms shake next to your head.

You moan as you watch him ride out his pleasure. Almost wishing you could feel the heat of his seed as he filled you up, but you couldn’t ask for that. Especially after what Lorraine had put him through. You honestly wonder if she had meant to trap him. Have him get her pregnant between telling him she was and the wedding so there would only be a little bit of time to fudge. Or if she had been hoping for a convenient ‘miscarriage’ right after. “So good, baby.” You coo. “Best fucking sex I’ve ever had.”

He smiles, nudging your nose against his, and he kisses you softly. “Glad my fantasies came true.” He murmurs, “you - shit - exceeded them.” He assures you and he grunts as he reaches down to grip the base of his cock. His skin is drying from your cum and he slowly pulls out of you so he can tie off the condom. He slumps on the bed next to you, catching his breath for a moment.

You chuckle and curl into his side, pressing your lips to his chest. “Do you want to take a shower while I make some coffee?” You ask. You know he needs to leave, but you don’t want to send him off back to his dad’s without some caffeine at least.

He nods, kissing your forehead before he shifts off the bed. He wants to ask you to join him but he can’t. He needs to focus now and get ready to leave town. He showers quickly, redressing in the clothes you found and left on the bed for him, and he makes his way out into the kitchen to find you there pouring a cup of coffee. “I’m not sure how you like it.” You say and he smiles, “this is good.” He takes a sip and leans against the counter.

You had wrapped your body up in a robe, but you don’t think that he cares about that. He groans in pleasure and you smile after taking a sip of your own coffee. “Well, I have to tell you that I had an amazing night.” You admit shamelessly. “I’m happy that you stayed.”

He nods, “me too. I’m - I’m sorry I can’t stay and give you more but I think it’s for the best this way.” He says, “we can’t - I don’t want you to get shit because of me. You deserve better than that. Deserve better than me.” He sighs, looking down at the cup in his hand.

“Don’t apologize for following your dreams.” You reach out and touch his hand, making him look up at you. “But I don’t think I deserve better.” You shrug. “It’s just the wrong time. That’s all.”

Javier nods, setting his cup down, and he cups your cheeks, “wrong time.” He agrees and leans closer to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank you, hermosa.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead.

“Nothing to thank me for.” You promise, smiling at him as he pulls back. “You are supposed to leave Laredo.”

He pulls back and takes another look at you before he wipes his hands on his pants. “I better go. I need to get my shit from my pa’s.” He says and cups your cheek one last time. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” He winks at you, grabbing his keys from your kitchen table and he walks towards the front door.

You set your coffee down and trail after him. “Be safe, Javier.” You murmur as he reaches for the door. “I’ll be praying for you.”

He turns to look at you one last time, nodding and offering you a wink as he leaves your house as the sun rises in the sky. He heads home and gets his stuff, hugging his Pa goodbye. “I’ll handle Lorraine and the wedding stuff. Chase your dream, mijo.” Chucho tells his son who hugs him again and gets into his truck. Javier watches the sun shine as he drives down the highway to make his way to Houston. A new beginning and a new career. He’s ready to kick some cartel ass.

****

“Yesssss.” You laugh into the phone, loving how relaxed the couple is. It’s been a lot of fun planning the young couple’s wedding. “There are plenty of cases of beer.” You promise. “I’ll even stash an extra case in the trunk of my car as back up, okay?” Since he’s a Marine, the groom hasn’t been able to be present for the planning of the wedding but he’s called a few times with his own requests, simple as they might be. “We can get all of Laredo drunk, or maybe just you and a few of your Marine buddies, alright?”

Danny chuckles, “nah, it’s gotta be all of Laredo. Especially my cousin. He’s been a boring fucker since he got back from overseas. Gotta make sure he gets some beers in him.” You chuckle, “sure thing. Consider it done.” Danny thanks you and you smile, happy for the young couple getting married this weekend.

****

Javier sighs as he walks into the reception hall, wiping his hands on his jeans as he follows his pa into the beautifully decorated hall. His cousin Danny and his new wife are taking photos outside. Chucho slaps Javier on the shoulder, “let’s get you beer, mijo.” Javier nods, making his way over to the bar and that’s when he sees you. You are adjusting some flowers on a table display and his heart stops. You look beautiful, as always, and his heart beats hard when your eyes meet his when you look up.

“Javier.” His name falls off your lips in surprise. Eyes widening when you see him again. He is still devastatingly handsome. His dark eyes held more sorrow, more heartache than you had seen when he walked out your door so many years ago. You had forgotten that Danny was related to Javier, even when you had run into Chucho a few weeks ago and talked about the upcoming wedding.

He pats his father on the shoulder and makes his way over to you. You’re a sight for sore eyes and after everything that went down in Colombia, he offers you a tilt of his head and smiles as he says your name. “Should’ve known it was you planning the wedding. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You fiddle with the flowers and look at him again. “Although I can’t claim too much credit. They knew what they wanted and it was just perfect for them.” You bite your lip, wanting to ask him why he suddenly stopped appearing in the newspapers about Pablo Escobar, but you don’t. “How are things?” You ask instead.

He half smirks, tilting his head, “things are…well, let’s just say I could use a beer.” He chuckles, “Colombia was not what I expected.” He confesses and reaches up to rub the back of his neck, looking around as the drinks start to flow. “How have you been doing?”

“I’ve been good.” You can tell that he’s a little unsure of himself so you step over to the bar and grab a Budweiser. “Still drink these?” You ask, holding it up. When Javier nods, you use the bottle opener you keep in your pocket and hand it to him. “Now that your first wish is granted, what else can I do for you?” You ask playfully.

“Dance with me.” He blurts out, unable to stop himself, “later, I mean. When the band plays. I want to -” He clears his throat and takes a sip of his beer, “want to catch up.” He says and he glances over to see Lorraine walking into the hall with her husband. Some big oil guy from Dallas. Javier exhales deeply and turns back towards you.

You follow his eyes. “Of course.” You wonder if he had heard about Lorraine getting married but you doubt he’s very upset. “As soon as they get done with pictures, they will greet everyone and then start the dancing.”

“I guess you didn’t get invited back to plan that wedding.” Javier chuckles softly, “did she - was there any hassle after I left - after everything that went down?”

“Nothing except me nearly biting my tongue off to keep from exposing all her bullshit.” You huff, shaking your head. “Although it was really hard not to. She moved on pretty quick though.”

Javier snorts, “yeah. I heard about what she was saying after I left town. I was the bad guy but whatever…she got her happy ending.” You tilt your head, “and what about you?” Javier chuckles, rubbing his jaw, “I don’t think I get a happy ending.”

That breaks your heart, especially since you know that Javier is a kind and wonderful man. Sometimes a little too dry or serious, but who wouldn’t be, given the type of work he does? You kept up with the news articles when you heard Javier was down in Colombia. The horrors that happened down there. You can’t even imagine what he was going through. You sigh. “You do.” You promise, smiling at him. “You just have to find it. You are too good a man to not deserve a happy ending.”

Javier shakes his head, “I don’t know. I guess we will see.” He says and takes a sip of his beer. “Did you…have you found your happy ending?” He asks, curious if you’ve found a boyfriend. He has no right to be jealous when it’s been years but he knows he’d be disappointed to find out you’re taken.

You laugh slightly as you shake your head. “Nope.” You admit, shrugging it off as if it was no big deal even though you honestly worried if you were destined to be alone. “Still planning everyone else’s happily ever after and not my own.” You tease.

“You’ll be fine, baby.” He promises, “just gotta get some of these assholes to realize what’s under their nose.” He sips his beer and turns when your assistant comes over to tell you the bride and groom are ready. “Showtime. Ill, uh, see you later.” You promise and he nods, thinking about the dance you promised him and he watches you walk off.

Javier is here. You can’t believe it. You had heard about him of course. The same people who had gossiped about him when he had left town and dragged his name through the mud had bragged on him. Boasted about his work as if it was their own or they helped him. You had bitten your tongue and wished that you could call or write to him, just to remind him that you were still praying for his safety. You hadn’t stopped thinking about that one night you had together.

Javier watches you as you rush around making sure everything is beautiful for Danny and Maria and he smiles, appreciating how much effort you put in. “Beautiful.” He murmurs to himself and Chucho comes over, patting his son on the shoulder. Javier claps as the couple walks into the reception hall.

“She hasn’t really dated.” Chucho offers, seeing the way that his son’s eyes drift towards you again and again. He had wondered if something happened before Javier left for the DEA. He hadn’t come home the night of his missed wedding and when he had come home that morning, he smelled like the shampoo you seem to favor. Not that it was his business, you nor Javi were the type to cheat and he had ended things with Lorraine when he hadn’t shown up to the church. Still, he always wondered if you were waiting on his wayward son. “Can’t remember anyone.”

Javier isn’t sure if he’s pleased or upset that you haven’t dated anyone. He hates to think of you alone but he is pleased that he doesn’t have to stay away from you. He hums and his Pa chuckles, nudging him as he sips his beer. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know what I’m doing next. The DEA put me on the shelf until they decide what my fate is. I can’t drag her into my bullshit.”

“Mijo….” Chucho sighs. “I never said anything about letting the other one go because she wasn’t right for you.” He reminds Javier. “But that one….” He takes another sip of his beer. “She’s exactly what you need. Your mother would have loved her.”

Javier grips his beer bottle a little tighter, his stomach twisting, and he watches you as you prepare for Danny and Maria’s entrance. “She is too good for me. Always has been. She said - we spent the night together after I told Lorraine it was over. She said - it was the wrong time. Is it still the wrong time?” Javier asks his father like he is needing him to figure everything out, to tell him what to do.

“Last time you were at a crossroads in your life.” Chucho reminds him. “Much like now, except you have a better grasp on yourself. She obviously has the skills to soothe you and leave an impression.”

Javier snorts, "that's one way to put it. She - she never left my mind." He admits and Chucho chuckles, "or your heart from the sounds of it." Javier doesn't answer and thankfully he doesn't need to as the band announce Danny and Maria and Javier shifts his beer bottle to the nearest table so he can clap for his newly married cousin.

You move over to the buffet to make sure that you’ve got plates made for the happy couple. They will have to snack between conversations but you want them to have some of the delicious foods that had been prepared. Turning and humming in surprise when you see Lorraine. You know she had been invited, but you didn’t think she was going to show.

Lorraine isn’t surprised to see you there. You’ve become more successful and well known in town - hell, she’s heard you’ve planned weddings in Dallas - after her disaster of a wedding. She says your name, “it’s a beautiful day.” She offers you a stiff smile, “although I probably would’ve told them to go with silver instead of gold.” She hums, looking at the table settings. “At least this wedding happened under your planning.”

You expected some kind of comment, of course. Knowing that Lorraine isn’t the type of woman to be able to help herself. “So true.” You give a casual shrug. “Actually that is the only wedding that I’ve planned that didn’t happen. And ironic that both of you are here.”

Lorraine’s eyes widen and her head swivels comically as she looks over at Javier who is talking to Danny and his new wife. “Can’t believe he’s finally shown his face.” She scoffs and ignores you as she makes her way over to her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck.

You figure you should probably warn Javier, but then you see his eyes wander around the room, finding Lorraine. He doesn’t look surprised to see her, although it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. He’s very good at keeping his thoughts to himself. Instead of worrying about it, you move over to make sure that the photographer has pictures of the wedding cake.

The food and booze are soon flowing and Javier greets his third cousin while sitting next to his dad at their assigned table. He sees you rushing around, fixing Maria's dress, fixing flowers, and making sure the food is refilled in the buffet. You walk past Javier and he can't help but wink at you, letting you know he's watching.

That wink. It will be the death of you. Your entire body heats up at his attention and you try to smother the smile on your face, but it’s hard so you just pretend that it’s wedding happiness. That you aren’t seeking out the gaze of a certain man. He looks damn good in that red plaid shirt and crisp jeans. Making your mouth water as you remember every second of the one night you spent together.

The food is soon eaten and the band begins to play so Danny and Maria can have their first dance then cut the cake. Javier sips his beer as the couple dance, looking lovingly into each other's eyes and then they move over to the display table to cut the cake. When the traditions are done and cake is eaten, the dance floor gets busy and Javier looks around for you after he stands up.

“Be careful.” You decide that instead of instructing them on what to do, you will politely nudge them out of the way and do it yourself. “The cake has to be wrapped so it will last.” You explain. “They will have the top layer of the wedding cake on their first anniversary.”

Javier slowly makes his way over to you as you finalize the storing of the top layer so the happy couple can enjoy it on their anniversary. "Best cake I've had in a long time. New baker in town? I don't remember the cake being that good when I tried the samples." He says, tilting his head.

You turn towards him and smile. “I baked it.” You confess. “The baker I normally use got sick and it was too late to find a replacement.” It hadn’t been a big deal, the baking was easy, the assembly was what had taken the longest.

Javier raises his eyebrows, "goddamn. Beauty and cooking skills." He smirks, "are the men in Laredo stupid?" He asks and you chuckle, looking down at your shoes for a second, "well...the only one I ever liked left for Colombia." Javier licks his lips, rocking on his heels for a moment, "he was a fool trying to stop a never ending cycle. He left the best thing that ever happened to him in this town." He admits, rubbing his neck.

Looking up, you try not to smile, but it’s hard when he just said something so sweet to you. “You had to go. For you. I understood that, understand it now.” You promise. “Are you back for long?”

Javier tilts his head, “I don’t know. I’ve been put on official leave by the DEA. I’m not sure but I’m going to be called to D.C for a review by the board. Then I’ll know if I’m back helping my pa or if I’m still working for the DEA.”

“Because of the Judy Moncado thing?” You ask, tilting your head and smirking as his eyes widen in surprise. “I kept up with you. Or tried to. I wondered what happened when you went dark in the papers but then that article came out.”

Javier nods, “it was a shit show. I- I was frustrated. Tried to cut corners, skip bureaucracy and sink down to their level and it backfired on me.” He confesses, scratching his jaw, “still…they got him in the end.” You sigh, “yeah but you weren’t there after all your hard work.” Javier shrugs, “I know what I did to contribute.” He promises and glances over at the dance floor, “do you, uh, maybe wanna dance?”

“Absolutely.” You would never turn down a dance with Javier and you set down your drink and reach for his hand. “Let’s dance, handsome. I want to hear about you. Not your cases or Escobar, but about you.” You clarify. “Tell me about what you’ve been doing outside of catching bad guys.”

Javier guides you onto the dance floor while the band singer croons, allowing Javier to pull you closer, and his hand is on your back with one hand in yours. “I- I wasn’t - the sicarios used to frequent the brothels so I’d - I’d do the same trying to get information.” He confesses, his dark eyes on yours as he tells you the truth.

You aren’t stupid, you knew that Javier wouldn’t be celibate while he was off living his life. You’ve had a couple of lovers, but nothing worth noting. Your life has just been a lot tamer than his. “That’s smart.” You hum. “Hopefully they could help you and provide some comfort.”

“An escape.” He corrects you, “I saw - it was rough and I buried myself in work and whiskey and - well, it was all for nothing now. Escobar may be dead but others will take his place. It never ends.” He sighs, pulling you closer.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur softly. “I’m sure it wasn’t for nothing. There were real people saved by your work. Even if it’s just one, it’s one more than would have been if you hadn’t been there.”

Javier nods, glancing over at Lorraine and her husband who are tending to their kids. "It's done now. I am trying to not hold on to the past." He admits, swaying you to the music, and his dark eyes meet yours, "but some things just won't go away."

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, slightly breathless at how mesmerizing his stare is.

Javier chuckles softly, “I don’t know. I- I don’t know what my future is, so I don’t want to drag you into my bullshit but I didn’t stop thinking about you, about that night. I’d like to get to know you more.” He confesses softly as the song comes to an end.

“I don’t care what your bullshit is.” You admit, smiling back at him. “I kept you in my prayers the entire time you were gone. And hoped that you were finding peace.” Your fingers caress his arm. “Do you want to go out for a drink after the reception?”

Javier nods, “I’d like that.” He offers you a soft smile just as his tía comes over to grab you. “Sweetheart, the drinks are getting low. We got more stored up?” She asks and you chuckle, “we are fully stocked. I’ll get it sorted.” You look at Javier and he nods, winking at you and he turns on the dance floor, near Danny and Maria, and he sees Lorraine. He decides it’s time to talk to her and he makes his way over to where she is standing with a glass of red wine in her hand. “Lorraine.” He greets her calm and cool.

Lorraine looks up at Javier and hates that he still looks so damn handsome. “About time you showed your face.” She hums as she lifts her glass to take a sip. “Good to see you, Jay.”

He shoves his hands in his jeans, “you, uh, you got your happy ending?” He asks, his gaze drifting over to her husband, and she smiles. “Yeah. I- I did. We weren’t supposed to be together. I see that now and I- it all worked out in the end.” She hums and Javier nods, “yeah. I’m glad you’re happy.” He says, telling her he doesn’t hold that over her anymore. He didn’t want to marry her. She got her happy ending. It worked out. “I’m very happy.” Lorraine says with a little bite to it, “good.” Javier nods, “I’ll see you around.” He nods to her husband as he approaches and Javier makes his way back to his Pa, counting down the time until the wedding is over so he can see you again.

Several times you look over to find Javier watching you. Making you smile and wave as you try to finish up the wedding activities so you can spend time with him. You see the interaction with Lorraine and you wonder how he feels about it. It didn’t seem to be acrimonious, which is a good thing. Finally, the couple rush off to their cars in a shower of birdseed and you walk over to where Javi is standing. “I’m done.” You tell him. “The clean up will wait until tomorrow.”

Javier grins, “good. You got your car? My Pa drove.” He says, knowing you might want to take your car so you’re in control. He glances around as the crowd begins to get into their cars and he sees his Pa.

“You can ride with me, mister DEA.” You hum teasingly, holding up your keys after your fish them out of a discreet pocket in your dress. “Where you want to go?”

Javier chuckles at your nickname and he wraps his arm around your waist as you walk towards his Pa. “What about that bar we met in that night?” He suggests and Chucho smirks as Javier appears in front of him. “I guess I’ll be driving home alone tonight…good news for me. Haven’t got to listen to your loud thoughts.” Chucho teases and Javier snorts, “I don’t think that much.” Chucho adjusts his hat, “that boy could put Aristotle to shame.” Javier rolls his eyes, “okay Pa. We are going for a drink.” Chucho nods, “have fun kids.” Javier squeezes your waist and lets you guide him to your car.

“So do you want to drive?” You ask him seriously. “I don’t know if you have issues where you like to be in control?” You ask gently. You know he has to have seen some shit and you want him to be comfortable.

Javier shakes his head, "I trust you. It's other people I don't trust, but baby...you can drive." He tilts his head, appreciating how considerate you are.

“Okay.” You reach your car and unlock the doors. “What made you decide to come to the wedding?” You ask curiously. “I can’t imagine you have a fondness for them.”

Javier snorts, opening the door for you to get in, "just my own." He quips, "but I love Danny. Practically changed his diapers and my tía...she was there for me after my mom died. I had to see Danny get married...even if weddings aren't my thing." He confesses, "look at us...you plan weddings...I run from them."

You snort and shake your head. “You ran from a lie.” You defend. “I think that despite your past, you are a ‘til death do us part’ kind of man and divorce isn’t an option. Lorraine knew that.”

He stands under the parking lot lights, his hand on your door, surprised at the way you just cut him open and found out who he is. He's been branded the casanova, the man whore who slept his way through Colombia, but you...you see that he can be more than that for the right woman. He can't help it. He lets go of your door, cups your cheeks, and surges forward to kiss you.

Your surprise quickly turns into desire. Moaning softly into his mouth when he opens up to slide his tongue against yours. You had expected the night to end like this, but you don’t mind it happening now.

His hands pull you close, enjoying the feel of your body against his, and his tongue caresses yours. You kiss for several moments until he pulls back, pecking your lips, and he nudges his nose with yours. "Drinks are on me." He murmurs, not wanting to assume you want him to go back to yours.

You hum softly. “That’s almost disappointing.” You admit breathlessly. “I was honestly hoping we weren’t going for drinks.” It’s probably wrong to assume he wants to jump into bed with you. It’s been years and he’s had a lot happen. You peck his lips again and pull away. “First round is on you. Then I’ll buy you a drink. Men should be treated too.”

Your words run on a loop in his head as you settle in your car and he shuts your door, walking around the back of the car to open the door and slide into the passenger seat. “Baby. Look at me.” He orders and you turn to look at him, a soft smile on your face that makes his heart race. “I want a drink at your place. Not the bar.”

“That sounds perfect to me.” You slide the key into the ignition and turn it. “You were sexy in the tuxedo, but you are even sexier in those jeans and boots.”

He can’t help but smirk, watching as you back out of the space and he leans back in his seat, happy to be driven. “You’re always sexy. In anything.” He confesses, eyeing the cute dress you’re wearing. “Even when you’re trying to be professional.”

“I think you might be biased.” You tease, looking over at him for a second before turning your attention back to the road. “Considering you’re the only groom I’ve ever thought about sleeping with, I’m pretty biased too. It was hard being professional around you.”

Javier snorts, rubbing his jaw as he turns to look out the window. “It feels like a lifetime ago since I was a groom. A lot of shit has happened since then but one thing hasn’t changed…I thought you were the prettiest damn thing I’d ever seen that day Lorraine introduced us. Felt goddamn guilty for that when I believed Lorraine was having my baby, but now? That thought is flashing in my brain.”

“I’m sure there were plenty of beautiful women around you.” You reach out and squeeze his knee. “You seem to attract them. Several women at the wedding kept watching you. Wondering who you were and how you could be so handsome.”

“Beautiful women, yes…beautiful on the inside? Not as much as you. There was one woman…her name is Helena. She - I’d give her money in exchange for information and we - she kept me company. I got her swept up in some bullshit meeting and she…we had to fight to get her back and when we did…she was never the same.” Javier confesses, reaching for the hand on his hand to take it in his.

You hear the pain in his voice, the regret. Something bad happened to her and he blames himself. “But you got her back.” You murmur softly. “You cared enough to fight. That’s more than some people, most people.” You sigh. “You are a good man, Javier. I’ve always thought so.”

He finds it hard to believe, the flash of Helena on the floor in that apartment makes him feel sick, but your hand in his chases that away. Helena is safe with her son. He got her out. “I’ve done a lot of bad things, baby, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be better.”

“We all do bad things sometimes.” You know that his are probably darker than most, but he was going after cruel and ruthless men. “All that matters is your future.”

He offers you a half smile, squeezing your hand, and he lets go so you can drive to your house. The radio plays and he looks out the window as Laredo passes by. So much has changed within him but his town is exactly the same as when he left it. He is a different man. Jaded and heavy with guilt and regret, but you are here. He wants to be better.

It doesn’t take long for you to pull up to your house, it’s the same one that Javier had been parked in front of when he left Lorraine at the altar. “Home sweet home.” You joke, pulling into the driveway and parking. “Except this time, I have better booze than just beer.”

Javier chuckles, "beer suits me just fine but I'll drink anything. Except gin." He wrinkles his nose, "never could get into gin." He confesses and opens the door, getting out of your car and he hangs back as you lock your car and walk to your front door. He's a little nervous. He can't deny that. He's thought about you so many times and now he's here. You unlock your door and he follows you inside, "you've painted." He observes, glancing around your living room.

“Yeah.” You haven’t done much to the place as far as redecorating, but changing the paint freshened it up. “Surprised you noticed.” You admit with a grin. “We were….busy when you were here last time.” You set your purse down on the entry table and lock the door behind Javier. “Beer?”

Javier chuckles, “still noticed the little things. Wanted to memorize that night.” He confesses and nods, watching you kick off your shoes before you make your way over to the fridge. He takes his boots off, leaving them by the front door, and he decides to make his way to your sofa. He’s a little on edge, unsure of what to do or say when you didn’t really do anything but act on your lust when he saw you last time.

You take a minute to compose yourself before you grab the beers. A little nervous since this is more than just a night of desire. You decide that you will let him lead the night and come back out into the living room to find him sitting and waiting for you. “Do you want to watch tv, talk?” You ask, bringing the beers over. “I’m not exactly sure what you want to do.”

He takes the beer from your hand, thanking you, and you settle down on the sofa next to him with expectant eyes. “I want to talk. I want to know more about you.” He decides, knowing this return home is supposed to be a fresh start for him and he wants to try and do things differently this time.

“Okay.” You smile, finding it sweet that he is making an effort to talk. “Well, while you’ve been gone, I’ve expanded my business.” You admit. “I have two coordinators that work for me, planning weddings when I am doing other events. It’s lucky that I was even at the wedding today, to be honest.”

Javier’s eyebrows raise, “wow. That’s - that’s incredible.” He compliments you, “you’ve done so well and you deserve it. You’re damn good at your job.” He compliments you with a wink. “I loved how passionate you were and you managed to control Lorraine when she wanted to go over budget.”

You sigh softly. “I wish I could have controlled her better.” You admit. “She would go off on tangents, and to be honest? Her wedding colors clashed horrendously.”

Javier chuckles, “fucking awful. I know nothing about weddings but even I could see it clashed. She didn’t care about how it looked as long as it was the most expensive.” He shakes his head, “I’m sure her new husband got stung by her taste for money.” He snorts and you tilt your head, “jealous?” Javier shakes his head, “absolutely not. We were not - I didn’t even want to marry her.” He rubs his hands on his jeans, “and seeing you. How sweet you are. How beautiful you are inside and out made me realize what a mistake I was making but I thought she was having my kid and I couldn’t walk away from that.”

“Hmmmmm.” You take a sip of your beer and tuck your feet up under you as you turn towards him. “And you think you aren’t a good man.” You huff. “You stepped up, even if you didn’t want that life, some men wouldn’t. Most men wouldn’t. You could have just easily told her it wasn’t your problem. But you didn’t.” The entire point was useless since she was never actually pregnant, but he had believed she was.

He smiles softly after he takes a sip of his beer, “always been fighting my corner. That’s why you’re too damn good for me. I’ll just disappoint you.” He confesses, “I’m good for sex. Emotions? Not really my wheelhouse but I know how I feel about you.” He confesses, his eyes meeting yours as he lays himself bare.

“And how do you feel?” You ask curiously. “Because I’ve never been a grand gesture kind of woman.” You confess, leaning in as you grin. “I would actually hate ninety-eight percent of the weddings I plan. I want a man who might not give me flowers ever, but listens when I talk about my day.” You hum. “He might not tell me he loves me every ten seconds but he shows me when he touches me.”

"I've never been a man who envisioned himself having a marriage like my parents. Especially after seeing how much my momma and my pa loved each other. I wasn't - I wasn't a good man in Colombia. Whenever I do take a moment to imagine a future married...any kids...I always see you." He admits, "I might not talk about my feelings but I can show you."

“Then you’ll show me.” You decide, setting your beer down and scooting closer to him. “I don’t have to have words.” You promise. “Not all the time, even if I give them to you.”

He looks at you, seeing a future he never imagined and still doesn’t believe he deserves, but he can’t help but lean forward. He reaches out to cup your cheek, leaning in to softly kiss you.

You don’t pull away or lunge forward. You let him slowly kiss you. Less hunger in his lips than the last time, but there is a tenderness that has you sighing into the kiss. Your lips curving up in a smile.

He caresses your cheek with his thumb, his lips slide against yours and his tongue pushes into your mouth. He groans into your mouth, chasing the memories of the night he left Lorraine and you are giving that to him.

The first moan is so soft, breathed into his mouth as you shuffle closer. Pressing against him and reaching up to caress his shoulders. He said he was good at sex, but he’s also incredible at making you feel like the only woman on the planet.

The kiss is slow, lazy slides of his tongue against yours, while his hand caresses down to your neck. He groans, blindly setting his beer down and he reaches for you, grabbing your ass to drag you into his lap.

You squeal slightly, but it’s amazing how easily you are transferred into his lap. Pulling away breathlessly to grin at him before you duck your head down to kiss him again. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

He chuckles against your lips, “so are you. Fuck. Thought about you so many goddamn times.” He confesses, his hands sliding under your dress and under your panties to squeeze your flesh. His lips press against your jaw and down your neck, enjoying the gasps and moans that escape your lips.

“Now you have me.” You hum, tilting your head to let him do whatever he wants to your neck. “You can do all those things that you’ve thought about. I’m very willing.”

“You have me.” He grunts against your collarbone, “have you had any thoughts? I’m all yours. You can do what you want to me.” He counters with a smirk against your skin.

“You shouldn’t tell me that.” You groan, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair. “Never did get to suck your cock like I wanted to, but I think I’ll just ride it right now.”

“Take me how you want. Got tested when I came back. All clean.” He reveals, pressing a kiss to your throat as you look at him, “ride my cock, suck it. Sit on my face. I’ll willingly let you do it all.”

“Oh god.” You moan. “Let me strip you down. Kiss up and down your body and suck your cock until you are begging to feel my pussy wrapped around it.”

“Fuck.” He pants, nodding and breathless as you shift off of him. He fumbles, working fast to unbutton his shirt as you stand up to grip the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head. “So fucking pretty.” He murmurs, dragging his eyes down your body as he shrugs off his shirt.

You reach out and push the material of his shirt off his broad shoulders. Finding that his body has softened slightly, not as lean as he was before and you love it. You wonder if he knows how sexy he is as you lean in and kiss along his collar bone.

“Jesus.” He pants, eyes closing slowly as he tilts his head back while you do what you want to his body. His cock is already hardening and he groans your name when you kiss his neck.

“That’s right.” You hum, scrapping your teeth over his skin and smirking when you feel him shudder. “I’m going to make you forget everything but my name. And how good I make you feel.” Your fingers slide the end of his belt free of the loop and you start working on unbuckling it. “Burned up so many vibrators thinking about this cock. How good you felt inside me.”

He lets you do what you want. Last time he was in control but right now, he’s happy to let you take the lead. He groans when you work on unzipping his pants and he almost chokes when you pull his cock out to wrap your fingers around it. “Thought about you when I had lonely nights with my hand around my cock.”

“Can’t believe you had too many of those.” You praise, leaning down and spitting on the tip before kissing your way back up his stomach as you steer him back towards the couch again.

“Plenty to think of you.” He promises, breathless and you start to pump his cock. “Fuck. You’re so goddamn pretty.” He murmurs, watching you and he leans in to kiss you but you pull back, a smirk on your face that makes him twitch in your hand.

“Be a good boy for me.” You coo playfully, not minding really if he takes over but you feel like he deserves to let loose. To give control over to someone else and just let the pleasure cloud his mind of all those bad memories. He sinks back onto the sofa and you continue to pump his cock as you kneel down between his spread thighs.

His dark eyes watch you as you shift between his thighs, cock leaking pre-cum as he twitches again, and when you finally take him into your mouth, he lets out a guttural groan, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallows.

He’s salty and musky. Delicious on your tongue as you slowly take him deeper and then pull back to release him with a pop.

You look like a goddamn angel and devil in one as you smirk at him before you take him back into your mouth. His hands grip the edge of your sofa cushion and he is transfixed by you.

You can tell he likes it. His stomach heaves and his chest puffs out before deflating with a low groan. You know the man has had blow jobs, but you wonder when the last time someone really took their time with it. You keep your tongue soft, your mouth wet as you push him deep into the back of your throat, pausing to swallow so you don’t choke.

Javier groans, watching you, and he caresses your cheek. It bulges under his touch with your mouth full of his cock and he groans, “you’re so pretty.” He murmurs, closing his eyes for a second.

You hum around him, wanting to tell him that he is just as pretty, but you don’t want to pull your mouth away. Not when his eyes flutter closed and his head rolls back slightly in pleasure. Watching him as the tension in his body practically melts away as you suck his cock.

He feels like he’s in fucking heaven. You suck his cock with an enthusiasm he hasn’t experienced in so goddamn long and he moans your name as you hollow your cheeks.

You look down, concentrating on taking him as deep as you can. Loving how he’s responding to you. How wrecked he already sounds. Your hands slide up his jean clad thighs and you reach for the band to tug them down. You had just pulled his cock out in your eagerness to touch him, but now you want to strip him while his cock is down your throat.

He groans and lifts his ass to allow you to drag the jeans down his legs and he’s bare before you, his cock down your throat, and he can’t believe how quickly you’ve unravelled him. In bed and in his heart. “Fuck, hermosa.” He pants, caressing your cheek, “I’m close.” He warns you in case you don’t like to swallow.

Your hands hold his thighs as you hum around him. If he wants to cum down your throat, that’s perfectly fine with you. You are dripping into your panties and his groans might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

Your hum sends him over the edge and he lets out a choked groan as his cock twitches in your mouth. Hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat and you swallow them down, making him pant and tilt his head back as you milk him dry.

It has to have been awhile for him. The way he just cums and cums has you struggling to swallow all of him down but you only let a few drops escape from the sides of your mouth. Whining at how fucking sensitive your clit is as you drink him down, listening to his sounds as he comes apart for you.

He slumps against your sofa when he stops twitching, his eyes squeezed shut until he finally gets the strength to lift his head so he can look down at you. His cum is dripping down your chin and he groans, “fuck. You are a goddamn angel.” He murmurs, reaching for you to pull you up into his lap from your place on the floor.

You hum, grinning slightly at his description of you as you wipe your chin with your hand and then lick his cum off of your palm. “A little salty.” You tease, leaning in and kissing his chin since you don’t know how he feels about kissing someone with his cum on their tongue. “Need to drink more pineapple juice, baby. Makes it sweeter.”

He chuckles, “I’ll make a note of that.” He grips the back of your neck to drag you closer so he can kiss you properly. He doesn’t care about the taste of his cum on your tongue as his slides into your mouth, eager to show you how much he enjoyed that.

You make a noise of surprise and melt into the kiss. Letting him take over as you lean into his strong body. You know it will take him a little while to recover, but you don’t mind at all.

“Fuck. So gorgeous.” He murmurs, kissing down your neck, nipping the skin, and he runs his tongue along your collarbone. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he groans against your sternum, shifting his mouth so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

It’s your turn to moan, letting him twist you around to where your back is against the side of your sofa. “Javier.” You tug on his hair and that just makes him suckle harder. “So good baby, it feels so good when you touch me.”

He cups your other breast, squeezing it until he switches over to take your other nipple into his mouth. He bites down and loves the way you gasp and he sucks again, releasing it with a pop and he smirks as he starts to kiss your stomach.

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” You ask, knowing the couch would be cramped and you feel like he might want to take his time since he needs to recover.

Javier nods, shifting off the sofa and he holds his hand out towards you. You grin and take it, letting him guide you to your bedroom. “You still remember where it is?” You tease and he chuckles, “I remember every detail of that night.” Your heart flutters and he enters your bedroom and spins you so he can press his lips to yours again, walking you backwards towards the bed

You love how he doesn’t let you fall back on the bed without him coming too. Your knees hit the bed and when you sit down, he follows, kneeling on the bed and hovering over you with his mouth still fused to yours.

He loves how you react to him and he’s quick to pick up where he left off in the living room. Kissing his way down your stomach, he groans and hooks his fingers in your panties, dragging them down while he watches you wiggle on the bed. He tosses them over his shoulder, making you giggle, and the giggle transforms into a moan as he grabs your waist, lifting you higher up the bed so he can spread your thighs. Javier groans at the sight of your cunt. “Fuck. Missed her.” He murmurs to himself, reaching out to slide his fingers through your folds.

You were about to comment on that, hearing him refer to your pussy like that, but then he steals your breath away. His fingers are quick, nimble as he presses them against your clit and then moves down to slide them deep inside you. “Oh fuck.” You gasp out, clenching down around the thick digits.

He watches you with rapture, the lamplight making your skin glow, and he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you. He isn't in a rush, dark eyes taking in every detail, and his free hand caresses your thigh.

Your eyes close as he works you open. Feeling the way that you start to soak his fingers as they move in and out of your needy walls. Thighs open, chest starting to heave as he finds that spot that has you moaning his name when he presses against it.

He loves the way you clamp down on his fingers when he presses against that spot and he continues to work it, pumping his fingers. He wants you to cum like this for him then he's going to make you cum on his tongue. He twists his wrist, pressing his thumb to your clit, and continues focusing on that spot.

“Kiss me.” You beg softly, wanting to feel his lips on your while he plays your body like it’s his personal instrument. He’s adept at making you feel everything, the rough callus on the side of his finger scraping against your sensitive walls and making you shiver.

He can't deny you so he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, his fingers curling deeper inside you, and your choked cry puffs against his lips when he pulls back for a moment. "Cum for me, hermosa." He demands, wanting to feel it, see it, after imagining it so many times

You completely huge yourself over to him, pressing your lips to his again while your hips chase his fingers. Letting him curl them deep, pulling moans from your body as he pumps them deep inside. “Javi. Javi, I’m gonna cum.” You promise breathlessly.

He loves how breathless you are and he keeps that position and pace, watching your brow furrow when he pulls back to watch you. Your cry hits his ears as you clamp down on his digits, soaking them, and his spent cock twitches at the sensation.

The orgasm pulses through you. Making your tits shake as your body twitches and jerks in pleasure. Fingers twisted into the sheets while he works you through it. Groaning his approval in your ear. “So good hermosa. That’s it. Cum for me.”

His growled demand sends you over the edge and you moan, clamping down on his digits and he hisses at the way you soak his fingers. "That's it." He coos, working you through it by pumping his fingers.

Turning your head, you kiss along his jaw, panting as you slowly relax into the bed. Blissed out by how good it feels to cum from something other than your toys or your own hand. “Fuck.” You whimper. “You are so good at that.”

He chuckles and smirks, continuing to pump his fingers slowly and he shifts until he’s laying on his stomach between your thighs. He kisses the sensitive flesh, knowing you’re still riding the last wave, and he slowly kisses his way to your core until he softly kisses your clit.

“Javier.” You moan his name gently, as if saying it too loudly would stop him from touching you like this. Your toes curl against his ribs and he hums as you lift your legs onto his shoulders. “Baby, you are so good.” You praise.

He groans against your wet flesh as you praise him and he withdraws his fingers, making you whine. He soon replaces them with his tongue, sliding it through your folds to lap at your cum.

“Oh fuck, oh god.” You whine over and over as he starts to lick through your folds. Tasting you as if he is savoring a delicious meal. Taking his time with his dark eyes fixed on your face and his lips curled up in a cocky smirk. “Javi.”

He groans, sliding his hand up to squeeze your breast, your slick still on his fingers as he pinches your nipple. His tongue slides up to flick your clit, loving how your heels dig into his back at the sensation.

“You-“ you choke out a sound of surprise when he sucks your clit into his mouth and pulls harshly. Loving how he tempers his tongue and then changes the tempo. Your nipple stiffens under his touch and starts to ache pleasurably.

He is happy to stay between your thighs all night, loving the sounds you make, and he is eager to push you over the edge again and again. He flicks his tongue over your clit, closing his eyes as he moans so the vibrations add to the sensation.

You swear that you are already seeing stars as he works you up again. He’s not rushing it, taking his time to make sure that your descent into madness is thorough. “Oh fuck, you should be a porn star with that tongue.” You gasp. “You licked all of your informants' knowledge out of their cunts, didn’t you?”

Javier chuckles against your folds, “maybe.” He resumes his attack on your pussy, needing to hear more praise, and he groans when you tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper into your folds.

“Yesssss, you did.” You moan. “They should have paid you.” You start to rock your hips down onto his tongue. “You’d be rich.”

He smirks at your constant praise and he lets you use his face. His tongue flicking your clit and pushing into your cunt while you moan his name. His hands slide down and under you to squeeze your ass.

He lifts your hips up. Bringing your pussy closer to his face. Wanting to devour more of you. You whimper in pleasure and tug on his hair. “God, you need to keep doing that.” You beg.

He follows your order, eager to make you fall apart on his tongue, and he sucks on your clit like those stupid candies Colleen used to have on her desk that he’d steal and suck on when he was trying to cut back on cigarettes. “Fuck. Cum for me.” He rasps, lips smacking until he resumes sucking, his dark eyes on you as you writhe above him.

You shiver, helpless to do anything but obey his command. Your body lurches and you cry out his name loudly. Screaming it out for anyone to hear if they were close enough. “Javi!”

Your thighs snap shut, squeezing his head as you tremble. Your fingers almost pull out his hair but he doesn’t give a shit as he works you through your orgasm, lapping at your cum with a hum of satisfaction even if his cock is aching while pressed into the mattress.

“Javi, no more.” You whimper when it becomes too much for you, pressing your hand against his forehead to pull him off your clit. Panting softly, you start to giggle. “Jesus Christ, you almost killed me.”

He can't help but chuckle, kissing your thighs up to your stomach as you release his head from your grip. He shifts, kissing up your stomach until he takes your nipple into his mouth once again. He quickly switches and he grunts when you cup his cheeks, dragging him up to your mouth and he eagerly presses his lips to yours.

This time, you are the one sliding your tongue into the other’s mouth, not caring about your taste on his lips. Pouring yourself into the kiss and making sure that he knows how you feel without needing to say anything. Your arms are around him, keeping him close as your legs wrap around his waist and you feel his cock pressing against your lower belly.

He doesn't beg to fuck you. It's been a while since he was inside you and he doesn't want to assume you want him to fuck you. He'd be happy with oral. He kisses you back, letting you slide your tongue against his.

“I’m clean.” You murmur against his lips. “On the pill.” You add. “But I don’t have any condoms.” You pull back slightly. “It’s been awhile for me so I don’t keep them around.”

“I’m clean. Got tested when I got back stateside. Haven’t been with anyone since. Fuck, you sure?” He asks, cupping your cheek to look into your eyes. You nod and he shifts his weight to his forearm next to your head while he reaches down to grip his cock. He is measured as he rubs the head of his cock through your folds, tapping your clit enough to make you moan, and he chuckles as he positions himself at your entrance. He lifts his gaze, starting to push into you, his heart pounding in his chest.

It feels amazing. The slight stretch is nothing compared with the way your heart leaps at the heated gaze in his eyes. The emotions showing in their dark depths as he rocks into you. You reach up and caress his cheek, almost confessing those three words, but you don’t want him to feel trapped by that. “Javier.” You whisper his name and lunge up to press your lips to his when he bottoms out inside you.

It only feels like this with you. He’s a man who has buried himself in cigarettes and booze and sex since he left your bed but it’s never felt like this. The mind numbing feel of your hot pussy squeezing his cock and now, it’s blazing hot without the condom on. It’s like he’s connected to you in every way and it almost takes his breath away. He’s not a man of many words when it comes to how he feels so he starts to move instead, rocking into you with a low groan of your name against your lips until his tongue pushes into your mouth.

The moment completely takes hold. Little grunts being traded back and forth as your tongues curl around the others and your hands grasp greedily. If you were to use a word, you would call it lovemaking, both of you rocking to the natural instinct to crave this intimacy. He is amazing, and every kiss, every caress silently tells him that while you moan your approval.

He’s so used to frantic fucking, trying to get off as quickly as possible to make it back to his desk or to a stakeout, but right now, he can take his time. He murmurs your name again, kissing along your jaw, and he groans when your nails scratch down his back a little. “Fuck.” He hisses in pleasure and his thrust is harder.

“You like that?” You purr, digging your nails down his back again and loving how his hips nap forward sharply again. “You like being marked up, my nails telling you how good you are fucking me?”

“Fuck.” He curses again, “I- shit - keep doing it.” He orders, his pace picking up, and he grabs your thigh to change the angle his cock pushes into you. “Feel so goddamn good, hermosa.” He groans into your neck, breathing you in.

You hum in delight, finding something that he apparently can’t resist. You love learning about his needs. Turning your head and kissing his cheek as your nails rake up and down his spine. “You’re so good. Gonna make me cum all over your cock. Soak you. Fuck Javi!”

Your words make him twitch inside you and he rocks a little faster, needing to feel you clamp down on his cock. “Goddamn baby.” He murmurs, “tell me what you need.”

“I need-“ he’s brushing against your clit but it’s not enough. One hand on his back lets go to snake down between your bodies. Starting to rub your clit frantically. Caught up in the need to cum for him.

Javier tuts, letting go of your thigh, and he bats your hand away, replacing it with his fingers. He wants you to focus on feeling the pleasure while he gives it to you. “Good, baby? That what you need?” He asks roughly.

“Yessssssss.” You whine, tossing your head back and moaning his name. “Javi- I’m so close. More baby, just- so close.” You are starting to ramble, your body shaking because you are so close.

He can feel how close you are and he continues working your clit, groaning at how tight you squeeze him and when you fall apart, his chest heaves. You gush around him and cry out his name, making him hiss, "that's it baby. Fuck. That's it."

All you can do is ride it out. Trapping in pleasure so thick it takes your breath away as he starts to fuck you even faster when he can finally move again.

He works you through it, continuing to rub your clit until you whine in protest. He slows his thrusts and presses kisses to your neck, “so good baby.” He murmurs, loving how you relax beneath him.

“You aren’t going to pull out, are you?” You ask, caressing his side softly. “I want to feel you inside me. Filling me up.” You like a little cum play and are willing to risk it with Javi, never having anyone cum inside you without a condom since your last serious relationship.

He hasn’t cum inside anyone since Helena and that was only because of their closeness and trust in her. He used a condom with every other woman. “Fuck. Are you sure?” He asks, wanting to make sure you want it because he’s close.

“Yes, please.” You moan, nodding. “If you want. I trust you. I want to feel it.” You have thought about it more than you can admit since that one night with him. Using it as fuel for your masturbation fantasies.

He nods, wanting it too, to completely possess you in this moment. He groans, thrusting into you to work you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for him to fall over the edge. He thrusts a half dozen more times, grunts escaping his lips, and pushes deep until he’s pressing against your cervix. With a deep groan of your name, his cock pulses and he paints your cunt with his hot cum.

It feels so good. Hot pulses spurting inside you, making you moan his name again and cup his cheeks to kiss him while he’s rocking into you. Emptying himself with sexy groans every time he grinds deeper. Until he finally stops and you feel some of his cum leaking out from around his cock buried inside you. “Fuck, I love you.” You murmur softly.

He isn’t surprised, he has seen it in your eyes, and back when you were planning his wedding, he pushed that aside to be a good man but now, he’s unattached and time has passed. “Love you too.” He confesses, eyes closed as he buries his face in your neck.

You hum softly, enjoying the feeling of his weight pressing you down into the mattress. “When do you think the DEA is going to stop punishing you?” You ask about ten minutes later after you’ve both cleaned up and he’s tucked you into his side. He’s trying to stop smoking, so he’s chewing on a piece of nicorette gum and playing with your hair.

He sighs, “I don’t know. It depends if they will let me back on the job or if I’m given severance pay. I fucked up so I don’t know what they will decide.” He confesses, “but until they decide, I’ll be here. With you…if you’ll have me.” He adds, raising his eyebrows when you pull back from him to look at him.

He looks so doubtful that you roll your eyes when you lean in to press your lips to his. “Of course I’ll have you.” You huff, kissing him several times before you pull back again. “You can stay here, or just have sleepovers when you want. Whatever is comfortable for you. I’m assuming you’re helping your dad?”

He nods, “Pa is getting older. I want to help him on the ranch. Been replacing the fencing and been shovelling shit.” He chuckles when you wrinkle your nose, “he’s getting older. He can’t do it all anymore.” Javier sighs and caresses your shoulder, “if I do get accepted back and sent off again…I want you to remember how I feel but I’m not gonna make you wait for me. It’s not fair. If you find someone, you be happy and you forget about me.”

It’s practical and you hate it. “I don’t know if I would wait.” You admit softly, “I don’t want to waste years. Not if I want kids.” He might not want children at all, especially after Lorraine tried to trap him.

He nods, cupping your cheek, “I know. Shit, timing just isn’t on our side but we don’t know what’s gonna happen. I’m just saying I don’t want you to wait in case I am gone years again. You deserve better and you deserve to be happy.” He says and leans in to softly kiss you.

You don’t offer to go with him. It would be impractical, with your business and you won’t ask him to stay. Not when he still obviously wants to be a DEA agent. “So do you, Javier.” You remind him gently. “If it’s not me, I want you to find someone who is a shelter from the storms for you.”

He smiles sadly, knowing that timing might not be on your side again, “never know. Might be handing in my badge and you’ll be stuck with me. Let’s see what happens, cariño.” He murmurs, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

****

His heart is heavy as he leans against the phone booth, fist clenched on the metal as he listens to the operator connect him to your phone. You answer with your name and his heart clenches, “hey baby. I- I said I’d call you once I found out my fate and, uh, they want me back. I’m flying out to Cali tomorrow.” He reveals, shifting his hand to rub his nose.

“Tomorrow, wow.” Your heart drops but you swallow down any questions that you have. You had known, deep down, that he would be sent somewhere else. The drug war was one they were losing and they needed good agents like Javier. “They didn’t give you a lot of time.” You chuckle, although the sound falls flat when he’s quiet on the other end. You sigh softly. “Good luck, Javier.” You murmur. “I’ll keep praying that you will be safe.” He hums on the other end and you feel tears start to build behind your eyes. “I love you.” You don’t expect a response and pull the phone away to quietly hang it up.

"I love you too." He murmurs, eyes shut as the guilt swells within him but there's nothing he can do. He loves you but he has to go to Cali. He has to redeem himself. No matter the cost. ****

Javier rubs his cheek when he returns to his apartment. He slept with someone last night to try and forget about you. He can already tell that he will be in Cali for a while. He knows you'll be moved on by then. You're too beautiful and smart to be available by the time he gets home. Yet he's ashamed to admit that he's selfish. He reaches for his phone after lighting a cigarette (he'd abandoned the gum after one day in his new job). The dial tone echoes in his ear and he waits, wondering if you'll answer the phone.

“Hello?” You are cooking dinner for yourself, a change from the few weeks that you had been feeding yourself and Javi. Or coming home to find Javi had already thrown something on the small grill in your backyard. Today was stressful and you are unwinding with a big glass of wine and a beer.

The guilt swirls in his stomach and he wonders if he should tell you the truth. "Hey baby. It's me." He announces and he can hear your smile in your voice when you say his name, it makes his heart thump. "How are you doing?" He asks, wanting to hear your voice.

“I’m okay.” You tuck the phone under your chin and start to stir your food. “I’m just making some dinner to have with my wine.” You tell him. “It was a long day with a very difficult bride, but luckily her mother has some common sense.” You hear him exhale and know that he has to be smoking a cigarette. “How are you?”

Javier taps the cigarette on the side of the ashtray, "I- I'm not so great. Been digging into what's been going on here and I - I don't know how long I'll be away trying to take these bastards done. Baby...I slept with someone last night." He confesses, wanting you to hate him. If you hate him, he won't have hope and he won't care how long it takes to take Cali down.

You swallow harshly, stopping what you are doing and setting the spoon down so you can grip the phone. “I see.” You had hoped that he would go longer than a week before moving on, but that wasn’t to be the case. “You and I aren’t together, Javier.” You remind him. “You are free to sleep with whoever you want. Just like I am.”

"I know." He murmurs, closing his eyes for a second, "I- shit - I was trying to forget about you because I ain't gonna be home anytime soon. I don't want you to wait for me." He says with conviction, "but she - I woke up and instantly regretted it. She wasn't you."

“You don’t owe me any explanation, Javi.” You wish you could reach through the phone. Pull him close and hug him. You almost offer to come to visit him, but it would be a bad idea. You don’t need to distract him. He explained that he needed to redeem himself and you understand the drive behind his determination. “I’m not mad.” You promise. “A little hurt, but I’ll get over that.”

"I know. I know, hermosa. Baby...I just - shit." He rubs his forehead, smoke curling up into the air from the cigarette between his fingers, "I'm sorry." He whispers, wishing things were different and he didn't have to choose between the two most important things to him.

“Javi, I-“ you hear the anguish in his voice and you know that he is struggling with what he wants. “I love you.” You promise him. “But I want you to concentrate on your job, your mission to take the Cali cartel down.” You say steadily. “You do what you need to do. Be safe. And I’ll still be praying for you.”

He knows he's hurt you but he had to tell you in hopes you'd see that he isn't worthy of your love. "Thank you." He murmurs, knowing it's more than what he deserves.. "Is it okay if I call you? You know...when shit gets hard?" He knows he's being selfish but he wants to keep hold of you in some small way.

“Baby….” You sigh softly. “You can call me whenever you need to.” You promise. “In fact, I’ve got a cellular phone.” You had just gotten it a few days ago and haven’t given out the number. “Let me give you the number.”

He immediately snubs his cigarette out and he reaches for the pen and paper on his coffee table. “I’m ready.” He says and you tell him the number which he eagerly writes down. “Thank you.” He murmurs, tracing the number with his fingers, another connection to you.

“Have you eaten today?” You ask, making him sigh. “No.” He admits, making you shake your head. “You should go get something to eat, Javi. You can’t live off of booze and cigarettes.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll eat something.” He promises, knowing he won’t get away with telling you anything else. “I’ll call you.” He vows, “until you tell me to stop.”

“That won’t happen.” You know that eventually the calls will taper off, but you would never turn him away. “So you keep calling, so I know you are safe, okay, baby?”

He feels relieved that you’re not telling him to fuck off and never call him again. He knows he will call you when times are tough. You’re his light in the darkness. Something to work towards. “Thank you.” He murmurs, “I- I’ll let you go. Let you eat your dinner.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Javier.” You murmur softly. “I love you.” Again, you don’t expect anything in return and gently hang up the phone. You might hear from him or you might not. You can never tell with him.

****

Javier adjusts his duffel bag over his shoulder as he makes his way off the plane from Bogotá. He is ready to return home, Cali was a mess but he did it. He redeemed himself. He had called his Pa to tell him he was coming home a few days ago and he didn’t ask about you. He doesn’t want to know if you are with someone…he wants to get home before he gets that heartbreaking news. After that first week, he hasn’t buried himself in sex. The guilt was too much and he didn’t want to be involved in more complications. He makes his way out into the terminal and he nearly stumbles when he sees you standing there. He murmurs your name and stops in front of you. “You’re here.”

You are leaning against your car, arms folded over your chest as you watch him stop short. A surprised look on his face makes you smile. “Welcome home, Javier.” You push off the car and step closer to him. “I hope you don’t mind. Your dad told me you were coming in and I offered to pick you up.” You won’t say that you didn’t date while he was gone, but nothing ever went past a few dinners. You reach out and caress his arm. “How long are you here for?” You ask softly. “Chucho couldn’t tell me.”

He’s surprised to see you but so happy, and takes your hand in his when it slides down his arm. “I’m here for good. Retired from the DEA. Turned in my badge. It’s done.” He confesses, “I’m home for good.” He adds and he braces himself for you to tell him you’ve got a boyfriend or shit, a husband.

“That’s great.” You light up when he tells you that and there’s only one thing keeping you from pressing your lips to his. Your eyes slide behind him, looking for someone that might have followed him out. “You didn’t bring someone home, did you?” You ask softly.

He shakes his head, “didn’t sleep with anyone past that first week.” He promises and squeezes your hand, “what about you? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?” He tests all of them and each time you shake your head. You’re single. His heart pounds in his chest and he lets go of your hand. He cups your cheeks and looks into your eyes, “marry me. I don’t want to wait anymore. I love you. I know what I want. It’s you. As my wife.”

You are surprised, eyes widening as you stare into his eyes. Looking for any hint of doubt, of regret for blurting out something so impulsive. All you find is hope swimming in his eyes, want trapped beneath the surface. “Yes.” You whisper breathlessly, starting to smile back at him. “But I want to elope.”

He grins, nodding, “yes. Whatever you want, baby.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you. He loves you so much and he can’t believe you’re giving him another chance. He thought he would’ve lost you during his time in Cali. You press your lips to his and his hands shift to grip your waist, dragging you against him. He pulls back a moment later, “are you sure you don’t want to plan your own wedding? Or hire someone? You’ve spent so long giving everyone else their special day. You don’t want your own?” He asks, a frown on his face as he cups your cheek.

“All that matters is that you and I are married.” You promise. “All the other shit doesn’t matter. I just want to start our life together, Javi. I don’t need a dress or a day to do that. Do you want a wedding?” You ask seriously.

He shakes his head, “I want whatever you want. All I want is you.” He promises, knowing that this is so different from Lorraine. She wanted the biggest wedding money can buy. You just want him. “I love you, soon to be Mrs Peña.” He smirks, cupping the back of your neck, “and we can go tomorrow and get you a ring.”

“That works for me.” You let him drag you closer, pressing your lips against his and you smile happily. There was a wedding in Javier Peña’s future after all. Just not the one that you had met because of.

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña imagine #javier peña narcos

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k-aemi · 1 month ago

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Hi Miu!!! Hope you doing well><

May I request a Reo x collegestudent!reader where she's having trouble making money and was getting frustrated so she went to a bar to drink her frustrations and get completely drunk, all she's blabbering is about making money then went to go to the bathroom but bumps into Reo and he can't can't helped but be amused by her and proposed that he'll give her 10,000 everytime she cums.

If you're able to write this, I give my biggest thanks to you!!❤️

mikage reo ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ lets make a deal.

smut, praise, overstim, unprotected sex, squirt, some bdsm :>

it was pointless. everything was really. youre broke, cant even afford to buy your supplies and the amount of work weighted heavy on you which didnt help at all. seriously what were you thinking attending college without any financial aid?

you just needed something to get your mind off of it. youre broke, but not broke for a time at the bar. you just needed to relieve some stress, what better way to do it than to get drunk? not like you had any friends at the college anyways.

you slouch at the bar with your oversized hoodie, scrolling through your cracked phone, with a cheap drink on the other hand. bills looming, assignments just piling, and sleep? nonexistent. you sigh, cheek hitting the cold bar table, not caring if anyone was judging you at the moment.

eyes hazy, just little mumbles coming from you followed by hiccups. before you get up, a voice speaks.

"rough night?" a smooth voice interrupts. a guy couple stools away from you speaks. you had to squint your eyes to really get a glance at him, and damn was he handsome.

hes striking—designer clothes, hair too perfect, like he just walked out of a magazine. he stood out from everyone in the bar, now you felt self conscious about how you dressed.

"yeah, drinking my problems away." your arm rolls on the bar table as you bump your forehead on it.

"you look like you just lost a fortune." he takes a sip of his martini glass cup as he smirked looking down at you.

"youre probably right about that. failing a class, and i think my landlord wants to fight me." you grumbled. and the handsome man can only chuckle with a curious smirk.

"i swear—if i can just do something, a favor or whatever, i can clean their house, kiss their feet, do whatever weird kinks they got, i dont care. i just need that money." you put your head down with a loud thud while the bartender refills your drink.

the purple-haired man sips his drink before spinning the glass in his hand around before your head shots up at the realization. why did he even come up to talk to you?

"wait—do you know me...or do i know you..?" you raise an eyebrow. he glances at you with an amused look again.

"nope. but looking miserable enough for me to know your entire life story." and you scoff. you sat up with you elbow hitting the bar table, taking a shot of the vodka.

"didnt mean to make you part of my downfall." and he lets out a laugh.

"kind of entertaining. ive never seen someone as miserable as you. most people here drink and flirt."

"i dont flirt with strangers who look like they own stock in hair gel." you laid your head on your palm.

"i do own stock."

"well unless youre here to give me money, i dont think youre much help." you hiccup in between your words as you took another shot in one full gulp. slamming the cup down with a sigh of refreshment.

"and if i did?" he sat on the stool next to you, leaning closer.

"right. and what, in return i sell you my soul?" he chuckled. breath tickling your earlobe. you dont push him away, this stranger intrigued you. who would give out money like its candy?

"of course not. just a little something. 10000 yen each time you finish under my touch." his hand stroked your thigh in an unexpectedly endearing way—one that made your breath hitch and your body go still. this flirt was making you feel… strange.

you said youd do anything for the money, but that was clearly so unexpected. this random was offering you money for...a weird favor and were you to accept or decline that? still, the money was tempting...maybe too tempting to walk away from.

"im sorry, what did you say your name was again...?" your gaze shifts to his purple irises. with graceful ease, his finger lifts your chin—grinning from ear to ear.

"mikage reo princess."

"o-oh my god fuck—" you pull on the restraints that were tied to the bed post. your legs and thighs quivered from the amount of stimulating he made you go through. you dont know what you had signed yourself up for.

"doing so good f'me princess." he rubbed your sides, applying more pressure to your bud. the vibrator was at its maximum and he was making sure you feel every single bit of it.

your senses were heightened, with the blindfold covering you, you couldnt see anything. thus making it hard to anticipate where hed touch you next. it was weird, but in an exciting way.

you threw your head back at the immediate touch of his fingers that curled up inside your gummy walls. he inserted in with such ease you felt like you were going to cum on the spot. his fingers were long and reached so deep, just the lewd squelching sounds and your moans echoed throughout the room, and it fueled reos drive to continue.

"feel good?" he chuckled, staring at the way your body trembled. with the stimulation of the clit vibrator and his fingers, youll be coming in no time. just make sure to keep up with him.

you nod eagerly, moving your hips in a circular like motion. he loved the way your juices spilled onto his sheets and fingers, it was so sticky and the smell was intoxicating too. probably the best pussy he ever played with, your walls were warm, and youre so fucking wet<3

unexpectedly, you come. you didnt even register you did until he drags his fingers out of your cunt, but its like sucking him back in, just wanting more and more. the vibrator just overstimulated you so much, he wouldnt take it off. its like hes a sadist and wants to see you beg for him to stop.

"thats a 10000 right there." he cooed, licking a stripe up your cheek. the wet muscle made you wince while you tried to control your breathing. it felt so intense, you dont even know if you could withstand anymore, even after coming once.

"think you can handle my cock?" he slapped the tip of his cock onto your cunt, rubbing it against the vibrator. he bit his lips, almost drawing out blood. you just looked so hot under him, he definitely would of regret it if he hadnt strike up a conversation, or else he would of missed out on best pussy of the year.

he lets out a low growl, prodding his tip at your entrance, god you were so slippery he can just insert it in now. but he wanted to hear your sweet voice beg for his cock.

"n-need it." you mumbled out. you were referring to the money he said (thats what you told yourself) hed give you every time you came, but he took it as your neediness for him.

and just like you said, he sheathed himself in your velvety walls. he bottoms out inside of you with a whine he thought he never knew could come out of him. shit, the way your walls pulsed around his cock like it had a mind of its own made him feel incredible. he feels like hes going to cum this instant.

"oh, did you cum again—?" he raised his eyebrow at your fucked out face, he felt your cunt tighten around him and the way your breathing became heavy again indicated your second time. no way you just came twice in the span of two minutes. you didnt know sex could get this good.

you grind yourself onto him, you need more. his touch was so addicting you cant get enough of it. he can feel the vibrator from the outside and it just added more to the pleasure to him and you. the smell of sweat filled the room and two horny fucks getting it on.

he leans down to your neck, marking you up and planting light kisses on the skin. your nails dug into yourself from the intensity of everything.

"shiiitt, can i come inside?" he pleaded, he wasnt going to miss this opportunity to do it inside of yours. his thrusts gradually becomes faster but sloppier, losing that rhythm he had set before. he loved the sound of your ass clapping against his balls, it was so hot.

"yes, yes please." your breath hitched as your breathing became erratic. the third time youre going to come alone from this mikage guy. you dont even know what youre saying right now, you werent on pills or anything, you just needed to feel him fill you up.

he latches his lips onto yours, tasting the drool that slipped out from the corner of your mouth. it was filthy, tongues fighting each other while you both exchange saliva, creating a string whenever you broke the kiss.

his tip kissed your cervix and your back arched at an impossible angle. youre at your breaking point by now.

"f-fuck!" you squirt on his cock, your juices flying everywhere and reo came inside, painting your gummy walls white with his seed. your thighs quivered and your toes curled.

"s-shit that was so hot. keep it up okay?" he stared in awe how his cum seeped out of your pussy even with his cock intact. you were definitely in for a long night if you wanted the money.

hi so sorry i no posttt! so busy but i will start posting more now c: i will try to get all requests done! have so many so i am sorry!

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby @theirlimerence

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enjakey · 1 month ago

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omg the latest ni-ki story I need a part 2 THE ANGST AT THE END I CANT sleep with that, the emotions put in it is insane 💔💔

Hello! I’m not sure what you’re expecting as a second part… really can’t think of what to write. But I can do a little extension, a little more angst. I realise this isn’t a proper request but I got an idea. I’m thinking about Niki at Y/N’s wedding a few years later (sorry, it’s like a bit too long)

Through plastic screens: extra

Seven years had passed since Niki got married- seven years of bliss with Jocelyn, with his new house and new life and his four year old daughter who was taking after his love for dancing. And it had been seven years since he’d seen Y/N, seven years since he’d interacted with her, heard her voice or seen her smile. He couldn’t imagine what she looked like now- older, softer eyes, warmer smile.

Niki still marked his life based on Y/N. it was an old habit that refused to die and a habit he never told Jocelyn. Not because it was incriminating him of anyway. It was just… unusual, not ideal. And it wasn’t that he didn’t love his wife- she was truly his other half, the one that made him whole. But Niki didn’t go to his wife when he needed to recall a particular event or period in his life, even though she practically knew everything and more.

No, Niki turned to the letters and emails he exchanged with Y/N over the past years. It had been nearly two decades since they met, two decades since they’d promised each other their lives. And in some ways, they held it up. Niki, still, told Y/N about his life through their chain email. He would carefully curate anecdotes into the email and sometimes add pictures of his daughter or family portraits they’d taken. And Y/N, too, told him about his life, though she stopped sharing pictures. Hence the reason Niki could barely imagine what she’d look like now.

All he could remember was the girl who showed up to his wedding in a satin dress, holding a glass of seemingly never ending wine while talking to him. Back then, seven years ago, she still looked young, unharmed by the stress her teaching job at a university and graced by the wisdom of life.

Sometimes, Niki would re-read his emails with Y/N just for the sake of. There was a bookmark in every chain, a milestone in every word.

The first time he and Jocelyn met? He told Y/N through those emails.

The first time he and Jocelyn fought? He asked Y/N about her love life for the first time since they’d agreed to move on from each other.

The day he proposed to Jocelyn? He told Y/N that he was buying his first house.

The day Niki moved into his house with his wife? He debated about the pros and cons of censorship in art with Y/N through those emails.

These were just… things he remembered. This relation of events, the way he remembered his life through Y/N. Most of what he achieved in life was because of her, because of the confidence and support she gave him. If it wasn’t for her, he would have never opened his dance studio, never have pursued modelling, never have invested in Jay and Jungwon’s talk show.

And he was grateful for her calculations, he couldn’t not be. Without her… where would his life be? He didn’t even want to think about it. All he could do was thank his lucky stars for introducing her to him when he was seventeen and naive in his K-pop group, with his already big life and bigger ambitions.

So he opened his email one night, preparing to respond to the email she sent a week ago. He didn’t have much to fill her in about, but he would respond anyway. He would tell her about the adorable things his daughter was doing, the conversations he and Jocelyn had that she might find interesting, how his work is going, and maybe attach pictures and videos that he never got to send her.

But when he finally opened her most recent email, his fingers froze on the keyboard and his eyes widened with disbelief. Jocelyn noticed this when she entered the bedroom, skidding herself beside him under the duvet.

“Riki, what is it?” She asked, tiredness evident in her yawn.

“It’s Y/N,” he said. “She’s getting married.”

The invitation stared back at him- minimal font, minimal design and a slight dash of gold above the beige background. The design was so painfully reminiscent of her and her style, something Niki had always noticed and admired about her since the day they’d met.

Niki never really stopped admiring her. He had no reason to.

Below the invitation, she gave him strict instructions. “You better show up,” she wrote. “There’s no wedding without you.”

He was sure she was joking. He was well versed with her humour, by now. Even in his absence, he was sure the ceremony would continue, the reception would swell with love and light as Y/N and her partner danced in the middle of it all.

But Niki would show up- obviously. There were certain requests that you just didn’t say no to and an invitation to an old friend’s wedding was one of those.

A month later, Niki and Jocelyn were flying to America. Their daughter was being taken care of by Jay and his family. Their suitcases were packed for a week’s stay because after the wedding, they planned on enjoying a vacation. And when the plane took off, Niki felt a weight in his chest he was painfully familiar with. And he wondered if this was what Y/N felt when she was flying to Korea for his wedding- if she had suffered through emotional tribulations as well.

Niki didn’t find her when they reached the wedding venue. He was greeted by who he recognised as her high school best friend, was guided to a table with more of her acquaintances and was asked multiple times if he was from the bride or grooms side.

“The bride,” he’d said over ten times by then as Y/N’s grandmother asked him. “We’re old friends.”

When he looked around, he recognised many people he once only saw through pictures. Her friends, cousins, aunts, uncles, colleagues and her parents, who he once met at the Korean Barbeque all those years ago. Rumour has it that Y/N’s dad still held a sense of distaste for Niki because of the stunt he pulled at the restaurant. But he wasn’t quite sure if they remembered who he was.

But the one person he wanted to see most, apart from Y/N, of course, was who the groom was.

He knew from the wedding invitation that the man’s name was Mark. And that was pretty much where Niki’s insight on Y/N’s soon to be husband was. She’d never mentioned him- not once in those emails, not the time she called him in a hurry the night his daughter was born, not a single breath about this man who called himself Mark- her lover, her better half, the man she was spending the rest of her life with.

The ceremony started when the wedding music started playing- it was the same song he used in his wedding, the same melodies. And Mark- it had to be him- appeared beside the priest in his black tux and dashing smile. The crowd gushed at him and soon, when Y/N appeared, Mark had tears in his eyes.

And it was everything Y/N deserved- a man who cried on their wedding day, a man scared to lose her, a man who would go starved at the thought of ever losing her. And Niki realised that this Mark- the man he was seeing and conceptualising for the first time- was everything he could never be, everything Y/N wanted Niki to be.

Y/N was beautiful, as she always was. And she looked exactly like Niki had expected her to- softer eyes, warmer smile, kinder presence. Something she couldn’t be for him, but definitely could be for Mark. And she promised that through her vows, and he sealed them with his. And as he watched the ceremony come to a close, the ache in his chest settled further. It wasn’t permanent, but it was lingering.

Slowly, they moved into the ceremony and once again, Y/N and Mark danced like he had imagined them to. The centre of attention, like they were the sun and the rest of the guests were planets orbiting their creation. Niki danced with Jocelyn, whispering and retelling some of his old memories with Y/N, giggling about the fact that he father was throwing his occasional glares- still, after seventeen years.

“Do you think she knows we came?” Jocelyn asked as he twirled her.

“I’m not sure,” Niki admitted. “But let’s not bother her.”

The second he said that, Niki regretted it. Because he wanted to bother her- he wanted to be her friend who teased her and asked her why she never told him about this Mark- a man she was so in love with that she ended up marrying him. How could she not mention him? How could she keep this unspoken between them.

And when the crowd was dying, when Niki and Jocelyn settled in the bar with wine and whiskey, Y/N saw them.

Well, she’d seen them much before- while she was walking down the aisle, while she was dancing with her husband and cutting their wedding cake. But she was too busy to actually walk up to them- and she wondered why they didn’t approach her like everyone else instead.

She didn’t question it, only tapped Niki on the shoulder that had him swirling his chair in shock.

He stares at her- eyes wide and mouth parted, as though he’d just seen an apparition. She was smiling at him, meekly like a kid that had just asked their parents for her fifth lollipop- she wasn’t supposed to look shy on her wedding day. Yet here she was, in her simple yet elegant reception gown, standing in front of him like she was introducing herself to a stranger.

“She’s not a ghost, you know?” Jocelyn’s chuckle brought Niki back to reality. “You can hug her.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head, chuckling herself. She breezed past Niki and stretched her arms towards Jocelyn. The two women hugged and Niki continue staring at their interaction- like they had known each other their whole lives, like they were old friends, like the predicament with Niki didn’t exist.

And throughout the conversation, Niki stayed minimally interactive. He swirled his wine around as Jocelyn sipped on her whiskey, talking about her life, their daughter, her work and asking Y/N about her life- what was new, what had she done that Niki never mentioned to her, how she met Mark.

“I’m very tired,” Jocelyn eventually announced. “I think I’ll go upstairs to our room.”

“Oh, so soon?” Y/N, slightly disappointed, rubbed Jocelyn’s arm and allowed her to stand up.

“I’m was great seeing you, Y/N,” Jocelyn hugged her again. “You and Riki should talk.”

She left with her purse clutched to her stomach, yawning herself way towards the elevator. And Niki and Y/N were left in the remnants of the conversation- uncertain, confused, a little awkward.

“Jocelyn is a saint for dealing with you,” she said.

“I know,” Niki chuckled, head hanging low the way he always did when he didn’t know what to do.

“I’m seeing you after seven years and you’re not even talking to me, Niki,” she observed. “Come on, it’s my wedding night. Don’t be like this.”

“You never told me,” he said, finally lifting his head to meet her eyes. And he finally saw her, the way her makeup was starting to fade, the heaviness in her eyes, the glow of her marriage.

“About Mark?” She chuckled, rubbing her forehead with her palm. She had a raging headache but she wouldn’t admit it. “You barely told me about Jocelyn,” she said.

“So this was some sort of ego battle?” Niki raised his brows. “An eye for an eye? At least I mentioned Jocelyn, Y/N. you didn’t even bother, you let me think you were living your life all alone.”

Y/N let out a sigh and gripped her wine glass. It was empty now, but she still brought it to her lips, hoping to get the ghost of its taste. “Why does it matter, Riki? I didn’t get mad at you for not telling about Jocelyn, did I?” She asked. “What’s done is done. I barely even told my family about him.”

“Why?” He asked, puzzled by her response.

Y/N smiled, looking over to find Mark sending off the guests and bidding them farewells. His hair wasn’t style anymore, falling over his forehead and his sleepy eyes, his dashing smile etched across his face like an emblem. And Niki saw him too- the way he charmed everyone around him, the way he carried the room, the way he also glowed in the aftermath of their wedding ceremony.

“He was too good to be true,” she admitted. “I was scared that if I talked about him too much, he would slip away.”

“Oh.”

“I talked about you a lot, you know?” She chuckled, eyes sparkling in nostalgia. “Back in the day? I always thought I’d lost you because I wished for you too hard.”

“Y/N, don’t say that,” Niki sighed. He felt guilty now, for even feeling mad over something that was so petty. He reached his hand towards her, fingers grazing over her knuckles. It felt wrong to touch her this way and not have it be momentous- it was just a simple moment, a reassuring gesture. “Just tell me one thing?”

“What is it?” She blinked.

“Are you happy?” He asked. “As in, really happy? This Mark guy… he treats you well? Has never hurt you?”

“Niki,” she giggled this time, eyes squinting and teeth peeking behind her lips. Niki had never heard this sound from her, he’d never seen this version of her giggle. “Mark is everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m happy, of course I’m happy.”

The weight in Niki’s chest lifted- slowly but surely with the way Y/N’s eyes sparkled beneath the chandelier. “Alright,” he said.

“He knows about you,” she grinned. “He asks about you all the time.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “Doesn’t think it’s weird?”

“You and I are lucky we found people like Mark and Jocelyn,” Y/N said. “It’s hard to explain all the long emails and boxes of letters.”

Niki laughed- for the first time since he came to the wedding, he finally let loose. “We really did get lucky.”

Moments later, Mark had joined them. His charming smile, welcoming words and arms that wrapped Niki into an unexpected hug. The two men patted each other on the back, turning their heads towards Y/N at the same time when they let go of each other. It felt like a dream really- to see the two most important men in her life interact this way.

Her friends used to ask her why Niki- this man she only knew through the screen of her phone and laptop- was so important. But who was she if not for him? If not for him letting her go, if not for him supporting her through her dreams and goals?

And she watched and listened as Niki and Mark talked- about random things, nothing significant. They both loved to box, they both loved to sing and they both loved anime. In fact, Mark was also a fan of ENHYPEN back in the day, when they’d first become internationally famous.

And so they bonded- Y/N knew they would get along. She thought it would be hard to be with someone who couldn’t get along with Niki.

“Why don’t our families meet more often?” Mark offered to Niki. “It’s high time we close the distance. I’m dying to meet your baby girl.”

And Niki chuckled, glancing at Y/N with uncertainty. Y/N only shrugged at him, pursing her lips.

Because yes, they had the liberty to travel back and forth between each other’s countries. And they had the money, the time, the freedom to do so. And why certain things didn’t happen- Y/N and Niki couldn’t answer the question themselves. They never thought of the possibility, they never imagined what it could be like, to be close in the way Mark was hoping.

Everything was uncertain, now that Y/N was also married. And now, they realistically had no actual reason to see each other. But then he would imagine his daughter calling her aunty Y/N and his heart swelled, he imagined Jocelyn’s joy over new company and perhaps, he thought, that things didn’t have to be so distant anymore.

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warpdrive-witch · 2 months ago

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Hello! Can I request angst for Agatha? Maybe Agatha and the reader are married and have a baby together, but someone is trying to come between them. This person wants the reader and starts sending fake photos to Agatha, making it look like the reader is cheating. At first, Agatha doesn’t believe it, but then something happens that makes her doubt everything, and she ends up leaving the reader. Eventually, she finds out the photos were fake all along. You can decide how it ends. Thank you!

Hey Anon! Thanks for the idea. I wanted to write this out for you before the last two weeks of the semester hit me in the face. I hope you love it. Enjoy 💜

18.1k Words. Manipulation. Leaving. Arguments. Angst. Childbirth. Stress.

The Evidence of Nothing

The nursery smelled like lemon oil and fresh cotton—the scent of new beginnings. Dust motes floated through the golden light slanting in from the west-facing window, catching on the soft curve of your belly as you reached up to shelve another book. Your back ached, but you smiled through it, one hand pressing instinctively over the gentle swell, like your daughter might press back.

Behind you, Agatha leaned in the doorway, her silhouette softened by the light, a mug in her hands and amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You know she’s going to pull all of those down the second she learns to stand.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “And you’re going to say, ‘She’s just curious,’ while I’m the one re-shelving The People’s History of the Peloponnesian War for the fifth time.”

Agatha stepped forward with a chuckle, placing her mug on the windowsill. “I never said I’d stop her. Just that I’d admire her technique.”

You grinned as she came to stand behind you, her hands slipping beneath yours to brace the book in place. Her fingers brushed over yours—cool from the mug, grounding and sure. The baby kicked then. Sharp and sudden.

Agatha stilled. Her eyes widened as she looked down at your belly. “Was that—?”

You nodded, eyes glossy. “She liked the joke.”

She exhaled a laugh, but it broke halfway. Her hand rose slowly, reverently, and settled against the place where the kick had landed. When the baby kicked again, her face cracked wide open with wonder.

“She’s real,” she whispered. “I mean—of course she’s real, but…”

“I know.” You leaned your head against her shoulder, the both of you swaying slightly where you stood. “It still hits me sometimes. Like I’ll forget for a second and then she moves and—”

“It’s everything again,” Agatha finished, voice thick.

You turned into her. She kissed your forehead first. Then your lips. There was peace here. A quiet certainty. Even when your hips ached. Even when the world outside felt too sharp. This house, this room—this love—was steady. Later that night, curled together on the couch, Agatha rubbed your back while you sorted through baby name lists on your tablet.

“I still think her middle name should be Justice,” she said, half-serious.

You raised an eyebrow. “What is she? A comic book character?”

“She’s got your spine and my attitude. She’ll need something iconic to anchor her.”

You shook your head, but you were laughing. And when Agatha rested her palm against your belly again, the baby kicked once more—strong and deliberate, like she agreed.

------

It was supposed to be a quick meeting. Twenty minutes, max.

You’d agreed to meet Maya Larkin at the campus café just off the quad—a tucked-away spot where faculty and grad students lingered over lukewarm espresso and half-graded papers. She’d reached out the week before, her email full of gratitude and eagerness. She was revisiting her thesis proposal, she said. Wanted your perspective. “Only if you have the time,” she’d added. “I know how busy things must be.”

You did have time—barely—but she’d been one of the brightest students in your public history seminar last year. Smart. Focused. Maybe a little intense, but respectful. And genuinely curious about the same kinds of questions that lit your brain up.

So you said yes.

You arrived a few minutes early, one hand cradling your belly out of habit as you shuffled into a corner booth. The barista behind the counter gave you a nod—already making your usual. The baby had started getting fussy about temperature lately; everything had to be lukewarm or she'd protest with a well-placed jab to your ribs.

Maya slid into the booth a few minutes later. Polished, professional, a little overdressed for a casual meeting—but maybe she was coming from a class. Her smile was wide, eyes bright behind dark-framed glasses.

“Professor,” she said warmly. “You look amazing. Glowing, honestly.”

You smiled, nodding in thanks. “It’s mostly the lighting. And the fact that I didn’t throw up this morning for the first time in three days.”

She laughed like you’d told a good joke.

The conversation was fine. Mostly.

She asked sharp questions. Brought up your recent panel presentation at the library conference. Quoted your article on queer archival silences—verbatim. It should’ve been flattering, and part of you was impressed. But something about the way she said, “I think about that line all the time: ‘Sometimes silence isn’t absence—it’s refusal.’” made the back of your neck prickle.

Not wrong. Just... too knowing. Too aware.

You chalked it up to nerves. People got weird around professors, especially when they admired them. You’d done it yourself, back when you were Maya’s age.

As you stood to leave, she hesitated.

“I, um—actually got you something.” Maya reached into her bag and pulled out a small gift bag. Pale yellow tissue crinkled softly at the top.

You blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” she said, waving it off. “Just something small. I saw it and thought of you. No big deal.”

Inside was a teething ring shaped like a stack of archival boxes. You’d seen them on Etsy—clever and kind of adorable. It was cute. Harmless.

But something about the way she said thought of you landed a little too close.

Still, you thanked her. Smiled. Told her good luck with the revisions.

And then the soft chime above the café door jingled.

You turned instinctively—already recognizing the cadence of her footsteps.

Agatha spotted you immediately. Her expression melted into that familiar, quiet joy—the kind of look that made you feel seen even before she’d touched you.

She crossed the café in a few strides, pausing behind you just long enough to drop a kiss on your cheek. Her hand skimmed your shoulder, thumb brushing gently across your collarbone in a touch that had always made you feel like home.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I figured you might be here.”

You leaned back into her. “I thought you had office hours?”

“I did. Canceled the last half. Your texts looked like you were fading.” She smiled, then glanced toward Maya with polite curiosity. “Hi.”

Maya’s voice came a second too late. “Hello, Dr. Harkness.”

There was something clipped in it now. Tighter. You recognized the shift immediately.

Agatha blinked. “I’m sorry—have we met?”

Maya’s jaw tensed.

“I was in your History of Political Thought class. Fall semester, two years ago.”

Agatha’s face was blank. “Oh. I—apologies. I usually remember my students, but that year was a little chaotic.”

Maya’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Apparently.”

You stiffened. Agatha, ever perceptive, felt it too. Her hand dropped instinctively to your shoulder again, thumb smoothing small circles over your sweater.

“I was just heading out,” you said, easing yourself up from the booth.

Maya stood as well, but not before her gaze flicked—slow and assessing—from your rounded belly to Agatha’s arm still resting over your shoulder. Her nostrils flared so subtly it might’ve gone unnoticed… if you hadn’t already been watching her too closely.

“You two… know each other?” Maya asked, voice deliberately light.

Agatha lifted a brow. “We’re married.”

The words landed like a slap.

For a moment, Maya didn’t speak.

Then: “Well. Congratulations.”

You gave her a gentle nod, polite and practiced. “Good luck with your revisions. I’m sure your work will grow into something strong.”

Maya’s mouth twisted like she’d bitten into something sour. “I hope so. It’s always interesting to see who gets remembered.”

Agatha turned, her free hand settling protectively at your back. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Larkin.”

You didn’t look back as the two of you walked out.

But Maya did.

------

The late afternoon had settled into something slow and honey-thick—sunlight slipping through the windows in lazy gold ribbons, the kind that softened the edges of everything. You were curled on the couch, a mug of herbal tea resting on the swell of your belly. It tasted like regret and well-meaning advice—raspberry leaf, lemon balm, nettle. Jen’s special blend. She’d handed you a mason jar of the stuff last week with a knowing look and said, “Not glamorous, but helpful. Trust me.”

You did trust her. Jen had been a part of your life long before she'd become your doula. She lived just two doors down—equal parts brilliant and grounded, a former ER nurse turned midwife who now grew heirloom tomatoes in raised beds and hosted monthly book clubs that always devolved into feminist rage and laughter. She’d been the one to gently insist on keeping a birthing pool in the house. “Just in case,” she’d said, tapping her temple. “Babies don’t care about plans, sweetheart. They come when they come.”

So, the pool waited in the corner of your bedroom. Deflated. Coiled like a secret. A quiet backup plan to a backup plan. But somehow, its presence made things feel more real. More possible. As if someone else had thought through the chaos so you didn’t have to.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the laptop perched across your thighs. Your legs were tangled in a pretzel of academic exhaustion—one knee bent beneath you, the other stretched out just enough to tap absently against Agatha’s thigh. She sat beside you on the couch, a novel open in her lap, though the angle of her gaze suggested she hadn’t read more than a paragraph in the last half hour.

A groan escaped your lips as another email notification popped up in the corner of your screen.

“What now?” Agatha asked, not looking up.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Another undergrad asking if I can ‘just glance’ at their digital exhibit proposal before Monday. It’s Friday, Agatha. I’m not their personal fairy god-historian.”

She smirked without lifting her eyes. “You kind of are.”

“I do not grant academic wishes.”

“You do. I’ve seen you. One time you rewrote a student’s thesis abstract and called it ‘pedagogical triage.’”

“That was an emergency. He didn’t know what a historiographical lens was and was three weeks from presenting to the department.”

Your inbox dinged again.

And again.

You groaned theatrically, one hand drifting to your stomach as if to physically shield your child from the chaos of academia.

“Okay, let’s see… Michael needs help with his citations… Tabitha wants an extension… and—”

You stopped mid-sentence.

A new subject line blinked softly on the screen:

Following up on our chat – Maya Larkin

The air shifted—not dramatically. But enough. Enough that you noticed when Agatha's hand stilled on her book, her breath hitching just faintly in the quiet space between seconds.

You clicked the email open.

Hi Professor, Thank you again for taking the time to meet. I found our discussion about archival ethics incredibly inspiring—it really made me think more deeply about emotional bias in preservation work. I’d love to meet again if you're available. Totally understand if you're busy! I just value your insights so much. Warmly, Maya

You leaned back against the cushions, already composing a gentle, professional brush-off. “Why do they always want to ‘pick your brain’? My brain is tired. My brain is bloated with third-trimester fog. My brain is a balloon full of sleep deprivation and foot cramps.”

Agatha didn’t laugh. Not this time.

She slid a bookmark between the pages and set the novel down in her lap, fingers drumming once—then stilling.

“Didn’t you already meet with her?” she asked lightly, casually. But her posture had changed. More upright. Alert in that quiet, practiced way she had when something didn’t sit right.

You nodded, scrolling. “Yeah. Earlier this week. She was fine. A little intense. One of those students who memorizes your entire CV and then watches your face to see if you’re flattered.”

“Hm.”

That was all.

Just a soft sound. Noncommittal. But thoughtful.

You glanced sideways. “What?”

Agatha shook her head and reached out, squeezing your ankle where it rested against her thigh. “Nothing. Probably just the protective instincts kicking in. I didn’t love the way she looked at you the other day.”

You arched a brow. “She was nervous.”

“She was… something.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but stopped. Because even if you didn’t feel threatened, you had noticed the way Maya had lingered a little too long after the meeting. The way she’d smiled like she was testing a theory, not just being polite.

Agatha didn’t press. She didn’t need to. Her gaze drifted back to your belly—softening—and then flicked toward you.

------

Agatha hadn’t meant to overhear it.

She was coming out of the departmental printer room—an ancient, humming closet of overheating machines and jammed toner cartridges—when she caught the tail end of a conversation between two adjuncts near the breakroom, voices low and gossipy in that way people got when they weren’t talking about anything serious but still wanted to sound important.

“…said she stopped by their office hours yesterday and no one was there. Totally empty. Door open, lights on, but nothing.”

The other voice was vaguely familiar—maybe one of the anthropology post-docs. “Weird. They’re never out of office. Especially not this late in the term.”

“She even knocked, just in case they were in the back or something. But yeah—nobody.”

Agatha froze for half a second, her hand still on the doorframe. They didn’t name you, not outright—but “never out of office” could only be one person. You. You were practically known for it. You’d once held office hours on a snow day “just in case.”

It was probably nothing. Maybe the student had shown up late. Maybe they were confused.

Still, something tugged.

That night, after dinner—after the dishes had been stacked and the leftovers labeled, after you had curled up on the couch with a book propped on your bump and a blanket over your knees—Agatha said, too casually, “Did you have office hours yesterday?”

You looked up. “Mhm. Why?”

“I just… someone mentioned not finding you in your office.”

You blinked, then rolled your eyes a little. “Oh—yeah. A student came by early, and she looked like she was two seconds from a panic attack, so I offered to walk with her. We sat on the bench outside the library. Figured it would be less intimidating than hovering in my weird windowless cave while she tried to explain her draft.”

Agatha tried to keep her expression neutral, but something flickered. “Which student?”

You frowned, trying to remember. “Tabitha, I think? No—wait. The other one. But then Maya spotted me and before I could find a way to leave, she started asking questions”

Agatha’s body didn’t tense.

Not really.

But something in her shoulders changed—some ancient, barely visible bristle of self-protection.

“She asked to meet again?”

You nodded, distracted, already flipping back to your reading. “Yeah. I mean, she was right there, and I didn’t have anyone else scheduled. It was fifteen minutes, tops. Honestly, she just needed someone to tell her she wasn’t failing at life.”

Agatha hummed softly.

Then: “She’s coming up a lot lately.”

That made you look up again. “What?”

“Nothing,” Agatha said smoothly. “Just an observation.”

You watched her for a moment longer. Her face was calm. Too calm.

“She’s just a student,” you said gently.

“I’m sure,” Agatha murmured, pressing a hand to your leg beneath the blanket. “I’m just… noticing things. That’s all.”

You let it go. But that little weight settled somewhere behind your ribs. You weren’t sure whose discomfort it belonged to—yours, or hers.

------

Agatha didn’t sleep that night.

Not well, anyway.

You hadn’t noticed—you’d passed out hard, your back pressed against her chest and your belly cradled in the crook of her arm. She stayed awake for hours, thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your shirt, waiting for the unease to loosen in her chest.

It didn’t.

She hated how it made her feel. Suspicious. It didn’t suit her. But something had shifted. She could feel it.

The next day passed without much fanfare. You had back-to-back meetings, and she had a faculty review to finalize. By the time the two of you finally got home, she could see how exhausted you were. Your ankles were swollen, your eyes rimmed with fatigue. You needed rest, not questions. Not doubts.

So she didn’t bring up Maya again.

She kissed your temple when you dozed off on the couch, then tucked a blanket around you and padded into the kitchen to make tea. Her phone buzzed just as the kettle began to scream. It was a message from an unknown number.

No words. Just an image.

The photo loaded slowly, the progress bar crawling like it knew what it was about to reveal.

And then it appeared. A blurry shot—taken through the wide library windows. You, seated on the bench just outside. Maya beside you. Leaning close. Too close.

The angle made it look worse than it was. Maya’s hand was reaching toward you—your shoulder, your hair, your face? It was hard to tell. You were turned slightly toward her, mid-sentence, eyes soft in a way that Agatha knew was your way of listening.

But it looked intimate. Too intimate. The time stamp read two days ago. The message underneath came through a second later.

“I thought you should know. I’d want to.”

Agatha stood still for a long moment. The kettle wailed beside her. Steam curling into the air like a warning. She clicked the phone off. Her tea went cold on the counter.

When you stirred awake an hour later, you found her reading, eyes unreadable. She smiled when you sat beside her. Kissed your temple. But her hand didn’t linger the way it usually did. And when you fell asleep against her again, she watched the ceiling for a long time.

------

It was a Thursday—ordinary in every way.

The kind of day that passed without ceremony. Students shuffled by her open door, leaves rustled outside the window, and the scent of dry-erase marker clung to the sleeves of Agatha’s cardigan like a ghost.

She was in her office, drafting lecture notes for next week’s seminar, a half-finished cup of coffee going lukewarm beside her laptop. Her pen tapped absently against the margin of her notebook as she reread a line, crossing through a phrase and rewriting it cleaner, sharper.

Then her phone buzzed against the desk. Once. Then again. A third time—sharp enough to fracture her concentration. She exhaled, annoyed, and reached for it. A single email. No sender listed. Just a subject line:

“You deserve to know.”

Her stomach pinched. Her finger hovered above the screen, reluctant, but still—curious. She tapped. The email contained no message body. Just an attachment. She opened it. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing.

You, unmistakably, sitting in your office. The light from your desk lamp made your skin glow. Your cheeks were red, lips parted mid-laugh. The angle suggested someone had taken it from just outside the open door—or worse, through the cracked blinds.

You looked happy. Relaxed. Flushed. And then she saw the caption. Crude. White letters overlaid at the bottom like a tabloid headline:

“Not just a student, is she?”

Agatha’s heart lurched.

It was a still photo—just a single frame. But it said too much. Or maybe nothing at all. If she didn’t know you, if she hadn’t watched you move through life with such open honesty, it would’ve been easy to believe something else was happening. Something private. Something inappropriate.

She wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, she stared. The world thinned out around her.

For a moment, it was like being back in that other life—the one before you. The one where trust had been a sharp thing, easily broken. Where someone else’s secrets had rotted out the floorboards beneath her and left her standing in the wreckage.

She thought she was past that. She thought you had taught her something better. Then another email came in. This time, from an address she didn’t recognize.

No name. No signature. Just words:

This isn’t the first time, either. Thought you should know before it gets worse. Her hands trembled. She didn’t respond. Didn’t forward it. Didn’t delete it either. She closed the email and shut her laptop and sat in silence, the image still burning behind her eyes.

------

It was a Thursday—ordinary in every way.

The kind of day that passed without ceremony. Students shuffled by her open door in half-zipped jackets and earbuds, the last leaves of the season skipping across the sidewalk outside. Somewhere, someone sneezed with the conviction of a man losing a midterm. The heater clicked on for the third time that hour.

Agatha’s office smelled like dry-erase marker and paper. The kind of quiet, book-lined room that had once made her feel grounded. Today, it felt too still.

Her lecture notes sat open in front of her, margins scribbled with arrows and underlines, but her pen hovered above the page without moving. Her coffee had gone tepid. Forgotten.

She should have been thinking about next week’s seminar. Reframing Public Memory: Power, Absence, and Archive. She should have been considering which readings to cut, which to expand, whether she had time to rewrite the slide about monumentality in Southern cemeteries. But the only thing that kept repeating in her head—unwelcome, unprovoked—was that still frame.

Your face. That laugh. The cold, acid shape of implication twisted into the caption.

She’d stared at it too long. Not because she believed it, but because it had caught her off-guard so precisely. Like someone had reached into her chest and jostled the bone she’d only just learned to trust again. A knock came at the doorframe—two short taps.

“Dr. Harkness?”

Agatha blinked and looked up. Alice stood in the doorway, cradling a stack of folders against her hip, a travel mug balanced precariously on top.

“Oh. Alice. Come in.”

Alice stepped inside, nudging the door open with her shoulder and setting the folders down on the edge of the desk. “Here’s everything for the grant submission. And your revised syllabus notes.” She paused. “You okay? You look like you’ve been staring at the same sentence for twenty minutes.”

Agatha gave a thin smile, folding her arms loosely on the desk. “Just tired.”

Alice didn’t sit, but lingered—her weight shifting between feet, gaze flicking toward the half-shut laptop. She was observant, always had been. Too sharp sometimes. Not easily brushed off.

Agatha turned back to her notes, flipping a page. “Did you end up adding the entry about the queer oral history archive?”

“I did. Cross-referenced the metadata guidelines, too. But…” Alice hesitated. “Sorry, I know this might be out of line, but… you muttered something earlier when I knocked. Something about ‘students.’” Her voice gentled. “Everything okay?”

Agatha’s hand stilled. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. Just a whisper. A habit, maybe. A bleed-through of thought into speech. But now that the door was open, she didn’t quite know how to close it again.

She kept her tone even. “Have you ever had a student… blur the line between academic admiration and something else?”

Alice blinked. “Like… parasocial?”

“No.” Agatha’s mouth twisted faintly. “Like interest. Romantic, or otherwise.”

“Oh.” Alice set her mug down. “Yeah. Once or twice. It was awkward, but not threatening.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away.

Alice tilted her head. “Is it someone in your class?”

Agatha shook her head. “Not mine.”

Alice frowned. “Then who?”

The silence stretched. Agatha tapped her pen once against the desk, then looked up. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low. Careful. “Maya Larkin.”

Alice's brow furrowed in recognition. “The archival student? She’s… intense. Bright, but intense. I sat in on her presentation last semester. Didn’t she reach out to—?”

“Yes.”

Agatha’s eyes met Alice’s across the desk. Something unspoken passed between them. Alice straightened. “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly. Just…” Agatha exhaled, folding her arms tighter. “Something doesn’t sit right. And I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Especially not about someone she chose to mentor.”

Alice’s gaze softened. “Then maybe start with what you do know. Or… show me?”

Agatha didn’t move. She didn’t open the laptop. But she nodded—slowly. As if anchoring herself to the moment. To someone else who could see the thread, even if it hadn’t unraveled yet.

Outside, the breeze rustled through brittle leaves. A bell rang across campus. And somewhere down the hall, a printer kicked on with a shrill whine that made them both flinch. Ordinary sounds. On an ordinary Thursday. But the air had shifted. And something quiet had begun to take root

------

That night, the house felt too quiet. You were humming to yourself in the other room, folding the last of the laundry and calling softly for her to come help pick out tomorrow’s baby clothes. You sounded light. Happy. You had no idea.

Agatha didn’t answer right away. You found her in the kitchen, standing barefoot by the sink, the refrigerator still open behind her. Her phone was in her hand, screen dark now. Her other hand rested lightly against the counter, fingers flexing as if trying to ground herself.

You stepped behind her, arms circling gently around her waist, your cheek brushing her shoulder. “You okay?”

Agatha turned, slow, her eyes hard to read in the dim light.

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

You tilted your head, searching her face. “Anything I can do?”

She hesitated—just long enough for something cold to slip between your ribs.

“No,” she said finally, voice quieter than before. “Not tonight.”

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and offered you a faint, tired smile. You kissed her temple anyway. But she didn’t lean in the way she usually did. And the photo—unspoken, unseen—settled between you like a weight neither of you could name.

------

Agatha balanced the takeout tray against her hip, the brown paper bag tucked tighter under her arm as the scent of roasted tomato soup and fresh focaccia drifted around her like a promise she hadn’t figured out how to speak yet. The hallway air was cool and faintly metallic—old building, older vents—but the warmth from the food wrapped around her like a second skin.

She hadn’t planned this. Not really.

But when she saw the café chalkboard outside the library—Lunch Special: Roasted Tomato Bisque & Focaccia—your favorite, always your favorite, something inside her sparked. Soft and urgent. Not guilt, not exactly. More like a quiet offering. A bridge she wanted to rebuild plank by plank, even if her hands still shook from the weight of doubt.

It wasn’t that you had done anything wrong. She knew that. God, she knew that.

But something in her—something old and cracked and half-healed—had split open again.

It was the kind of hurt that didn’t arrive with sirens or certainty. Just a slow corrosion. A voice at the back of her mind that whispered remember when, and what if, and don’t be stupid again.

Agatha pushed open the department door with her shoulder, her grip shifting to balance the tray. She’d imagined this moment on the walk over—your surprised smile, your eyes lighting up at the smell of soup, the way you always touched your chest when something moved you without warning.

She missed you.

Missed you, even though you shared a bed. Even though you laughed beside her and kissed her temple and traced her belly with reverent fingers when you both couldn’t sleep. Because somehow, in the silence between all those soft moments, space had grown. Not because of you. Because of her.

She was halfway down the hallway—almost to your door, already smiling in anticipation—when someone rounded the corner. Maya. Agatha’s body went still.

Maya’s hair was twisted into something that looked effortless but wasn’t. Her lipstick was dark, plum-red and glossy, drawn on with too much care for a casual Thursday. She carried nothing in her hands. No notebook. No folder. Just a small smile that didn’t belong here.

And she froze when she saw Agatha.

Only for a second. Just a flicker. But it was there—the startle, the adjustment, the recalibration of her mask.

“Dr. Harkness,” Maya said, voice breezy, polite. Too polite. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Agatha didn’t smile. Her voice came out smooth, practiced. But cold.

“Clearly.”

Maya gave a half-laugh, her tone airy. “Just finished chatting with Professor. She’s always so generous with her time.”

Her eyes glittered—bright, sharp. Performed. Agatha’s grip tightened around the bag. The warm focaccia inside had begun to cool.

“Uh-huh.”

She didn’t step aside. Didn’t look away. And Maya didn’t linger. She breezed past with a nod, perfume trailing behind her—overly sweet, synthetic florals clinging to the stale academic air like a foreign presence. Wrong, Agatha thought. It smells wrong.

Only when Maya’s heels faded down the stairwell did Agatha begin to move again. Her breath was shallow. Her steps were careful. Your office door was open.

Inside, you stood at the far end of the room, sleeves pushed up, glasses slipping down your nose, surrounded by paper stacks and soft lamp light. You looked like yourself. Grounded. Focused. Beautiful.

And for one aching second, Agatha wanted to leave. Not because she didn’t believe you. But because she didn’t believe herself. Not fully. Not yet. Not when the shadow of something she'd once survived had found a new shape in her mind again.

You looked up and your entire face changed.

“Hey!” you beamed, already moving toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um...” Agatha held up the tray with a shy, uncertain smile. “I brought you lunch. I saw the special and thought—”

She didn’t get the rest out. You were already across the room, stepping around a precarious tower of graded essays. You took the tray from her hands with a grateful sigh and set it on your desk. “You’re the best. I’ve been living off dry cereal and office candy for two days. You might’ve saved my life.”

Agatha laughed, but it cracked on the tail end. Barely audible. But you heard it.

You turned to her, head tilted. “Hey,” you said softly, reaching for her hand, guiding her fingers to your sleeve. “You okay?”

She hesitated, then let her fingers slip against the fabric. You were warm. Solid. Real.

“I’ve been…” Her voice thinned. “Weird. I know. I’ve been trying not to fall into old patterns, but—”

You frowned. “Agatha—”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t want to be that person again. The one who assumes the worst. Who sees ghosts in corners and shadows where there aren’t any.”

You stepped closer, cupping her face with both hands. Your thumbs brushed the softest curve of her cheekbones.

“You’re not her,” you whispered. “You’ve grown past that. You chose to.”

Agatha’s eyes shimmered. “I’m still learning how to trust what’s mine. That I don’t have to protect myself from the good things.”

“I know,” you said. And then, gently, “I love you for trying.”

You leaned in and kissed her—slow, certain, soft. A promise in a breath. She melted into it. And for a moment, everything held.

But later—when Agatha excused herself to the bathroom and stepped into the hallway, heart a little steadier, soup left half-eaten on your desk—she passed the bench outside your office. The one from the photo. The one from the email.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look directly at it. But she slowed. And the scent hit her again. That same cloying, artificial perfume. It clung to the air like a warning. Like a thread she hadn’t pulled on yet.

------

Agatha told herself she was done looking.

She told herself the worst was over—that she’d chosen to trust you, that the lunch visit had grounded her again. She’d kissed your cheek. She’d stayed the whole afternoon. She’d even laughed.

But later that night—well after you’d fallen asleep, your body curled toward her beneath the quilt, a hand resting instinctively over your belly—her phone buzzed again.

1:13 a.m.

Another unknown number. Another email address that meant nothing. Another photo.

This time, it was nothing damning. Nothing intimate. Just you and Maya passing in the hallway. Maya smiling. You laughing at something, a coffee cup in your hand.

But the angle was the same. The framing. The intent. A beat later, another came through.

A different angle. This time inside the building—taken through the narrow glass window of your office door. You were seated at your desk. Maya was standing above you, too close, holding something out of frame. You looked distracted. Tired.

Underneath it, the caption:

“How long has this really been going on?”

Agatha’s heart pounded, hot and sick in her chest. She clicked away. Tossed the phone onto the nightstand like it might burn her. But the buzz came again.

1:29 a.m.

“You deserve someone who tells you the truth.”

2:04 a.m.

“Open your eyes.”

She stopped reading them. Stopped opening the photos. But she didn’t delete them. And the next day—Friday—was worse.

They came in every hour. Some from blocked numbers. Some from emails strung together in nonsense letters and numbers. Each one just different enough to seem real. Each one feeding the same slow, venomous narrative.

She tried to stay busy. She taught her class. Held a department meeting. Even brought you a decaf latte halfway through the day, holding your hand a little too tightly when you thanked her.

You noticed. Asked if she was okay. She said she was just tired. She smiled. She kissed your cheek in front of your T.A. like nothing was wrong.

But by the time the sun set, Agatha felt like she was made of glass—brittle and thin and dangerously close to shattering. And still the messages came. Still the images. Still that voice in her head whispering: what if you’re wrong?

------

It was just a voicemail.

That was all.

Agatha had only left the department twenty minutes earlier, her leather satchel slung over one shoulder, a glass container of pasta tucked neatly under her arm—the leftovers from last night’s dinner you hadn’t had time to eat. She was planning to drop it off, maybe steal a kiss, maybe convince you to pack up early and go home. She knew how grading week swallowed you whole. How you forgot meals and hours and sometimes your own name if a citation wasn’t formatted right.

She knew the look you got—brows drawn tight, glasses slipping down your nose, a red pen clenched like a scalpel. It worried her. The kind of tired you carried was never theatrical. It was quiet. Noble. Dangerous.

So she’d called you.

Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft Hey, I’m coming by. I’ve got that stupid pasta you like. The one you claim tastes better when I make it—even though it’s just garlic, butter, and lies.

You didn’t answer.

Not unusual. Your phone had a talent for burying itself under student folders and library receipts and those tiny post-its you used like breadcrumbs through your chaos. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was—

Laughter. Yours. She heard it before she saw you.

The hallway curved gently, your office sitting at the far end with the door half-open, just wide enough to spill out sound and light. The kind of light that made everything inside seem warm. Familiar.

Safe. Agatha slowed. There you were.

Back turned slightly, perched behind your desk with a paper cup in one hand and a soft smile blooming across your face. And across from you—

Maya.

Standing comfortably close.

She was holding something—thin, rectangular—one of those draft exhibit panels you always helped students with, maybe. Her fingers trailed across the printed text as she tilted it toward you, asking something Agatha couldn’t hear.

You answered. Your voice was gentle, thoughtful. Encouraging. The way it always was when someone came to you unsure of their own work. It wasn’t flirtation. Not technically.

But then you laughed again—quick and bright and familiar. Agatha’s stomach twisted like it had been tied wrong. She stopped walking.

She wasn’t hiding. Not really. She didn’t duck behind a corner or backtrack toward the stairwell. But she didn’t keep going either. She just stood there, the pasta container cooling in the crook of her arm, watching your smile break open like sunlight and wondering—absurdly, painfully—when was the last time I made you laugh like that?

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. She reached for it. One notification. A voicemail.

To: You Sent: 15 minutes ago

She blinked down at the screen, thumb hovering. You hadn’t even listened to it. Agatha’s breath caught low in her chest, a slow burn threading into her ribs. It was nothing. It was everything. A moment, a shadow, a memory she couldn’t quite claw away from.

For a second she just stood there, listening to the soft hum of your voice as it filtered into the hallway. The way you said Maya’s name. The quiet affection that seemed to thread through your tone like silk.

And then she turned. She didn’t speak. Didn’t step forward. Didn’t knock. She walked away. The pasta was still warm when she got back to the car. But she wasn’t.

------

You noticed it just before you left campus.

A low, rolling tension curled through your lower belly—dull at first, more pressure than pain. You paused at the edge of the quad, one hand coming to rest just above your hip, your other gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter.

You told yourself it was nothing. Braxton-Hicks, maybe. Jen had warned you about them. “Practice surges,” she’d said. “Common this late. Annoying, but harmless.” Still, something in your body felt different. Not sharper, exactly—just... aware. Like the air inside your skin had shifted. Like your muscles had started listening to a frequency you hadn’t meant to tune into.

You breathed through it, slow and steady, and pressed your free hand against your belly. The baby gave a soft nudge, as if responding. Not distressed. Just... present. Still here. Still with you.

By the time you reached the car, the tightness had eased. Mostly. But your body didn’t forget. It carried the memory of that tension like a held breath, like a word not yet spoken. And as you turned onto your street, you thought—not for the first time that week—We’re getting close.

------

The house was quiet when you got home. Too quiet.

No music playing. No clatter from the kitchen. Just the low hum of the fridge and the steady thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

You paused in the doorway, keys still clutched in your hand. “Hey,” you called softly. “Soup delivery?”

No answer.

You kicked your shoes off slowly, the weight of the day still dragging behind your eyes. Your shoulders ached. Your head buzzed. You just wanted to sit down. Eat. Maybe curl into Agatha’s arms and forget the last six hours of student panic and policy meetings.

You found her in the kitchen.

She hadn’t cooked. Just stood at the table, one hand braced against the back of a chair, her phone face-down beside her. Her back to you.

You tried to lighten the air. “Sorry I missed your call. I had a student stop by and I—”

“Which one?” she asked.

Her voice wasn’t loud.

But it cut like broken glass.

You blinked. “What?”

She turned slowly.

Her face was pale. Not in anger, but in something worse—grief, maybe. Shock. Like part of her had known this was coming and still hoped she was wrong. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest. Eyes rimmed red.

“Maya,” she said. “Right?”

You sighed—too long. Shoulders sagging. You rubbed at your temple. “Oh, we’re on this again?”

Her mouth parted just slightly.

You kept going, not even realizing how deep the hole was getting. “It’s been a long day, Agatha. Seriously, I was going to tell you. She just stopped by—she’s having a meltdown over her thesis and—”

She flinched like you’d shouted, even though your tone wasn’t raised.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. Her hand lifted slightly, like she needed to physically block the sound of your voice. “I can’t believe this.”

You held up your hands. “Agatha. Babe. Relax. It’s not what you think. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

And then you saw it—really saw her. Everything Agatha had been holding in. All of it. Her sleepless nights. Her guilt for doubting. Her shame for even entertaining the idea that you—you—could betray her. But also the fear. The creeping, unrelenting fear that maybe… maybe something had changed without her realizing it.

Her eyes were rimmed red, her mouth trembling even as she tried to hold it steady. She looked like she was about to break—and worse, like she was ready to let herself.

You stepped back slightly, blinking, your hand instinctively hovering over the curve of your belly like it could protect something sacred.

“What is happening right now?” you asked, voice cracking. “Let’s just—let’s back up.”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she pulled her phone from the counter and tossed it onto the table between you. The screen lit up—dozens of unread messages. No names. Just previews. Just timestamps. Just photos.

“Every single day,” she said. “Someone’s been sending me pictures. Emails. Texts. All anonymous. Photos of you.”

Your throat went dry.

She swallowed like it hurt. “Of you. With her. Maya. Laughing. Smiling. Sitting too close. Standing too close. In your office. Outside the department. Every hour. I’ve been spammed, I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I keep trying to trust you and I keep getting punished for it.”

You shook your head slowly, hands raised in disbelief. “Agatha, no one is punishing you. This isn’t what you think. I didn’t do anything wrong. You know me. You know better.”

She reeled back like you’d slapped her.

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m being irrational.”

“I’m not—I’m just—” you exhaled hard, struggling not to shout. “You’re yelling at your pregnant wife. I’m carrying your child, I’ve been on my feet all day, trying to hold it together, and now I come home and get accused of… what, having an affair with a student? That’s not irrational? You don’t think this is too much?”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy,” she spat. “You’ve been hiding her from me—”

“I haven’t hidden anything!” you snapped.

“You didn’t tell me! You knew she was hanging around you like some lovesick ghost, and you never told me how often she was showing up. How close she was getting. You let it slide.”

“I didn’t think it mattered!” you cried. “Because I wasn’t doing anything!”

“And that’s the problem!” Her voice rose to a sharp, furious pitch. “You didn’t think it mattered. You didn’t think I needed to know. You just let it happen and acted like it was nothing. And now I’m the one losing my mind over it.”

“I have been honest with you,” you said, chest heaving. “I am being honest.”

“You’re not,” she growled. “If you were, I wouldn’t be finding this out like this.”

You stared at her for a long moment—hurt and angry and cracking at the seams.

“Wait…” your voice dropped, bitter and stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me about the photos when they started? Is this what’s been going on the past week? Agatha, you didn’t trust your wife—your very pregnant wife—to not fuck some… what, random student?”

She froze. And in that silence, something changed.

You could see it in her eyes—how a thousand things collided there all at once: shock, shame, fury, and something far more dangerous than either.

Disbelief.

“I wanted to trust you,” she said finally, voice hollow. “God, I wanted to. I tried. But every time I reached for you, I felt like you were slipping away. Like there was something you didn’t want me to see.”

You blinked, jaw clenched. “Because I was trying to hold everything together. Because I didn’t want to fall apart in front of you.”

Her breath hitched, furious. “And what, that gave you an excuse to hide things from me?”

“There was nothing to hide!” you snapped. “You’re acting like I’ve been sneaking around behind your back when all I’ve done is work and come home and try not to collapse from exhaustion!”

“Then why does she keep showing up in my inbox?” she shouted. “Why do I get photos of you with her looking like you’re sharing some secret—like she knows something I don’t?”

You felt it then. The pain again. Low. Sharp. Deep in your lower belly.

You winced—one hand bracing against the edge of the counter. It was quick. Too quick for her to name it for what it was. But she saw it. The flicker of pain across your face. The way your breath caught.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softer, suddenly closer.

“I’m fine,” you bit out, eyes hard. “Not that you care right now.”

She reeled back. “Oh, that’s rich. I’ve been losing sleep over this for days, watching these messages roll in and wondering if I’m going insane, trying not to ask, trying not to accuse you of something I desperately hoped wasn’t true—and now I’m the one who doesn’t care?”

“I’m nine months pregnant, Agatha!” you shouted. “I’m exhausted and hormonal and in pain, and all I’ve done is try to keep my head above water while you spiral over something I didn’t even know was happening!”

She was quiet. Just long enough for the anger to twist into something colder.

“I need to think,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t be in this house right now. I need air. I need space.”

You stared at her like she’d hit you.

“Agatha,” you whispered, voice rough with disbelief. “But if you walk out that door—if you leave your wife and child because you couldn’t come to me with this sooner, because you didn’t stop to remember who I am to you—then don’t you dare walk back in like it didn’t matter.”

Agatha stood there for a moment, completely still.

Then she nodded—once. Sharp. Like she was trying to save face even as her hands trembled. She turned, walked to the door, and opened it.

The hallway beyond was quiet. Dim. The kind of silence that felt like winter pressing in.

And then, without a word—

She stepped out.

Closed the door behind her.

Not a slam. Just a click.

But it echoed like the end of something sacred. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The weight of her absence settled instantly. A hollow space in the middle of your chest. And somewhere beneath your ribs, deep and deliberate— Another wave of pain bloomed.

------

You didn’t sleep.

Not really.

You moved to Agatha’s side of the bed sometime after midnight, dragging her cardigan with you like a lifeline. The fabric was worn soft with time, faintly scented with lavender, cedar, and the kind of clean musk that always clung to her skin long after she left the room. It smelled like her neck at the end of the day. Like the hollow between her shoulder blades where you used to press your lips when she was too tired to speak.

Now, the scent filled your lungs like a bruise.

The sheets were cold at first, but you curled into them anyway. Into her pillow, still faintly indented from where her head had rested the night before. You pressed your cheek to it like maybe if you held still enough, breathed deep enough, she might come back.

The house was too quiet. Not peaceful. Not gentle. Just still.

That unnatural kind of stillness that follows an argument—sharp-edged and waiting to be shattered. The air felt heavier without her in it. The floorboards creaked beneath nothing. The wind outside didn’t rattle the windows, didn’t whisper through the trees. It just... waited, like you did.

Your phone lit up every few minutes on the nightstand. And each time, your heart jumped before your eyes confirmed what you already knew.

No missed calls. No texts. Just a calendar notification. A weather alert. A silence so complete it felt like a decision.

You pulled your knees up, curling around your belly like you could shield her—your daughter—from this grief, from this growing ache that had nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the space Agatha left behind.

------

The pain came again at 2:13 a.m.

Not lightning-sharp. Not the panic-worthy kind of pain. Just pressure. Heavy and low, like something behind your hips was being pulled forward in slow, deliberate pulses. It dragged beneath your belly like a tide curling into the shore.

You gasped softly, hand instinctively cradling your bump. Braxton Hicks, you whispered to yourself. You’d read about them. Felt them before. Practice contractions. Harmless.

You waited for it to fade. It did. Eventually. But when the next one came—thirty minutes later—it lingered longer. Wrapped itself around your lower back like a vise and then eased away just slow enough to leave you shivering.

You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just shifted again, hand pressed firm to your stomach, as if you could steady something deeper than the physical pain. As if your daughter could feel your apology. I’m okay, you thought. We’re okay. She’ll come back. This is just a nightmare. It’s temporary. It has to be.

But the next wave was sharper. Not enough to make you scream. Just enough to steal your breath. You held it in. Held everything in. You didn’t want to make this about you. Not again. Not when she had walked out already believing that somehow, you were the one who couldn’t be trusted. That your honesty wasn’t enough. That your love hadn’t been enough to keep her from believing a lie.

You stayed in bed.

One hand protectively curved around your belly, thumb stroking the stretched fabric of the nightshirt that barely fit you now. The other hand clutched your phone—white-knuckled, silent.

The screen stayed dark. No messages. No typing bubbles. Not even an ellipsis. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the next wave of tightness. Not painful, just… ominous. Like your body was rehearsing for something you weren’t ready for. Like your heart had pulled the curtain back on something too early.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. But you must have, eventually. Just long enough for your mind to trick you. You dreamed of her shadow falling across the threshold—quiet, careful, like she didn’t want to wake you.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing your hair back with reverence, voice cracking as she whispered, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Come back to me.

And just when you reached out to touch her— You woke. Your hand met empty sheets. Her side of the bed was still cold. And the pain was still there.

------

The light coming through the curtains was thin and gray—more of a suggestion than a sunrise. A sky that hadn’t decided what kind of day it was going to be. You hadn’t moved much.

Your limbs were heavy, your spine sore from how long you'd been curled on one side. The tightness under your belly was back—low and insistent. Not sharp, but... deeper. A stretch pulled tight from within.

You closed your eyes. Counted. One, two, three, four... ten. It faded. Slowly. You exhaled shakily and dragged your phone toward you, your thumb clumsy against the screen. The calendar blinked up at you.

9:02 a.m. HIST 604 - Lecture: Public Memory & Monument Crisis

You stared at the notification.

Then at your unread messages—still none from Agatha.

Still nothing from the woman who had sworn she'd never walk away from you again. You sat up slowly, one hand braced against the mattress. Your joints protested. Your belly tensed again, harder this time, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stay quiet.

When it passed, you pulled open your email, typed out a cancellation in two lines: Class canceled today due to family emergency. Please review last week’s slides and prep your monument comparison paragraphs for Monday.

You clicked send before you could reread it. Before your guilt could edit it into something more professional, more honest, more devastated. You hauled yourself upright, dragging your aching body toward the kitchen. Tea. Toast. Something bland. Something quiet. Something that could pretend to fill the hole in your chest.

The contractions were still far apart. Nothing consistent. Nothing you couldn’t breathe through.

But they were real now. And the silence was, too.

------

The email came at 11:04 a.m.

Subject: Following up again!

From: Maya Larkin.

You stood in the kitchen, hunched over the counter with a slice of toast in one hand, the knife still resting in the butter dish like you’d forgotten what to do with it. The toast was cold. Barely toasted. More obligation than meal.

Your thumb hovered above your phone, and when the preview lit up on screen—Maya Larkin in crisp, mocking letters—it felt like someone had dumped ice water down your spine.

Your jaw locked. Eyes stung. You didn’t open it. Didn’t need to.

You could already hear her voice in your head—over-sweet and paper-thin, saccharine in that way that tried to pass as sincerity. You could picture every word.

I really valued our last conversation. Would love to hear more about your research. You’re such a source of inspiration.

Like she hadn’t left a trail of ruin behind her.

Like she hadn’t been waiting for the exact moment your life started to split open. She hadn’t even waited twenty-four hours. You stared at the glowing screen, heart pounding in your ears. You could feel your pulse in your throat, hot and uneven.

It was almost impressive, the audacity. Your hand trembled slightly as you tapped the checkbox beside her name. Delete. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

The moment the message vanished, a sharper pain bloomed low in your belly—cutting and sudden. A tight band of pressure that wrapped from your back to your abdomen like something had been cinched too tight inside your own body.

“Ah—shit,” you breathed, gripping the counter’s edge.

Your knees bent slightly, your center of gravity shifting as you rode it out. The contraction rolled through you like a slow wave, strong enough to punch the air from your lungs but not quite enough to drown you.

You stayed there—eyes closed, teeth grit, one hand gripping the countertop, the other pressed firm against the top of your belly.

The baby responded with a soft, steady kick. Then another. Like she was nudging you. Still here. Still with you. When the pain finally ebbed, you exhaled hard through your nose and laughed—dry, breathless, bitter.

“For the love of God,” you groaned aloud, voice hoarse, cracking around the edges, “can you and your mother not have the fucking worst timing in all existence, sweetie?”

You braced one hand against the countertop, the other moving slowly over the hard swell of your belly, fingers splayed wide. The motion was rhythmic, instinctive—an attempt to soothe what couldn’t be soothed. To quiet the storm gathering beneath your skin, even as another one began to roll in just outside the walls of your home.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and long, like a warning echoing from across the ridge. You paused, lips parting.

Then—flash.

A burst of lightning lit up the windows. Just for a second. But enough to cast sharp shadows across the floor, to make the room feel momentarily stranger than it had before.

The baby shifted beneath your hand—slower this time. Pressing outward with a steady, deliberate roll. As if responding not just to your voice, but to the change in the air. As if reminding you she was here. With you. Still yours.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “I know, baby. We’re okay.”

But the words tasted like dust in your mouth. Because you weren’t sure it was true anymore.

The wind howled outside, brushing along the windows like a breath against glass. Another flicker of lightning chased itself through the trees. The air in the room felt tighter now, like it knew what was coming.

And still, the door hadn’t opened.

------

Alice hadn’t meant to dig.

Not really.

But something in Agatha’s face yesterday—too composed, too careful—had scratched at the part of her that didn’t like leaving threads hanging. And then today, when Agatha had handed off her lecture notes with a quiet thank you and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, Alice felt it again.

Something was wrong.

She waited until after office hours ended. The building had thinned out, echoing with the shuffle of closing laptops and the rustle of winter coats. Outside, the sky was turning the kind of purple that meant evening had arrived without permission. Alice poured herself a mug of tea from the communal pot, sat down at her desk, and opened her laptop.

She started with the basics.

Maya Larkin.

Archival theory graduate track. High GPA. Strong recommendations. And overly, suspiciously involved for someone technically in their second year. Her name came up in faculty minutes for multiple committees. There was a line in last semester’s teaching assistant roster—assigned to one of the introductory cultural memory seminars. And—odd—there was her name again, listed as unofficially observing two classes she wasn’t enrolled in. One of them, Alice noticed, was yours.

That was the first flag.

The second came when she dug into the departmental project logs. You’d listed Maya as a research assistant for your exhibit work. But her time sheets were inconsistent. Too many hours logged for too few materials submitted. And when Alice opened the shared drive, a handful of the file names made her stomach shift.

draft_1_CURATED_final_Fig7_ML PersonalNotes_ArchivalBias ObscuringNarrative.pdf

That one stopped her.

She clicked it open.

The document wasn’t long. Just two pages, single spaced. But it was... pointed. Not academic. Not entirely. It read like something between a manifesto and a personal reckoning. The tone was clinical, but the language leaned emotional. It was about ethics. About relationships. About blurred boundaries in mentorship—and the price of being "silenced by those in power." A line near the bottom was underlined:

History is shaped by who gets to hold the pen—and who gets to pretend their version wasn’t written with someone else’s blood.

Alice sat back. Her tea had gone cold.

Her gut clenched in the same way it had when she read through student complaint reports. Not the obvious ones. The quiet ones. The ones that came through too late, or never made it past the draft folder.

She was just beginning to take a screenshot when her email pinged.

Subject: FW: Maya Larkin / Department Concerns

It wasn’t addressed to her directly. It had come through the general admin inbox, flagged and forwarded by the assistant dean. She opened it on instinct.

The message thread was messy, half-redacted in places—but the last entry was clear. A message sent to the dean’s office through the student conduct reporting system. The complaint was vague, unsigned. But it was about you.

And attached—tucked at the bottom like a time bomb—was the file name she recognized immediately:

MayaLarkin_Confidential.pdf

Alice clicked it.

And froze.

The top of the page included a photo.

Not damning. But calculated.

You. In your office. Smiling. Hands clasped on your desk like you’d been mid-conversation.

Underneath, typed in bold:

“This isn’t the first time. She does this. She hides it well. Ask around.”

Alice sat there, blinking at the screen, the quiet hum of the building pressing in around her.

She didn’t know that miles away, in a quiet kitchen, Agatha was already fighting not just suspicion but history.

Didn’t know that you’d just dropped your bag, already feeling the pressure in your belly growing tighter, deeper.

All she knew was that she had the beginning of something very wrong.

And she had to decide—right now—what to do with it.

Alice hadn’t expected to find much.

When she first started digging—cross-referencing Maya’s class history, department activity, advising notes—it had felt almost procedural. Academic. Agatha hadn’t asked her to. But the worry had been visible in her posture all week, coiled beneath her clipped sentences and long silences. Something had shifted in the way she moved, the way she watched the halls. Something had changed.

And Alice… well. Alice had spent enough time around professors to know when quiet turned dangerous.

So she kept going.

A few emails. Public ones. A seminar scheduling thread Maya had been CC’d on. A forwarded student project list. Then one strange file in the shared server. Titled like a joke: “Sandwiches & Strategy.” Tucked inside a subfolder of Maya’s exhibit drafts.

She opened it, half-expecting some bizarre mock-up of label formatting.

Instead, it was text.

An email chain.

Not one meant for her. Not one meant for anyone, really.

Her blood chilled.

She scrolled.

I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should up the frequency again? She’s probably too distracted—being that pregnant and all.

Alice froze.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep playing it sweet. Professors love a good praise sandwich, right? ;)

She’s not going to stay with Harkness once this all sinks in. She’s too smart for that. I’ve read her work. She wants someone who understands her. Who sees her. She’ll come around.

The cursor blinked at the bottom of the page like it was daring her to breathe.

Alice sat back in her chair. Her throat felt tight. Her hands had gone cold.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It wasn’t unrequited infatuation, or professional overstepping, or even obsessive admiration.

It was manipulation.

Planned. Practiced.

Targeted.

She moved quickly after that.

Pulled the metadata. The email header. The sending address: [email protected]. No spoof. No alias. Real.

And at the bottom of the file, as if Maya had been too smug to resist leaving one last fingerprint, was a draft auto-saved from her personal folder. Dated two days ago.

Subject line: “Timing the Follow-Up—Any Movement Yet?”

Alice’s heart pounded.

She stood. Pushed away from her desk. The room felt suddenly too warm, the air too thin.

She didn’t know the full story—didn’t want to. But she knew enough. Enough to recognize the danger. Enough to know how cruel timing could be.

And enough to know that Agatha needed to see this now.

She opened her phone and thumbed out a message fast as her fingers would let her:

Then she attached the file.

No explanation. No delay.

She pressed send.

And somewhere—across town, or across the next breath—Alice imagined Agatha’s world tilting sideways.

She just hoped she’d gotten to her in time.

------

Agatha hadn’t gone far.

She’d told herself she would. Told herself she needed air, space, time to clear the fog that had been choking her for days. But all she’d done was circle the same blocks—campus, downtown, the park, campus again—her hands clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that her knuckles had gone bloodless.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Not peaceful. Not grounding.

Just punishing.

Every red light felt like it was glaring at her. Every green one felt like it was daring her to run. She turned the radio on at one point, desperate for something to fill the space. But the third love song that came on—a hushed duet about forgiveness—made her stomach lurch. She shut it off and let the stillness swallow her again.

Her phone buzzed at least ten times.

She checked it every time.

None of the notifications were from you.

She couldn’t decide if that made it better... or worse.

By noon, she had retreated to the faculty lounge—dim, windowless, too quiet. The air smelled faintly of burned coffee grounds and overripe bananas left behind in the communal bowl. Her mug of tea sat cooling on the table in front of her, untouched.

She hadn’t even noticed she was crying until a drop hit the back of her hand.

She wiped it away roughly.

Then stared at her phone.

Again.

Your last words played on repeat in her chest, carved into her like a blade pressed just shy of the heart.

“If you walk out that door… then don’t come back until you really know what you want.”

She thought she was protecting herself.

No—that was a lie. She’d been protecting a scar. One that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the people who came before you. The ones who had twisted the truth until it didn’t even resemble love anymore. And she'd looked at you—her wife, the mother of her child—and for one terrible second, she’d seen them instead.

And she had left.

She’d left you.

And then her phone buzzed again.

Alice (TA): Thought you should see this. You’ve been worried for days and I had a gut feeling. Sorry if I overstepped. But it’s her. It’s Maya.

Agatha blinked.

Sat up straighter.

Another buzz.

An email forward. No subject. Just the thread.

She tapped it open.

And everything stopped.

From: [email protected] Subject: Timing the Follow-Up—Any Movement Yet?

I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I should up the frequency again?

She’s probably too distracted—being that pregnant and all.

But don’t worry. I’ll keep playing it sweet. Professors love a good praise sandwich, right? ;)

She’s not going to stay with Harkness once this all sinks in. She’s too smart for that. I’ve read her work. She wants someone who understands her. Who sees her. She’ll come around.

Agatha went completely still.

Her body turned to stone. Her mind, smoke.

The air left her lungs in one long, broken breath—like she’d been struck across the chest.

The mug beside her rattled as her hand trembled.

She read it again.

And again.

It wasn’t you.

It was never you.

It was her. It had always been her.

The photos. The angles. The captions. The carefully worded doubts. The pattern. The persistence. The manipulation.

All of it—orchestrated.

And Agatha had believed it. She’d let herself be pulled into it. She’d let that doubt grow into something that poisoned the space between you. She’d thrown you to the wolves of her own unresolved past.

She had walked out.

And you had begged her not to.

Agatha stood so quickly she nearly knocked the table back, her chair screeching loudly against the tile floor. The untouched tea sloshed across the rim of the mug, staining a napkin she hadn’t meant to grab.

None of it mattered.

Her fingers fumbled for your contact, hands shaking so violently she could barely tap the screen. Her heart was hammering hard enough that her vision blurred.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Three times. Voicemail.

She didn’t leave a message.

Just hung up and hit redial.

“Come on,” she whispered, pacing in tight, frantic circles. “Come on, baby. Please pick up. Please. Please—”

Nothing.

Again.

------

She didn’t remember most of the drive.

Only the white blur of her knuckles on the steering wheel. The way her fingers cramped around it, too tight, like letting go for even a second might undo her. The wind howled through the crack in the driver’s side window—one she hadn’t meant to leave open, but hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Now, it screamed across her cheek like something alive.

Her breath echoed inside the car—ragged, uneven, frantic. It sounded louder than the engine. Louder than reason.

And still, the phone sat useless in the passenger seat, vibrating occasionally with texts from friends, from numbers she didn’t check.

Not from you.

The sky had begun to turn somewhere around the edge of campus.

What had been a still, gray morning had thickened into something darker. Angrier.

Clouds rolled in low and fast, the kind that made your skin prickle before the storm ever touched the ground. Early spring wasn’t supposed to look like this. The petals from the dogwoods had started flying sideways, caught in sudden gusts of wind that bent the trees like dancers in grief.

It didn’t rain yet. But the air threatened it—humid and thick, full of the kind of pressure that made your ears pop.

A low growl of thunder rolled out across the horizon. Distant, but moving closer.

Then—flash.

Lightning cracked across the sky like a spine splitting open, bright enough to make her flinch.

She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the wheel until her fingers ached.

Almost there. Just hold on.

A road sign whipped past, and she realized she’d blown through a stop sign without seeing it. She didn’t care.

She didn’t slow down.

The wind pushed hard against the side of the car as if the world itself was trying to stop her from getting home. Like it knew how badly she had fucked up, and was asking her—are you sure you deserve to be forgiven?

She pressed harder on the gas.

Because it didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting to you.

The trees bent violently now, their shadows whipping across the road like limbs reaching for something they couldn’t touch.

Another roll of thunder.

And then—finally—the house came into view.

The porch light was still on, faint in the gray. The door shut tight. No ambulance. No headlights. Just stillness.

Too still.

Agatha’s pulse spiked so hard she thought her vision might go black.

She turned into the driveway fast enough to send gravel scattering behind her tires, slammed the car into park, and flew out before the engine even finished shutting down.

Her door was still hanging open behind her when she burst across the threshold, yelling—

“Babe—!”

And the storm followed her in.

------

The door slammed open, the sound ricocheting through the quiet like a starting gun.

Agatha’s voice cracked as she crossed the threshold—and froze.

You were in the kitchen.

Your body hunched forward over the counter, one hand bracing against its edge, the other clutched around the island stool like an anchor. Your head hung low, hair matted to your temples with sweat. Your knees buckled, hips shifting with uneven weight as a low, guttural moan spilled from your mouth—wordless and raw.

You weren’t screaming.

The pain was deeper than that. It came from the center of you, low and primal, a sound Agatha felt in her bones.

You swayed, body trembling.

Your grip tightened on the counter until your knuckles turned white. Like if you let go, the earth might tilt out from beneath you.

Agatha’s heart stopped.

Her keys hit the floor. Her bag dropped after them with a dull thud she didn’t register.

“shit…”

She crossed the room in a blur, feet nearly skidding on the tile. Her chest heaved. Her hands were shaking.

But her instincts didn’t waver.

She stepped in behind you, one hand sliding to your hip, the other splayed across your lower back. She didn’t squeeze—just held, grounding you with her touch. Her front molded to your spine, steady and warm, her breath catching at the base of your neck.

You let her.

You leaned back into her like your body remembered something your heart hadn’t forgiven yet.

“I’m here,” Agatha whispered, her voice shredded but sure. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe through it.”

Your head dipped forward again, shoulders curling.

A sob caught halfway between breath and pain—rough, sudden, involuntary.

She felt it vibrate through you.

Still, you didn’t look at her.

Couldn’t. Not yet.

You were shaking. Sweating. Trembling from the inside out.

But then you spoke.

And your voice was a rasp—hoarse, broken, laced with pain and something far more dangerous: exhausted fury.

“She has your fucking timing,” you whispered.

Agatha stilled.

You gave a watery, near-hysterical laugh—more breath than sound, more grief than humor. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, hot and fast, leaving tracks that shimmered in the kitchen light.

“She’s just like you,” you managed, the words broken by another wave of pressure tightening across your body. “No warning. No apology. Just decides to show up when she wants to... Just here.”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, guilt blooming like wildfire beneath her ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

She kissed you again, slower this time, as you rocked through the final seconds of the contraction. Her hand rubbed slow circles into the curve of your hip, the other gently holding your belly from underneath—supportive, reverent, desperate to feel the life she’d walked away from just hours ago.

You sagged into her as the pain eased, panting, your forehead resting against your arm.

She stayed behind you, holding you steady.

And in that moment, for the first time in hours, you didn’t pull away.

The contraction faded like a tide slowly pulling back into the sea, leaving behind wreckage—breathless, aching, soaked in sweat and sorrow.

Your legs trembled beneath you, not quite able to hold your weight. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips, erratic and desperate, and your breath hitched on the edge of a sob you barely managed to swallow.

You still hadn’t looked at her.

Not really.

She was behind you, her hands still firm on your hips, steady as stone, her presence quiet but unrelenting. She wasn’t moving. Wasn’t letting go.

Like she knew—if she stepped away again, it would break something neither of you would be able to fix.

And finally... finally, you turned your head.

Slowly. As if the act itself might tear you open further.

Your gaze met hers.

And what you saw there nearly broke you all over again.

Agatha was crying—but not in the way you expected. There were no sobs. No shaking shoulders. Just a rawness in her expression, an openness that looked too big for her face. Her lashes were heavy with unshed tears, and her lips were parted like she’d been holding in too many apologies and didn’t know which one to offer first.

She wasn’t pleading.

She wasn’t defending.

She was bleeding.

Your hand lifted—trembling, unsteady—and reached for her.

You brushed your fingers along her cheek, and she leaned into it instantly. Like it was the only air she’d been allowed to breathe in hours. Her lips found your palm, kissed it softly. Reverently. Like she was memorizing the shape of you in case you disappeared again.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” Agatha whispered, her voice low and cracking, like each word had to claw its way through all the things she should’ve said sooner. “But I need you to hear me.”

You were still trembling from the last contraction, legs unsteady beneath you, your weight shifting from foot to foot. The cool edge of the granite counter pressed into your back as your hand gripped it tight—not for balance, but to anchor yourself to something solid. Something that wouldn’t let go.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts. The space between them was narrowing.

“Maya did this,” Agatha said, stepping closer, slow, careful—like you were a cliff’s edge she didn’t want to push. “All of it. The photos. The emails. She made them look real.” Her eyes searched yours, pleading—not for forgiveness but understanding.

“She wanted to make you look like the one who broke us,” she said. “She wanted me to fall apart so she could swoop in and pick through the pieces.”

Her voice caught. She swallowed. “Alice found the proof—her last message was sent from her campus email. Not even a fake account. She was arrogant enough to leave a trail. I have it. I saw it. I should have known. I should’ve trusted you. I didn’t—and I left.”

The air inside the kitchen felt dense, thickening with every word. Your breath hitched. The truth hit harder.

Outside, thunder cracked—loud and sudden. The kind that didn’t roll in slowly but arrived sharp and demanding. The windows trembled slightly in their frames. A moment later, rain began to hammer the roof with a rhythm that sounded more like urgency than comfort—fast and wild, like it had been holding back until now. Slamming against the walls like an afterthought as if the clouds had finally decided they’d held it in long enough.

You should’ve said something. Maybe you were about to.. You inhaled sharply. But it wasn’t from the storm. It was your body—tensing again. You knew this feeling now. The pressure didn’t creep in this time—it claimed you.

It started slow—a whisper of pressure, like the tightening of a string behind your ribs. Then the grip of it began to build, heavier, deeper, rolling up your spine and anchoring in your belly like a warning bell that rang inside your bones. Your grip on the counter tightened. You shifted your stance, knees bending slightly. Your breath hitched—sharp and involuntary. Agatha’s eyes caught the change in an instant, posture shifting. Her voice softened, but it didn’t falter.

“Another one?” she asked, stepping forward, already steadying your waist with both hands.

You didn’t speak. You gave a small nod, gripping her sleeve, tugging—not to push her away, but to pull her closer. You didn’t want space. Not now.

“Okay. I’ve got you,” she said gently.

Agatha didn’t hesitate, sliding into place as if your bodies were two puzzle pieces that had never fit better than now her eyes locked to yours. Her arms found your waist, one hand pressing firmly to your lower back, the other at your side. Her presence was immediate—warm, grounding, yours.

The pain slammed into you with a force that knocked the air straight out of your lungs.

Your forehead dropped against her collarbone, your fists bunching the front of her shirt as your entire body clenched around the contraction. A low, guttural sound slipped from your throat—somewhere between a cry and a growl. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t poetic. It was real and sharp, and it echoed off the kitchen walls like thunder of your own. You gasped, folding into her, your fingers fisting the fabric over her ribs like it might keep you tethered to something.

Agatha didn’t flinch. Her breath came slow and deep beside your ear, mirroring yours. “In through your nose,” she whispered. “That’s it. Breathe through it. You’re doing so good.”

You whimpered into her shoulder, legs wobbling again. She planted her feet wide, locked one arm firmly around your waist, the other rubbing slow, grounding circles across your lower back.

Agatha pressed her forehead gently to yours, her breath trembling against your skin. Her eyes were wide, glassy with guilt, and darting between your face and your belly like she couldn’t decide where to anchor herself. Her fingers tightened briefly at your waist, then loosened, stroking once in apology. Her knees bent slightly as if she were ready to drop with you, to bear the weight herself if she could. Her whole body trembled—not from fear, but from restraint, holding back the full collapse she so clearly wanted to fall into. “I—I know this isn’t the time,” she said, her voice barely more than a rasp, “but I need to say it anyway.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The pressure in your back was mounting again, tight and low, but you kept your focus on her, blinking through the blur of heat behind your eyes.

“The things I said… what I thought you were capable of—what I let myself believe—” Her breath hitched, chest rising unevenly against yours. “I didn’t just doubt you. I doubted us. And that—God, that’s not something I’ll ever forgive myself for.”

The pain answered before you could.

It started like a slow fuse, curling up your spine and settling beneath your ribs like something smoldering. You winced, jaw clenching hard enough that your teeth ached.

“Don’t,” you growled through gritted teeth. “Not now.”

“But I—”

Your grip on her shirt tightened like a vise. The tension in your abdomen snapped up like a wire being pulled taut. You could feel it—your body preparing, bracing.

“No,” you snapped, eyes squeezed shut as the wave crested. “Not while I’m in the middle of a fucking contraction with a superstorm outside, my body tearing itself open, and your daughter acting like she’s late to a goddamn press conference.”

Agatha froze, mouth half open.

“I need you here,” you said, voice trembling. “Right here. Not in your guilt. Not in your head. And definitely not thinking about some college bitch who doesn’t matter.”

For a breathless moment, the kitchen was still. Rain hammered the roof in thick, staccato bursts, seeping through the walls like a second heartbeat. The air smelled like petrichor and electricity, and somewhere nearby, a shutter thudded against the siding. The lights overhead flickered once. Even the wind outside seemed to pause, like the world itself was holding its breath with you.

And then Agatha let out a stunned, breathless laugh—wet and raw, like it had been caught behind her ribs too long.

She pressed her face into your shoulder, her arms winding around you like she could stitch herself back into place just by holding you tighter.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice cracking as she kissed your temple. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Your grip on her cinched tighter, nails digging into the soft cotton of her shirt.

You gritted your teeth, blinking hard through the pressure rising inside you. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes. “Agatha—” you gasped, voice shaking. “I swear to God, if your kid wasn’t trying to make a dramatic-ass early entrance, this conversation would not be ending this quickly.”

Agatha let out a second broken laugh, breathless and barely stitched together.

“Yeah,” she rasped, forehead still resting against yours. “She’s got my timing… and, apparently, my talent for catching you off guard.”

You groaned, your grip tightening at her waist again as the next wave started to rise.

“We’ll deal with the rest later,” you muttered, breath already hitching. “Right now? Your daughter is trying to race a goddamn storm.”

Agatha gave a soft, shaking laugh and kissed your temple again, lingering this time, like she needed the press of your skin to stay steady.

“Of course she’d choose now to make an entrance,” she murmured. “He’s ours.”

You moaned low into her collarbone as the contraction peaked, your body folding inward.

She rocked you gently, arms locked around your back, one hand stroking low circles at your spine, her voice low and close to your ear. “Could’ve picked a better time, kid,” she murmured toward your belly, smiling through the chaos. “But I get it—you’re mine.”

Outside, the storm pounded against the windows. Lightning lit up the room for a blink, casting long, jagged shadows across the tile. The lights above flickered once, then steadied. Your skin prickled. Everything felt too loud. The house groaned softly, as though it too was bracing.

You sagged against her when the contraction finally passed. Drenched. Trembling. Spent. Your shirt clung to your body with sweat, hair stuck to your forehead in damp curls. Your knees buckled, and Agatha caught you again, easing you gently onto the kitchen stool like you were made of something precious and breakable.

“I’ve got you,” she said again, softer now, like a prayer.

She knelt in front of you, her hands on your thighs, her forehead resting briefly against your knees as if she had to touch you in every way she could just to prove she was still here.

You reached for her hair with one shaky hand, threading your fingers gently into the dark strands, and tugged just enough to pull her gaze to yours.

“Three weeks,” you whispered your voice barely a breath. “She’s three weeks early, Agatha. What if—what if something’s wrong? What if he’s not ready? What if I’m not—” Your voice broke. “I didn’t think it would happen like this. I thought we had time.”

Agatha’s lips parted, the beginnings of an answer trembling on her tongue—but the next contraction swallowed it whole before either of you could speak.

You cried out as your body folded again, sharp pain lancing through your back and belly, your breath coming in stuttering gasps. You clung to her like a lifeline—fingers digging into her shoulders, knees buckling beneath you.

“Breathe through it, baby,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and steady right at your ear. “You’re doing so good. I’ve got you. Right here.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t panic.

Her hand slid down your spine, grounding you as she held your full weight against her chest. You could feel the tension under her skin, the thrum of her pulse where your faces brushed—but she kept her voice even, her movements measured.

When the wave passed, she helped you into the stool again, one arm still wrapped tightly around your back.

She glanced at the microwave clock.

And this time, you saw it—the flicker in her eyes. Brief. Controlled.

“Five minutes,” she said under her breath. Then a little softer, to you, “They’re coming fast.”

You nodded weakly, chest still heaving.

She didn’t waste time.

Agatha moved toward the door, snagging the keys from their hook and slipping her shoes on in practiced motion. “Okay. Let’s get you to the car.”

But as she opened the front door, wind slammed into it like a wave. The storm had turned violent. Rain came in sideways. And beyond the porch, halfway down the drive, a massive limb—oak, by the look of it—lay twisted across the road, blocking the way completely.

Agatha stepped forward, squinting into the storm.

You tried to stand, gripping the back of the stool.

“What is it?” you called, voice raw.

She turned back toward you, soaked now across the front of her shirt, and calmly closed the door behind her.

“There’s a tree down across the drive,” she said, brushing the water from her face. “We’re not making it out by car.”

Your stomach dropped.

But Agatha crossed the kitchen to you with purpose, calm carved into every line of her face.

Agatha crouched in front of you, wiping the sweat from your upper lip with the edge of her sleeve. “This isn’t what we planned,” she said gently, “but it’s still going to be okay. You are not alone in this.”

She laid both palms over your belly. Kissed it softly.

------

Agatha helped you settle against the stool again, her hand lingering at your back, her thumb sweeping slow, grounding circles just above your hip. You were still shaking—damp with sweat, hair clinging to your temples, your legs trembling from the weight of what your body was doing and what it still had left to do. Your lips parted like you wanted to speak, but no sound came. Just breath. Just fear.

Agatha leaned in close, her forehead brushing yours for half a second.

“I’m going to call Jen,” she murmured, voice calm but laced with something that vibrated beneath it. “I’ll be right here. Okay?”

You gave her the barest nod, your eyes fluttering closed as another ripple of pressure lingered in your spine.

Agatha turned and slipped into the hallway, just far enough for the edge of her control to splinter. She pulled her phone from her pocket with damp fingers, her thumb slipping slightly on the screen as she tapped Jen’s name.

The storm was louder here.

Rain pelted the windows in heavy bursts, wind howled against the eaves like it was trying to get in. A shutter somewhere upstairs banged once—twice—and the floor creaked beneath her feet as she braced herself against the wall. Her heart was hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times—

“Agatha?” Jen’s voice came through sharp and clear, cutting through the noise like a flare. “Is it time?”

Agatha’s knees bent slightly. Her back hit the wall.

Her voice cracked before she could catch it. “Yeah. Yes. She’s in labor—real labor. Her contractions are five minutes apart, maybe less. I was getting ready to take her to the hospital but—” she swallowed hard, “there’s a tree down across the drive. We’re boxed in. I can’t—there’s no way out.”

Jen didn’t miss a beat. “Hey. Hey. You’re okay,” she said, calm but unshakable. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“No,” Agatha whispered, voice thin, fraying at the edges. “She’s early, Jen. Three weeks early. We were supposed to have more time—another two, maybe three weeks to get everything together. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to give birth like this.”

There was a pause on the other end. Just a breath.

Then Jen’s voice came back, even and warm. “And yet here she is. And she’s not doing it alone.”

Agatha pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to collect herself, but her voice still cracked. “She’s scared. And I think—I think I am too.”

“I’ve got you,” Jen said gently, her tone steady as steel wrapped in wool. “And I’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

Agatha blinked fast, pressing her palm harder against the wall as her knees trembled. “You really think—”

“Agatha,” Jen interrupted, not unkindly. “You’ve got this. She’s got this. You’ve both done the work. Your job right now is to stay grounded so she can fall apart and know she’s safe. You can fall apart later.”

Agatha closed her eyes. Her throat tightened. But she nodded, even though Jen couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” she said, softer now. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Fill the birthing tub with warm water—now, before the power goes,” Jen said. “You’ll need soft towels, as many as you can find. Blankets for the baby. Light some candles if you’ve got them. Create calm. She needs to feel like she’s safe, not trapped. Put on some music if you can.”

“I will,” Agatha whispered. “I will. Just—just come fast.”

“I’m already halfway there.”

The call ended.

Agatha stood there for one long moment, phone still clutched in her hand, the silence after the call ringing louder than the wind. Her other hand curled tight around the doorframe as if bracing against more than just the storm. Her chest lifted. Fell. Once. Twice.

She would not cry.

She would not break.

Not while you needed her whole.

She wiped her face on her sleeve, straightened her spine, and turned back toward the kitchen.

Back to you.

Back to where everything would begin.

------

Agatha stepped back into the kitchen like gravity had pulled her there—like you were the axis around which everything else turned. Her eyes found you instantly.

You were still hunched forward on the stool, one hand pressed to the round, taut curve of your belly, the other white-knuckled around the edge of the counter. Your head hung slightly, hair damp and curling against your cheeks, breath shallow and uneven. Every inch of you looked like you were holding the world in place through sheer will.

“I just talked to Jen,” Agatha said softly, crouching low until she was eye-level again. Her palms landed on your thighs, warm and steady. “She’s on her way—less than twenty minutes.”

You nodded, but your lower lip trembled.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Agatha tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering longer than necessary. Her voice dropped lower, gentler. “I’m going to grab a few things—towels, blankets, the tub. But I’m not far. I’m not leaving you, not for more than a breath.”

You gave her the smallest nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. She pressed a kiss to your forehead—soft, reverent, grounding—and then rose. Your breath still shallow and fraying at the edges. Another wave wasn’t far off—you could feel it circling.

Agatha stood, pivoted smoothly into the bedroom, and crossed to the corner where the birthing tub had sat for weeks—deflated, coiled, and quiet. Just days ago, it had been a joke. Jen had insisted on bringing it over “just in case,” setting it quietly in the corner of your bedroom while you all laughed and waved it off.

You’ll be in a hospital. What would we even need that thing for?

Agatha stepped back into the kitchen, the bundled vinyl slung over one arm. “Where do you want it?” she asked quietly, her voice even but full of something that trembled beneath it. “I don’t want to guess.” You didn’t hesitate.

“Bedroom,” you whispered. That was all she needed.

Agatha unzipped the casing, vinyl whispering open like the start of something ancient and sacred. She rolled the sides out with care, smoothing the base flat onto the rug between the bed and the en suite bathroom. Her foot pressed firmly to the pump. Once. Twice. Again. Slowly, steadily, the tub began to rise. The walls lifted like breath being drawn, one slow inhale at a time.

Outside, the wind howled, rain battering the windows like fists desperate to get in.

The tub stood now. Empty but waiting. The hose was already coiled near the vanity in the bathroom—Jen’s earlier instructions playing out like prophecy. Agatha attached it to the hot water tap and turned the handle slowly. Pipes groaned. Then, water surged forward, rushing in with a hiss. Steam unfurled, rising from the basin like breath made visible in the soft bedroom light.

She adjusted the temperature, tested it against the back of her wrist—then left it running and turned toward the bed.

But a sound stopped her.

A low groan. Guttural. From down the hall.

You.

She was moving before the breath finished leaving your lungs.

Agatha found you back in the kitchen, your hands braced against the counter, your back bowed beneath the pressure of the next wave. Your body trembled as the contraction climbed, and your knees wobbled as you swayed gently in place, trying not to fall.

“I’ve got you,” she said as she reached you, her arms sliding around your waist like she’d done it a thousand times. “I’m here. Just breathe through it, baby.”

You didn’t answer—just let your weight fall into her chest as she rocked with you, one hand supporting your lower back, the other curling around your ribs. Your forehead found her shoulder. Your nails dug lightly into her sleeve.

Outside, thunder rolled low and long like a drumbeat too close to the skin.

“I’ve got you,” she said again, voice steady in your ear. “Let it pass. Just one wave. You’re doing so, so good.”

When the contraction finally broke, you collapsed fully into her, your breath ragged against her collarbone. “I’m going to grab the towels now,” she said, brushing your cheek with the backs of her fingers. “And the receiving blankets. The ones from the shower. I’ll be quick.”

You nodded, lips parted, eyes wet.

“I want to walk,” you whispered.

Agatha pulled back just enough to look into your face, searching your eyes.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll walk.”

She didn’t lead you far—just toward the bedroom. You followed her slowly, your palm pressed to her shoulder, legs still shaking with every step. The hallway stretched between you like a tunnel, lit only by the flicker of warm bulbs and the silver flash of lightning that darted across the windows.

------

Inside the bedroom, steam curled around the rim of the rising tub, soft and silvery in the low light. It shimmered like breath in winter air, casting a warmth that made the room feel smaller, closer, sacred.

Agatha moved with quiet reverence. She crossed to the dresser, pulling open the drawer where everything had been waiting—towels folded weeks ago, waiting for a moment neither of you believed would come like this. She draped one thick white towel over the chair beside the bed, then laid two more at the edge of the mattress like offerings at an altar.

From the woven basket near the nightstand, she lifted three receiving blankets. One patterned with tiny stars, another with soft blue-gray clouds. The third—pale, delicate, covered in tiny wildflowers the color of lavender breath and spring rain.

She held that one longer.

Her thumb traced the hem. Her throat bobbed.

Then she placed it carefully on top of the stack, smoothing the cotton flat with a touch that bordered on reverence.

Behind her, she heard the soft shuffle of your feet.

You were moving Each step was measured, your fingers trailing along the wall for balance as you entered the bedroom.

You were halfway to the tub when it hit.

No warning this time.

No chance to steady yourself.

You stopped mid-step—your hand flying out to catch the edge of the dresser, your back arching as the contraction ripped through you like a current. A sharp, breathless cry tore from your throat.

Agatha turned at once.

She was at your side in seconds, one arm catching your waist, the other bracing the small of your back.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I've got you, baby. Let it come. Let it move through you.”

Your body bowed forward, forehead pressing to her collarbone as your fists tangled in the fabric of her shirt.

This one was stronger. Meaner. Your legs nearly gave out.

She widened her stance, bearing your weight with her whole body, her palm rubbing firm, grounding circles against your spine.

“You’re okay. You’re doing so good,” she whispered, her cheek against your temple. “You’ve got this. Just one wave. Just one.”

You moaned through clenched teeth, knees shaking as you rode it out, breath coming in staggered gasps.

The room was thick with heat and steam, with the sound of rain hammering the windows and water pooling softly into the tub behind you. The house smelled like lavender and sweat and stormlight.

And still—Agatha held you.

Anchored you.

Loved you through it.

When the wave finally began to ease, your whole body sagged into her, trembling and soaked, your breath hot against her neck.

“Good,” she whispered. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

And from the tub behind you, the water kept rising.

You were still folded against her, breath unsteady, your muscles trembling in her arms when you whispered, “I want to get in.”

Agatha pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, searching your face.

“Something’s different,” you rasped. “It’s lower. I need—I need the water.”

Agatha nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you in.”

She supported your weight as the two of you shuffled slowly back into the bedroom. The air was thick with steam now, the tub nearly full, soft ripples dancing across the surface. The scent of lavender from the towel stack mixed with rain, rubber, and something primal—the smell of newness, of birth edging near.

Agatha turned off the hose, tested the temperature one last time, then moved to help you out of your clothes.

“You don’t need to wear anything,” she said softly, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. “Not unless you want to. It’s just us here. Jen will be here soon.”

You hesitated, fingers still curled around the elastic of your bra.

Then you nodded once.

“It’s just us,” you whispered.

Agatha helped you undress slowly, gently, reverently—like unwrapping something fragile. Your body was flushed, shining with sweat, each motion drawn taut by exhaustion and urgency. When you were bare, she helped you step one leg at a time into the warm water. You sank into it with a gasp, the heat stealing your breath for a moment, then releasing it in a shuddering sigh.

But you didn’t get far.

Your knees barely bent before another contraction slammed into you—hot, deep, unbearable.

You cried out, one arm flying to the rim of the tub, the other searching blindly for something solid.

Agatha caught your hand.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, crouched at the side of the tub, her palm locked around yours. “Hold on to me. Breathe through it. Just like that.”

You let out a sob, forehead pressed to the edge, water lapping against your belly as your body convulsed.

Agatha’s other hand reached into the tub, pressed to your back just above the waterline, rubbing slow, wide circles—anchoring you through it.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured. “So, so well. I’ve got you.”

You cried harder at that.

Not because of the pain—but because it was just you two.

Because even in all the storm and sweat and fear, this was still love.

When the contraction finally released you, your body collapsed forward against the side of the tub. Your eyes closed. You whimpered, soft and hoarse.

Agatha knelt beside you, still holding your hand. Her forehead dropped to your wrist as her shoulders began to tremble.

You felt the quietest sob echo between you—shallow, aching.

“Agatha,” you said softly, almost begged, needing her eyes again. Needing to know she hadn’t disappeared beneath the weight of it all.

Her hand slid over your slick back again, slow and firm.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “It’s just us.”

Your eyes fluttered open—wet, aching.

She looked at you like nothing in the world mattered more than this.

Than you.

“I’m going to come in,” she said gently. “Okay?”

You nodded. Wordless.

Agatha stood, stepped carefully into the tub behind you, settling against the inflatable wall like it had been molded for this moment. When you leaned back, your head found her chest. Her arms wound tightly around you from behind. One hand cradled your belly. The other laced with yours again, soaking and strong.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple. “I’ve got you. All of you.”

And for a moment, the storm faded. The air was still.

Then your body tensed.

Agatha felt it at once—the sudden shift beneath your skin.

You gasped. Your fingers clutched at her knee.

“There’s pressure,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Something’s happening—she’s coming—”

Agatha’s hand pressed lower on your belly, feeling the way everything had changed.

She didn’t speak. She only held you tighter. Breath catching.

Then—

You let out a noise neither of you had heard before—part scream, part growl, pure instinct.

The pressure between your legs had shifted—immediate and burning.

Agatha’s eyes widened. Her hand moved to the inside of your thigh, her other arm bracing you as your hips lifted from the water.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I need to see.”

“Is she—?” you gasped, voice brittle and barely there.

Agatha’s hand moved between your legs, careful, reverent. “I think her head—” Her voice cracked. “I think she’s—” She cut herself off, swallowing hard. “I’ve got you.”

The door creaked open behind you.

“I’m here,” came Jen’s voice, calm and sure. “I’m right here.”

You barely registered the sound at first—so focused on the fire building in your body, the ache blooming low in your pelvis—but Agatha’s head lifted.

“Jen,” she breathed, still crouched behind you in the tub, her arms around your waist, her hands steady even as her voice wavered. “She’s close. Her head’s crowning. I can feel her.”

Jen was already at the edge of the tub by the time Agatha spoke again, her boots kicked off at the bedroom door, sleeves pushed up, eyes soft but focused.

“Good,” Jen murmured. “You’re both doing beautifully. Let me see.”

Agatha shifted slightly to give her room, never letting go of you—not even for a second.

You were panting, hands clutching the sides of the tub, your forehead pressed to Agatha’s shoulder. Her skin was hot with effort. Yours was soaked in sweat. The water between you steamed like breath in winter air.

Jen leaned forward. “Hey,” she said softly, voice right beside your ear. “I know it’s a lot. But you’re almost there, okay?”

You nodded, barely. “It burns,” you whispered. “It’s so much.”

“I know.” Jen’s hand touched your thigh gently, anchoring you in the moment. “That means you’re close. That means she’s coming.”

Your body seized again—another contraction rolling in fast, unforgiving.

Agatha held on.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You screamed—not from fear, not anymore, but from force. You bore down as Jen coached from one side and Agatha held you from behind.

“Good,” Jen murmured. “That’s it. Let your body lead. Just like that.”

Agatha’s hands stayed steady—one at your back, the other bracing your belly. “Breathe with me,” she whispered. “Just one breath at a time.”

The contraction eased, and you collapsed against her, whimpering.

Jen’s hand was gentle as she checked again. “She’s almost there,” she said softly. “Next one might do it. But let’s take a minute. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

Agatha pressed her forehead to the back of your neck, her breath shaky, her voice a thread. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

You let out a small, broken laugh that turned into a sob. “You better be,” you muttered. “I’m pushing a human out of my body.”

Jen smiled, not laughing at you—but with you. “And she’s almost here,” she said. “When the next one comes, you give it everything you’ve got.”

You nodded again, slower this time.

Your whole body trembled.

“I can’t do it without her,” you said suddenly, voice sharp, panicked.

“You’re not,” Agatha whispered. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jen reached over the edge of the tub and placed her hand gently on top of yours. “Both of us,” she said. “We’ve got you.”

The air in the room shifted. Not quieter, not calmer—but steadier.

Then another contraction hit.

It built low and deep, dragging itself up your spine like a wave coming to break.

You screamed again, louder this time. Agatha held your shoulders; Jen pressed her hands just beneath your belly to help guide the push.

“There,” Jen said. “There she is.”

You sobbed. Agatha’s lips were at your temple.

“One more, baby,” she whispered. “Just one more.”

You pushed—harder than before, through the pain, through the thunder outside, through the fear still trembling in your chest.

And then—

The water shifted.

A weight slid free.

And a sound—your baby’s first cry—cut clean through the world.

Agatha caught her, hands trembling, eyes wide with awe.

Jen helped guide her gently upward, and then—your daughter was on your chest. Slippery, warm, beautiful.

Alive.

You wrapped your arms around her, sobbing, your whole body trembling from the effort. Agatha pressed herself to your back, crying openly now, her arms around you both.

“She’s here,” she whispered. “She’s ours.”

Jen moved quietly, checking vitals, helping you position her better on your chest. The baby let out another cry—softer this time, as if she’d found what she was looking for.

And through the windows, the storm kept on.

But inside, all was quiet.

------

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