#plus it's part of his story and my gif series

[zepskies]

Awww yeahhh!! Again, I'm so happy you're reading this little Russell series--thank you again, and Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)! 🥰💕

I can't wait to dive into the rest of your thoughts on Part 1...

I love their friendship so much 😂 And kudos to Dory. It takes a lot to agree to this. It could potentially get very awkward 😝

Aww I'm so glad you love her and Dory's friendship! They've become that "ride or die" best girlfriends, and Dory strikes me as someone mature enough to handle her best friend dating her formerly estranged brother. loll It really does take a lot! Which is why the reader is being so cautious about even going on a date with Russell. 😅

God, I know. This is honestly what I think about the most when I watch Tracker. The whole story line is insane and intriguing and... 😅 I have a thousand questions, and there's so much you could do with it in fics. I love it (clearly) 😂🤍

Right?! That's what kept me watching, honestly. I still have so many questions, and even in this series I mostly go off of what we know so far in the show while exploring a couple of my own headcanons. Like you said, you can go in infinite directions with their family past, and even Russell's background!

I do think Russell knows a lot more about their past than he lets on. Also, he was way too chipper for someone who was accused of patricide by his own brother for twenty years. The dynamic between the brothers is just... interesting 👀

Oh yeah, definitely. Their mom is VERY SUSS as well. 🤔🤔

Oh, she's going full Reagan! 😂 I sense some trouble coming from the brother, though...

LOL you're spidey senses are correct. Charlie's a piece of work. 😬

Well, I hope he already picked out his casket... 🙈💀

Omgg but you killed me with that scaredy Dean gif from season 1. 🤣🤣 Like I said, Charlie's a piece of work, an addict, and unfortunately, lashing out at the one person still holding him down. 💙

I'd be a puddle before I even made it to the damn seat 🫠 And they are literally so cute together! I'm full on swooning over here 😍

Ughhhhhh girl SAME. Stick a fork in me with a slab of butter, I'd be DONE.

Ah, yes, the family business. Love that sublte hint 😆 Would be a good name for a brewery, tho 👍

Omgg I'm so glad you caught that!! lmao

Oh yeah, that's catchy. I could so see that on a draft label. 😜🍻

I like that you emphasized the darker parts of his life. Like I said, I don't buy his whole "I'm happy and funny and quirky" act. There's a lot more stirring beneath the charming surface 😅 (Another thing he has in common with Dean lol)

That's definitely not all there is to Russell, so thank you for pointing that out! SO many Deanisms in Russ, but it was pretty clear to me from the get-go (and especially in 2x02) that this guy has an edge, and a lot of experience with the darker shades of the military, despite his bouncy charm lol.

And oh, don't we love a good cry on the first date? Poor thing 😂🤍

Oh God yeah, she was mortified. 😂😂 I thought it would be understandable though, given what just happened with Charlie. 🥲💙

Indeed 😂 I would've loved to be a fly on the wall when Dory had this conversation with her lol How he very eloquently avoided talking about Colter accusing him of murdering their father. I wanna be a fly on the wall for that future convo too 🤣

Ha, ikr! Maybe I'll flash back to that convo in a future ESC story. 🤔

Oh he dodges that real well, doesn't he? 😂 He's going to continue hiding that aspect of things with Colter (I have plans for another sequel story in the future), but he will get into the circumstances around his father's death with her later on...

Loved that she got a punch in before even Russell got there. He might have actually killed that pig lmao

We love a strong heroine, right? 😘 Plus, as the sister of an Air Force/military guy, I felt like Charlie would've taught her how to defend herself. But oh God yeah, Russell might've let his hand "slip." 😬

I'm having vivid flashbacks to Smoke Eater 🥵🔥

Aahahaa I had hoped that moment where he holds her hand would be a nice little Easter egg for people who read Smoke Eater. 😘❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Probably one of my favorite scenes is when characters are so hot for each other they lean against a car. There's just something so incredibly passionate about it 🔥🫠

Clearly we have similar taste on this stuff, because girl YES. 😮‍💨😮‍💨❤️‍🔥 Melts me every time I see/read it...

Oh, Russell, this is not what the lady wants to hear. Bless him tho 😂 And I figured she wanted more than a one-night-stand or fling. His job and lifestyle truly is a bit of a problem. But he wanted out anyways, so... 🤞

Bless his heart, he tried to make it sexy loll. And yeeep, not only does she want to tread lightly because he's Dory's brother, but she also isn't typically one for a fling, being an introverted nerdy type lol. Not to say that professors can't get down like that, but this character in particular is more the cautious type. 🤣��

I loved their first date! 😍🤍 Hopefully, they'll see each other again soon and might give this another shot. I have a feeling it's gonna involve her brother's bullshit somehow 😅

Aww thank you, friend!! I had so much fun writing their date lol. You already know they're gonna see each other again soon 😏 and your instincts are spot on as usual! Charlie's about to get himself into some trouble that he might just need some help getting out of... 😬😬

As always, reading your lovely, thoughtful and hilarious comments put a huge smile on my face! 😉💓💓

Every Second Counts - Part 1

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: "Permission Granted"

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.” 

Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.

“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”

“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”

Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.

He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…

“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.

“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”

“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.

“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”

You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.

“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.

“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was. 

“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.

“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.

You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.

“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”

Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.

You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.

“Goodnight,” you called.

“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.

You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.

After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.

Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.

His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.

He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.

“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.

You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.

“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”

He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.

“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”

You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache. 

Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again. 

“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.

“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”

“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”

The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.

“How much?” you asked.

He frowned up at you. “What?”

“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.  

“It’s okay, don’t worry—”

“How much,” you pressed.

He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.

“About two grand,” he admitted.

You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.

“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.

Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”

You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.

“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.

Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.

“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.  

His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.

“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.

“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”

“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.

“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.

“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously.  

“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”

You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s. 

By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.

The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.

You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.

You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.

You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.

“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”

You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.

“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.

Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”

He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.

“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.

Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.

After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.

“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.

You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.

Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.

Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.

“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.

Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.

You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.

“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”

“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”

You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.

“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”

Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”

“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”

“After?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”

Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.

He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.

You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.

“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”

You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.

You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”

He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.

“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.

It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.

God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.

“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.

Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.

“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.

“What’s his name?” Russell asked.

“Charlie.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”

Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?

Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.

“What do you think?” you asked.

“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”

You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.

You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.

Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”

He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass. 

“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”

His lips briefly raised in a wan smile. 

“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.

You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket. 

“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”

Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”

You gave a weak smile.

“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words. 

His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.

An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.

“Well. Heavy, huh?”

You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.

“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied. 

“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”

“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.

“Come on,” you said.

He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”

“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.

Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.

And he was true to his word.

Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.

“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.

He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.

“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.

“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.

You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.

You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.

He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).

“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”

“Like that matters,” you quipped back.

You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.

And he slapped you right on the ass.

You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.

Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.

Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.

His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.

“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.

"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.

“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”

His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.

Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.

“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.

“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.

“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.

Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.

“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.”

If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.

You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”

Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.

You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.

You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.

Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.

And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.

I like this, you thought. And I like him.

However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.

"I'm okay," you tried.

"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."

“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.

“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.

Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”

You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.

But his hands were gentle for you.

“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.

“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.

He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.

“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.

“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”

Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.

“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”

You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.

“She?” you intoned.

“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.

You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.

“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.

Russell decided he’d take that bet.

He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.

But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.

He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.

You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.

You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.

Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.

His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.

His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.

You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.

“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.” 

You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed. 

“How long are you really in town?” you asked.

His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”

“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”

“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your heart tugged, almost painfully.

“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—” 

You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers. 

“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.” 

After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.

“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said. 

Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.

Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.

After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.

You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.

When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.

Charlie still wasn’t home.

Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.

And it worried you even more.

I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right. 

— C.

AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂

And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?

Next Time:

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[oyeixcher]

Khao as Ayan in The Eclipse ↳ Episode 1

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar. 

He receives none. 

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. 

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away. 

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like  he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs. 

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering. 

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you. 

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking. 

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office. 

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly. 

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

[yourmidnightlover]

the story

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

w/c: 3.5k+

summary: the weeks following bucky ordering that steve be your bodyguard, followed by an insightful night at a gala with your beloved husband.

warnings: mention of the incident with john (groping), slight threats of violence, mention of fear, lip on lip action (the upstairs ones), if i've missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: hiii! the third installment of my forever? series! i didn't even intend for this to be more than one part, but you guys have inspired me to write more for it! my writing schedule is a bit off since i recently started a new job, but i'll try to be a bit consistent with it. i hope you guys enjoy this next part, more to come!

part 2 -> control

the first few weeks with steve as a bodyguard wasn’t too bad. he was actually kinda funny in a grandpa kinda way, and he was an amazing listener. you had bounced a few ideas for your book off of him and he seemed to be very intrigued by some of the plot points you had planned. he even promised to be one of the first customers, right behind bucky (which you may have rolled your eyes at), of course, as long as he was promised a signed copy.

but, at the two month mark you began to miss your independence. of course, the chef bucky had hired was amazing and had years of experience in italian cuisine, but sometimes a girl just wanted some greasy smash burger to chow down on. most nights you ate alone with steve until bucky walked through the front door. 

he always seemed beaten down and tired, as though work was more straining than usual. he would shrug his jacket off, place it on the hook by the door, then his shoes on the rack, and walk upstairs to shower before coming downstairs to eat as you and steve were finishing your plates. you tried your best to start conversation, to be the best company you could but eventually the silence always grew awkward and steve would usher you to go upstairs to your room with a pressed smile. 

after two months of not really needing to show you off i any way, there was an important gala for him to attend. of course, that means that you were to be his beloved arm candy for the night. 

“buck sent me the address for a local boutique that he thinks would be right up your alley,” steve read from his phone as you took a stroll in the garden that was full of beautiful colors. “the appointment is at 3:45, so we have plenty of time to get ready and head there too. oh and he says you should get something in that one shade of green… i’m assuming you know what that is?” his brows raise in confusion, as your mirror his in a stunned expression. 

“surprisingly, i do know what he means for once.” about six weeks before the wedding, you had spent an all nighter with him amidst all of the chaotic planning. 

“accent colors are super important! right now, all we have is an off white color, and while it’s a good color, i don’t want my wedding to wash everyone out that much,” you shoved his side as you sprawled your binders out on the coffee table. 

“i say… green,” he says after pondering for a minute. 

“green… like tree green?” you chuckled at the notion. 

“i mean the green that’s light yet earthy, not too dark but not scream-in-your-face bright. it’s beautiful. plus, i think you’d look stunning in it,” he shrugs casually as if he hadn’t described a mundane color in such an alluring way.

“so a sage green?” 

“maybe more on the jade green side,” he tried to hide a smile as his thumb began to mindly trace nonsense on your thigh. 

there was such elegance in the way he described the simple color, as if saying light green wouldn’t have sufficed. clearly, there was a significance to the mundane shade that he felt the need to recommend it. 

but you knew not to ask anything further to pry, doubting his readiness to comply so easily so early in your relationship. while it was during the happiest days of your relationship, you still knew he held you at arms length. 

at the appointment, you had found several dresses in the perfect color, but only one stood out to you after trying them on. steve was also a good guide in ensuring you were choosing the right one, although you’re sure he would just say every dress looked good regardless. 

growing up, you’d read about a love that was so encapsulating that one would rather face death than be without their lover. you’d yearned for that kind of love. the kind of love that was consuming and irreversible. the kind of love where your partner wouldn’t love you in spite of your flaws, but because of them. 

and now you were married to a man who didn’t seem to feel an ounce of that towards you. sure, the months leading up to your wedding made it seem otherwise. it made you hopeful that he could maybe grow to love you, as you could grow to love him. 

because truthfully, it was hard to see many flaws in the man, other than those that were rumored in the tabloids. you’d read or heard of his anger issues and his lack of patience but abundance of irritability. yet all you’d observed is his laughter, his diligence and compassion. 

it was definitely confusing to want to believe these two contradicting tales of composure, but ultimately seeing is believing. you’d decided to believe whatever he showed you, what was right in front of his face rather than believe whatever was whispered in your ear. besides, if something was worth believing it should be said with their full chest rather than in such a low tone. 

-

“almost ready?” bucky’s low voice rang through the door as you were doing finishing touches on your hair, making sure you looked as presentable as possible. 

“i just have to put the dress on, and i’ll be ready to go!” you replied, unzipping the bag that the dress came in, even though you suggested that doing so was overkill.

“let me know if you need any help.” you heard a thud from the other side that suggested that he was leaning against the door, waiting to hear if you did happen to need any assistance. 

you replied in silence, just stepping into the dress and lifting the straps over your shoulders. it was such a beautifully made gown, truly. it hugged you in the most flattering places, accentuating just the right amount without flaunting too much. the material felt like a warm hug from a lifelong friend, you almost never wanted to take it off. 

the only downside was the damn zipper. it was a bit rough to pull over your hips alone, but once you reached your mid back it seemed to reach a snagging stop. you twisted your arms every way possible, trying to avoid the totally cliche scene of calling him in to zip you up. 

alas, the universe had other plans for you. although, how much could you complain when that would mean his rough, yet gentle hands would be against your skin…

“...bucky?” your voice meekly called out, trying to interrupt your own thoughts from spiralling down the path you wanted them to so bad. 

“yea?” his voice piped up, seeming to jump an octave or two in the process. maybe you jst startled him. 

“could you maybe help me zip this thing up?” you became quiet before the twisting of your doorknob broke the silence. “my arms can’t quite contort the way they need to in order to zip this all the way…” you refused to meet his eyes as he trailed inside the room. 

the first sign of his presence was his hands grasping your shoulders, lightly tracing down your arms. then he leaned down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, more affectionate than he’d been the entire duration of your marriage without it being prompted. 

“you look beautiful,” he pressed another kiss to your other shoulder before letting his hands fall to a respectable place on your waist, stepping back to seemingly find where the zipper got stuck. “but what’s new, right?”

you chuckled at the compliment. 

“what’ve you been doing recently?” you asked meekly. “i haven’t seen you much at all since steve started his new gig as my babysitter.”

he sighed, stopping his antics to clarify what he felt he needed to. “he’s not a babysitter. he’s my best friend, and the only person i trust to look after the woman that i-the woman that i married, okay?” you felt his deep breathing on your neck before he continued, “i don’t know where john is yet. john is notorious for taking whatever he thinks is his and that night he made it very clear what he believed.” he turned you around to face him, the dress’ zipper be damned. “if anything happens to you… just the thought keeps me up at night. i need you to understand,” his voice was desperate, pleading almost. 

you understood what he was saying. at least, you were pretty sure you did. men in positions of power like bucky typically saw the people around them as pawns. part of you thinks that he’s saying all of this as the controlling, possessive boss man bucky. and that’s the large part of you. but the small part of you, the part of you that still believes in that fairytale love you used to read about, believes that maybe he’s saying all of this because he does feel something for you… something real. 

but that part of you is like… 15 percent. maybe 20…

“i understand,” you nodded, meeting his eyes and seeing desperation, fear. seeing fear radiating from a man that projects a version of himself that’s fearless is a scary thing. 

“good,” he nodded, his eye contact faltering to the dress that clung to your body. “you look indescribable, i’m a lucky man to call you mine.” once again, he grasped your shoulders to turn you around.

this time, he promptly found the zipper, his metal hand tracing nonsensical patterns on your shoulder as he zipped the dress with his flesh one. 

“all done,” he pressed a lingering kiss to your right shoulder. “my beautiful bride.” you wanted to believe him. 

“thank you,” you took a deep breath as you turned to face him. “so, tonight… what should i be expecting?” “well, there are a few people i’ll introduce you to, and a few i have to talk to. but i’ll be with you the whole time,” he pressed his hands into his pockets. “i scheduled a car to take us, and we have about 10 minutes before it should get here.”

“so we’ll be playing the roles of loving wife and doting husband?” you nudged his shoulder before you went to grab your shoes. 

“playing? this is all real, sweetheart,” he took the shoes from your hands, promptly dropping to his knees. 

“what are you-”

“i’m putting your shoes on, my love.” you chuckled before he guided your hand to his shoulder. “gonna want to hold on.” he picked up one of your legs by your calf, grabbing the correct shoe before slowly placing your foot inside and doing the same for your other shoe.

meanwhile, you were stuck staring down at him like a lovesick idiot. this behemoth of a man was beneath you treating you like a princess by putting your heels on for you. what the hell kind of alternate universe have you entered and how can you never leave?

“well, aren’t you a romantic?” you cleared your throat as he remained on his knees, a sight you could get used to. 

“don’t let the news spread around town,” he chuckled as he let your remaining foot hit the ground but not without pressing a kiss to your ankle. “i can’t have others knowing how enamored i am by you, can we?” “enamored?” you chuckled out. “what a word,” you shook your head as you helped him to his feet. 

“the perfect word.” he trailed his hand to a loose strand of hair, twirling it around his flesh fingers before he sighed, “the car should be here soon. we should head downstairs for it.”

it was a 45 minute ride there. you sat in a respectable silence, this time it wasn’t as awkward as it has been in the past. upon arrival, the door was swiftly opened for you, bucky getting out first and then offering his hand to help you step out. the first thirty minutes of the gala went very similarly. he would introduce you to a new face or say ‘hello’ to a familiar one, wrap his arm snugly around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek and move on to the next person. 

for a bunch of folks in banking and finance, everything seemed very high stakes. there seemed to be walls up all around you, from each man and woman you said a brief hello to or were meeting for the first time. everyone had decided to adorn a mask for the night, or maybe the mask was a semi-permanent fixture. maybe they’d worn the mask for so long they forgot how to function without one. you hoped you wouldn’t face the same fate.

to be doomed to fake face for so long that you no longer remember what was once real. you wanted something real, even if what you and bucky had was technically fake when you were in public. something about what happened behind closed doors when nobody was around gave you the illusion that part of it was real. 

“have i told you how ravishing you look tonight?” bucky held you close as you swayed to the soft melody. his metal hand was clutching your waist, his flesh hand holding your own.

“i think in different words, yes,” you both began to laugh at his flattery. “you don’t have to keep doing that, y’know? the compliments and everything… i think people get the idea that this is real by now.”

“you don’t get it, do you?” he shook his head before he moved his vibranium hand to your chin, nudging it up for you to meet his eyes. 

“get what?”

“buck,” steve’s voice interrupted your dance, but that didn’t stop bucky from pulling you taut to his side.

steve leaned in to whisper in his ear, but you were able to tell by his stone cold expression that whatever message that was being relayed to him wasn’t as delightful as the desserts from tonight. 

“when?” you barely registered bucky’s low voice over the music. 

steve went back to whispering in his ear and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you wanted to speak up, “what’s going on?”

bucky looked down to you, and when you looked into his eyes, what you saw was very similar to your earlier conversation with him. this time, however, there seemed to be anger buried beneath the stoic traces of fear. that’s when it clicked.

“did they find him?” his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“you told her about-”

“i told her what she deserves to know,” bucky interrupted steve’s accusatory tone. “you don’t get to question me or the decisions i make, especially not when those decisions are in regards to my wife.”

you weren’t sure if bucky was defending you or himself with the way he jumped on steve’s gears. 

“okay, got it,” steve rse his hands in defense before he nodded. 

“what steve was telling me was in regards to him, yes,” bucky clarified. “but it’s nothing important for you to need to know. you don’t have to worry about it, my love,” he let his flesh hand play with that same strand of hair as earlier as he looked down at you like his prized possession. 

oh yea, you almost forgot. that’s what you are to him. his trophy wife, as much as you hate that phrase. 

“when can we go home?” a shiver ran down your spine. what would john even do if he did get his hands on you? was he actually as bad as bucky made him seem, or was he worse? you gripped bucky’s arm tighter as thoughts raced through your brain. 

“hey,” he turned to face you again, his eyes no longer reflecting anger or fear but tenderness. “if you want to leave, we’ll leave. steve can get the car,” he turned briefly to steve who nodded before walking off, “we can talk on the way home. i can tell how many questions are running through that pretty head of yours right now. but i can assure you,” he cupped your face in his hands, and the contrast between the cold metal and the warm flesh was oddly grounding, “as long as your with me, or steve for that matter, you won’t have anything to worry about. i would do anything it takes to keep you safe.”

you nodded, pressing your lips together in a fine line, maybe a bit of doubt running in your head at the lengths he would go to in order to protect you. would he really go to the lengths necessary? would his hand be forced to do that? 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i was scared right now?” you couldn’t meet his eyes as you admitted it. 

“it’s not bad at all. in fact, i understand. i just hope that you know that this is why steve is watching out for you now,” he dropped his hands to your shoulders, down your arms to hold your hands. 

“will you-would you be up for staying with me tonight?” you popped the question, almost scared of his answer. “like… like you did that night? i don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

“you don’t have to explain,” he smiled. “of course i’ll stay with you.”

the ride home was similar to the ride there, but this time with your head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you. you’re sure he thought you were asleep when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. it also wasn’t beneath you to say you liked when he did it…

so much so that you apparently did fall sleep. when you woke up, it was wrapped in strong arms. you strained your neck to look at the clock beside your bed, the one that read 2:35 am. turning in bed to look at bucky, you realized you’d never seen him so peaceful. his hair had grown out a bit long, evident by the way it laid across his forehead. 

when you moved the few locks of hair from his forehead, he began to stir awake. 

“shhh,” you hummed softly. “it’s just me. sorry i woke you.”

“don’t be sorry,” his raspy voice was alluring this early in the morning, or was it late? “i don’t think i’ve slept this good since… well, since that night.”

“are you a secret cuddler, mr. barnes?” you smiled as he pulled you in a smidge tighter as he replied. 

“and what if i am?” “there are no complaints coming from me,” he pressed yet another kiss to yourforehead, then your cheek, your other cheek, and then you pulled back to look in his eyes again. 

the only light that was peaking through was from the hallway underneath the door, but that didn’t stop you from being able to see the bright smile decorating his face, a rare sight to see. 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i really wanted to kiss you right now?” his thumb trailed across your bottom lip, gently pulling it down and watching it bounce back into place.

“it’s not bad at all,” you let your eyes find his lips before looking into his eyes once more. 

he made the first move, taking his flesh hand and cupping your face before he softly met your lips with his. every other kiss you’d had with him had been for show, cameras or people around to witness and aww at the romantic antics of the newlyweds. this one wasn’t for show. this was purely authentic. gentle, soft, delicate. for a man like bucky, you figured he wasn’t like this very often. this was a side of him not many other people got the privilege of witnessing. 

he was precise in his movements, every swipe of his tongue and every placement his hand made was deliberate, yet he was so tender. the soft grasp of your hair, the easy glide of his hand that began to hold your waist. it was all so consuming, in the best way possible. in the way that you wanted to drown in his presence. 

when you sweeped one of your legs over his, now perched on his lap, you felt him smile against your lips. 

“you’re astounding,” he breathed into you. “breathtaking,” he rearranged his hips, accidentally brushing his hardon against your center. “shit.”

“sorry,” you smiled against him as you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. 

“nothin’ to apologize for,” he shook his head with a laugh. “i mean, you are my wife an’ all.”

“i know, but,” taking a deep breath, you tried to figure out how to word what you wanted to say to him. you came up with nothing. “i don’ know. it’s different. we haven’t necessarily been the most affectionate since our wedding.”

“i didn’t think you wanted anything more,” his face shone with disbelief. “i didn’t want you to think you were forced to be ‘affectionate’ with me. you didn’t really want to marry me in the first place. i realize that.”

were you not this puppet in his master show? some play thing for him to own and display whenever he pleased? had every story you’d heard about him been nothing but that… just stories? could this story of you and him have a happy ending?

tags:

@blackbirdwitch22

@onceithough

@learisa

@mrsnikstan

@cjand10

@mrs-bucky-barnes-73

@armystay89

@adesum

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@loki-laufeyson68

if you'd like to be added to the tag list, please just leave a comment or message me!

[writing-makes-me-human]

HEYYYYYY

I couldn't help but see your requests were open l😏

So I wanted to ask for a human reader who Neteyam finds but he goes to kill her and she kinda charms him so he stops?

Then they become mates, the story and stuff is all up to you but yeahhhh that's my idea

I LOVE YOUR WRITING BTW AND I HAVE READ NEARLY EVERYTHING!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 

Thank you for the lovely words and your support it gives my writing purpose <3

Here is your request, I really hope you like it!

I named it Charming Killer after your request.

ps: If people have put in a request it is on its way!

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Neteyam x reader

Part Two

Summary: You get chased into the wilds of Pandora with a broken communication collar and a bullet wound, but Neteyam finds you. He goes to kill you but an omen from Eywa stops him, and as he approaches you he realizes you are his destined mate.

Warnings: blood and injury were mentioned, nothing else.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I’m taking a quick little break from writing for the same two series and breaking out to some requests. Check my master list for my posting schedule for Love and Guests. And what are we feeling? Part two or keep this as a one-shot? (God why did I just offer to create a new series but also this is such a cool idea and I want to write more)

Neteyam didn't like humans, and he never had. His mother had raised him to stay away from them as much as possible, and he had obeyed to keep her happy, but as he grew up and his siblings came back from ventures to the human labs that lay beyond their village with stories about Norm and Max in their human forms, he found his simple obligation of dislike turn into hatred.

Neteyam avoided all of the dream walkers that operated in his village to the best of his ability. His father advised them not to bother his eldest son or his wife, which they respectably agreed to. Still, even if they weren't around him Neteyam could always feel their presence, and it irked him.

One day, this feeling cropped up in his mind as he was out in the rugged outback of Pandora, hunting a stray tapirus for his mother.

He jumped from a tree to the ground as he continued to track, but then as Neteyam pressed his fingers into the newest set of prints in the dirt, he smelt it.

It was the distinct smell that often surrounded humans, something of a mixture between an unnatural chemical smell and wafts of artificial scents that attracted them to one another. Still, to Na'vi, the smell was a distinct warning.

He raised his head, abandoning the hunt in favour of locating the emitter of the stench that was offending him.

He followed his nose for a few meters, and then with the tip of his bow, he dipped a low-hanging branch to divulge a clearing.

There, standing in the middle with not a soul around was you, trying to aid an injury to your lower arm and fix a device at the same time with only one working hand.

He quirked his brow in confusion. He had never heard of you from his father, which only led to one conclusion: you were a sky person under Quaritch's jurisdiction.

He watched you for a few seconds to take inventory of what you were doing all alone in the middle of Pandora without a jarhead next to you with a gun. He could tell immediately you were not military because you were pacing around in a circle, speaking a mile an hour to yourself, using words he didn't understand with no sign of a weapon anywhere on your person.

His eyes dipped to your arm, which you were clenching shut as blood dripped onto the ground and soaked itself into the fabric of your shirt.

You were in shock from what Neteyam could interpret in distinction to your actions. The wound didn't seem like it had come from an attack by any beast on his planet because you would surely be dead if that were the case.

The injury looked like a bullet wound which only charged his curious streak further, but you were human, and one less sky person on this planet was a plus for his cause. So, he nestled down on the ground and silently replaced the branch so he could pull back his bow and aim his righteous arrow at your head.

He felt his heart beat in rhythm with your steps as you desperately tried to fix a communication com device with one hand, fighting against the panic that was starting to take your breath away.

The wilderness was vast, and you could feel the race against time fight in opposition to the blood which was slowly collecting a trail by your feet.

He let out his breath and readied the shot, but before he could let it go, a seedling from the tree of souls floated into his vision and landed on his hand, a silent plea not to fire.

He was stunned for a few seconds and held his posture, but when the seedling took off again, he finally let his hands relax and brought the longbow back down to his lap.

He was captivated now as he tried to lean closer through the foliage to see your actions. Eywa had spoken, and he would not kill you.

He thought back to the story his mother had often told her children about how she met his father, and his nose scrunched up at the similarities between the two stories.

He decided he would not take you to his father, and he would leave you here. If Eywa didn't want him to kill you, that was fine but he wouldn't become responsible for your safety.

He had filled his hunger for curiosity, and the thought of returning to his hunting materialized in his brain. With that in mind, he turned to step away, but as soon as he moved, another seedling crashed into his chest, making him stutter back in an effort not to crush the precious soul.

The sound of crunching leaves caught your attention, and you rotated on your heels in the direction of Neteyam. He kept his head low and out of your sight before he shook his head at the seedling which hovered in front of his face.

You couldn't see anything, but the sound was distinct, so you darted your eyes around to try and find anything to defend yourself with, but your search was broken when you found a white seedling floating just to the side of Neteyam's hiding spot.

You gasped as two other seedlings joined the beautiful sprite. They all floated towards you, pushing air down as they climbed higher and higher up on their way to you.

Neteyam let his eyes leave the seed in front of his way and looked towards you. Your face was lit up at the sight of the seeds, and it seemed their appearance had taken all of your focus off the pain and the gadget in your hand because you softly stepped forward to greet the specimens.

He watched as you steadily reached out a shaky hand to the wood sprites, laughing uneasily as they all gently landed along the uninjured arm.

You looked so excited at their presence, and that confirmed his suspicions of your scientific origin.

You took another step forward, and Neteyam cursed mentally as he turned to leave, but again, the seed of Eywa stopped him with its stagnant stature. The sign was clear. He had to speak with you. He rolled his eyes and held back a sigh but acted to comply with the great mother's desires.

He stood to his full height and stared at you with a frown. You still hadn't noticed him, but when he smacked the lower branch away and tramped forward, the white sprites took off and left you to yearn after them with a sad stare.

What was so special about you? He wondered. You were just another arrogant human who was part of an unkillable mass that had arrived here with an open palm.

Your eyes then fell from the vacating pure souls and settled on the 10ft Na'vi in front of you, which caused a shriek.

Immediately you stumbled back and tried to start protesting for your life at the sign of his lethal bow, but you stopped when you noticed he was staring at you with an unwavering eye filled with mystery.

You called something to him, but he only understood the odd word. You had jumped straight into elucidating that you were not a threat which made him want to laugh. 

Of course, you weren't a threat. You were standing here like the perfect prey for any number of predators to pounce on and devour. He could kill you with a single toss, and the idea that he feared you was amusing him.

He took another step, and this time you crouched down, letting your hand leave the wound to try and coax him to stay away from you like he was a stray animal that could be redirected.

The bright blood on your hand shone in the light, your face was pale compared to the rest of you, and he felt a pang of pity for you, making him scowl at himself for his stupidity.

He stepped forward some more, his tail flickering behind him with agitation as he pulled the bow over his head and let the string fall over his chest.

"Who are you?" He growled as he marched further into the clearing.

His body was tall and very masculine, his muscles hugged his body as he looked down at you with contempt, and those were your only thoughts as the Na’vi man looked ready to murder you.

Your face wrinkled in confusion as you shrugged one of your shoulders at his words, your head shook from side to side in order to tell him you had no idea what he was saying.

He rolled his eyes at your conceited unknowingness, but just as he was about to start yelling at you, he paused as your scent hit him.

The standard note of human was definitely there, but there was something else, something sweet that had him hooked the second now that it registered in him.

At first, he thought you had used some chemical warfare on him, but when your confused face only intensified as he took a carnivorous inhale at the air, he knew the fragrance was only coming from your skin.

He took another stride, and the movement triggered your fight or flight. You tried to stand to run, but he grabbed your intact arm and gently yanked it forward, making you drop the communication device to the ground with a clatter.

You tried objecting to his harsh handling of you and cursed at him in English. He ignored you, and without further conversation, he shoved his face into the crevice on your neck and pushed your jaw up with his forehead so that your neck lay before him with no guard.

He took deep whiffs of your scent and nestled deeper so he could bring in as much as his body and the restrictive oxygen mask you were wearing would let him take. His tail flicked wildly behind him as he tried to commit the smell to memory. It smelt something crossed between a sugary treat and a warm fresh wood scent that made his brain fizz with the desire to have more of it closer.

He could feel your heartbeat on his cheek, but he ignored it. His need for the scent consumed him. He was only brought back to reality when you let out a whine at his very close touch that was making you uncomfortable.

He ripped his head back and shook it wildly, trying to shake off the remnants that tickled his brain. Your eyes that had originally been looking at him with confusion were now eyeing him up and down with uncertainty.

He dropped your arm and felt his body surge at the loss of touch. You faltered backward as he let you go but didn't try to run again, which he appreciated.

He was attracted to you, that was certain, and it made his body lurch with disgust, but before he could spend longer than a few seconds being disgusted, the scent of your skin drilled its way back into his brain, and he was overcome with butterflies that attacked his stomach.

You spoke again; this time, he identified the words 'Na'vi' and the name Max from your speech. He cocked his head, and you watched as his braids fell to one side of his head as he brought his face closer to yours to stare into your eyes.

You took a step back, but he followed you. He decided to ignore whatever you were saying and let his exploratory nature grab hold of him. He extended his head around to stare at your body, and you let him touch you as he pleased with your chest heaving in anxiety that at any moment he would have his fill of interest peaked and he would draw back to kill you.

His fingers came to your waist and gripped the lower hem of your elastic shirt, and pulled at it before letting it snap back, which made you smile a little despite the fear raging through you. Perhaps the blood loss was making you hysterical.

His ears twitched at the sound of your giggles that accompanied the smile, and his scrutinizing eyes turned softer as he reached forward and repeated the action, letting you huff with amusement.

He continued his curious search of you and let his fingers prod your cargo pants. You watched with your own set of prying eyes as he leaned down so he could gather the material between his fingers and rub it together to feel the texture. He let it fall back into place and pulled himself back up to his full height, which made your smile falter as you reminded yourself he was not a curious child and was a fully grown Na'avi hunter, if his bow was anything to go by.

The silence was loud, but it communicated volumes. You could tell by his erratic behavior that he wasn't going to kill you, but he was clearly fighting an inner conflict with his actions.

You didn't know much about the natives, but you knew one thing that had been hammered into your head since orientation day on this planet, Na'vi killed sky people on sight, and this man didn't look like he was reaching for his bow anytime soon, so what was he doing?

You tried your luck and reached out your hand to poke his bare chest before quickly retracting, making him let out his own small chuckle at your scared actions. You smiled cautiously before you reached out and ran a finger over the string of his bow that dug into his front, watching his chest shiver at your touch before you finally pulled back and stared up at him.

He let his smile disappear, and his frown replaced it as he stuck out his hand to grab your oxygen mask, but this seemed to be a step too far because you pulled back and quietly said something he didn't understand, but he knew it was a denial.

He was satisfied with his investigation and pulled himself back to look down at you while you awkwardly returned your hand to clutching the hole in your body that wasn't meant to be there.

Neteyam felt the pity in his heart worsen at your predicament, and he decided that he wanted to help, even though his naturally taught ethics told him it was wrong. He knew that the only reason his body was reacting to you like this, along with the cause of the omens from Eywa, meant one thing, but he was trying to suppress that epiphany for the moment.

He couldn't understand your language enough, but the device that lay on the ground behind him was obviously crucial to you. Hence he walked over to it and picked it up, this caused a chain reaction as you stumbled forward and tried to take it back from him with a yelp of protest, but he placed his hand on your forearm and gently pushed you back, which calmed you down enough that he could look at the tool.

He stood up and held the com to his face to see if it was fixable. Jake had a few of these around, and Neteyam had to wear one for a long time when he was younger, but this technology was slightly newer than anything Neteyam had seen for a while.

He flipped the collar over in his palm, and to his surprise, he immediately zoned in on the issue. The chip that powered it was simply dislodged and needed to be adjusted, so he pushed it back gently and shook it a few times, much to your aggrievement, and then when the red light sparked back to life he crouched down and placed it in your hands.

Your eyes widened in surprise as the collar was now partially workable.

You looked up at him, and his breath caught as your beautiful eyes gazed into his own with such pure gratitude in them that it made him want to keep you close to him forever, as his mate.

And just like that, the epiphany broke the surface of his mind and his pupils swell as he realized why you smelt so divine and why your laugh made his body weak. You were his mate. Even without the means to make the neural link or any of the accompanying features found on Na'vi women that were deemed as attractive, he knew as he observed you desperately press down on the com and speak into it that you were his destined partner.

The intercom sparked to life, and he heard the sound of Max's voice come through it. This interaction only worked to intrigue him more than last time, as he tried to figure out what you were doing all alone out here with a broken body, seeking out the rouge scientists.

You quickly yelled back to Max with relief overthrowing your face, which made Neteyam smile again as he watched you let out a consoled chuckle.

You spoke for a few more seconds, and Neteyam let the sound of your strange accent wrap around him before you broke his trance and held up the collar to him. He quirked a brow, but you shook the device in your hand and nodded for him to take it.

He gently took the end of the com and brought it to his ear so he could listen to Max translate what was happening to him in Na'vi.

Max was shocked to find out it was Neteyam who had saved his exposed spy from Hell's gate, but he described your issue to Neteyam, and he agreed to take you to the laboratories on the edge of his village so you could be patched up.

He returned the device and pulled off his bow to set himself up to walk you through the wild to the labs.

You hadn't understood Max's translation, so you pulled the com closer and tried to remain polite as you smiled up at Neteyam, but he could tell you were not pleased with the improvised escort that was surely threatening to your tiny stature.

When the conversation was over, you sighed and dropped the intercom to your side, gripping it tightly as you looked back up at Neteyam, who was now tying his hair of individual braids up with a hair-tie while holding the bow between his teeth.

He looked like a beautiful angel from your angle as he effortlessly strung up his hair, showing off his triceps and pecs while his canines were left exposed around the wooden bow. He pulled an arrow from behind his back and fit it into the bow. Neteyam then set off into the woods again, with your body mindlessly following the god-like boy.

You watched him move; he was the most graceful thing you had ever seen. His attitude was strange, and while you couldn't understand a word he was saying, you finally identified his aura as one of interest and possible endearment rather than intimidation.

He looked over his shoulder and called out a sentence to you that once again you couldn't understand but you just nodded and tried to sustain his pace.

He looked over his shoulder every few steps, but it was clear you were struggling to keep up with him as the pain from your injury was now becoming prevalent thanks to your adrenaline levels being brought down.

Neteyam grumbled something under his breath but turned to you, sliding the bow and arrow over himself again as he stepped towards you.

You backed up a little as his alarming size came toward you, but he reached out and gently touched your shoulder so you could see that he was trying to suggest an idea.

"You're never gonna get there if I don't carry you, come here", he stared into your eyes, repeating the sentence at least three times before he tut his tongue in annoyance and reached down to hoist your legs into his arms so he could carry you bridle style.

You screeched, and his ears flickered at the sharp noise before you hissed out and clung onto him as tightly as you could while he rose you high above the ground. He could feel your heart rate speed up, and he was dumbfounded as to why you were reacting this way to him just holding you.

You said a word, and it rang a bell in his head as he tried to remember it.

Oh, height.

He quickly put you down, and you tried to relax your breathing after being speedily hauled into the air by about 7 or 8 feet and then replaced just as swiftly.

You tried to balance yourself on his leg as you felt your heart calm down, heights weren't your strong point, but you had to agree that it was going to be the best way to get there with the time restraint your injury put on you.

He spoke something else as he crouched down, putting himself at eye level with you.

"I can't understand you!" You hopelessly whimpered as your hand came to rest on his shoulder so you could try and take the pain off your other limb.

His ears downturned at the sound of your desperate groaning, and he remained silent for a second, looking off to the side in thought.

You took a deep breath, dragging his attention back to you. You stared into his eyes for a second before you nodded and held out your arm for him to take with a single word.

"Slow", your eyes tried to show bravery, but your body was still shaking like a leaf under his touch.

He felt a part of his body twitch at your word that was paired with heavy eye contact and an out-of-breath tone, but he ignored it.

This time he went much slower as he swept his hands underneath your thighs and lifted you into the air. He allowed you to get a good hold around his neck so that you weren't afraid of falling, lying to himself that the touch was for your comfort and not his own.

When you were to live with him once you agreed to be his mate, he had to get used to going slower with things. It was lucky for you that he had probably the best patience out of any of his family.

You weighed nothing to him, so he set off as soon as you were steady, and your fear slowly gave weight to amusement as his long legs steeped over each obstacle in his way that would have taken you minutes to clamber over with your one arm pinned to your side.

The whole way there, you could feel his grip around the lower part of your legs tighten when you tried to clamber closer to him, and you wanted to apologize for invading his space and deterring him from his task that he would have had to abandon to help you, but the words couldn't come out.

It took about twenty minutes of heel-and-toe walking before he finally managed to get you to the lab's opening.

Upon seeing the large metal containers, he screeched to a stop, and you looked at his face with confusion as he seemed to have caught your fear like a contagious disease as his face scrunched up. He didn't dare go any further.

Neteyam let his hands slip under your armpits and gently set you down on the ground. He looked down at you and then glanced at the containers behind you.

You were a sky person, and while he couldn't deny that you reeked of his mate, this was the most unlikely pairing anyone had seen.

You called out to him, not by name, as he hadn't told you, but he finally sighed and slid back down to a crouch as he found he had to do a lot when talking to you.

"I will be back for you, my mate, until then, look after yourself better, now go get patched up", he pressed one of his hands into the side of your head, and you lovingly pushed against his palm with a sad smile as you took his words as an apology for needing to go.

"Thank you--" You trailed off as you tried to use the silence to ask for his name.

"Neteyam", he stated with that boyish smile overtaking his features again.

"Neteyam", you repeated as you nodded, feeling the skin of his rough palm rub against you.

"You?" He found the word in English and spoke it with a heavy accent, making your smile turn to a grin.

"Y/n", you stated with a gleam in your eye.

"Y/n", he said the name verbatim to you and nodded to himself as the sound of a door opening ruined the moment.

He quickly pulled back from you and stood back up, allowing his height to take over the silent threat as Max stood on the steps to the metal lab with his hands raised to show he was unarmed as he called out to you and asked if you were all right.

"Goodbye, y/n", Neteyam’s accent was incredibly thick, and it made your skin shiver as he quickly put his fingers to his forehead and retracted them in a respectful farewell before he turned on his tail and walked back into the wilderness of Pandora, leaving you alone with your own kind.

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Ahhhhh! First of...BIG FAN OF YOUR SOTRYS AND HEADCANONS! And i want to request an Yandere TFA Starscream AND ALL of his clones(plus Slipstream, if you like) with an cybertronian s/o that is SUPERA shy, easily flustered and hardly ever raises thare voice that comes out as VERY adorable whispers and thare...

❤️‍🔥DROP❤️‍🔥

💞DEAD💞

😍GORGEOUS😍

I would VERY much love it if you add small scenarios.

🌌💗💜Love your storys!💜💗🌌

Oh my Primus THANK YOU!!! You're so sweet (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) It makes me smile to know my works are being liked, it is my little escape from reality and adult life - I'll do my best since I haven't seen Transformers Animated too.

(TFA) Yandere!Starscream & Clones w/ Shy Cybertronian!Reader (HCs & Scenario)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, too many yanderes in the same place, typical violence from the series and a little bit more. Reader gets a little bit hurt by Sunstorm, but nothing too bad. Reader is gender neutral and in the Decepticon faction.

Perfection - that's the word Starscream, Skywarp, Sunstorm, Thundercracker, Ramjet, Slipstream, Dirge and Thrust use to describe you.

What is a shy, soft speaking, easy to fluster cybertronian in the Decepticon's faction and still walking around, unchanged?

Starscream has never been one to believe in beings like Primus - but thanks to Primus for having given him someone just as perfect as you.

And if Starscream loved you, his clones did the same - after all, they were a part of Starscream. It would be impossible to not love you as deadly as Starscream already did!

You are never alone - never. At least one of them is by your side.

Skywarp is paranoid. Sunstorm is sadistic. Thundercracker is obsessive. Ramjet is delusional. Slipstream is stalkerish. Dirge is possessive. Thrust is manipulative.

And Starscream? Well - he has a little bit of all of those traits. I'll say he remains as a possessive yandere, but with how of a mess he is, tends to the hysteric type too.

All of them love to say they own you and such, they like to think they are in charge of you - but they are dead aft wrong.

You have 8 yanderes wrapped by your pinkie finger - whatever you wish they will try to give it to you, they will guard you and, if you ever showed a desire to offline someone, they would shed all the energon and helms you want.

Of course - they take advantage of your shy behaviour. They always keep you by their side, prohibiting you of interacting with other bots if they are not around. Hell, they even intimidate you partially to neither run or fight them back.

But, oh - just how precious you are? How kind and soft you are, too scared to raise your voice, easy to embarrass and get you too overwhelmed by their love you can't think on doing anything but recieve whatever form of sickening saccharine love they decide to give you.

They have definitely threaten another bot to offline them just because they saw you for 1 klik. A few bots would not really take Starscream or any of his clones seriously... but the look all of them have in their optics - it is pure madness. Hysteric insanity barely tamed, branded as their love for you.

Only you.

If they could, they would chant how perfect you are that not even Primus could be compared to you. They want to hold you, bond their sparks with yours, end everyone just so there would be only you and them.

You've been desperately trying to get a least one klik of privacy for yourself - your anxiety is skyrocketing. You've always been aware of Starscream's obsession with you. He would always follow you, claim to be the perfect candidate to be your conjux endura and promise he was going to be yours.

And you've seen it - how he stalks and follows you, how he has threatened others to keep themselves away from you, how he aims to kill any bot if you are in the middle of the battle against the autobots and get hurt or targeted. And Starscream has been doing a good job at actually being taken as a threat if you were in the middle of the ecuation (hell, even Megatron has been quite careful whenever interacting with you.)

But with the clones now around... your hell grew 7 times worse.

Skywarp would cry his optics off, begging you about not leaving him, constantly being tortured by himself with the many imaginary scenarios he makes of you being taken or leaving them. To then cry as he thanks you for proving him you love him when you just comforted him, not having the spark to leave him like that when is clinging to you as if you were going to disappear.

Sunstorm is always there to hurt you, one way or another - he proclaims that is in the name of love and making sure others know you are taken after he left a few bitemarks or bruises on your neck or armplates, seeming too pleased when you whimper or sob. You're starting to believe he also does it to tell you what the consequences could be if you tried to leave him.

Thundercracker constantly has this episodes where he has you cornered or held, rambling and rambling about too many things but they always revolve about that insane and obsessive love for yours, how he promises to destroy anyone who gets in your way and so, so much more. It always scares you as he always spills his love for you, never tearing his optics away from you.

Ramjet believes with all his spark that you and him (plus Starscream and the other clones) are already the Conjux Endura of the other, and he believes you and him have been past lovers from another lives, your sparks bonded through all eternity and, no matter if he dies or you die, you will always come back to him and fall in love with him just as he does it with you every single klik of his life.

Slipstream is there, she is always there. Always listening. Always watching you. Stalking you. You know she is there even if you can't see her. And before you know it, she has you in her arms, hugging you and whispering to you too many promises about never leaving you. She knows everything about you, knows where you are or where you are going - you can't escape her.

Dirge is not like Slipstream. While she hides in the shadows to follow you, he is physically there with you. He acts like a barrier between you and the world, isolating you. Constantly has his servo holding yours, he needs to touch you one way or another, and is not afraid to throw a few faceplate breaking punches at anyone who tries to approach you.

Thrust guilt-trips you. You know he is doing it whenever he does it, and still your spark aches and bends, giving into whatever he wants. Why do you want to go outside when there are too many autobots and other decepticons wanting to hurt you? Ramjet and the others are doing everything to keep you safe and sound! They love you so much, sweetspark - how can you be so sparkless? Worst part, when you give in, he always coos and praises you for being such a good soon-to-be-conjux.

"Ah, there you are, my dear Conjux." And the last one to be enlisted - Starscream himself. A servo is quick to grab yours, pulling you by force to stop walking and follow him, instead. "What did I told you about leaving our room?"

"I... I wanted to, um, have a little bit of privacy-" You try to explain.

"And who gave you permission to?" Starscream looks at you, making you bite your own glossa and hold your helm down.

"You found them! Oh, thanks Primus!" Skywarp cries as he arrives, quick to run and hug you. Sunstorm and Dirge follow closely, hugging you just like Skywarp (Dirge needs to hold you, Sunstorm... well, he knows having too many bots hugging you makes you anxious and prone to just not move, not fight back.)

"Now -" Thrust starts. "You could have got hurt or taken away, sweetspark." Skywarp, Dirge and Sunstorm finally let you go, but their servos rest on your back, gently pushing you to keep walking as Starscream lead the way.

You try to be brave. "I just wanted to - to..." You fail.

"Hush - it is already night time." Starscream orders softly, and you shut your mouth at it. "It is time to recharge, my Conjux."

"She is my Conjux!" Thundercracker shouts the moment you and your lovers enter your shared room. Slipstream nonchalantly slaps the back of Thundercracker's helm, making him hiss.

"She is our Conjux." Ramjet says, smiling with optics full of love as he takes your free servo and pull you gently towards the big berth all of you slept.

You end resting against Starscream's chestplate, his arms wrapped around you. Somehow, the others always manage to sleep touching you - two helms resting against your legs, a servo touching your back, another one your shoulderplate, a helm nestled against your torso. It makes you feel trapped.

"Rest well, my Conjux." Starscream whispers to you after kissing your forehelm, Slipstream gently snuzzling her helm against your torso as Sunstorm and Thrust trace their digits on your back, Dirge and Ramjet coo and whisper sweet nothings to you quietly as you feel Thundercracker hug your legs, Skywarp resting his helm on Starscream's shoulder so he could look at you.

You close your optics, embracing dearfuly the only time you are allowed to be alone - whenever you recharge.

I hope you like it! This week has been a little bit too much for me, but it was interesting to write this! (*^▽^*) Vhaos out!

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 4.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes)

Warnings for this part: smut

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The cloak wrapped around you felt like velvet. The softness between your fingers calmed you down significantly. Reynolds grabbed your hand after the fifth time you balled it up in your skirts. You looked up to see your three valets trying to hide the concern on their faces. You could have an incident or get caught or both. None of those three options were ideal or even good. 

“Do I look decent?” you asked as the carriage got closer and closer to the party. 

“You look perfect.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t wear the mask?” 

“You don’t have to but keep it on you.” 

You agreed, exiting the carriage with a letter from the princess version of you — complete with a wax seal — that was basically a pass to enter any establishment no matter what. Spotting Penelope and Colin out of the corner of your eye, you breathed out a sigh of relief and ran over to them. Both of them wore wide smiles at your surprise arrival. They had been expecting a letter or something to signal your arrival back from Ireland. 

You were sad to hear about Marina not joining you all for this evening. It would have been nice to know her more than a little bit in between the courting of suitors. But there would be more times to meet and catch up later. Plus, hearing your friends’ stories of their daily lives proved to be a good enough distraction. You let them go after a while so Colin could escort Penelope to the dance floor like he promised to do after a run in with Cressida Cowper. 

Looking around, you failed to immediately locate the rest of the Bridgerton children. You grabbed a drink from the lemonade table and began to wander. The alcohol had looked appealing but you had never drank, afraid of the consequences if drink mixed with your illness. Someday you’d try some but not after an episode. Never right after one. 

On the outskirts of the party, still close enough to hear the music, you ran into Benedict. He gave you a smile and the same surprised look on his face as Penelope and Colin. You leaned in closer to hear him over the deafening melodies of the orchestra. Small talk that was mainly about your fictitious trip made up the first half of your conversation. After a while, you grew comfortable with each other as if you never left. 

“The lights are beautiful,” he commented, staring at the small lantern display that a scientist presented. 

You nodded. “We have some at the palace. They add more day by day but it would be nice if all of London, maybe all of the world, had these little lights. How has your art been?” 

“Not terribly well. Nothing seems to be good enough.” 

“Well, what are you drawing?” 

“Still life. I can’t expect my free drawings to be good if I can’t depict what is right in front of me.” 

“You are too hard on yourself, Benedict seriously,” you argued when he scoffed. “Sometimes we have a problem seeing our own greatness. You ju—” 

“Would you ever consider marriage to someone, me, perhaps?” 

You choked on your lemonade. “Pardon?” 

“Apologies.” He finally turned to look at you. “With Daphne out in society, people have started looking at Anthony and because my dear brother does not care to at least pretend to be a proper viscount, they have started to look at me. Ravenous mamas are eyeing me and it must be a matter of time before they talk to me.” 

You laughed. “You still call me Miss Beckett yet you want me to help you through a marriage?” 

“Wait, what is your name, actually? If you are to continue being a friend of the family then I am at liberty to refer to you by first name.” 

“Bergamot. My parents were a bit too keen on gardens. My second name is Sophie.” 

“Bergamot Sophie Beckett. That is a lovely name.” 

“Thank you… I still won’t marry you.”

Benedict scrunched up his face as he bent over to try and plead with you. “Please! I can’t be out here with the wolves.” 

You patted him on the shoulder. “Your whining, no matter how pathetic and cute, will not work. I will see you tomorrow, alright.” 

He muttered something that you didn’t hear while you took off into the gardens for a stroll. You’d have to leave soon, pressing your luck wasn’t the way to go. You put your cloak back on and closed it to hide your dress completely as you finally put your mask on. The gardens at night were very beautiful. Perhaps because you were alone. 

You chuckled at the thought of your interaction with Benedict. Even if it happened only a few moments ago, it was hysterical. It was only funnier because you were sure that when you finally introduced yourself to society, you’d get even stranger proposals. Only they wouldn’t be to avoid hungry mamas. And they wouldn’t be coming from one of your friends. 

Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too upset with you. Hyacinth would never but she was more like a little sister than a friend. Benedict would think the whole situation is funny, hopefully. Daphne might as well. Eloise and Penelope could go either way. Anthony would probably be mad that you let him attempt to woo the princess when you knew the truth which would make Colin and Gregory and Francesca mad at you as well. But maybe it would be fine after you explained everything. 

The sound of voices caught your attention. Spying was wrong but you couldn’t help yourself. You started to walk into the hedges, ignoring the twigs catching everywhere. The view wasn’t the best but you could see well enough. What could be a scandal between Daphne Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke seemed to be a very different scene to you because you knew the man from her letters. You tightened the mask around you just in case you needed to leave the bushes. 

Nigel kept coming close to Daphne. You began to run when he grabbed her, thinking of how to protect your friend. You’d have to hit him. That was the only option. There was nothing else you could do about it… You paused as Daphne pulled her hand back. There was Nigel Berbrooke on the ground. After being punched. 

You and Daphne looked up from Nigel to see the Duke of Hastings running into the garden clearing as well. The two of them seemed to realize that you were the princess and you were in the garden with them having witnessed everything. They bowed to you deeply, something you returned. 

“I will survey the area. If I do not return then you two may safely leave the garden.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“It is no trouble really. I am so sorry for your distress, Miss Bridgerton, and I do hope your hand feels better in the morning.”  

You did a thorough check of the area to make sure that Daphne wasn’t compromised before fleeing to your carriage before anyone could spot the mask. Assuring your valets nothing went wrong, you closed the carriage door and let it drive back to Kew. 

“Thank you,” you said as you took off your mask and cloak and opened the carriage window since it was night. 

“For what?” 

“For making me go out tonight. I did need it. I feel better, immensely.” 

“That is good. We are glad to hear it. Will you be going out again tomorrow?” 

“Just to the Bridgertons.” 

“Oh, to home then.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue because they were right. Being at the Bridgertons felt like home more than your own at times. Maybe because your mother and father were the only ones who even tried to be a proper family. But there was no trying with the Bridgertons. They just were family. 

That much was true when you walked into the house a lot later than the early morning to see everyone but Eloise in the drawing room, talking about Daphne and the Duke. You said hello, greeted by hugs from everyone who didn’t see you yesterday. You took the plate of toast from Violet, who was trying to get her daughter to eat, and shoved the bread under Daphne’s nose. She took a bite before actually grabbing it from you. Relieved of your mother bird duties, you plopped down on the couch in between Benedict and Colin. 

“What are your plans for today?” 

“Fencing and then a gentlemen’s club and then preparing for a party tomorrow and, dreadfully, a picnic the next day,” Colin said as he handed you a chocolate from the box on the side table. 

“May I watch?” 

“Of course, Sophie. A beautiful lady will only encourage us.” 

“Since when did you learn to be a flirt?” 

He just shrugged, sitting back to listen to Daphne play the pianoforte and tease her about the duke. You clapped at the end of her piece and requested a second one that she obliged. Daphne would have to play at the palace some time or at least at Kew. She sounded lovely. Closing your eyes, you just listened for a moment. 

“How does a lady come to be with child?” 

Your eyes flew open to see Eloise standing in front of everyone. Violet jumped up from her brief moment of sitting on the couch across from you. 

“Eloise, what a question!” 

“I thought marriage was a requirement.” 

Daphne tilted her head. “What?” 

“Apparently, it’s not even a requirement.” 

“Eloise.” 

“Mama, the princess did say all young women nearing their debut should learn.” 

Violet stuttered as she took the tray of food out of the room, forcing Hyacinth and Gregory to go with her, stating she’d be back in a moment she just needed some water. She turned back for a moment. 

“Daphne, dear, do go on. I’d like to hear some calming music when we return.” 

Eloise trudged over to the couch, sitting on the other side of Benedict. She smacked her brothers’ knees but neither one of them wanted to answer her directly. Colin turned his head. 

“Have you ever visited a farm, El?” 

You laughed as Benedict smacked the back of Colin’s head but stopped when Eloise slumped down in her seat. You tapped her on the shoulder, making her perk up again. Your hand rested on Benedict’s thigh so you could prop yourself up as you leaned over him.

Covering your mouth and Eloise’s ear, you began whispering to your friend everything you thought she needed to know about sex. Unable to help himself, Benedict leaned in to spy, surprised that your information was actually correct. You weren’t lying, the Princess’ court really taught all the valets everything. Eloise sat back, finally satisfied and a lot less worried about a spontaneous pregnancy. Until she became curious again. 

“But why would anyone want to initiate it? Who wants to be with child?” 

You leaned over once again. “No one wants to be with child. Even those who want children. It’s about the pleasure. Sometimes the pleasure of actually liking someone and other times the pleasure being about nothing but you.” 

“What?” 

“The… think about when you start breathing a bit heavier, feeling warm when you touch each other, a… I’ll tell you the rest when your brothers aren’t here. It is a bit awkward. Oh, I’ll even draw you pictures. Only a certain amount of posit— mov— steps are important. The rest you should figure out with your husband.” 

“So you do truly know what you’re talking about?” Benedict interrupted the nearly finished meeting. 

“Did you doubt me?” 

“A bit,” he admitted. 

You sat back down. “Men aren’t the only ones that know what they are talking about.” 

“Sorry to offend.” 

“No offense. None at all. I expect even the kindest and smartest and prudest of men to think such things.” 

“Well, I am still sorry. If not because of offense then because of my ignorance.”

You squeezed his thigh in appreciation. Benedict laid his hand on top of yours. The two of you stayed like that for a moment until his hand held onto yours a bit tighter. He turned to look at you. There was an understanding shared between your eyes. There was no breathing heavy or loving eyes. It was for both of you but in purely selfish pleasurable ways. 

“Sophie, are you coming to watch our fencing match?” Benedict asked.

“Yes.” At that he moved your hand closer to his private. “A bit after the calling hour starts. I like to watch the men make fools of themselves.” 

“I am not surprised by that at all. Shall we wait for you?” 

You closed the gap and placed your hand over the top of Benedict’s pants. “No. You may start without me and I’ll just come when I find the time.” 

“Okay. We’ll play again soon, maybe even another game today. So don’t be too bothered if you miss us playing for your calling hour.” 

Giving an experimental squeeze, you watched the man next to you nod ever so slightly and swallow his spit before moving your hand himself. You both relaxed into the couch completely, satisfied with your understanding. The two men left when Violet came back — it was fairly obvious that calling hour was about to start. The calling hour was several hours but at some point you had just dropped the s and you weren’t sure why. 

You thought it would be only one or two men but the duke seemed to have lit a fire under the other men’s feet. The line became rather long rather quickly. You were happy for Daphne. The more men the better. Maybe she could get a love match.

You took the last bouquet of flowers for Daphne, thanked Lord Colfield, and went to go put the flowers in a vase on the fireplace mantle. You were about to tell Daphne that you were leaving to see her brothers’ fencing match when Anthony came storming in. A gasp escaped you when Nigel Berbrooke came up behind. You were completely over this little man and his obsession. 

Without thinking, you approached Anthony. “What do you think you ar— Anthony, you and Nigel need to either leave the drawing room as this is your sister’s calling hour or wait in line if he is here to call? These lords and gentlemen have waited a great deal to talk to her and they are very patient. It is not right nor just nor of any class to disrespect the patience they have shown.” 

“Nigel?” Berbrooke scoffed. “Who do think yo—” 

“The Young Princess’ valet. She’s become a family friend,” Anthony cut Nigel off. 

At least Berbrooke had the decency to be surprised and then give you a bow. Their tunes towards you changed completely as they almost looked like they were going to wait their turn or just leave. Nigel smiled. 

“Callers were unexpected as we have already been talking extensively.” 

“Lord Berbrooke is the only man who proposed and therefore the only person I consider.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” You looked at Anthony.

“He is the on—” 

“Everyone! I am very sorry but you must leave. Miss Bridgerton’s calling hour is currently closed. Please leave your name with Heroldt, starting with the order you have been waiting, and two days from now we will continue.” You turned to Anthony as everyone filed out without complaint since they thought the princess was the reason for calling hour being over. “There. Now, Lord Berbrooke, I must speak with the Bridgertons alone. I hope that speech staved off the wolves for you if only for two days while matters are discussed.” 

“Thank you, Lady…” 

“Miss Beckett,” Anthony answered. “Thank you, Sophie. Lord Berbrooke, do you need me to escort you?” 

“No, no. You have business. I can find the front door on my own.” 

The moment he left, you, Daphne, and Violet descended on Anthony. Every word that came out of Anthony’s mouth made you scoff. Violet looked between all three of you, very upset. Anthony was ruining both Daphne’s prospects as well as his own prospects with the princess. And you were there to witness it all.

You backed Daphne on everything. Even if she was wrong, Nigel was a foul man that you would never allow to marry. You approached Anthony, speaking lowly although your friend and her mother could still hear it. 

“I hope you survive whatever poison you are drinking. Whether the Duke is a serious man or not, there are plenty of serious men here. You will not sign away your sister to such a foul man that you barely know as well and pretend it is in her best interest. And you will not expect her to be understanding or appreciative when you don’t care an ounce for your sister’s happiness. And you still wish to draw up a marriage contract? Please, just think for a moment… Good day, Viscount Bridgerton.” 

You stormed out of the drawing room and straight into the backyard where Colin and Benedict were handing their fencing gear back to a servant. They noticed the furrow in your brow. Benedict clicked his tongue. 

“I will find out what is wrong. You, brother, instruct the kitchen to leave something out for us. If there is crying then we will be long.” 

Benedict practically dragged you to the far side of the backyard. He knew no one would think anything of it when you were very angry about something Anthony did — that part was loud enough for everyone to hear. He looked at you when the two of you finally stopped. 

“Was that a ploy to get away? Or are you genuinely mad at my brother?” 

“I don’t want to talk about why I’m mad at Anthony. There’s nothing you can do anyway. Not without a good scandal… Sorry, I came out here for a fencing match. Let us focus on it. On you.” 

He took your hand again, placing it over his trousers. You began to rub it back and forth, the fabric between you guys creating friction. You reached into his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it a bit more freely. Benedict pulled you closer. His hand reached around your ass to squeeze it.

Every time you stroked him closer to finishing he would squeeze harder than before. You watched his face the entire time. If you got back exactly what you were giving him then you would be a very happy woman. It was truly going to be about selfish pleasure for both of you. 

You gasped when he all but ripped the top part of the dress as he tried to push it all down to expose your breasts. He wanted something else to stare at that would get him off even quicker. You tried to stifle any moans threatening to escape your lips as he groped you — some of the marks so hard you were sure they would be a bit red until tomorrow. This was his turn. Yours would be later. If you both tried to get pleasure at the same time... Well, that's how people fall in love. The two of you weren't stupid to test that.

Benedict moaned and for a moment both of you were worried someone would come see what was the matter. He laughed underneath your hand covering his mouth. 

A shudder went through him and he grabbed your wrist. “I’m going to come. I-if you let g-go… just in m-my britches.” 

You dropped to your knees, shocking your friend. He grabbed your head with one hand while he bit down on the other until he finished. A very gentle touch lifted you up. He wiped stray bits of lipstick from around your mouth, wiping the evidence away on the inside of his vest. 

“I have to say I did not expect you to sit down for the last round of fencing. We were done anyway.” 

“Well, I wanted to help put up the equipment so we could all relax later. Plus, if the princess does choose to invite you all to Kew then I would like you to help put up the equipment there too.” 

Benedict laughed. 

“I promise whether I win or lose. The next time we have a round of fencing, I will put up the equipment. All of it.”

He leaned down to whisper.

“Even if you are not a lover, I would never have you on the ground, sullying your pretty gowns and body..." He squeezed your breasts one last time before helping pull your dress back up. "with grass and dirt stains. I promise I’ll bring you your pleasure next time we are inside and alone. I will leave first and retire to my room. You stay out here and eat the sandwiches the cook left. I won’t be able to return for at least an hour.” 

“Okay. I have to go see the Featheringtons and Miss Thompson anyway.” 

You did just as Benedict suggested and no one even gave you a suspicious look. You took your own sweet time going across the street. You had moved the physician and all of Wednesdays special tutors to Tuesdays so you would have more time in the city. Despite not wanting any visitors, you were the obvious exception and could go upstairs to see Marina. She looked up from her writing desk when Penelope announced she was coming with a visitor. 

The three of you gathered on the bed to share a plate of sweets. You mainly listened to Marina and Penelope, not having much to add. You wanted to figure out a way to help her. Trying to meddle in daily affairs and save the lives of one subject at a time seemed almost ridiculous. But, that was what you should do as a royal. 

“Did you say Spain?” 

“Yes. That’s where all of George’s letters are coming from at the moment. They all say Spain.”

“If you ever need a letter to Spain or to anywhere else they send Sir George, just let me know. The princess wants to help her subjects, especially women, so give me a letter and I’ll give it to her. Whenever you need.” 

Marina flung herself at you. “Thank you. If there shall ever be a problem, I promise I will say such.” 

“Oh, the princess is going back to the palace for a few weeks because of something important so I won’t be so available for a little bit.” 

“What will she be there for?” 

“You will find out when it happens.” 

The two of them giggled. “You are so mysterious.” 

~~

You were tired after an exhausting day but a letter you received from a footman that same day made you get up. Anthony had given you a key to the front and back garden gates as well as the back door that led into the kitchen. You entered through the backyard so you could actually get inside the house without waking the entire house with your knocking. You only needed Violet and Daphne. And you had a letter to leave just in case you couldn’t wake a single person. 

Voices made you pause. You recognized Eloise and Benedict talking. Instead of going any further, you just listened. Eloise — like so many other women — wanted better for herself. It had never been a question of something you would plead to your brother… You sighed. You knew your brother. It was time to stop thinking of him as the heir. There was a reason everyone was going to support Younger Charlotte’s claim over her father. And Young Charlotte listened to you. She planned on making you her advisor. There would be no pleading. You would make better laws for women. 

You didn’t want to disturb them too much so you flung the letter at Benedict’s head. Running as fast as you could, you ignored their confused calling out for you once they recognized the letter coming from the princess. Hopefully, Benedict or Eloise would get the letter to their mother before Nigel could come back. 

Dear Dowager Viscountess, 

I am nothing but my mother’s daughter and therefore it is, in fact, my job to meddle in the lives of our precious subjects for a better and more peaceful United Kingdom. Miss Beckett has told me much of your troubles in regards to a man called Lord Nigel Berbrooke. I don’t have much information on him but I do have a request that I would ask you to aid your princess in. 

I recall an acquaintance of his. A maid. She used to work at the palace but asked for a job in the ton so she could be closer to her aging parents. I believe she was employed by a neighbor of the Berbrookes? Or a friend? Or maybe them, who knows. She was supposed to come back two years after they died but has yet to return. Nigel or one of his neighbors must know. Or perhaps, his mother, she’s very close to the maids. Knows every single one of them by name. I care terribly for this maid and would like her working back at the palace.  

Please meet with his mother. She loves crumpets with any sort of preserves or a chocolate dipping sauce. It was all she wanted when she requested a meeting with my second brother. 

That is all I have to say. I do look forward to seeing your family properly. 

Yours Truly, 

Princess Y/N Kew 

P.S. Please tell Anthony that it took him long enough but I am proud he finally came to his senses. If only he can learn to listen to a woman first then he might have less problems.

You smiled to yourself as you sat in the kitchens. The staff couldn’t stop talking about Nigel Berbrooke’s bastard that he doesn’t take care of and the mother he sent away before she even gave birth. You would feel bad but you had a very personal and up-close view of the man’s real personality. The morning only got better when Brimsley and Reynolds came in with Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. It was on the front page of the pamphlets. Absolutely worth paying the two pounds per pamphlet for everyone in the Kew household. 

“Do you think he’ll ever show his face again?” 

“No,” the cook said as she handed you your breakfast. “You did a good thing for Miss Bridgerton, Your Grace.” 

“Your Grace?” 

“It is just a title we are trying out.” 

You hummed suspiciously. The cook ignored you. 

“You better pack if you don’t want to be late for the carriage coming today.” 

You nearly forgot. The reason you couldn’t hang out with the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons arrived. Your cousin Friedrich, the prince of Prussia, was coming for a visit. He agreed to marry a British girl to strengthen the alliances and prove that Prussia and Britain were still close family. It was neither a complete truth or a complete lie. The entire family was not close. But you, your cousin, your father, your mother, and your aunt were very close. 

Sneaking out wasn’t an option. You thought that much as the carriage neared Buckingham. It had been a while since you snuck out the palace — a completely different thing from simply leaving Kew. Pandora, Brimsley, or Reynolds would sneak you your letters and you would be satisfied. Besides, even though your family was coming for an indefinite amount of time, you only had to stay a week or two. 

The carriage hadn’t even stopped completely before you ran to hug your cousin. It had been years since you last saw each other. You could hear your mothers laughing in the background. They left to have tea inside while the two of you stayed out. 

Friedrich took your hand in the crook of his arm. “Come, cousin, let us take a promenade. Have you been well?” 

“I have been better. However, I am doing well.” 

“And your illness?” 

“Not better. But I haven’t had an episode that I couldn't recover from on my own.” 

“That is good. I suppose that is the best we can ask for. Especially since I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” 

“I asked Aunt Charlotte and she agreed to let the princess accompany me to events as she knows the ton better than the both of us. You have to wear your mask but it is still a good deal.” 

“It is a wonderful deal.”

“Good. The first event is a ball tonight.” 

“Tonight?! But I’m not prepared.” 

“I’ve already had everything arranged.” 

“You planned this?” 

“I figured it would do you good to get some fresh air and get out of the palace… or Kew, now.” 

“Thank you, Friedrich. Seriously, thank you.”

(part 5)

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[somethinginthewayiam]

The girl behind the bar (Part 5.2)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: weather storm, self-conscious about appearance/body

words: 5.5k (whoops)

Summary: You're stuck at the Hard Deck with Jake due to a weather storm with no power and no other thing to do than to talk...

a/n: I love this part in the series and I hope you like it just as much! The sonds used in the story are Golden Hour by JVKE and Howling by SYML

Link to my masterlist

You had just received an alert on your phone for your area to stay inside because of a weather storm which meant that you and Jake were stuck at the Hard Deck. While you still tried to process what that meant, Jake had walked behind the bar and poured himself a drink with the help of the torch of his phone. “Looks like we’re actually stuck here”, you said while looking out of the big windows.

“Yeah, no shit”, he said while pouring his drink. You cleared your throat when you spotted him. He looked up and rolled his eyes at you. “I’m leaving the money in the register”, he explained like it was super obvious. “You better”, you told him and walked behind the bar as well.

You nudged him out of the way and crouched down. “Excuse me?”, he said a bit irritated. “I know Penny’s got some candles somewhere down here”, you said as you rummaged around the cabinet.

You found a few candles and matches and distributed them over the bar top and the nearby tables. It was a really beautiful scenery, under different circumstances, you might have called it romantic even. After lighting all the candles, you sat down by the bar and Hangman was still standing behind the counter.

“Can you give me a beer, please?”, you asked him. “Sure”, he said, grabbed a beer, opened it and placed it in front of you. “12 dollars”, he said. You looked up a bit startled, then you remembered. A smirk crept on your lips. “Put it on my tab, sweetheart”, you countered. “That doesn’t count as your shift you still owe me, just so you know”, you commented. “Yeah, yeah”, he waved it off.

When you reached out to grab your beer, your hand was shaking. “You’re freezing”, Jake said and it wasn’t a question. Your shirt was still wet and your short sleeves didn’t hide your goosebumps. “I’d give you my jacket but it’s just as wet as yours”, Jake offered in a surprisingly sincere tone. You didn’t know how to handle nice-Jake, so you didn’t.

“I think Penny has a lost-and-found somewhere”, you remembered and got up from your chair. You walked into the storage room and found the cardboard box on a shelve. You carried it over to the bar and placed it on top. “You should probably change into something dry, too”, you told him and started rummaging around in the box. Jake casted an uncertain glance at the contents.

“Ooh, how about that?”, you asked with a wide grin and held up a shirt that said I fucked a guy in the navy. “I bet those nights on the aircraft carrier can get very lonely”, you said and playfully pouted at him, holding up the shirt in front of his face. He grabbed it and threw it back at you with a grumble.

“This looks more like a you-shirt”, he countered. “I haven’t earned that title yet”, you said honestly and threw the shirt back into the box, looking for the next possible outfit. That’s how you didn’t catch Jake’s glance at you.

“How about that hoodie?”, you said and held up the black-colored clothing item. “Sold”, he said and grabbed it from you. He just took off his white shirt and slipped into the hoodie. You got surprised by the vision of a tanned 8-pack and forgot to look away fast enough.

“Like what you see?”, Jakes voice pulled you back into reality. Startled, you sat up straighter. “Maybe I should charge you”, he joked. “Maybe you’ll earn the 12 dollars after all”, you said and somehow pulled off to wink at him and then focused your attention back on the lost-and-found box to look for a shirt for yourself.

At the bottom of the box, you found an oversized, dark-blue shirt with the word Navy in white letters across the chest. “Jackpot”, you said and pulled it out. You tried not to think too much about it when you turned around in your seat, jumped off the bar stool and took off your own shirt, with your back to Jake, quickly pulling the new shirt over your head again. It wasn’t that large on your body as your bigger chest and hips filled it out more than you would have liked, but it was loose around your waist. You bunched up the shirt around your middle and made a knot in the hem, hiking up your pants further over your belly.

When you turned back around, you found Jake quickly looking down at his glass and pouring himself another drink. He had the hoodie zipped up now, only leaving a few inches open at the top.

“I could really use something to eat now”, he said and walked over to where he had put his doggy bag from the Diner and brought it over. “Great! I’m starving”, you said and licked your lips in anticipation.

“Who said I was going to share?”, he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, Hangman”, you whined. He looked you up and down, then suddenly a sly smirk appeared on his lips. “Beg me”, he requested. “In your dreams”, you called out. “Fine, then I’ll eat it all myself”, he said and started to open the bag.

“Nooo, come on”, you whined again. “You know what I wanna hear”, he commented and grabbed a French frie out of the bag. Oh god, he had French fries!

You took a deep breath, not hiding how much effort it cost you. “Can I please have some of your food, Bagman?”, you asked him. “No, no. Do it the right way”, he shook his head, clearly loving this. You huffed out loud and looked at the ceiling.

“Can I please have some of your food, Jake?”, you begged him and tried to sound somewhat sincere. “Ah, that feels good”, he sighed and had a content smile on his face. “Don’t make me slap you”, you countered. “Is that a way to talk to your only supply of food in here?”, he asked and clicked his tongue. “Hangman”, you warned him. “Alright, fine, you can have some of my food”, he finally gave in.

He came around the counter and sat down next to you. “Oh, thank god”, you called out as you watched him unpack a burger and the French fries. “Why ‘Thank god’? What you’d think I get?”, he asked as he pulled a face. You reached over his arm and stole two fries out of the container. They were already cold but you didn’t care.

“I don’t know. Probably something like a kale salad”, you shrugged your shoulder. “Kale salad?”, he laughed. “I don’t know what fit people eat, but I’m glad it’s apparently your cheat day”, you said and fished for another fry.

“I don’t see a knife here somewhere. You mind, if I just rip the burger in half with my hands?”, he asked, ignoring your comment and you were surprised how polite he could be all of a sudden. Apparently that southern charm and politeness peaked through from time to time. “Rip that meat, Lieutenant”, you commanded, your eyes fixed on the burger in his hands.

“Here you go”, he handed you half of the burger and pushed the fries between the two of you. You took a big bite and sighed. “Oh my god, it’s so good”, you mentioned and licked the grease off your lips. Your shoulders did a little dance of joy. You could only imagine how good it would taste if it came fresh out of the kitchen.

"I never taught it'd be fun to watch someone eat", he said surprised and it only sounded like half a joke. You looked over and saw his eyes on you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You should see me eat chocolate cake. Your head would explode", you told him with wiggling eyebrows and a playful smile. "Noted", he simply said and took a bite of his half of the burger.

You swallowed hard and not from the food in your hands. Where did that come from all of a sudden?

“Didn’t you eat at the Diner?”, he suddenly asked. There you go, there’s the old Hangman. “Not really. I ordered the typical first-date salad but was too bored to actually eat it”, you rolled your eyes. “Good old Joe”, Hangman joked. “You mean Jospeh”, you corrected him. “Of course, my apologies”, he put a hand over his heart like he was actually sorry. You let out a chuckle as you had to admit he could be funny if he wanted to and not just annoying.

You kept eating in silence and you used that moment to take a look around. Your eyes fell to the big windows where the storm was still raging on outside, rain washing down the glass. The room was illuminated with candles all over the place, bathing everything in a warm light. You turned back around, looking at the food then Jake.

You just started giggling to yourself. “What are you giggling about?”, he asked suspiciously. “I’m just laughing at this”, you said and motioned at the room. He was still confused. “I mean, I’m on a date with a guy and instead of being in this romantic situation with him, I’m here with you”, you told him.

“Ouch!”, he playfully held a hand over his heart like you had actually hurt his feelings. “Come on, you know what I mean”, you added, trying to dissolve the situation.

“You think this is romantic?”, he asked and took a sip of his drink. “You don’t?”, you asked surprised. He shrugged his shoulders.

“The poor girls that fall for you”, you shook your head and ate the little rest of your burger. You slipped off the bar stool and turned towards the room. “I mean, the rain storm raging outside, in here it’s warm and cozy. The candles give a warm light to the whole room…You either wanna cuddle up to someone or get bent over that bar stool”, you told him while walking a few steps through the bar.

As you turned around, you found him looking at you with big eyes. “What?”, you asked. Didn’t he get your joke?

“Are you coming on to me?”, he asked with a surprised look on his face, wiping his hands on the napkin from the doggy bag. “Not everybody’s coming on to you, Hangman. I’m just making conversation”, you told him with an eyeroll and turned around to the windows to watch the palm trees bending in the storm. You felt your cheeks blushing, you didn’t like to admit it but he made you nervous. Being here all alone with him with nowhere to go at the moment…

“Up for another round?”, Jake asked and broke the silence. “Yeah, sure”, you turned back around to him and walked towards the bar. “I got it”, you said as you saw him getting up and walked straight around the bar, getting two beers out of the cooler as long as they were still somewhat cold.

“We might as well open a tab”, you suggested with a chuckle and opened two bottles. You grabbed them and walked around the bar, back to your seat again. You handed him his bottle and you clinked them together.

“Okay, so if you think this setting, forced or not, isn’t romantic then what does the great Hangman consider to be romantic?”, you picked up the topic from before.

“I don’t know”, he shrugged his shoulders. “What did you do for your last girlfriend? Or current, I don’t know”, you interrogated him. “Very subtle”, he cocked an eyebrow at you. “I just need to see what I’m working with here”, you defended your question. He still looked at you like he didn’t believe you and then he sighed.

“No girlfriend”, he finally answered. “Okay, then what did you do for your last girlfriend that you considered to be romantic?”, you repeated your question. He exhaled loudly and looked at the ceiling while he tried to remember. “My last girlfriend, that was in college, uhm, I gave her something on her birthday”, he recalled. You looked at him with a blank face.

“So, you’re telling me your idea of being romantic is to remember your girlfriend’s birthday?”, you asked in disbelief. “Hey, I gave her some coupons that I had made myself”, he defended himself. “What? A ticket to bone-town?”, you asked in a stupid frat boy voice. “How did you know?”, he asked playfully surprised.

“No, it was something like a massage”, he said. “That leads to sex”, you concluded. “A foot rub”, he continued. “That leads to sex”, you repeated. “A candle light dinner”, he added. “That leads to sex”, you added once again. “I can’t win with you, can’t I?”, he asked defeated and almost sounded genuinely hurt to your ears. Almost.

“Okay, I’ll stop. But honestly, what’s really throwing me is that you supposedly didn’t have a relationship since college?”, you asked in disbelief.

“I just rather not get attached to someone. With a job like mine, there is the very real possibility that I might not come home from my missions. Also, my job’s way too demanding for me to be distracted by anything”, he explained. “Could you at least say ‘anyone’?”, you couldn’t hold back the comment.

"Sounds very lonely", you diverted from the topic, yet not that far. "It is what it is", he shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "But doesn't anyone want that human connection? Someone to come home to? I see you dating, so you must want something", you inquired.

"I'm just having fun, never anything serious. And those girls know that", he explained. “And no one’s waiting for you at home or why did you go out with that Joseph-guy?”, Hangman asked. And just like always, Hangman hit a nerve.

“He was literally the first person to ask me. He seemed okay, not too bad looking, so I said yes”, you told him with a shrug of your shoulders and scratched at the label on your bottle.

“It’s not like I have a lot of options. I just took a leap of faith. And it didn’t work out, so what?”, you added and started to sound defensive.

“You shouldn’t say yes to every person who asks you out, we all saw how that went”, he raised an eyebrow at you and took a sip of his drink.

"That's not the same", you waved it off. "How come?", he asked relentlessly. "Because you are you and I am...me", you said and gestured towards his appearance and then yours.

“That’s bull”, he called out. “No, THAT’s bullshit. Looks matter and don’t try to deny it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t take so much care of your own”, you countered. “I hear personality is the new dating trend these days”, he suggested. You snorted in response. “If you bother to get to know someone, it might be. But most of the time it doesn’t get that far”, you revealed. This conversation was getting way too real for you.

“But, what if…”, “Can we talk about something else?”, you interrupted him. “Sure. What you wanna talk about?”, he asked, a bit startled by your sudden mood change.

“How about your ancient views on romance?”, you suggested and tried to lighten the mood again. Hangman rolled his eyes and sighed defeated. “And what do you suggest? Should I bring candles everywhere I go and make it rain?”, he mocked you.

“Ha-ha”, you said dryly. “I don’t care what you think, for me that’s romantic”, you defended your views. “It’s different for everybody, there are several love languages. You have to figure out what your partner’s love language is to be truly romantic with them. I, for example, like the little things that let you know the other person is thinking of you, listens to you and that you're important enough to them that they remember”, you said and your voice was almost a whisper. It was weird being so honest with Jake of all people.

“What would be your love language?”, you asked and put the focus on him. Hangman just shrugged his shoulders. “What other love languages are there?”, he questioned. “There’s physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time, gifts. There are literally so many”, you counted on your fingers. “I like getting blow-jobs”, he suggested and laughed at your shocked facial expression. “That must count as physical touch”, he commented. “That also counts as gross”, you retorted.

“If I have to pick one, then I’ll guess it’s physical touch”, he conceded. “See? Was that so hard?”, you asked and nudged his arm with your elbow.

“A good example for that would be dancing with someone”, you mentioned off the top of your head. “Like we danced?”, he asked and startled you with his comment. You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. You cleared your throat as you averted your eyes from him and just brushed it off.

"Our little dance last time was cute, but…", you said and grabbed your phone. "But there is more to it than just swaying from side to side", you continued. When you looked at him again, you found a questioning look on his face.

"God, I have to teach you so much", you sighed. You put on one of your favorite songs and placed your phone back on the counter.

Golden Hour by JVKE started playing.

You held out your hand. "Dance with me", it wasn't a question, more a gentle order. "What if I don't wanna dance with you?", he asked but his protest sounded half-heartedly at best as he was getting up from his seat. "Am I keeping you from something right now?", you asked and looked outside into the darkness around the building, rain running down the big windows like a waterfall.

With a huff, he grabbed your right hand with his left and placed his right hand on your back. Your left hand automatically moved to his shoulder. He pulled you a bit closer and stood up straighter.

"Dancing is not only a great way to create physical touch, it also allows you to connect and build trust. The man leads and the woman decides to follow if she wants to", you started your lecture. As a response, he started walking a few steps forward, pushing you back with his hand around yours. He caught you a bit by surprise, but you managed to follow without stepping on his toes.

When you looked up into his eyes, you saw that he was focused on your face as he led you through the open bar space with safe steps, giving you little pushes and pulls on your hand. You looked at him surprised with big eyes when you had completed a few steps.

"My mother had me take ballroom dance lessons as a teen", he simply said. "Huh, you're full of surprises, Jake Seresin", you said and after a smirk from him, he had you spinning away from him and pulled you back in.

You moved another few circles before he lifted his hand and had you turning, spinning you out in front of him again and pulling you back until you were giggling.

At the end of the song, he even dipped you down which for a second made you wide-eyed, fearing he would drop you. But his strong arms and hands had a good grip on you and brought you back up safely.

The next song that started playing automatically was Howling by SYML and the two of you kept dancing, but the mood in the room changed. It's a more sensual song and you both felt it.

You looked up at his face and found his piercing green eyes looking at you. You were so captivated by his stare that you couldn’t look away. You felt goose bumps spread across your whole body. His hand on your lower back pushed you a bit closer and you swallowed.

Your bodies were swaying from side to side. Jake put your right hand on his chest, right above his heart and covered it with his own. You didn’t know if the pulsation in your fingertips came from your own racing heart or if it was maybe his.

Your left hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, your fingertips grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. You didn’t decide to do that, your body moved on its own.

He moved so slowly that you almost didn’t notice it as you were still looking deep into his eyes but suddenly his lips were merely an inch from yours. His eyes looked down at your lips and back up to your eyes as if he was asking for permission. Your hand on the back of his neck pushed slightly against him, almost as an okay.

Jake lowered his head further and suddenly his lips were brushing over yours, light like a feather. Your stomach jumped at the contact and it sent a tingle down your spine. He pulled back slightly and your head followed him. You noticed how a little smirk formed on his lips. That jerk was actually teasing you.

You wanted to pull back, too, showing him that he couldn’t just play his stupid games with you but he had already started a fire within you that you couldn’t just ignore.

With your hand still on his neck, you pushed him towards you and your lips crashed onto his. You inhaled sharply through your nose at the firm contact and your fingers dug into his skin.

Your hand that was placed on his chest, fisted the fabric of his hoodie. Jake’s hands cupped your face and held you steady as it was his turn to press further into you. Your lips moved on his, sucking on his bottom lip. His tongue darted out and glided along your upper lip. You almost immediately opened your mouth and let him in.

As your tongues danced with each other like your bodies did before, one of his hands moved into your hair, cradling your head and his other hand moved to your hips. His fingers were touching the stripe of naked skin between your jeans and your shirt and it made you moan against his lips.

With his body, he moved yours backwards until you felt the edge of a table on your butt. With quick hands, he lifted you onto the table and you gasped in surprise, letting go of his lips only for a second before he was kissing you again, stepping between your open thighs.

His hands roamed your back, running through your hair, they seemed to be everywhere. Your fingers found the zipper of his hoodie and pulled it down. As your fingers touched his bare skin, you could swear you heard him growl. Your fingertips ran from his pecks down to his abs. You wondered how they might feel ever since you saw them on the beach the other day when he played football with the others.

With your hands on his hips, you pulled him against you, his pelvis rocking forward against yours and you yelped at the contact. You were so horny for him, you could really do something stupid.

“Hello? Someone here?”, you suddenly heard and Jake pulled off you with a jump backwards. You were breathing so heavily, it took you a second to realize that there was another person in the bar. You looked at Jake with wide eyes and noticed he was equally out of breath.

You jumped off the table and Jake pulled up the zipper of his hoodie just at the moment that the person came around the corner into the main bar area. When he pushed back the hoodie of his rain coat, you saw that it was Jimmy.

“Jimmy?! What are you doing here?”, you asked honestly surprised. You walked over to him, quickly running your hands through your disheveled hair, trying to get it back to normal. Your lips felt swollen and were still tingling from Jake’s kisses.

“Hey, Y/N”, he greeted you. His raincoat was completely drenched. “Penny called me. She hadn’t heard from you for a few hours and was worried”, he told you. “Oh, hey Hangman”, he greeted Jake, seemingly only noticing him now. “Hey, Jimmy”, Jake raised his hand in greeting and came over to the bar, taking a long sip of his drink. You realized you needed a drink as well. Your cheeks were burning, they must be bright red, but thankfully the light of the candles was too low for that to be noticeable.

“Ehm, Jake was at the Diner when I got the call from Penny and he offered to drive me. The power is out and we couldn’t get it running and then the weather warning came on our phones and we couldn’t leave and now you’re here”, you realized you were rambling. You could just about stop yourself from adding “And nothing else happened”.

“I figured that the power’s out, that happens for far less”, Jimmy told you. “We couldn’t make sense of your make-shift fuse box”, Jake commented. “Yeah, that’s a Jimmy original. Keeps my job safe”, Jimmy told him with a wink.

“I better take a look at it”, he announced and turned on his flashlight. Old-school, you thought to yourself. “I’ll go with you”, Jake said and followed Jimmy through the door to the little hallway, not before throwing you a look over his shoulder, accompanied with a little smirk and it made your stomach flutter. You shot him a smirk and shook your head. That was a close one and you didn’t know why you felt caught by Jimmy, but you did.

You grabbed your bottle of beer and downed your drink with two big gulps. You took a deep breath and looked around the room. Yup, that happened. You grabbed your phone and turned off the music.

Just a moment later, the light went on in the whole bar and the sudden brightness hurt your eyes. You started to blow out the candles as the two men came back into the room. “Oh my god, you really did it”, you said impressed and kept collecting the candles to put them all on the bar.

“Now that the power’s back, I’ll take a look around the bar and see if everything’s okay. You can go home”, Jimmy offered. “Is it safe to drive home?”, you asked and put the last candle on the counter. You would put them back into the cabinet tomorrow and let them cool down over night.

“I got here fine, it’s okay”, Jimmy waved off your concern. “Great, thanks”, Jake said and grabbed his shirt from the chair it was drying on.

“Jimmy, are you sure? I can stay with you”, you offered and suddenly were nervous to be alone with Jake. “No, it’s fine. You already came here. I don’t wanna keep you kids”, he said and gave you a little wink, which you prayed Hangman didn’t see. “You can drive her home, right?”, Jimmy asked over your shoulder and checked with Hangman. “Sure thing, Jim”, Jake answered him.

“Okay, but be safe when you get back out there again, okay?”, you said to Jimmy and got on your toes to press a quick peck to his cheek before you turned around to collect your phone, your purse and your shirt that was drying on another chair. You stuffed your phone and shirt into your purse and walked over to the rack by the entrance where Jake already waited with your denim jacket in his hands, his own already put on.

He helped you in your jacket which somehow surprised you, even after what the two of you had just done. “Thanks”, you mumbled shyly. You walked over to the door and looked outside, the rain still pouring down. “Ready?”, he asked and looked at you. You looked up at him and honestly didn’t know that you were.

The drive to your apartment was silent, but not in a bad way. You both indulged in your thoughts, a smile creeping onto your lips when you thought back to the kiss. You let out little sighs that you didn’t even notice but Jake did.

When you arrived at your apartment building, Jake drove to the curb and turned off the motor. Neither of you wanted this to end just yet.

“Thank you for driving me home. And, for checking with me on the bar”, you spoke first. “Sure, no problem”, he mentioned and looked over to you. Under his eyes on you, you felt your cheeks blushing again and looked away. “That night took an interesting turn”, he said and his words made you look over to him again.

“Yeah? Which part?”, you asked and when his eyes met yours again, you both chuckled. “Hard to say”, he replied. “It was probably shocking to see me on a date”, you mocked yourself in a playful tone. “Poor Joseph, he never had a chance”, Jake commented, over-pronouncing his name and it made you giggle. “Yeah, I gotta be careful with whom I say yes to”, you thought out loud.

“You know that I can’t keep it to myself that you had ballroom dancing lessons as a teen, right? That is too good not to share”, you said after a few moments of silence. “Do it, I don’t care. I’m great at dancing”, he countered, a smug smile on his face. “Yeah, you are. Amongst other things”, you complimented him and looked out of the windshield, biting down on your bottom lip with a smile. The tone in your voice made him look at you again, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah?”, he asked as if he didn’t know that he was a great kisser.

"Mh-hm”, you confirmed, looking at your fingers. “But there will always be one undeniable fact", you said and looked over at him. "What?", he said with a light smile playing around the corners of his lips.

"Rooster kissed me before you did", you said, remembering when you sang Great Balls of Fire with Bradley and he jokingly pressed a kiss to your lips mid song like the lyrics suggested.

Jake let his head fall back against the headrest of his seat and exhaled loudly as he remembered that moment in the bar. A chuckle escaped your lips.

"But not like this, though?", Jake commented and looked over at you, his green eyes piercing into yours. "No, not like this", you almost whispered, struck by a flashback of your kiss at the bar and resisting the urge to touch your lips.

The air between you in the car was filled with electricity as you just looked at each other. Even though the voice in the back of your head screamed that you were just imagining it, your foggy, aroused brain relished in the atmosphere. You never experienced something like this and you wanted to hold on to it as long as you could.

But all good things had to come to an end sometime. “I think I should go inside. It’s late”, you said and played with your keys that you had grabbed from your purse. “Mhm”, Jake commented. You waited for him to say something, anything. Asking if he could come up or suggesting to go to his place or…you didn’t know what you wanted to hear.

You waited for another moment and then put your hand on the door handle. “Okay, goodnight”, you said and got out of the car. “Night”, you heard before you closed the door and ran to your door in the rain. It had gotten lighter but was still at a rate where you didn’t want to stay out for too long.

You opened the main entrance with the keys and got in. You turned around in the open door to find Jake still waiting in his car to see if you got in safely.

You raised your hand for a little wave goodbye and you saw him do the same before he started his engine again and drove off.

You walked over to the elevator and pushed the button for your floor before you leaned against the elevator wall, exhaling loudly.

At the beginning of your night, you’d had never thought it would end with you being kissed by Jake Hangman Seresin of all people. Your fingers touched your lips at the thought of it and a light smile played around your lips.

Hadn’t Jimmy shown up out of the blue, God knows what you would have done. You really couldn’t say, if you were completely honest. So, you should be thankful that he had prevented something that you probably would have regretted after.

But why were you so disappointed then?

Next chapter: Part 6

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME: Issue #2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Your streak of bad luck continues as you find that the universe is not done putting you in harm's way. Luckily, you have grouchy Spider-man to save you.

Word count: 3,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, near death experiences, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara being a rude bastard and a total softie.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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According to an article that ran in the New York Times: one out of every 40 New Yorkers will have a run in with a Superhero in the time they live here.

That might not sound like much, but considering that nearly 8.5 million people live in this city, it adds up to a lot of people. In fact, most in your friends circle have their own anecdotal story to tell.

I ran into Tony Stark at the Brandy Library and he asked me for my phone number. Bit of a sleaze but he bought our whole table a round of drinks.

Captain America landed on my Fiat on Manhattan Bridge. He dented the roof, but he was very polite about it.

Daredevil was hanging out at the fire escape ladder above the Meatball shop. Gave me tips on what to order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that having lived in this city for as many years as you have that this is the first time you've had a Supes encounter.

It'll be a great story to tell at parties. You fell out of the Chrysler building and were rescued mid-air. It blows all the other stories out of the water. Though, you'll probably leave out the part where he wished he'd left you to die.

You stare blindly at your computer screen. There are endless rows of cells on your excel sheet no matter how far you scroll. Uninterrupted numbers and reference codes for insurance claims that are waiting for your attention. But the numbers and letters all blend into an indecipherable sludge soup. All you can focus on is: 'I should've let you fall.'

Heat prickles your cheek, as you replay his words in your head.

What the hell.

That was entirely unnecessary.

You didn't deserve that.

Over the course of the last 24 hours, you've played the scene on an endless loop in your head, until the memory is worn and scratched like a used up VHS tape.

Did you do something wrong? You must've. Who has ever heard of a Superhero treating a civilian in this manner? You’re just a hapless innocent bystander who fell out of a building due to a supervillain battle they started. To blame it on you and then call it a mistake. Isn't that something a supervillain would do?

Gritting your teeth, you feel yourself seething of the memory of the windows next to you breaking and shattering out of nowhere as a bird-person villain with mechanical wings tumbled past you. Next thing you knew you were tumbling out the window. 

And then he saved you.

Did he mean to save someone else? Is that why he was so annoyed? But, you didn't see any other people falling from the building on your way down.

You replay the memory. Again.

The looming silhouette of his towering frame over yours as he sneered down at you.

He looked at you like he knew you. Like you had offended him with your mere existence. But you don't understand how. You've never met him before. Never met anyone who looked even remotely like him. You would've remembered a man with red eyes, they're not exactly common. Plus, you don't think you've ever met someone quite so tall. Your neck hurt with the angle you had to crane just to look at his face.

What could you possibly have done in your lifetime to piss off a Superhero you've never met before?

For that matter what Superhero is he anyway? You think back at the dark navy suit clinging onto every inch of skin, embellished by that bright angry red in the emblem of a spider.

Spider-man... 

Except Spider-man is known to be a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Not a rude asshole.

Aren't his colors inverted too? You pull up the browser on your screen and google "spiderman outfit". There's over 800 million hits. In all of them Spiderman's suit is primarily red with blue embellishment.

Whoever the guy is, you don't think he's your friendly neighborhood Spiderman that every New Yorker knows and loves.

With a hapless sigh, you click aimlessly on your screen, trying to look busy at work for the next twenty minutes until you can go on your lunch break. You go through the motions of your soul sucking tasks. Tagging each insurance claim into one of the following categories: approved/rejected/further missing information required.

Peering over your cubicle wall to the wall of windows, you spy the section that has been zoned off since yesterday. The broken window you were knocked out of has already been replaced, but there's still shattered glass and debris nearby.

Your stomach drops, the phantom sensation of the ground beneath you giving way. For a brief second you swear you can feel the weightlessness of soaring through the skies without anything catching your fall.

You stand up from your desk, solid ground meeting the soles of your feet to remind you where you are. 

The office.

There's a monotone drone of workers all around you grumbling and sighing just as unhappily. The quiet tip-tapping of keyboards of the working masses.

Is this the life you managed to escape death for?

Is this it?

It's kind of sad isn't it? You nearly died and lived to tell the tale, only to return to a life so unremarkable your brain didn't deign it necessary to provide you with any highlights (cause there are none).

The most exciting thing that has happened to you the whole of this year was being insulted by a grumpy superhero. The most you've wanted to live was during that span of ten seconds when you were falling out of a building to your death.

You glance at your clock, still 15 minutes before noon. You log out of your desktop anyway.

You barely make it across the street from your office. The light is green as you cross Lexington Avenue when the screeching noise of tires tears down the street and rips through your eardrums.

A yellow taxi hurtles towards you at full speed. Through the car window separating you, the cab driver is staring up at you with wide-eyed horror. In that fraction of a second before the hard metal is going to collide and shatter every bone in your body, you only have one thought: Oh god, this is going to hurt.

Life doesn't flash before your eyes. All you see is the familiar blur of shiny blue and red.

Go figure that's the only moment extraordinary enough for your brain to think it's worth replaying before you die.

There's a blunt and forceful shove to the side of your ribs. Softer than you would've imagined a two tonne vehicle slamming into you would be. It doesn't hurt. It reminds you of that time you played football with your cousin and he body slammed you to the lawn. You've heard about this phenomena, the brain will try to protect itself by going unconscious if the pain is too extreme.

But there's no bright light, when you open your eyes all you see is the familiar shiny blue fabric.

A firm weight wraps around your shoulders, and you recognize this, the feeling of being held as you're pulled into their solid chest. There's not enough time for you to look up, you're slammed onto the ground, the solid warmth wrapped around you, absorbing the fall.

The pressure wrapped around you shifts then lifts away entirely. When you open your eyes for a second time, there’s no one there holding you. 

There's no one else there with you. Just the standstill traffic of cars and pedestrians gawking at you.

A concerned woman runs over to you, bending down to help you up on your feet. "Are you okay? That car came out of nowhere."

Your legs feel unsteady, wobbling as you put weight on it to stand up. 

“I’m fine, I think,” you respond, and look down on yourself. There are no scrapes, just a bit of dust on your work-attire from traffic.

"You're so lucky, Spiderman was there to save you."

You blink up at the woman in dazed confusion and it takes your brain a few seconds to process what she's telling you.

Spider-man...

In your mind's eye the flashes of blue and a vivid red invades your vision. It wasn't just your life flashing you by. Not just a figment of your imagination.

He was here. He saved you. (Probably not) Spider-man saved you (again).

A wave of gratitude washes over you. You take back every unflattering thought you had about the man not five minutes ago. Rude? Would a rude man save you, not once but twice in one day? No, of course not, you probably just misunderstood him, or misheard. After all, if he truly regretted saving you, he wouldn't have done it a second time... right?

--

When you get back at your desk, there's a post-it tacked to your computer screen, with an angry scrawl of a handwriting.

'Look BOTH ways before crossing!!!!!'

You stare at the note, and the way the word "both" is capitalized and aggressively underlined.

Rude.

The universe is out to kill you. You're sure of it.

They say that death comes in threes after all. So no one can blame you for being a little bit on the edge after you've gone two for two within the time span of 24 hours.

You stay away from windows in tall buildings. You look both ways, twice, before crossing the street. You try to go straight home from work the minute you clock out from work, turning down any and all initiations with friends to go out after out of precaution. It's just not worth the risk.

And for a while it seems to work. For a while, there are no more incidents. A week goes by and your nerves start to settle and you are lulled into a temporary sense of security before it all goes to shits.

A ceramic flower pot on a windowsill tumbling off the sixth floor of a brown house by Chelsea that would have dropped on your head and split your skull if someone hadn't bumped into you from behind that you weren’t able to catch sight of.

A piece of scaffolding that comes loose and falls from a construction site in West Village as you happened to walk past, and would have been crushed under if you weren’t tackled away at the last second by someone who fled the scene before you could thank them.

A hot dog cart runs amok, hurtling downhill towards you between 184th and 190th street in Manhattan when the cart suddenly out of nowhere, against the very laws of physics like it’s being pulled by an invisible force and changes direction mere inches in front of you, hurtling through the air and crashing into the windows of a bodega instead.

Each and every incident leaves you with an ever growing sense of paranoia that this cannot be explained away by being merely pure bad luck. There are cosmic forces at force that clearly want you dead.

On Thursday, there are leftover cupcakes from a client conference. Mary, the secretary in your team, boxes up four of them for you and tells you to take them with you, because, "you've had a rough week, toots."

It’s not a flattering assessment of you, but when you see your own reflection in the mirrors of the office toilets, you can’t help but think it’s an accurate one. You look rough. Eyes bloodshot with deep furrowed lines underneath. Your face is gaunter than you remember seeing it too. 

You take the cupcakes. 

It's the first good thing that has happened to you all week, and as small of a comfort it is, you take it as a win.

You eye the box from your desk the rest of the day, squirreled away in your tiny cubicle. You are determined not to eat one while at work. Because you'll be damned if Matt from accounting catches a whiff of your cupcakes and asks you to share one with him. You want to properly savor them in the comfort of your home at the end of the day.

But as often is the case when you have something to look forward to, the seconds, minutes and hours tick away with a reluctant drag as if time itself knew you wanted the day to end faster and decided it'd be fun to flip yet another cosmic middle finger in your direction. 

When it's finally time to end work, you get off your chair so forcefully it knocks it to the floor. You are practically jogging through the lanes of cubicles to get to the elevator, and nearly smack the security guard on the other side with how hard you swing open the front door. 

It's pouring outside, which, of course it is. You take off your jacket and cover your cupcake box with it, because you're not going to let the universe ruin the one good thing you've got going for you this week, as you run towards the station.

The moment you step into the damp and sticky station any remaining sense of joy in you evaporates. There's a hoard of tourists swarming the subway paying no attention to their surroundings. Tourists wearing their caps and backpacks and wheelies knocking over a 'Caution Wet Floor ' sign as they gather in a throng in front of the subway map, blocking the way as you hear the train approach.

It's not that big of a deal. A train comes every two to five minutes, and if you miss this one, you'll just get on the next one. It's not the end of the world. Logically, you know that. Emotionally and spiritually however, the world around you has just taken a little bit too much from you for you to concede to this minor little loss.

You are going to make this goddamned train.

Taking a determined step forward, you shoulder and push your way through the throng of people to fight your way to the front of the track.

You push a little too hard. Your feet skid across the slippery tiles, leg buckling from your own weight and you lose control, tumbling forward.

In your peripheral view there's a blinding light approaching. There's wind beating the sides of your face, and you can hear the screeching metal of the train right next to you. Your foot drops into empty space and you are falling into the tracks. 

Oh god why...

Why?

You just want to live.

The cupcake box flies out of your grip, splattered somewhere across the front pane of the train. There's a hard tug on your shirt as an invisible force you cannot see yanks you back, hard.

Your head whips back and for a fraction of a second, there are crimson eyes staring back down at you, you blink and then it's gone.

You land on your ass with a bruising force to your tailbone with a bone-breaking thud. The subway whizzes by with a demonic roar past you, inches from where you're sprawled on your ass on the dirty tiles of the subway station.

In front of your feet, there's a long streak of white frosting trailing down from your feet to the tracks of what looks like a crime scene.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe you've just had a bad night of sleep (after many successive bad nights with little to no sleep). But something in you breaks at the sight of the frosting smeared across the dirty subway tiles.

Your eyes sting with exhaustion. Chest drawing in tight with a crumbling ache that makes you want to curl up on the cold tiles. You're just so tired.

There are people around you staring at you. No one in their right mind who lives in New York would sit on the floor of the subway.

But your legs are heavy and numb. You can’t move from the spot. Everything tastes like bile. You try to swallow and force it back down but it's no use, your throat has swollen shut. Your cheeks run wet and you press your palms to your eyes to make it stop but that only seems to make it worse. Snot runs down your nose and drips down your wrist. You're crying and you don't know how to stop.

Is this the rest of your life?

In the morning, you wake in your bed with a sore ache that gnaws at your bones. Swollen eyes and a soreness that scratches the lining of your throat.

Your back hurts, and as you try to turn to your side to get out of bed a sharp pain surges up along your entire spine.

Fuck.

It's too bright. The sunlight is offensive. It stings your eyes and makes you sick to your stomach. You only have vague memories of how you made it back home. Feet shuffling through the subway in a daze like the walking dead.

God is that what you are? A dead man woman walking?

You crane your head and catch a glimpse of your clock on the bedside table. 9.13 You're late for work. But that's mind as well, you don't have it in you to make it in.

What's the point anyhow? You hate that place.

Besides, if the subway on the way over doesn't finish off the job this time around, then eventually a taxi will. Failing that the universe is probably going to send over a ninja assassin rat from the subway to come after your life.

There's a soft breeze coming in from the open window that grazes the back of your neck and you turn your head towards it. All you can see from your window is the brick wall of the neighboring building. Even though your apartment is on the sixth floor, you can't see a speck of the New York skyline.

Still the breeze is nice, though you don't remember opening the window last night. You never usually do. It is silly and paranoid. No human robber could possibly climb up your six storey building just to climb into your window and rob you. If they could, they’d find that there isn’t much to rob in your apartment, the most valuable thing you own is a complete Le Creuset Cookware set. 

Your eyes glaze over your work tote bag on the floor next to the window, drifting upwards and spot the pink box sat on the window sill and you stop. 

You didn’t put that there. 

You sit upright in your bed, setting your feet to the floor and force yourself to leave your bed as you pad over to the open window.

It's a fancy looking thing. Baby pink, and chiffon ribbon on its side. Wrapping your pinkie around it, you tug it loose. You perch your thumb against the corner of the lid when you stop.

It's not another one of the universe's assassination attempts is it? You're not going to open it to find a bomb ticking down are you?

You hesitate for another moment, taking a deep calming breath before you gather the courage to finally lift the lid. Inside, there is a gorgeous display of cupcakes adorned with white and pink frosting, topped with strawberries, chocolate shavings and on two of them there's mini macarons.

Way fancier than the day old Costco cupcakes you'd lost yesterday.

Picking up one, you take a bite. The frosting is light and zesty. The refreshing lemon melts on the tip of your tongue as the buttery cream floods your mouth with the rich flavor. It's the best thing you've ever tasted.

Lifting the box, you check the sides of it to see if there's any note left behind, but there's none.

Gladis Bakery. It's from a bakery you've never heard of before. When you google the name the place is outside of New Jersey, 58 minutes away and you would need to take a subway then switch to a tram.

There's no note attached, but you don't need one. The list of candidates who would be physically able to climb up six floors up the bricks of your apartment building to leave cupcakes on your window isn’t a long one. 

Something warm blooms in your chest at the thought, and your fingers linger on the top of the box, savoring the taste of lemon and sugar still lingering on your tongue.

You put your head out the window, not sure what you're expecting to find but find yourself disappointed all the same when there's nothing there. No people in the quiet street below, and nothing unusual above.

"Thank you for uhm... saving me,” you say into the silence with nothing but the traffic noise below to answer you. 

 “And the cupcakes," you add. 

There's no reply. 

~ To be continued.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[zepskies]

DEAN WINCHESTER ONE-SHOTS

Stories are Dean Winchester x Reader unless otherwise noted.

(**Notes 18+ only and/or smut)

Restless Nights After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

(Sequel to Maybe More Than Enough)

Maybe More Than Enough You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

Touch Me** - (Dean x Plus-size!Reader) Dean isn’t used to how “touchy” you can be, but he never said he didn’t like it.

Rest Dean is your rock, but you’ve become his place of rest.

Something Real** - (Firefighter!Dean W. x Reader) Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…

(Part of the Smoke Eater-verse)

Down to the Crust You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

As You Wish When Dean agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

Sharing Is Caring (II) Navigating a new relationship means learning how to share a bed with Dean.

(3-part series with Sam, Dean, and Castiel.)

Patched Up (I) How Dean thanks you for treating his wounds.

(3-part series with Sam, Dean, and Castiel.)

Make It Right** - (Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader) He didn’t mean to claim you. Not like this. Not before he’s meant to die.

Midnight Espresso-Verse** - (Dean x Plus-Size!Reader) A Masterlist of stories in which Dean dates a curvy Latina.

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson. 

Get Stuffed Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

(Part of the Midnight Espresso-Verse)

The Old-Fashioned Way - (Dean x Soulmate!Reader) You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution?

(Part of the Never Say Goodbye-Verse)

Talk Bacon to Me A rare lazy morning where you feel like pestering Dean a little. He objects to being pestered, but ultimately, you both just want to spend some time together.

Easy Like Sunday Morning In which Sam is thoroughly done with motels, and you and Dean continue to make his life miserable.

Home Cooking Now that you and Dean have a daughter, living at the bunker with Sam means you get to be more domestic, to varying degrees of success. Dean learns to enjoy your attempts at cooking. 

Damned If I Do - (Dean x Lisa B.) Lisa's thoughts as she fights for her life, and for her son, and this time for Dean.

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[milla984]

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions. 

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.” 

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back. 

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant. 

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack. 

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome. 

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words. 

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume. 

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble. 

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment. 

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you. 

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper. 

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task. 

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. 

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it. 

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close. 

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom. 

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin. 

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive. 

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before. 

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication. 

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots. 

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him. 

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off. 

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”  

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement. 

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!” 

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…” 

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded. 

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected. 

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor. 

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls. 

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

[carolmunson]

caught like a fool without a line. (older!modern!eddie)

part five of who knows how many. orange colored sky setlist.

summary: we've been seeing eddie for a month and the fear starts to settle in. with eddie's past and present making things difficult and your own insecurities brewing, things come to a bit of a head one night when you're out at a bar. featuring older!robin and our favorite guy older!steve from @loveshotzz series 'all i really want is you'.

tw: age gappy (reader and eddie are 12 years apart, but reader is late late 20s/early 30s and eddie and late late 30s/early 40s throughout this story so it's not like so bad). drunk!reader, alcohol consumption, discussions of eddie's promiscuous past (i know some people don't like when eddie is a slut), implied that reader wears eddie's clothes to bed but not that reader is small. gifs by: @keerysbrandnewbg and @eddiemunsonsource

songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv

You swirled the big ice cube in the tumbler with an unenthusiastic flair, making the orangey red liquid in the glass nearly spill. “And I don’t get it, we had a really nice first date and then made out again the next week and talked all the time and now he’s barely texting me back,” you complain, the tart grapefruit of your friend’s new take on an Aperol Spritz floods your mouth at your next sip.

“Maybe he’s just busy,” your friend Charlie suggests from behind the bar, “He’s older, you said, right? He might just not be on his phone as much. Do you like the drink? Is it too bitter?” 

“It’s bitter but not in a bad way, in a good citrussy way,” you nod, “And yeah he might not be on his phone as much but then why just sort of suddenly drop off and barely respond? Like, look at this.” You take out your phone, laying it on the bar and scrolling through a plethora of blue texts with some sprinkles of gray in between, “I look so pathetic.” “I think you just really like him,” she shrugs, smirking, “And I think that’s good, you haven’t been this excited about someone for a little bit.” “Yeah, but every time I’m excited about someone it bites me in the ass,” you lean on the palm of your hand, flipping your phone over, “Plus like, I’m not trying to be with anyone like that right now.” 

Your friend gives you a look, “Okay, sure.” 

“What do you mean ‘okay, sure’?” you scoff. 

“You’re not trying to be with anyone like your ex,” Charlie corrects, her dark red lips pulling into a smirk, “You go on and on about how you just want someone to take care of things for you. Maybe he’s that kind of dude.” 

“He has someone come every Sunday to clean his house for him,” you sip the drink again, “I don’t think he can take care of anything for me, considering I can clean my own house.”  The bar slowly starts to fill up with the after work crowd, leaving Charlie to run back and forth between you and pouring beers for incoming patrons.

“He can afford to have someone come and clean his house,” she says with a smirk, holding down the tap while she fills a glass with Lagunitas, "That's kind of hot." You flip your phone back over and sigh, no new messages.

If anything is true in the music and art world Eddie is involved in it's that Eddie Munson is a professional loverboy. Never with someone for too long, never long enough for them to want something more than fun -- never long enough for 'Are you my boyfriend?' never long enough for 'What are we?' It got easier the older he got, the less women and men cared about labels. You were right to make that judgement about his key carabiner hanging on the front of his keys. Eddie Munson is a slut, and everyone knows it but you.

He had two actual girlfriends in his early twenties, but nothing quite like his friendship with Steve. 'Platonic life partner, sometimes,' they'd list it as -- never too afraid to get affectionate. Hugs, kisses on the forehead, Eddie held him so many nights when Emma died he felt like they left an indent in the center of the bed. He touched and loved the people who loved him back, but to anyone else – he never wanted to get too close. He always gave out just enough of him – enough for people to keep wanting more, a satisfaction he basked in now since he was such a loner in high school with no notches to his belt. 

But now he’s blabbering on to Robin over a huge plate of nachos about how you texted him all day. You texted him all day and he had his phone charging in the kitchen while he was upstairs in his office so he didn’t know and now it’s very clear that you’re upset. 

"Okay? How is this different from the girl you were seeing over Christmas?" Robin laughs over a mouthful of loaded nachos, a frosty pink Frosé next to her to beat the heat. Her eyes crinkle closed, a smattering of freckles stretching on the apples of her cheeks when she smiles. The heat of a sunburn runs soft pink over her nose, outside of the gray in her sand blonde hair that she'll never dye, she looks almost the same as she did in high school. “So you didn’t text her back,” she shrugs, “You leave her alone, she fades off into the distance – just like the girl before that, and the guy before that, and the girl before that. Why're you talking about it like it's the end of the world?”  "I care," he groans, turning his phone to show Robin your messages. You'd sent them every few hours, but most of the messages from the morning and afternoon were from when he was working -- phone nestled on the charger down in the kitchen while he clacked away on code upstairs. By the time he saw them he was embarrassed, and you were probably already at your friend's bar. Eddie tries to explain the whole situation while Robin scrolls through with a careful and soft expression, a tiny smile forming on her face. 

“I already fucked it up,” Eddie sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail with volume hair stylists would envy. He runs his hand over his jaw, following the edge of it to land behind his neck where he squeeze gently on the muscle.

Robin shrugs again, passing his phone back to him, “Par for the course, kid.” 

His eyes narrow, “I’m older than you.” 

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “You always fuck it up, Ed. That's your thing. You walk into a room and someone leaves crying. You've never done the whole sappy love thing with someone, why do you think you're changing your tune now?”

“I know but – fuck Robin, I didn’t even sleep with her yet,” he says a little louder than he intends. His tattooed hand wraps around the Pilsner glass in front of him, dripping in condensation, bringing it to his lips.

“That’s a new development,” she raises her brows, crossing her legs, "You never wait this long."

“I just…I don’t…I shit – I don’t know.” 

“What did Steve say?” Robin asks, teeth biting down on the straw to her drink, “He always has good girl advice.” 

“I haven’t even told Steve.” 

“At all?!” she nearly spits out the frose all over the nachos.

“Rob we just buried Em,” he explains softly, “Like, she’s not even fuckin’ cold yet. I can’t just come out of the woodwork five months later like ‘Hey man, think I actually met a girl I’d consider a future with. We’ve been seeing each other for a month’. And like – what if I’m just psyching myself out? What if this is just an early midlife crisis?” 

Robin takes a slow sip, nodding while he speaks before taking a pause. “Ed, I think you’ll feel better if you tell Steve,” she offers, “I think he’d get your head straight about it. But in the meantime, you should text her back.”

“What do I even say?” he huffs, shoving a loaded nacho into his mouth.  “Try honesty with a woman for once in your entire life, Rockstar boy,” Robin plasters on a customer service smile that makes him let out a frustrated ‘tsss’, “It won’t kill you.” "Here, I'll text Nance and ask her -- she's our next best bet," Robin takes out her phone and types with the fervor of a teenager with a sugar high. Eddie sips his beer, looking at the screen of his phone while the cursor to type blinks back at him.

You stumble out of the bar, too crowded now to have fun with your friend. Over tired and over served you make your way down the street and around the corner, stopping to lean against the brick wall of a different bar when you feel your phone buzz in your hand. You take a minute, taking in your surroundings. People are so loud down here, and everyone is so pretty. Street lights are there and gone and there and gone as cars whiz passed on Delancey, the bustle of the Friday night life in the LES is a buzz with excitement. You're already a little down for the count. Your phone feels like a paper weight in your hand, sighing with satisfaction at the notificaiton on the screen. But your chest still aches with annoyance, how many times were you gonna get drunk at a bar with a swollen heart over some dumb boy? Man? Guy?

You don't want him to come save you, you know how to get home. You can see the green bulbs of the train entrance and the glow of the McDonalds 'M' on the corner in the distance. Down the stairs, one train into Brooklyn, cross platform transfer -- you've done it drunker than this countless times before. You text Charlie with an air of victory before putting your phone back in your smart black faux leather bag slung over your shoulder. The warm summer air flows over your legs, catching the hem of your a-line skirt -- the light material flowing in the breeze. Time isn't working quite right for you but it feels like it's been five minutes and he hasn't shown up, so you make your way to the edge of the corner to cross.

"Whoa there, Peach," you hear Eddie's gruff voice from the side of you, the pull on your arm the same as when he steadied you at Trader Joe's a month ago, "Careful now."

You pull out of his hold, glassy eyes focused on the black and white stripes on the street ahead of you, "I know what I'm doin'."

“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks softly. Eddie steps in front of you, guiding you to the light post to get out of the way of other pedestrians.

“Home,” you slur, “M’goin home. Trainssright there.” 

“I don’t think you’re good to take the train,” his voice is gentle, hand coming out to hold you at the waist, “I can get you a car.” 

“I’m fine.” It's the only sentence that comes out lucid, his jaw ticks.

"You don't look fine," he looks down into your glassy eyes, a look he's seen before. The way his mama would drown herself in whiskey and stumble into the kitchen so the bruises would't hurt so bad. The way an old fling would slur to him about how she can't live without him. The way you look so sad and it's his fault.

"I'm. Fine," you reiteratie. The light changes, the bright white of the walk sign flashes across the street. You go to pass him but his hands place themselves on your shoulders. "You really wanna get boiled alive on the train?" he asks with a smile, "You don't wanna take a car?" You sigh, why does he have to be so handsome? The gin from your last two drinks travels from your head to your thighs, pulling them together at the sight of his smile. He has that ratty vest on, a CBGC t-shirt sticking to him under it, the sleeves completely torn off. He smells like cedar and citrus again, a hint of a left over cigarette. His grays catch the light of the over head lamp, bouncing like tinsel in his pony tail sitting on the crown of his head. "Can we go to your house?" you ask, voice raised a higher octave than normal. His face blanches, "Aw honey, that's not a good idea. I don't want you to think that I --" "Please?"

"Thanks, have a good night," Eddie waves off the delivery man with a smile as he rides away on his bike. With plastic in hand he makes his way back up the stairs where you've set up shop on one of the stools in his kitchen, head down on the island counter.

"Food's here," he says quietly. Dealing with drunk you was very much like dealing with drunk Robin in the early 2010s, overgrown toddler in a bad mood. You let out a half hearted 'Yay', head coming up, eyes half closed in the kind of sleepiness a few mixed drinks and some beers can send you into. He goes into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Poland Spring and a beer for himself. The waters get placed in front of you while he tends to getting the food plated up.

You ignore the water -- Blue Moon bottle staring right at you, and to be honest -- a cold cirtussy beer sounds sooo good right now. You reach forward, the glass ice cold against your palm now that the liquor has fully settled, heating up your skin. The sound of glass on the counter cobbles through the kitchen when you slide it closer to you, alerting Eddie to the noise.

“Excuse me,” he says sharply, snatching the bottle out of your hand, “Can you behave?” 

You pout when his eyes narrow at you, heart thumping guiltily in your chest, shame brewing in your skin. You nod back at him with sad eyes, a twinge plucking in your heart strings.

“Don’t give me that face,” he warns, “Don't act up."

“I don’t like when you’re mean,” you mumble softly, running your fingers in shapes over the butcher's block counter top. He sighs, plating your sandwich and pulling your fries from the bag. He kisses your temple while he slides the plate in front of you. "I'm sorry, honey," he says quietly, but gin always puts you in the mood to argue. "You don't have to talk to me like, like -- you don't have to talk to me -hic!- like I'm a kid," you hurtle out, surprised at your own gumption, "I'm not."

"I know," he says, putting the bags into his recycling bin under the sink, "I'm not talking to you in any kind of way Peach I -- " "You don't even like me," you state. His head cocks to the side, leaning on his hands while they hold on to the edge of the island. "Who said that?" "I was -hic!- I was talking to someone at the bar about --" you start, lump building in your throat, "About you and um -- they said, they said it sounds like --" Your eyes water, "Like I'm just for fun." "Oh," he says, looking down at his hands. The weight of this conversation falling into his stomach from his chest like a deep pit.

"Like I'm just fun for you to play with -- but like, you don't even wanna have -- you don'even wanna h-have-have seggzwithme so like -- you don't even like me." More and more if your insecurities flow out of you like a broken faucet, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.

"And like you probably don't even think I'm pretty."

"Oh, baby, no," he coos, brows tilted in sympathy while you drunkenly let all your sober fears out, "I think you're so pretty."

"So pretty," you repeat, wiping your face with your hands, "But that's it."

Eddie takes a deep breath, coming over to you and pressing his warm soft lips to your cheek, "Let's talk about this in the morning, sweetheart. I'm gonna get upstairs ready for you."

"I should just go home," you sniffle, embarrassment starting to flow through you with your bloodstream, burning all your pores, "I'm sorry." "No, no, don't go home," he assures, nose nuzzling against your cheek, "Stay. Just stay."

He makes sure you eat, watching you come back to yourself the fuller and more hydrated you get. You're easy to lead upstairs, pliant and tired now, needy almost -- not that you'd ever admit to it. You tease him about his 'old man pills' when he takes out his perscription high dose Motrin he got for some old back pain. Great for when you might get a killer hangover these days. You grimace at the Pedialyte mixture he has you drink before you get tucked into his bed -- out before you can even feel him grab the pillows and a throw from the other side of you. He settles in downstairs on the sectional, sighing while he thinks about the way your face scrunches when you're about to cry. He flicks through his Hulu options on the big screen in front of him but nothing really seems to catch his attention. Mind wandering to you asleep upstairs but knowing better than to crawl into bed next to you when you're not yourself enough to say it's okay. The familiar buzz of his phone goes off on the coffee table, when he picks it up his face is on the front screen while someone calls in on FaceTime. "You're callin' late, man," Eddie grins lazily, socked feet sticking out to rest on the worn walnut table in front of him, "You okay?" "Yeah me and Bandit just got in from camping. Got some pics of him to send you, he's such a scamp." "You have fun?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. Eddie's voice is quiet while he speaks making Steve's head cock to the side. The lights changes on his face while he walks from the living room to his bedroom. "Yeah we had a lot of fun," Steve starts, "Why're you whispering?" "What do you mean?" Eddie asks, getting up off the couch to pad back into the kitchen. "You're talkin' all quiet," Steve smirks, "You got a girl over or something?" Ed puts his phone down and huffs while he grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. Steve giggle, leaning his head in closer to the screen. "You do, don't you?" he guffaws, "Am I interrupting?" "She's sleeping," Eddie says softly, picking up the phone again and leaning against the counter. "Aw, so you ended up texting her back? Good."

"What the fuck? Who told you that?" Eddie's brows furrow, spitting through a mouthful of chips. "Robin, obviously." The light changes on him again while he makes his way to his own kitchen. Bandit's little pants and huffs echoing into the phone, "You think Nancy came up with the 'Hey pretty girl,' opening? She's never been a flirt."

"Well it worked so, congrats."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Steve pulls his own bag of chips out. They crunch together. "It just didn't seem right," he shrugs, "Y'know with Emma it's hard to be like, 'Hey I think I might actually see a future with this girl I've only been seeing for a few weeks.' Like, you just lost the love of your life."

"I'm not gonna be sad to hear that you're into someone, Ed," Steve smiles softly, voice calm, "Tell me about her."

So he does, he tells Steve about how he kept running into you that day at Trader Joe's and how he felt so stupid for not waiting at the doors for you but he was too scared. You were so cute in your bike shorts and sneakers, so careful in how you chose the fruit you were gonna get. When he saw you on the platform he knew it was like he was getting a second chance -- "Maybe Em thought you should stop being such a whore and sent her over," Steve laughs. Ed rolls his eyes but can't hold back his chuckle, watching as Steve rests his chin on the heel of his hand while he listens. Eddie talks about the picnic date, how he immediately felt comfortable telling you about his mom. The rain, the kiss in his apartment -- how he could've fucked you but didn't. How all your little dates had gone since.

"Oh so you like her," Steve nods.

"I'm scared," Eddie says quietly. "Scared?"

"What if it's just a fluke and I hurt her? Or I get hurt?" Eddie asks, "And like -- please don't take this the wrong way but like -- what if I put in all this effort and then lose her?"

"Like how I lost Em?"

Eddie nods slowly, not wanting to say the quiet part out loud. He talks about what you said when you got back to his place, how you think he doesn't really like you, how he doesn't think you're pretty. You're just for fun. "But this doesn't feel like 'just for fun', does it?" Steve challenges gently, "Cause if she was just for fun you would've texted me about if she could deep throat or not."

Eddie chuckles darkly, pink rising on his cheeks -- Steve chuckles too. Still gross boys who are gross.

"You should tell her how you feel," he encourages, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Everything."

"Okay," Steve shrugs, "I lost everything. And what happened?"

"We all came to pick you up." "Exactly. We'll be here to pick you up, too. Don't like..." Steve sighs, "Don't just immediately throw something away just because you're not used to it. The more you stand there and think about what you want, the less she's gonna think you want it."

"I know..." "So let her know you want it."

They talk for an hour, both cozied up on their respective couches -- Bandit immediately getting in the frame and yelping at Eddie's face on the screen. The seize in Eddie's chest loosens because maybe this could be okay. Now he just has to make sure you know it.

You wake up the next morning, groggy and dry -- but thankfully not nearly as hungover as you were expecting. Your joints hurt, your stomach's a little jumbled, but no headache and that's what matters the most. You shift in his crisp sheets, turning around to see that the bed is empty next to you -- pillows and throw blanket gone with him. You slept alone. You look at your phone on the bedside table next to a full bottle of water. You chug it while you check your notifications -- 6:11 AM. If anything was true, you always woke up too early when you drank too much the night before. The water sits heavy in your belly, pressing your bladder which was already screaming for you to go to the bathroom. With a sigh you stand up, and when you do, the embarrassment of the night before settles in. Your emotional hangover.

You pad to the bathroom and pee, seeing your face in the mirror like you did the night you got rained out. Your makeup is smeared, face a little bloated -- you do your best to wash it off. The cool water feels good against your skin, still hot from the liquor and dehydration. You pat your face dry and leave the bathroom, lingering at the top of the stairs where he's laying on the couch, already awake. "G'morning," you rasp out. He perks up, head tilting up to look at you from his place in the living room. "Morning, peach," he smiles, "You feelin' okay?"

You nod, ungracefully stomping down the metal steps of the spiral staircase while you get your footing, "Your old man pills must be magic or something."

Eddie pulls back the blanket, scooching back against the cushions to make room for you to lay down next to him, "C'mere, baby."

C'mere, baby runs down your spine, making your throat catch. You make your way towards the couch, crawling in next to him. The living room is quiet, with just some early morning sun pooling into the windows -- like you two are the only people awake on the street this morning. He covers you up, wasting no time wrapping himself around you and pulling you into him, "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you nod into his chest, the scent of his skin mixing with the faint smell of cirtus and cedar, "Did you?" "Normally I'm fine on the couch," he says, voice grizzly and sleepy, "But I didn't sleep a wink last night." "Oh, I'm sorry. I could've slept on the couch or I --" "No, it's not that," he shakes his head, catching your gaze, "Probably would've slept better if you were next to me." Your cheeks burn, a smile splittling across your face, "Well I'm here now."

"You are," he nods, leaning up to run his thumb over the apple of your cheek where a stray piece of glitter sits. Remnants of your makeup that you couldn't wash away.

"I'm um...sorry for how I acted last night," you confess, "That's not like -- that's not how I am."

"Don't be sorry," he assures quietly, "I understand." You're both quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air fuzzing the silence between you. "You're not just for fun, peach," he says, a seriousness to his normally playful voice, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that." "I um -- I'm sorry I kind of went a little insane," you shrug, feeling small, "I didn't mean to text all those times and then come here and cry and like --" "Stop apologizing," he says, thumb grazing your lower lip to stop you, "You were just feeling a way, that's okay. I get it." He takes his thumb away, leaning down to give you a kiss that sends you reeling. Warm and soft, delicate. His hands lead his arms around you again, smiling when you reach up to cup his cheek. "I like you," Eddie smirks against your mouth. "I like you, too," you smile when he breaks away. "The deli's open on the corner if you want me to run over and get a bacon, egg, and cheese," he offers quietly. "Why do I feel like you were gonna do that anyway?" you ask in the same tone. "I was," he grins again, "I just wanted to impress you by asking." He sits up, clamboring over you to get some coffee started so it'll be done by the time he gets back. You wait patiently for him, rolling your eyes while he shoves his socked feet in his slides, leaving the house in his pajamas of a t-shirt and black joggers. You prepare the coffees, feeling domestic like you live here -- getting used to where things are already.

He comes back twenty minutes later, sighing when the air conditioning hits him as the door opens, "It's already like, 80 degrees."

"Gross," you reply, face scrunching in the way that he likes, "Coffee is ready." "Oh, thank you." His eyes glitter at the gesture, seeing that you used the same mugs from when he had you over the first time. Those are his favorites, but you'll learn that eventually. The sandwhiches are tossed on the butcher block counter where you cried last night, but your embarrassment melts away when you feel him wrap himself around you again -- like he can't get enough. "I'm playing a show on Thursday at House of Yes," he says, "They're doing a metal theme'd night." "Yeah?" you ask, hands reaching for the plastic baggy and taking out both of your sadwhiches wrapped in foil. His arms still tight around your middle while you maneuver around your kitchen. "You should come," he asks, kissing the top of your head, "I'll get you a ticket."

"I don't know if that's really my scene," you shrug, twisting in his hold to face him, "I'm not like -- I'm not cool and underground like that." "So?" he quirks his brow, "You can be cool and underground for one night to hang out with your hottie rockstar boy-toy."

"That's so gross that you described yourself that way," you laugh, pushing out of his hug and opening your sandwhich, "Like, so cringey, babe." "Babe," he repeats back to you, "I like that. You can call me 'babe' whenever you want." "Duly noted," you agree, teeth sinking into the bread of the roll and breaking into the warm and gooey center. The jumble in your stomach starting to fade away while the grease of the egg soothes it. Eddie takes his sandwhich and coffee to the living room, taking his phone off the coffee table to open up his text conversation with Steve:

she called me babe.

i literally can't even breathe right now.

prev | next

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Must you, Japan? has become Thank You, Japan

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

BL OLYMPICS! Week 3

This is my last week of passing out metals in various sporting events, as part of the weekly updates.

Aug 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Century of Love (Weds Gaga) eps 9-10fin - There were a lot more unnecessary dramatic speeches than there was practical medical aid being administered. Very extra, boys. I wonder how long it took them to get that "birds meet hug" shot? Meanwhile, great grandpa‘s attitude that he knows best in every way is thoroughly annoying, and yet absolutely appropriate to his age. My great gramps (RIP), had he had the body of a 20-year-old, would behave in exactly the same self-righteous know-it-all way. The doctor is great. I would like him to get his own romance please? What happens when you are the villain in someone else's reincarnation story? There's a whole fanfic there. And yes I cried. I am a sap for this kinda thing.

Final thoughts:

This is a great little show about a young man who fell in love with a pretty girl 100 years ago, and when she died in his arms, he was cursed to live until he could meet her reborn self. Only this time around, she’s reborn into the body of a man. I love it when Thailand gets all up in its own historical business and reincarnation and shizz. I like this pair (it’s not DaouOffroad’s fault I didn’t enjoy most of their first series.) Daou’s wushu is pretty snazzy and we got a fun meet cute. (Erm... Remeet cute? Meet cute 2.0?) Plus this is a very PRETTY show. Despite some ham handed comedy moments, this ultimately has more in common with something like I Feel You Linger in the Air meets First Love Again, then (as one might expect) Until We Meet Again or The Director Who Buys Me Dinner. The leads turned in great performances, although Daou outclassed everybody else on that screen. It’s a good story and a great BL. I’m not sure this is going in my rewatch rotation, but I can’t find any major faults with it beyond a certain level of camp that is sadly endemic to lackorns. Also I’m going to give it credit as the kind of BL that one could safely recommend to lovers of melodrama and historical romance, without having to qualify it as “good for a BL.” It was, to put it succinctly, simply a VERY ENJOYABLE show. 

Under those auspices I really can’t give it anything less than a 9/10. 

Bronze in Fencing

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - It’s cute. They were cute. I enjoyed it a lot. I talk quite a bit about why they're using nai as a you pronoun here:

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 6 of 8 - Honestly the side couple is truly stellar in this show. I wasn’t sure about them at first but now I absolutely love them. Not sure how they are going to resolve such intense dislike (from JJ) by the end of the series. But I’m interested to see them try.

Meanwhile, there isn’t anything else airing right now that makes me laugh as much as the behind-the-scenes from this show. Highly recommended.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 1-2 of 12 - Oh it is so much fun. I’m particularly delighted that our musician is a drummer and I don’t have to listen to him sing... I hope. I’ve been waiting for Big to lead a BL forever. I’m disposed to enjoy this. We can all be confident in one thing, the kisses are going to be great. I like the side couple too, very indulgent daddy. While I am disturbed by the tortoise in the tiny tank, I love the extrovert friendship group. They remind me of my own college crew. It is a cute premise, but I will need them to actually be together in the same room, looking longingly at each other a smooching within the next couple of episodes.

YouTube served me both episodes 1 & 2, and I don’t think it was meant to. So this may be next week's review as well.

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - I wasn’t wild about this ep or where this show is going. But I enjoyed the language play. 

Gold in Linguistic Gymnastics

(my new favorite sport)

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - Wow. Sam admitted it just out loud like that! Right after a betrayal? Balls on that boy. Worked on Yo tho. Too well, actually. I wish Yo had made him suffer and dragged him over the coals for a while. But I guess Yo really really likes him back. Meanwhile, the GL side plot also moved quite rapidly. A lot happened in this episode.

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 4 of 12 - Them ALL jumping into the water was totally ridiculous. It’s still a little slow, because it is a pulp, but I’m rather enjoying it.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 12fin - Almond and Latte were cute. The breakfast with the four of them was funny. I did laugh a lot. Almond getting "first time" advice from his two resident gay dads (or at least trying to) was super sweet. Also I got a lot of smiley kisses. Nice final ep.

Ultimately how do I feel about this show?

A story about 4 boys of differing personalities who end up living together and pair up, falling in love. Slow moving and waffling, with some artificially generated family drama makes this a classic Thai pulp except that in general it's a smiley kiss of a show. It had plenty of good qualities like great communication and sexual rep (including toys, first time, safe sex, and sexual identities). The heat levels were on point and well executed, and the performances were good. It’s just that the script and the directing were lackluster, rendering it ultimately forgettable. Still, fine on a rainy afternoon with some camomile tea or whatever. 7/10 

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 9 of 10 - I’m getting some sort of PTSD from this show, It is making me feel like I’m the problem. Trash watch

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Cosmetic Playlover (Japan Tues Gaga) eps 1-2 of 8 - Anyone surprised by this jump in the standings? Yeah, probubly not. Anygay... this show is GREAT. Warped af but great. Lemme try to explain.

I actually said out loud during ep 1, "Well this is boundary pushing." By which I mean mine and everybody elses. But it’s Japan, *checks watch* it’s about time they turned out something edging into unpalatable and kinky. And because it’s Japan, I’m more forgiving than I would be were this show nested in the clumsy hands of say... Thailand. So actually this being me, and me being of questionable taste, I’m enjoying this show a lot.

You want me to list the ways? Sure.

Younger seme with grabby hands.

The younger one identified the elder gay as his personal property and it’s now: single motivation, on target, against all odds.

Uke cares about his work and not much else.

Seme cares about the uke and not much else.

Uke is gonna make this boy WORK for it.

That one particularly Japanese style of obsession that I actually adore.

Passes the sniff test!

I’m being reminded of that KBL Love Mate. Which I believe I enjoyed but no one else did. For exactly this set of tropes. Only Japan is better suited to handle them. For me this is a case of:

Must you,Japan? = Oh yes? Well, thank you very much, Japan.  

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 8 of 10 - enter the evil girl character. Yawn.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - It is what it is. 

It's airing but...

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 2 of 12 - I did not catch ep 2 before they took it down from USA YT. I don’t know why it’s down. Either they got a deal for distribution off YouTube or there’s some sort of scandal. Frankly, I wasn't particularly impressed with ep 1 so I’m not rabid to find wherever it’s gone or why. Still, perhaps someone will let us know the sitch in a comment? It's a me problem. I'm figuring it out.

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun ????) 10 eps - OMG a uni student who looks too young and a... COP. GAH. The subversion and kink of it all. Why can't I find it? Do I have to go grey?

4 Minutes (Thai Netflix/Grey) - A rich boy at uni suddenly gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future. I have a source, but I've decided to hold off and binge if it ends okay, since it's only 8 eps. I depend upon y'all to tell me if it's safe.

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - it's your funeral (or, more likely, one of the main characters'). You can argue but... statistics. You know my feelings on this matter. MY BLOG, remember?

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer IS COMING IN SEPTEMBER!!!! (Yeah this is gonna sit here until then)

Next Week Looks Like This:

Ooo, nice spread.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming This Month!

8/12 First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) 12 eps - About a singer with stage fright and his timid fan stars Charles (H4 the puppy one) and Michael Chang (the youngster in My Tooth Your Love), plus side couple featuring a Thai actor Jame (Koh in Gen Y) and Liu Min Ting (of Guardian fame). What a damn tean. I can't wait. With thier powers combined!

8/13 Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues YT) 10 eps - supposedly Jinlo with air this on their YT channel. Stars August (Love Sick) so I'm excited despite Jinlo's poor reputation. From the trailer it looks like it's following the original pretty closely... just Thai style. GIMMEEEEE!!!!

8/16 The Last Time (Thai Fri YT) ? eps - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something.

8/22 The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) 12 eps - announced in 2023 this one has a high school set stepbrothers trope and is reputed to be high heat. From Taiwan! It's made for me. Based on a novel Mou Mou from the Your Name Engraved Herein folks, so it could go dark. Still, I'm very excited.

8/22 The Paradise of Thorns (Thai movie) theater release - Jeff Satur is back but this does not look like a BL (the gay lover's death is the inciting event). More in Goodbye Mother vein. Looks dark and dramatic. He opposite and extremely well known actor Toey Pongsakorn who has never done gay before.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Linguistic flirting trope! One of my all time favorites. FANTASTIC. (I did keep hearing Gun yelling Papiiiiiii! in my head tho.)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 11

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Fluff, sass, flirting, two very similar people finally on the same page. Vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: Booted back to the States after the DEA puts him on notice, Javi runs into an unexpected and familiar face at his cousin's wedding. Notes: We are finally explicit for sexy soulmate reasons!! ✨🎉🎆 We're almost at the end of this one, my dears! Most likely one more chapter and then the epilogue.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

Being back on Laredo is almost surreal. People know him, both from the somewhat reckless younger years spend here, and the scandal of leaving his fiancé at the altar, to the notoriety of hunting Pablo Escobar down. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been there when the man had finally been shot down like the dog he was, he had been a part of it.

When he got the call, he had been in his second favorite place. The bar. Drinking and smoking, again, trying to not feel sorry for himself. Still on leave from the DEA, his hand slapped and his punishment was being left in limbo as he watched the news for anything Steve hadn’t told him.

“Javier.” His father’s voice finally cuts through his inner thoughts after the third time of having his name called. “You gotta get dressed, mijo.” The elder Peña insists. “Danny’s wedding is in an hour.”

Javi sighs as he blinks away the memories and looks over at the concerned frown on the elder Peña’s face. “Sure pop.” He doesn’t know why it really matters considering he’s not going to be wearing a suit. The event is very Texas, cowboy boots and jeans required, with the excepting of the happy couple.

“You should shave.” His father comments, more an instruction than a suggestion, as he moves through the living room and collects both his and his son’s forgotten coffee cups. “Three day stubble doesn’t look good on anybody. Your Ma told me that once.”

Javi sighs and swipes his hand over his jaw. He should shave, trim his mustache. “Yeah.” He agrees. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“We have time.” Chucho chuckles. “I gotta look good too, you know. That takes longer.”

Javi snorts and slaps his father’s shoulder as he walks by. “Nah.” He teases. “You have natural beauty, pop.”

“Never hurts to put in a little effort, mijo.” Chucho reminds him, watching his son stride down the hall on long legs. Javi’s been adrift since he got sent home. He won’t talk about what happened and he doesn’t socialize with any of his old friends despite their best efforts. He needs to get out of the damn house, and his father is not above using his cousin’s wedding as a good excuse.

In the bathroom, Javi sighs as he stares a that mirror. The dark circles under his eyes have gone away, but there is a haunted look in them. Maybe since the day he put you on a plane to the States. That’s what Steve kept bugging him about since you left, telling him that he was an idiot for letting you go without working things out.

His cousin’s wedding is as much distraction as it is anything else. He spends his days on the ranch and not much of anywhere else, mostly to avoid the questions.

He turns away from the mirror and reaches into the bathtub and turns on the water. He might as well shower and get ready. His dad won’t leave him alone until he goes to the wedding and drinks at least two beers at the reception.

Besides, Danny had been insistent about wanting Javi to come. His older cousin had been a big influence on him and he had wanted to share this day with the man he privately called his hero. Not that he would ever say that to Javi’s face.

Stripping down, he steps into the shower and closes the curtain, groaning quietly at the heat from the water. He has spiraled. Closing his eyes, he leans against the wall.

When you had gone missing, he had gone to Don Berna and Judy Moncalo for anything they could give him. Willing to skirt the line of morality and legality for you had ended up biting him in the ass. He had gotten in too deep, trapped by that helping hand until they had turned on him. The bad thing is, as much as he regrets leaving Colombia in disgrace, he would do it again for you.

Murphy tried to help, in between being a pain in the ass. But the way everything ended up was just fucking ridiculous enough that there was no real way for him to help. So now he gets through each day at a time. Wondering if he’s ever going to figure out what the fuck comes next.

Cleaning up quickly, he steps out of the shower into the steaming bathroom and wipes the mirror clear. Staring at his reflection again. Licking his lips as he wonders what you are doing right now.

******

"Yes I promise to make it abundantly clear that I'm not your girlfriend." You roll your eyes in the hotel room's bathroom mirror as you carefully apply your lip liner. Make up isn't exactly a natural skill for you, but you've learned. "Nor will I cockblock you if you meet a cute girl. But if you bring somebody back to the hotel, I expect your ass to get a new room. I will not be locked out so you can get laid." He had begged you to come when the invitation came through. He'd been invited to the wedding of his best friend from his unit and he'd promised to pay every single dollar of the trip if you came as his plus one. As much as your brother wanted to be there to celebrate with his friend, he hated doing social things without a safety net.

"You're gonna love Danny." He promises, leaning against the door and grinning at you in the reflection of the mirror. He's wearing his white undershirt and his white dress trousers. "He's going to get drunk and call out 'Doc! Doc! I need an IV!'"

"And you will be nice to him because it is his wedding day," you remind him. After lip liner is lipstick, and you inspect yourself in the mirror. In the last few years you've lost weight and kept it off with a strict diet, and while you're not exactly thin you're definitely closer than you used to be. It's easier to be satisfied with your appearance, at least. The babydoll dress that you picked out for today looks cute with a pair of cowgirl boots and you've even been careful doing your hair.

It's just being in Texas that has you feeling on edge. Being so close to Javier's hometown.

“I’ve promised to make sure he’s sober enough to have a wedding night.” He snorts, shooting you a grin. “Does that count?”

"Yes, it is." Smoothing one hand down your dress, you do your best to mask your anxiety by shooing past your brother and heading out to grab your wrap and the happy couple's gift from your suitcase. "Are you ready?"

“Let me put on my blouse.” He huffs, moving over to where it is hanging up to keep it clean.

"I take the least amount of time to get ready of anyone in our family, I swear." It may or may not be true, but right now you feel like you sped through getting ready out of pure anxiety. Ever since you touched down on Texas soil this morning, you've been jittery.

“What’s got you all out of whack?” He frowns slightly as he pulls the blouse on and moves to the mirror to adjust.

"I'm fine," you huff, flopping down on the bed next to where you were just standing and dodging his skeptical eyebrow raise. "I'm fine, Michael."

“And that definitely means you are not fine.” He turns from the mirror and walks over to you, crouching down and taking your hands. He’s become a little bit of a worrier since you’ve come back from Colombia. “Talk to me, sis.”

"It's just...weird." Both of your brothers have doted on you since you came home, taking opposite strategies in helping you resettle yourself into a new life. Almost everything has changed for you in the last few years, but they have been there for everything. And since they've been there with you, they know everything, too. "It's...he's from here. I guess it's more awkward for me than I expected."

“Oh shit.” His face falls, feeling horrible about basically bribing you to coming with him. “I didn’t- we don’t have to go.” He promises you. “I can just go to the wedding by myself and come back and we can rent movies and eat pizza?”

"I said it's awkward, not that I'm going to abandon you to be a socially awkward wallflower." Even though you huff and roll your eyes at him, you reach out to give your brother a swift, tight hug. "I can manage. But you're taking me to the most absurdly Texas bar ever before we leave, so I can line dance and ride a mechanical bull. Then we'll go home and I'll be mopey for a week or two trying not to think about my soulmate. Deal?'

You’ve been hesitant to give anyone a lot of details about your soulmate, and that concerns Michael. You had always had an attitude about it, but he had assumed it was fear that your soulmate wouldn’t live up to your expectations. That somehow the universe would get it wrong and you wouldn’t have what mom and dad had. But when you had come home from Colombia, you had just said you had met him and parted ways. Refusing to tell him more than his first name, Javier. That secrecy had been even more worrisome, since you never normally kept secrets. “Okay.” He agrees, sending you a reassuring grin. “I think we can do that. But try not to mop on the bull, that could be bad.”

"No moping on the bull." The half-smile you offer your brother in thanks is the best you can do right now, but you know he understands. Or at least that he's doing his best to be supportive. Your brothers may have razzed you when you were kids but as adults you've gotten closer than closer. "I promise."

“Oh shit.” Turning back, Michael grabs a small pack off the bed, his medical bag. “Almost forgot the IV’s.” He huffs as he grins at you and holds out his arm for you to take. “Can’t be the ‘Doc’ if I can’t cure the hangover.”

"Dishonorable discharge if you forget. Obviously." You tease, and push yourself off the bed with determination. The Marine unit that your brother serves with means the world to him — they're his other family — and you won't disappoint him today by chickening out. You're just going to do your damnedest not to think about Javier Peña today.

******

Sitting with family, he’s surrounded by people. People who thankfully won’t ask him questions about his time in Colombia or his soulmate status. That one would be particularly bittersweet as he watches Danny exchange vows with his own soulmate.

The involved Catholic ceremony is anything but brief, leaving kids squirming and some adults stifling yawns, but all attention snaps to the couple for their vows and that eagerly anticipated first kiss of marriage. It stings for those of you without soulmates but no one would begrudge this beautiful couple their happiness. Not when it shines so brightly.

Javi ducks his head down, sighing softly but he claps with everyone else. Standing when the couple starts back up the aisle along with his pop. He didn’t really listen to the ceremony, lost in his own thoughts and thinking about the worn out letter in his wallet.

"Come on, mijo." Chucho shuffles down the pew to wave Javier out into the aisle as the church empties out. He's not looking to be late to the reception and miss out on getting a prime seat where he can watch all the action.

“Sure thing.” He sees someone who has been wanting to hear ‘war stories’ headed his way, so he is hot on his dad’s heels. “Fucking Budweiser is calling my name.”

"And you're gonna bring your old man one, too." The elder Peña chuckles, clapping his son on the back as they walk together.

Javi chuckles and nods. “Of course I will.” He snorts. “You’ll be too busy socializing.”

"Course I will." That makes his father laugh, and Chucho ropes his arm around his son's shoulder as they walk along to the truck, chuckling all the while. "You got you mother's quiet disposition, kiddo. I don't know what to tell you."

“Mom was better a reading people.” He points out, thinking about the woman most would have considered quiet. She was, until she had something to say, then she let you know it. “Just don’t want to talk about the same shit the entire time. This is about Danny today.”

"Could always try to talk to some new people," Chucho suggests when they get out to the truck. He climbs behind the wheel and Javi gets in beside him. "Danny's unit are all coming, and his girl— wife's work friends. You don't know any of them yet. Might be nice?"

“They are all kids.” Javi scoffs quietly. “I remember when Danny was running around taking his diaper off. Now he’s married.” He shakes his head. “I woke up old, pop.”

"Yeah, I know." He laughs again. "But at leas you're honest about it."

“Thanks, pop.” He rolls his eyes and reaches into his pocket for a piece of nicotine gum. He’s been trying to stop, but it’s been rough. “That makes you really old.”

"Yeah, I know." There is more laughter in the truck shared by the two men as Chucho pulls out onto the road again, and the older man just shrugs one shoulder as he shifts gears. They head to the outside of town to Danny's bride's family ranch with music playing and decent – if introspective – moods between them. Both Peñas find themselves think about their soulmates in the aftermath of the ceremony, though neither will push the subject.

“Do you ever regret finding mom?” Javi asks, looking out the window at the rolling grass and weathered fences. “I mean, if you had never known about her, it wouldn’t have hurt so much when she died.” Both men had mourned the loss of her heavily.

“Never.” His father’s answer comes immediately. There is not a single ounce of hesitation in his body. “But…I was lucky enough to love her and cherish her for almost fifty years.”

“Yeah.” His parents had been very early in their discovery of matching scars. “Do you ever think the universe gets it wrong?” He asks after another moment. “Soulmates, I mean.”

Chucho knows what his son is asking, but still he clenches his jaw and tuts, glancing over at Javier as he drives. “I think sometimes the right person can come along at the wrong time.” He says finally. “But we don’t always get a second chance, and that is the unfair part.”

Javi sighs softly, swiping is hand over his face and nodding. “Yeah.” He had told Chucho he had met his soulmate after coming back, but that you had left Colombia a few years before and there had been no contact. He had been disappointed in Javi but hadn’t said much. “Life’s not fair at all sometimes.”

“No.” Chucho agrees, and he shakes his head again as he pulls the truck into the field along with the other party guests. “It isn’t. But going through your life never taking another chance doesn’t help, either.”

“I don’t think she would want that.” He admits softly. “I think I’m more of a reminder about a horrible time in her life.” He had read your article, it was amazing and thought provoking, but he had read the unhappiness between the likes. The relief that it was over. He wouldn’t take you back to that place. Especially since it seems like you’ve fallen off the face of the earth since winning your Pulitzer.

“I’m not saying you have to take a chance on her, Mijo. Not if you don’t want to.” With the truck’s engine cut, Chucho huffs a sigh and turns to look at his son. “But you need somebody. Somebody to spend your time with and grow old with.” When Javi opens his mouth to object, Chucho holds up a finger. “And I don’t count, Javito. I’m gonna be gone soon enough and it’ll be you and the dog. That’s not enough.”

He’s right, even if Javi doesn’t like it. “You can grumble at me on the way home when you’re drunk.” Javi jokes and opens the door, wanting to shelve the conversation for now. “Let’s go celebrate the happy couple.”

The reception is very homegrown, with coolers of beer and dispensers of sangria on either end of a buffet of favorite foods and plenty of space to dance and drink and chat. It’s homey and welcoming, And the DJ is playing good music for everyone as they trickle in.

Javi lingers with his dad. Helping him choose a seat and putting on his sociable smile. He can be charming and engaging when he wants to be and he decides to grin and bear the inevitable questions and remarks about his work and his own botched wedding.

For the most part the other guests are family or close friends. They know the stories already or know that making Javi rehash his history is cruel. But there are always people who are curious and today that includes the first young woman to corner him at the drinks table.

Javi picks up two beers, turning and smiling at the younger woman who is obviously waiting for something. “The punch is good.” He offers, keeping that his cousin always makes the sangria his tía loves.

“Why don’t you grab me some?” The girl can’t be more than twenty-one, batting her eyelashes and sticking her chest out without an ounce of subtlety.

He wants to sigh, but he nods, moving over to the punch bowl and pouring her out a smaller cup of the fruity, spiced wine. “Here you go.” He offers.

“You’re not going to have one with me?” She pouts.

Javi moves down the table and bends down to pick up two beer bottles out of one of the coolers. “Beer.” He tells her.

“Gross.” Is the only comment he gets out of that and she’s gone again without further comment. Apparently off to find some people more to her taste.

He snorts to himself as he twists off the caps to the beers, thankful that his apparent bad taste in drinks had saved him from an awkward conversation. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He hums to himself as he tilts one bottle back for a sip before taking his dad his beer.

“She was cute.” Chucho offers, accepting the beer from his son, but chuckles when Javier looks dubious. “Too young. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” He drops down into the seat next to his dad and looks around, drinking the beer and smiling when someone glances over at him. “Good turn out.”

“Danny’s a good kid.” The commendation from Chucho is as warm and proud as if he had raised the boy himself.

“Can’t believe he’s grown.” Javi admits, glancing over at where Danny and some sailor are laughing and hugging. “And a Marine.”

"Give it a second before you go and say hi." Chucho grunts under his breath and motions for Javier to look to the right of where Danny and his service friends are laughing together. He's fairly certain that Javier won't want to spoil the day with running into Lorraine and the woman that tried to trap his son into marriage is standing nearby the group of men with another woman.

******

“So how you know everyone here?” The slim blonde gives you a friendly, wide smile and gestures around the hall. “I don’t guess I’ve seen you around town before.” Curiosity has always motivated Lorraine, and it’s rare that she has someone new to meet. Even if she’s avoiding the other side of the room right now, not quite brave enough to approach Javi.

"You wouldn't have." You clutch the glass of sangria that your brother had gotten for you and hold onto the little glass like an anchor. "It's my first time in Texas at all. I came with my brother." You motion to where Michael and his friends are chatting a few feet away. "He serves with the groom."

“Oh really?” She follows your finger and hums. “His uniform is different?” She gives a small laugh and shrugs. “I don’t know much about the military, but I think that’s the Navy?”

"It is." Small talk isn't necessarily your forte so you're glad to actually have something to focus on. Being proud of your brothers is at the top of the list. "He's green side." When she has no reaction to that term at all, you explain further. "He's the medical officer with their Marine unit."

“How interesting!” Her brows shoot up and she looks over at the group of men with a hum. “My husband, Randy, is a lawyer, I hear complaints about judges and bailiffs and court reporters.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head slightly. “So you are keeping an eye on your brother tonight?” She’s already discreetly looked down at your left hand and didn’t spy any kind of ring, leading her to believe that you aren’t married. Randy has a brother that might find you attractive.

"He didn't want to come alone and I like to travel," you explain, laughing a little out of pure discomfort. Not that this woman is rude or anything, she's just a stranger. "Are you family? If you don't mind my asking, I mean. It seems like a tight knit community around here."

“Almost.” Her laugh is both slightly brittle and self-deprecating. “I was engaged to one of Danny’s cousins a million years ago.” She waves it away as if it’s not something that would prompt more questions. “But I’ve known Danny his entire life.”

"Family by association, then. That's really nice." It's sweet, and it reinforces your idea of the community around here being very close.

“Maybe.” She shrugs slightly. “I didn’t expect my ex to be here, but I guess we will have to have that awkward meeting at some point tonight.” She snorts. “Hopefully I’ll be a few glasses of sangria in by then.”

"Oh?" That sounds a bit like a plot point in a book to you, but your mind always has worked like a writer's more than anything else. Even when you don't write anymore.

“Yeah.” She glances around the room and spots Javi handing his father a beer before she looks back at you. “I thought he would still be in the jungle, honestly. But I guess that’s over now.”

"That sounds dramatic." Jungle is not exactly a place you want to be thinking about ever, but the conversational door is open and you can't just walk away from it, so you bite your tongue on anything but letting this woman talk.

“Javier can be dramatic.” She hums in agreement. “But I guess you have to be when you were trying to catch Pablo Escobar.”

Javier.

Your throat tightens and your legs turn to lead, heart pounding out of your chest so that your blood is screaming in your ears the second you realize who you have been aimlessly chatting with.

Javier's ex-fiancée Lorraine. The woman who drew his tattoos onto her skin to trap him into marrying her. The woman who made him so fearful of a soulmate connection.

Arguably? The woman who ruined your chance at a meaningful relationship with your own soulmate by abusing him out of his trust.

"I suppose it's easy to be dramatic when the people around you lie to you at every turn." You intone, still smiling and appearing as bubbly as ever, as if you were accusing Escobar of lying and not her.

She frowns for a moment, tilting her head as she thinks about your statement and tries to ascertain if you are insinuating something about her. “That’s an interesting way to look at it.” She agrees when your smile seems innocent. “I just want him to happy.” She tuts. “He’s been single since we broke up and I heard that he has been suspended by the DEA.” She drops her voice and leans closer, whispering that last part to not let her voice carry far. God forbid someone accuse her of gossiping.

"It might surprise someone how little a person's single status has to do with their exes." Trying not to frown or cross your arms, you clutch your cup a little harder. "People can be perfectly happy without being married. And there is often so much more than meets the eye behind government decisions." Without thinking, your instinct has been to jump to Javier's defense even though your mouth has run dry at the idea of him being in the same room after literal years apart. She said she saw him. He's here.

“Of course.” She smiles, a little uncomfortable with your sudden vehemence and she glances past you. “Oh darn.” She huffs. “My kids need my help.” She shoots you an apologetic glance and skitters by you to go help a little girl around seven years old with her plate at the buffet.

"Shit." Hissing under your breath, you manage to set your cup down on the table next to you and try to get yourself under control again. Maybe you'll just leave. Michael is fine, right? He's perfectly fine with his friends. You can just go back to the hotel and hide. Yep. Hide. Like a coward. That's exactly what you're going to do...

******

It was supposed to just a quick glance. A survey just to see where Lorraine was while he decides if he is going to speak to her here or not. He’s leaning towards not, just because he knows it will make tongues wag. His eyes flicker over in the direction his dad had indicated and he freezes, hand gripping the bottle tight in his fist when he sees you.

Not just you, a smiling version of yourself. You’ve lost weight, an observation that immediately makes him frown and wonder if you have been taking care of yourself. “Fuck.” He hisses, the ache that had been pushed down until it had become dull flaring to life in his chest.

“What?” Chucho asks, glancing back at Lorraine and not understand why his son would curse. “Just avoid her.” He councils, talking about Javi’s ex-fiancée.

That shakes Javi out of his stupor and he picks up the bottle and tosses back the rest of his beer. Pausing only to shake someone’s hand when they reach out before he stands up. “Not this time, pop.” He claps his father on the shoulder and moves through the crowd towards you.

In the second after you decide yep, time to run away back to the hotel room, you abandon your sangria cup and turn around to get Michael's attention but come face to face with an entirely different man. "Javier..."

His smile is lopsided, a little shy, and he scrubs his hands on the side of his jeans as he stares at you. The haunted look in your eyes that was there when he put you on that plane is gone, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost. “Small world.” He jokes, eyes roaming your face, apparently starved for the sight of you.

"Seems like it." It's a good thing you didn't pick up your drink because now your hands are shaking. It feels like all of you is shaking, in fact, and all you want to do is rush to his arms and hug him. He's clean shaven with his mustache trimmed neatly, dressed in possibly the most casual outfit you've ever seen – used to seeing him in suits around the apartment back in Bogotá. "H—how—um...how are you?"

He shrugs, looking around the room and then back at you. “Could be worse.” He admits before he frowns. “How about you?” He asks softly. “You look- good, real good.” His normal charm and smooth words with women falters and his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth. The only comfort is that you seem just as startled by his presence as he is with you.

"I've lost some weight." You shrug dismissively. The fact is, you're far more conventionally attractive this way but still self-conscious about your appearance. At least it's easier to get clothes that fit properly. "It's uh...it's good to see you." So fucking good. You had no idea how relieved you would feel until he was right in front of you again.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, unsure how in the world you ended up at the same wedding reception small town Texas as him. “I mean- it’s good to see you to, but how?”

"Danny." Taking a deep breath, you wish you had pockets to shove your hands into. "Apparently my brother serves with your cousin." You hadn't put it together before, because despite living in the same town, Javier and Danny have different last names. "So...the universe is having fun with us, I guess."

He chuckles quietly and shuffles closer to you. “Congratulations, by the way.” He murmurs. “Your article was amazing. You really deserved that Pulitzer and every other award you won.”

"It felt dirty." He is really the only person you can admit this to. He's closer to the thing than anyone else in the world. "It's what he wanted — for interviewing him to be worth that prize. But I couldn't not publish the story." Because you knew it would help him. To have all of that written down as clear as day. A first hand account of Escobar's cruelty. It helped fuel the US government's fire to get the mangey bastard. Which is bittersweet in its own right. "I watched the footage. It's...I'm sorry that..." You sigh softly. "You deserved to be there and it's shitty that you weren't. I'm sorry."

“My fault.” He can admit that, even as he shrugs away the sting of bitterness that needles through him every time. “I don’t regret it. I would do it again.”

"Whatever you did, you still deserved to be the one to shoot the bastard." A slight, soft sigh escapes. One of resignation if nothing else. "For both of us."

He hums in agreement, chewing on his gum and wishing he had a cigarette. “You didn’t read the interview Judy Moncalo gave?” He asks curiously, struck by the ‘whatever you did’ comment. Did you really not know?

"No." You admit quietly. "It, um...it made me too mad to read about you being sent home. So I didn't." What a horrible lie. It absolutely tore you up to read his name anywhere because you missed him so much, but you can't say that to his face.

He tics his brow up in surprise. He had the completely opposite reaction. It had taken everything in him to not constantly look you up. To keep tabs on you. He sighs and looks away again. “When you were….kidnapped, I went to Judy Moncalo and Don Berna.” He admits, shuffling slightly before he looks back at you. “I promised them a favor in the future if they could tell me where Escobar was holding you.”

"Oh god..." The air rushes out of you all at once and your eyes sting, but instead of drawing away from him you instantly give in to your first instinct when you saw him and end up throwing your arms around his shoulders to squeeze him tightly against you. "I'm so sorry," you murmur quietly, letting it all sink in and settle in your bones. He did it for you. To save you. "I can't—I—I'm so sorry and I'm so grateful."

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against him and he buries his face into your shoulder and neck, inhaling your scent. “Don’t apologize.” He grunts. “I would do it again.” He repeats. “In a heartbeat.”

"This is..." Sniffling back the tears that will stain his shirt and ruin your makeup, you still hold on to him like a lifeline for a few more seconds. "This is not at all what I thought this weekend was going to be like."

He chuckles, fully aware of that and feeling the same. “I understand.” He murmurs, pulling back when you do and looking into your eyes again. “You look like you need another drink.”

"I haven't even had the first one," you admit, motioning vaguely behind you at the cup you abandoned. "I got distracted meeting your awful ex-fiancée."

This time he winces. “I saw that.” He admits, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Guess that means that she wasn’t her normal charming self?”

“You dodged a bullet.” That is your honest assessment and you’re not afraid to give it.

That pulls a smirk out of him, glancing around to where Lorraine was seated with her kids. “I’d like to think so.” He admits. “Thought about kids with her at one point, now I couldn’t imagine.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” You tell him honestly, before thinking better of yourself and tacking on: “If only for your sake.”

Licking his lips, he wonders why that added comments irritates him. Why he isn’t satisfied with it. He reminds himself that you had left Colombia and never reached back out again. You are only here because of a coincidence. “Yeah.” He nods, looking back towards the coolers and wanting another beer. “So where are you writing now?”

“I’m not.” A fact which nags and frustrates you, but you pick up your cup and nod toward the drink table. This is not a conversation to be navigated without some kind of assistance. In this case, that’s alcohol. “I got out of that game after the award.”

No wonder he hasn’t been able to find your articles. “Really? Can I ask why? You are an amazing journalist.”

The compliment warms something hollow in your chest, but you still shrug one shoulder as you start to walk together. “I don’t know what I expected, really. I should have known Escobar’s men would retaliate after what I wrote. Coming after me? I get that. It was coming after my mother that made me stop. No matter what, it’s not worth putting my family into that kind of danger.”

“What?” He turns and grabs your elbow, making you face him again. “You- what happened?” Anger and guilt swirls in his stomach. You were in danger and he didn’t even know.

“Everybody’s okay.” You sure him, seeing a flash of panic in the depths of his eyes. “I’m fine. My mom is fine. The guys they sent got busted. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He shakes his head and growls in frustration. He should have had someone watching over you. He hadn’t told the DEA about your soulmate connection between the two of you because he hadn’t wanted to cause any more undue stress. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Startled slightly by the vehemence of the question, you look away and have to take a steadying breath. “I…didn’t think you would want to hear from me.”

“Anytime you need anything, you can call me.” He softens, hating the way you tense up slightly under his hand. “I didn’t reach out to you because of the same thing.” He confesses.

“We didn’t exactly promise to keep in touch.” Which is as much your fault as his. Maybe more. You had been so determined to leave clearly and let him get on with his life.

“No, we didn’t.” He lets go of your arm and shrugs. “I— I should have called though. I was afraid that you would just remember the kidnapping .”

“There hasn’t been a single day of my life that I haven’t thought about it,” you murmur, eyes downcast and already missing the warmth of his small, reassuring touch. “But you saved my life.”

“I’m sorry it took so long.” He’s apologized many times, but he needs to again.

“Me too.” Although you’re not quite sure what to do with the fact that he’s here in front of you know. It feels like a joke being played on you by the universe at large — knowing how you still feel about him but having given that up years ago.

He turns and starts to guide you back towards the drink table. His hand comes around you and rests on your lower back.

It’s a searing sting and the most wonderful ache in the world all at the same time, reminding you of movie nights on his couch and navigating each other in the kitchen. The tantalizing promise of things that never came to be and now never would. At least he doesn’t hate you. That’s more than you could have asked for, as far as you’re concerned.

Javi barely resists the urge to caress your skin over the back of your dress. Biting his lip as he guides you and he wonders if he’s ever told you how pretty you are.

“Beer?” There’s no whiskey, otherwise you would have poured that for him instinctively. But it’s all you can do right now not to think about the heat of his hand ghosting over your back.

“Yeah.” He shoots you a grin. “We promised that we wouldn’t go overboard and stuck with beer for the reception.” He informs you. “Although I know Danny has a bottle of whiskey outside.”

“We?” The corner of your mouth ticks up in amusement. “Are you a wedding planner now?”

He snorts. “Nah. But I paid for the alcohol as a wedding present.”

“Hell of a lot nicer than my brother’s idea.” You snort and hand him a bottle. “Taking him out of buying a sexy music cassette was not a conversation I ever expected to have.”

“Oh fuck.” Javi chuckles. “Nothing wrong with making love to music, but that is personal preference, not a gift.”

“Not at all.” Laughing with him is soothing. Calming. And you’ll take this moment for whatever it is worth. “Which is why I banned him from buying the gift and got them some kitchen stuff instead. Michael said they like to cook together.”

“That’s a better idea. Danny likes to cook. He makes his mom’s recipes.” He smiles. “I remember someone else likes to cook too. Miss that.”

“It’s…actually what I do now.” Don’t read into it. Don’t read into it. He’s just being nice. “I got a job on the line at my dad’s old restaurant.”

“Really?” He looks impressed because he is impressed. Happy that you have found what makes you happy. “How do you like it?” He asks. “I know if you opened up a restaurant here you would make a killing.”

“It keeps me busy. And it makes me feel closer to my dad, so that’s always a bonus.” The comment about being here, though, feels like so much warmth coursing through your heart even though you’re sure he didn’t mean it to be. “Not too many Italian places in southern Texas?”

“Not like yours.” He huffs, rolling his eyes slightly. “You have a gift.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to put him off. To deny the compliment. To dismiss it. But a split-second hesitation has the truth pouring out of you instead. “Thank you I— I loved cooking for you.”

He almost asks you to cook for him and his dad, but that would be rude – even for him. Instead he twists the cap off the beer you had handed him. “How long are you in town for?”

“We only planned on the weekend.” Suddenly you wish it was more. Running into Javier had been such a fear and now all you want to do is bask in it. “We got in this morning and we’re flying back Monday morning.”

He takes a sip of the beer and nods. “Time to recover from a hangover and get bored.” He jokes.

“Pretty much.” That had been the logic in the planning anyway. “I made my brother promise to hunt down the most gimmicky bar possible with me.”

“José’s.” Javi answers immediately and without any irony. “It’s this little country bar with a bull that services Budweiser and tequila shots.”

“It has a bull?” You perk up at that — it’s all you wanted out of this stupid little excursion and you don’t feel like hiding it. “Do they do line dancing too?”

He chuckles, “It wouldn’t be a country bar if it didn’t.” He promises. “It’s lively on Saturday nights and Sunday nights.”

“You should come.” The offer comes tumbling out of your mouth fore you can stop it, but you won’t take it back. Not when seeing him again feels relieving instead of awkward like you had been dreading.

He is very surprised that you offered, lifting a brow for a moment and searching your face to see if you are just being nice or if you mean it. “Sounds like a plan.”

"We never really had much time for fun in Colombia." You sip your sangria, humming softly at the sweet, tangy, alcoholic brew. Somebody has put some real thought into this recipe. "There was work to do."

“Plus, you never really seemed like you wanted be out in a social setting with me.” He hadn’t commented on it at the time, just taken it as further proof you hated him being your soulmate.

"I didn't figure you wanted to be out in a social situation with me." Rehashing those months together might not be pleasant, but apparently you're in a particularly honest mood this afternoon.

“When the clubs were filled with sicarios and informants who would snitch to narcos?” He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t. But under other circumstances? I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

"It's different now." For better or for worse, your circumstances in life have changed drastically. Both of you.

“Yes it is.” You’ve managed to finish your sangria, so Javi puts his beer down and refills your cup before handing it back to you. “We both are different now too.”

"Maybe not too different," you admit with a laugh, willing yourself to ignore the way your fingers burn when they brush his. "I'm still a stubborn pain in the ass sometimes."

He snorts, glad that hasn’t changed. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” He huffs, slightly disappointed by your weight loss, but that’s not any of his business. You just need to be happy with yourself.

"I know. I look different." Better, but different. But him? He looks as gorgeous as the day he brought you to the airport, which is making your stomach flip. "You look the same. Which isn't a bad thing at all."

He scoffs at that and shrugs. “You lie, but thank you.” He hums. “Have you eaten yet?”

"Why would I lie about that?" Even though you ask the question, you still shake your head. Before being snagged in conversation by Lorraine and then spotted by Javier, you had just been following your brother around like a tail.

“Come on.” He urges you towards the table that is groaning and straining under the weight of all the dishes. “You should try some of this food, all family recipes.”

"If I ever turn down family recipes, take me to a doctor because I am very unwell." The change of topic and focus is welcome, and you walk side by side with him in a moment of comfortable silence.

Javi can see the eyes on the pair of you, some of them assessing and some just curious. He catches his dad’s raised brow but he just points out the dishes to avoid discreetly.

"I'll have to apologize to my brother for ditching him later." You joke, passing over something Javier describes as Texas lasagna that just makes you long for your own homemade dish. "But he'll be fine."

“Do you want to go back over there with him?” He asks, suddenly unsure if you want to spend this wedding reception chatting with him. Maybe you had hoped to meet someone.

Glancing back, you can see over Javier's shoulder that your brother has not only one but two very attractive people captive to a story he's telling — one of them being another member of his unit that you know he has a crush on and the other being a beautiful woman close to his same age. "Nah." You decide, shaking your head and looking back at Javier. "He's fine. Unless..." A startling thought occurs and makes your stomach drop. "You'd rather I leave you alone?"

“No.” He’s quick to shake his head, frowning at the thought. “Not at all.” He promises. “I just didn’t want you to think you had to talk to me if you would rather mingle.” It feels like you are both going around in circles and he huffs at himself in amusement.

"No." Your answer is almost as quick as his, and your cheeks burn with a flutter of something like tension in your chest. Just because it's one-sided doesn't mean the flush of attraction isn't still there. "No, I mean—I'm good. I'd rather be here."

He flashes you a quick grin, lighting up his face and showcasing some of that Peña charm. “Sounds good, sweetheart.”

******

It's easy to lose track of time when you're actually enjoying yourself. Sitting and eating a meal with Javier again feels like coming home in the most sentimental of ways. It's comfortable and has your chest tightening with every laugh. You've found yourselves at a table in a corner away from the rest of the party where you can just sit and talk, and it's such a fucking relief. So much so that neither of you notice when your table is approached halfway through the reception.

Javi sees the edge of a floral dress come into view, pink shoes that match the large flowered peeking out from underneath. He knows who it has to be, she hasn’t changed that signature scent Estee Lauter perfume since they had been together. “Lorraine.” He acknowledges her, not even taking his eyes off of you.

"Javier." Her smile is pinched, looking down at the pair at the table with as much insatiable curiosity as judgement.

He wonders why she is here, but he glances up at the woman. Technically, she’s still beautiful, but he doesn’t see that. He sees the lies and manipulation she had tried to use to get her way. “What a pleasant surprise.” He lies, smiling at her.

"We would never have missed Danny's big day." She bristles at the implication that she ever would, in fact, but puts on a pleasant false smile instead. "I just came to say hello and see how my new friend was doing."

Her pointed gaze is directed entirely at you and you sit back in your chair with pure amusement. She came to be nosy, but that's fine. "I'm enjoying myself immensely," you tell her with a broad grin.

She stiffens slightly and looks between you and Javier, trying to decide if the two of you know each other. “He can be such a flirt.” She agrees. “Weddings are fun places to meet new people.”

“Yes.” You agree with a pleasant, if intentionally vacant, smile. “It was very good to meet you, Lorraine.”

Javi smiles slightly, seeing the confusion on her face, and he wonders if she had told you her name. “You know me, I’m sociable.” He lies, chuckling when you snort.

“That’s us.” You smother more chuckles with sip of sangria. “Always so sociable.”

Lorraine narrows her eyes slightly, lips pinched together and Javi wonders why she’s so irritated. “How’s Randy, Lorraine?” He asks mildly. “The kids? You’ve got two now, right?”

“We’re all wonderful.” She claims, with the right assurance of someone who is absolutely lying. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

He shrugs casually and picks up your now empty glass. “Trained to retain even the most useless information.” He quips before looking over at you again. “Need a refill?”

“Please? I may have to beg your tía’s sangria recipe off of you. It’s amazing.” There is so much familiarity, so much comfort, in the way you interact. It very obviously can’t be the first time you’ve met, which only makes Lorraine’s pinched frown deepen.

“Don’t count on getting the recipe.” Lorraine tuts, sending you a sympathetic look. “It’s a family recipe and she won’t get it out to just anyone.” Javier had been about to walk away, but her comment made him turn back. Only taking a second before he decides to open his mouth. “I’m sure she would count my soulmate as family.” He declares firmly.

The way the air is sucked out of the conversation is instant and smothering. A pin could drop and the sound would reverberate between them until the end of time. Lorraine's jaw unhinges in shock at the same instant that you have to force all the determination in your entire body into not reacting.

He said it. He said it out loud. He acknowledged it to his ex-fiancée. Instead of a stomach that flips with nerves or anxiety, you positively beam with pride.

"Your—?" Lorraine sputters, when she can finally breathe again.

“Soulmate.” He repeats with a nod, reaching out and placing his hand on your shoulder. He knows that he shouldn’t have revealed this so casually, he hasn’t even told his father, but it seemed fitting to acknowledge his connection to you to the woman who had tried so hard to convince him that she was his soulmate. “We discovered the connection in Colombia.”

A smirk slowly crawls across your face, tucking itself in the corner of your mouth. "In the jungle."

Javi watches a myriad of emotions play out over Lorraine’s face, the prominent one being utter disbelief, but he just hums. “I guess I should thank you.” He makes it sound like he had only put two and two together right now, even though it has been a thought in his head since meeting you. “If you hadn’t lied to me and tried to haul me to the altar, I would have never accepted the job in the DEA and gone to Colombia.” His hand squeezes your shoulder gently. “And I don’t know if now wouldn’t have been our first meeting instead of then.”

Your eyes close briefly against the thought — mostly because you're certain that you wouldn't have survived Colombia if not for Javier — and you reach to place your hand over his on your shoulder. You give it a firm, affectionate squeeze and when you open your eyes again you're looking up at him with such fierce fondness that it crashes over you like a wave. "Forget the drink," you decide, blocking out everything around you including Lorraine. "Dance with me."

His response is immediate, setting down the cup and turning his palm to hold yours. “Absolutely, sweetheart.” He murmurs, not using the endearment for Lorraine’s sake, but for the way you are gazing at him. Like you are his sweetheart, like he deserves that affection.

The dust left in the wake of your exit from the table might have choked her but you wouldn't care. The only thing you care about is the song that is changing over to something slow and sweet as you walk out to the dance floor together. Hand-in-hand as though all the fights and all the frustrations didn't matter at all.

Javi feels like there’s been some unspoken turning point. Facing you once you reach the dance floor, he shoots you a grin and pulls you against him. Fitting you along his lean body and humming when it seems like you just click into place, your hand on his shoulder and on his arm as he winds around you to guide you through the song. “Think she’s still trying to find her jaw on the floor?” He muses, even though he couldn’t care one bit what she thinks or how she reacts to the news.

"Probably." The giggle — actual, real, amused giggle — that bubbles out of you is as amused as it is aghast. It feels like you've floated up onto a cloud somehow. "You know she'll tell everyone, don't you?"

“Oh yeah.” He snorts, fully aware that everyone in the room will know within the next five minutes, maybe even before the song is done. Unless she’s somehow magically struck mute or decides that she’s going to keep it to herself. “Do you mind?”

"No." Surprisingly you don't mind in the least. Not even when the people who are going to find out are his family. His friends. His community. "No, I don't mind. It serves her right for sticking her nose in, and..." You shrug slightly but keep close to him as you turn slowly around the dance floor together. "And things are different now then they were then. There's no one to keep that secret from anymore."

“They are different.” He can agree with that. “Hell, I don’t know if I still have a job.” He admits. “I’ve been told to stay here until they call me to Washington.”

"The investigation will go as long as it needs to." Which stings in a particularly tender way, now that you know why he did what he did. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

“Actually…” he smiles softly at you. “This has helped a lot.” He confesses. “I will never doubt that I did the right thing.”

"I'm sorry it's cost you so much." Of course you won't claim to be sorry that he did it. That he saved you. But you do wish it hadn't cost him everything else in the process.

“Don’t know if it cost me much.” He has been thinking it, but he’s never said those words aloud. “I think you saved my soul.”

Whatever you expected him to say, that certainly isn't it, and you tilt your head slightly in utter surprise. "That's quite a thing to say."

“It’s true.” His fingers flex on your waist, bringing you closer just a bit. “I had forgotten what it was like to care about more than the job. Or my next drink, or next fuck.” He licks his lips and sighs softly. “I wanted you to stay, I just couldn’t say the words. Not when you wanted to leave so badly.”

"As long as we're being honest..." Moving together automatically and oblivious to any-and-everything else, you only find yourself drawn in closer to Javier as you move through the dance. Your hand on his shoulder squeezes a little tighter without realizing it. "I didn't want to leave you. I just couldn't handle staying in Colombia while he was still out there."

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized that but he can see why you would want to get as far away as possible from the man who had kidnapped and tortured you. “You would have stayed if we had killed him that day?”

Somehow, with all the people you had ever talked to about that night in so many different capacities, no one had ever asked you this question. And that might be why it startles the truth out of you so easily. “If you had wanted me to.”

“Yes.” He murmurs softly, looking into your eyes and wondering why the hell he hadn’t said anything about how special you had become to him then. “I’m selfish enough that I would have wanted you to.”

"We...weren't good at talking about things then." Not like you apparently are now. Maybe it's just that enough time has passed. Maybe it's that the pressure in your lives is so much less now. That the world doesn't seem to be pressing down on both of your shoulders as it falls apart at the seams.

“No, we weren’t.” He can admit that, even though he’s not great about talking now. But you should be the one he’s willing to make an exception for. “Maybe we just needed time.” He ponders. “Or maybe it’s needing to lose you to find out how much it would hurt.”

"It wasn't supposed to." The tempo of the song that's playing is slow and sweet and you swear it's lulling you into some kind of dream — or maybe it's the way Javier's hand is inching around your waist that's doing that instead. "It was supposed to let you live."

“That’s why I put you on that plane.” He agrees. “Because I wanted you to live how you wanted.”

You practically choke on the irony, shaking your head to banish the rising instinct of tears in the face of so much revelation. "Stubborn, self-sacrificing idiots." You almost manage to laugh, but not quite. "Both of us."

“Yeah.” He huffs, frowning slightly, but it’s a soft frown. “So what do we do now?” He knows what he wants, he knew it the moment he saw you, but he wants to know where you stand.

"I have no idea." The only thing you really know at the moment is that the song is ending but you don't want to let him go, and you're not too sure what to do with that information.

Javi hums, staring at you for a moment before the tiniest smirk starts to curl the edges of his lips. “Wrong answer.” He grumps, right before he reaches up and holds the back of your head and slants his lips against yours.

******

The sound of moaning coming from Javier Peña’s bedroom is not exactly unusual. It’s who is moaning that makes this particular evening so extraordinary.

Your back hits the doorframe as his bedroom door slams open, and maybe if you had been able to see where you were going, it might have been more graceful of an entrance. But it feels like you haven’t been able to stop kissing Javier since that moment on the dance floor. Behaving yourself on the drive back to the ranch had been excruciating and the second he threw the truck into park he had dragged you out of your seat to head into the house.

Javi chuckles into your mouth, pulling you away from the door and spinning you around so he can kick it closed. Not breaking contact for a second when he feels like he will die if he doesn’t slide inside you. Even at his most needy, he’s never been this frantic. If he didn’t think you might hit him, he would haul you against the door and fuck you right there. No he wouldn’t, your first time deserves more than that, but he feels like it.

The closed door means privacy at last and even though you could easily have pulled over to the side of the road at any time on your way back, there was an unspoken agreement here — that the first time you did this, no matter what else happened, you're going to do it right. "Javi..." Whining this name is definitely one more right thing, even if you're too far past the point of desperation to finish any kind of thought when one of his hands slides up your side to cup your tit over your dress.

“Yes.” Whatever your question is, whatever demand you have, the answer is yes. He grins when you gasp into his mouth, his fingers twisting around the tight little nub under your bra. Squeezing and kneading you before he moves to your zipper at your back, knowing he has to touch skin.

"That." You groan in deeply frustrated, tightly wound, near-relief as he tugs at your zipper and you start to pull the tails of his shirt free from his jeans.

He hums in agreement, knowing exactly what you mean as he immediately starts to unhook your bra, his tongue sliding against yours as he undoes it.

It's the first time in your life you've ever cursed buttons for existing, but you're fumbling with his shirt as his overlarge hands seem to span every inch of your skin at once and you're still craving more. Your fingers stumble over each nub of plastic, pulling his shirt open one by one, and your swear your cunt flips all over again when you find hot, bare skin underneath instead of an undershirt.

“Goddamn.” He shudders when your hand touches his stomach, nail scratching over a flat nipple. Your panties are next, pulling your clothes down to where you have to let go of him for them to fall so he can have more of you.

"Could not agree more." You manage to gasp out, shuddering with an almost painful lack of his hands on you. Having left your boots at the door, you're fully naked before him for the very first time but all you can think about is stepping forward to undo his pants and nudge him toward the bed.

You are soft, curvy. You might look at your body and see the stretch marks, the skin that isn’t as firm as you wish it to be. He just sees you and how fucking perfect you are. His cock twitches painfully when you bump against the bulge in his jeans and he groans when his fingers find the thatch of curls between your thighs.

The barest touch from his fingers is enough to make your knees wobble but you have a firm hold of his jeans and peel them away with shaky hands. Every new touch is too much and not enough, making you burn and ache in ways that you never knew possible. Too much, not enough, and completely perfect, that's the barely coherent thought in your head when you sink down to your knees in front of him and tasty the silky, salty weight of his cock on your tongue for the first time.

“Shit.” He hisses loudly, cupping your cheek and groaning when you hum around him. “Sweetheart- fuck….” His lashes flutter, watching you under hooded lids as you lick down the side of his length.

"Mmhmm." Your hum of agreement is low and indulgent as your fingers wrap around the base of him. The salty, musky tang of him fills your senses and wipes away the rest of the world in a way you never thought possible.

He’s imagined this scene more than once. A man who enjoys sex as much as Javier has imagined a lot of different things. This blows away everything he had ever thought of while his hand was wrapped around his cock. “Fuck.” He grunts again. “You are talented, sweetheart.”

A moment of cynicism might have had you convinced that he’s said that to every girl before you as well, but the thought never even occurred to you. It doesn’t matter what he’s done with or said to anyone else. The only thing that matters is that you’re finally here together — and that he already sounds even more wrecked than you had ever imagined.

It’s been a lot longer than you probably imagined since Javi had had sex, so he’s quickly closer than he would want to be. Rocking his hips back to pull his cock out of your greedy mouth. “Goddamn— I can’t- get on the bed.” He growls, wanting to make sure you enjoy yourself before he loses control.

The thin string of saliva and precum that pulls from the corner of your mouth is only barely thinner than the thread of your self-control at this point, but you manage to only whine a little when he pulls back and follow his direction to climb on top of his bed. As long as he comes with you, you’ll go anywhere he wants.

Kicking off the pants piled at his feet is the only thing left and then he can climb into bed with you. He pauses, staring at you for a moment before he frowns. “Condom?” He asks, wanting to know what you think. “I- had a physical when I got back. I’m clean.”

“I am too…” He doesn’t need to know that the work up you had when you got back to the US years ago was a new kind of torture or that you haven’t slept with any of the women you’ve dated since coming home. This is not the time for those details. All that matters is now. “I don’t—I don’t care. I just need you.”

Javi growls, jaw clenched and anyone who didn’t know him would think that he’s furious. That he’s about to lunge at you for reasons completely opposite what makes him spring forward and grab you. “Fuck.” He hisses, slamming his lips against yours again. “I’ve needed to hear that for so goddamn long.”

“For years.” All you can do is gasp. Moan. Beg.

So many fucking years have been wasted. So much time lost. Javi makes up for it. Learning your curves like he will be tested on your erogenous zones and only graded on those that are most sensitive.

His hands and mouth trace every inch of you, memorizing and committing to pleasuring every part of you in every way possible just as you do for him. It’s a glorious game of give and take where you are both the winners, never losing anything but breath and composure until he kneels between your spread legs and lunges all over again to kiss you while pushing inside your body at last.

He should have gone down on you. He had meant to. He had meant to lap at your clit and feel smug while you thrashed above him, but the soft stroke of your hand around his cock had driven him crazy. Just as interested in fucking him, your cunt is slick and damn near too wet as he slides through your folds and inside the heat of you. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck."

Your keening wail would have been heard across half of Bogotá, but the whimper that follows out is just for him as he stretches your pussy to hug the veiny length of him. In a world so full of noise and chaos no matter what the age, any lover with the ability to narrow your focus is worthwhile. But him? It feels like the rest of the world has ceased to be.

Javi’s eyes are closed like he is praying. Lips ghosting over your chin, your cheek, anywhere he can reach as he bottoms out inside you. “God.” He huffs silently, twitching and trying to resist the urge to start moving just yet.

“Nope.” You tease. You can’t help it. With one of your hands cupping his cheek, you squirm under him but hold his gaze. “Just me. Just us.”

He would snort, shoot back some sarcastic retort, but the look in your eyes stops him. The teasing mirth is mixed with real affection and he’s nodding with you. Melting into the realization that this is real, for both of you. “Just us.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again. The passion is still just as fierce, but there is a complex layer of something else mixed in.

The shift in mood from hungry to almost reverent is palpable. From a desperate demand to a blossoming prayer. So that when he draws his hips back for the first time and slowly pushes them home again, you could nearly cry along with crying out.

He shudders a groan into your mouth, absorbing your sounds and sighing in response. Pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you, holding you close while he slowly starts to rock in and out of you.

You melt into the mattress together, a mess of rolling hips and grasping limbs, sweat damp from the Texas heat and burning desire. Every cry is poured into more kisses, every moaned sound of encouragement swallowed up by the sweep of a tongue or nip of teeth. The heavy weight of him on top of you feels somehow like the missing end of your limbs, and you press in closer with every arch of your back — ink to ink, scar to scar, soul to soul.

Javi can’t get enough of you, every dip of his hips, every time you squeeze his cock tight, it’s like coming home. His nose presses against your pulse and he groans your name.

Waves of pleasure wash over you again and again, merciless in their tempo and determined to carry you away with them. So you cling to him. As if he were the anchor you did not know you needed to seek. As if he is the only thing capable of seeing you through this storm of emotions regardless of the fact that he’s caused them. He rocks into you at a steady tempo that has you sobbing his name, half moon marks biting into his shoulders when you crest that mountain of pleasure and fall apart for him.

It’s searing. Burning with how hot, how perfect it is. Making him crave the way you sob his name, gasping out in pleasure. The throbbing of your walls and the wet heat of your pleasure wrapping around him and drowning him in you. He only has one thought and it bursts from his lips when he pushes deep and gives in to the incessant need to fill you. “I love you.”

If it were any other person — any other — you would have teased. The instinct would have been too great. Professing to love someone the first time you cum inside them could be construed as so immature or inexperienced that it would have been easy to at least question it. But this moment is so honest and so vulnerable that you wrap your arms tight around him and stroke his sweat-slick back, pressing an earnest kiss to his lips instead. “I love you too.”

Acceptance, it’s something that he’s never thought he would be so fucking relieved to receive. You love him too. It’s not one sided, it’s not built up in his head with layers of guilt and yearning. It’s not twisting into falsehoods and teaming with expectations. It just is. He groans into your mouth and slides his tongue against yours when you open your mouth for him.

You lie tangled up in each other like that for as long as you can. Sharing kisses and holding onto each other like the other will evaporate if you let go. You’ve loved him since before you left Colombia. You have and you do. For it to be shared? Is your most far fetched dream come true.

He knows that a conversation has to happen, probably several of them. Right now though, he just wants to hold you. His fingers trace your shoulder and down your spine when you twist into his side. He had frowned when you didn’t throw your leg over his and had reached down to pull it up on his body. “That’s better, baby.” He hums before he had started his little teasing touches. “Fuck, I need a cigarette.” He chuckles.

“Same.” You laugh right along with him, snuggling into his side. “Except I can’t remember where I left my purse.”

“I’m trying to quit.” He admits. “But I think it doesn’t count if you share a cigarette, right?” The mood is light, almost playful and he feels more relaxed than he has in years.

"Definitely not." Your sage agreement comes with a kiss that you press to his chest. "I quit when I got back to the States but then everybody at the restaurant smokes, so I slowly picked it back up again."

“I’ve got a pack of cigarettes in my nightstand.” He motions towards the side closest to you. “Light us one up and we should probably have a long overdue talk.”

------

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BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06 @southernbe @cloudroomblog @the-queen-of-sorrows

[morethanroommates]

What's coming AFTER Arcane? I have some thoughts...

ACT 3 SPOILERS! The show is out, but I know not everyone has been able to see it yet. This post is a long one, but I have a bunch of images inline with my analysis to support my hypotheses.

....

In the episode 9 epilogue, we see a three-eyed raven pecking at some arcane-corrupted rubble.

This raven is almost certainly one of Swain's Demon Ravens, which serve as his eyes and ears. Who is Swain? Oh, just the warlord leader of Noxus.

Meanwhile, the next scene shows us Caitlyn and Vi after an unknown amount of time has passed since the attack.

Caitlyn is sporting a fancy eyepatch. Fetch!

She's reviewing and adding to the Kiramman archives. As she does so, she gently holds part of one of Jinx's detonated monkey bombs. Her expression looks pensive and reflective.

A few of the archive's frames show documentation and schematics for Hexgates. I think Hextech isn't totally out of the picture for Piltover in the future. But Caitlyn isn't rash. The writers are showing us the info in the archives so that we know the technology isn't lost, even if its creators are missing or presumed dead.

Edit: After reading others' analysis, it's possible Caitlyn is looking at the schematics and seeing the ducts that Jinx could have hidden in to escape the explosion. The monkey bomb and Caitlyn's smile could indicate that. It's at least hinted that Jinx might not be dead. There's another edit lower down on the same topic.

Caitlyn overhears Vi's solemnly humming and is drawn to her.

And we cut to see Vi sitting by the fire in an expansive, dimly lit room.

Caitlyn joins Vi by the fire and remarks on her singing. Vi tells her it's a tune her mother used to sing... She appears to be at the beginning of her healing, embracing the beauty in the things she's lost. And she's lost so much.

And then Caitlyn rests her head on Vi's shoulder and asks her, "Are you still in this fight, Violet?" She calls Vi by her full name... This, plus the other reciprocated physical closeness in this scene, shows a deep level of intimacy, trust, and realism that we haven't yet seen between them until now.

Vi reassures her, she's here and she's not going anywhere, using a very Vi metaphor.

And then Vi rests her shoulder on Caitlyn, reciprocating the physical gesture Cait did to Vi earlier in the scene.

But what fight is Caitlyn alluding to? Sure, it could be a metaphorical reference to the dedication to their relationship. I think the writers intentionally implied that.

However...I think there's a -real- fight coming. In the last frame of Caitlyn and Vi together, Cait looks emotionally touched by Vi's reassurances and trust. AND...she looks determined. She's committed to Vi and to whatever is coming next...

WAIT... WHAT... WHAT'S COMING NEXT?

Well...let's go back to Swain's three-eyed raven and newly introduced antagonists: Mel's sister and the Black Rose organization. What do Swain, Mel's sister, and Black Rose all have in common?

Noxus.

With one of Swain's Demon Ravens appearing and Mel exposing her sister's duplicity in the last episode, we have a solid setup for a future installment of a League of Legends story arc. It's very likely that Mel's sister is a woman named LeBlanc, a very powerful and manipulative magic user from Noxus that can impersonate anyone.

In League of Legends lore, Noxus is regularly invading other nations. Caitlyn's father is originally from Ionia, so perhaps Cait, Vi, and Mel will go there to investigate.

In the fancy airship, because they're not using Hexgates.

OMFG... Does this mean we might get more Cait and Vi???

Let's GOOOOO!!!!!

Thanks for making it this far! What do you think? Are we getting more Cait and Vi in a new series?

Edit: Some have speculated that the airship could signify that Jinx is still alive and that's she's on it and leaving Piltover to go somewhere else in Runterra. That doesn't rule out the story continuing in Ionia or Demacia nor Cait and Vi being involved. I stand by my analysis of Caitlyn's comment about "this fight" being more than asking Vi if she's committed to their relationship.

[cherry-holmes]

Happy birthday, Javi | Javier Peña x F!reader❤️‍🔥

‘Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña'

Chapter 8

MASTERLIST

Summary: It’s Javi’s birthday and you want to gift him something he has been wishing for a while: you.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female reader

Word count: +4k

Warnings: Established relationship. SMUT. Soft porn with a lot of plot😅 – Loss of virginity. P in V sex. Protected sex. Soft sex. Nipple play, oral sex (fem received), fingering. A brief mention of breeding kink. Praise kink.

A/N: It’s me, hi! I’m gonna be honest, I am so nervous for this! This is my first English work ever! And I’m not an English native speaker, but I am a student translator so I hope there’s no so much problem🥲 I’m sorry if you find some errors, please let me know if there’s any and I’ll fix it asap!

A/N 2: IMPORTANT BEFORE READE! As you know, this was the first work I published and, to be honest, at the time I didn't plan to turn it into a whole series. However, upon seeing the good response to this first writing, I was inspired to create an entire universe between our Reader and Javi. Therefore, this part now contains INCONSISTENCIES and INACCURACIES regarding the current timeline of the story. I decided not to modify it so as not to affect those who have already read it, but I hope that if you are readers of the original series, you can adapt it and understand the space-time in which our couple finds themselves.

I hope you like it!❤️✨

•

Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man, especially when it came to matters of sex. He believed that women had the same rights as men to explore themselves and have numerous experiences with their sexuality. There's nothing quite like a woman who knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it.

But there was something about the fact that the only woman he had truly fallen in love with, his girlfriend, was still a virgin. It turned him on immensely. The mere thought of your innocence and the opportunity he had to make you feel truly good for the first time made him feel incredibly lucky. And also it made his cock throb.

The thought of you every night, and the things he could teach you in his bed, consumed him. His only desired was to lead you astray, turning you into a temptress. However, he never rushed you into anything you didn't want.

Of course, he felt disappointed the first time you both came so close to consummating your love on his couch, after a session of tender kisses here and there. He was already aroused, and he sensed that you were ready too. However, when you expressed uncertainty, he immediately stopped. He held you and reassured you that it was okay. He genuinely meant it, even though he had to take a cold shower by himself to cool off.

You had been with him for almost five months now, which really made you reflect on how quickly time flies. What's more, it was hard for you to believe that Javier had gone all those weeks without sex. He had a reputation, and you were well aware of it. He used to go from woman to woman; some of them you even knew from work, and others were his informants from the streets of Bogotá.

Initially, you were intimidated by his reputation as a heartthrob, a man afraid of commitment, as you had heard from office gossip. You didn't want to be just another one-night stand for him. You were the boyfriend-girlfriend kind of person. The dates, flowers and late night dancing kind of woman, someone who valued commitment, loyalty, and meaningful relationships. Plus, he was older than you, and you thought the age gap could be a problem when it came to establishing priorities in life. He was in his late 30s, and yet he didn't show any signs of wanting to settle down. It's not like you were desperate to get married; you were barely 26. But you needed to know if what you had could potentially lead to something more meaningful someday. You had a big crush on him and you wanted to make it last.

That's why you made him chase you for three months, wanting to see if he was trustworthy and if you were truly worth it to him. And then, after you said yes, he spent another fifteen weeks waiting for you, because he had fallen deeply in love with you. Your smile or even just a glance from you made his heart race every time. He felt like he didn't deserve the world because of all the sins he had committed, yet there was a piece of heaven in the shape of you right in front of him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was the middle of June, to be more specific, Javi's birthday. You had spent the entire week asking him about any plans he might have for his special day, but he had insisted that he didn't want anything specific, just to spend the day with you. But you wanted him to have a great day to show him how much he was loved and important for you. And one of the things you planned was something he had been waiting patiently for quite a long time: you.

You were ready for him now. You had been dreaming about him all over you, his hands on your body, and the things he would let you do to him, and vice versa.

You two didn't live together yet, but you used to spend most days and some nights at his apartment, just like that morning when you woke up earlier than usual. He was still sleeping by your side, his bare chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He looked younger in that moment, with his messy hair, his face at rest, and his always furrowed brow now relaxed. He looked so innocent.

You didn't know it, but before you, he barely slept. He used to have sex with women but always slept alone, or at least, tried to. He spent endless cold nights tossing and turning in his bed, attempting to forget all the blood and violence he had witnessed during the day. But then there he was sleeping like a child, knowing you were right there and you would never left.

You got out of bed as quietly as possible to avoid waking him up. You retrieved the small shopping bag you had hidden in the closet and tiptoed to the bathroom. You had bought lingerie—a beautiful red lace babydoll that resembled a princess gown but with much less fabric, of course. The color matched your freshly painted nails, and your hair appeared even brighter with that color palette. You completed your look by applying a touch of color to your cheeks, lip gloss, and his favorite perfume of yours.

As you gazed at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your cheeks flushed at the sight of yourself in that lingerie. You looked beautiful, and you had never felt more sexy. You returned to the bed where he was still in the arms of Morpheus. You lay down next to him, admiring his handsome features, and then placed a gentle peck on his cheek, hoping it would wake him up. But it didn't. So, you decided to gently turn his face toward you, using a finger on his chin to guide his lips to yours. It worked like a charm. He responded to your soft touch, kissing you back passionately. He purred with satisfaction and pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist. Then, his groggy eyes widened as they roamed over your delicate figure. Confusion flickered across his face for just a fraction of a second before he realized. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes darkened, and he swallowed hard at the sight.

"You like it?" Your voice was a whisper, and in that very moment, he was the only one in the world who could hear your words. "Feliz cumpleaños."

He looked up at you, grinning with eyes full of desire, and appeared so alluring, almost like the devil himself. He hadn't said a word yet, and you were apprehensive about what his voice would do to you when he used it. With just the way he looked at you, he had you wrapped around his finger. You began to feel aroused, and now you knew that there was no force in the world that could stop you from doing what you were intended to do. Your lips met his once more, and your hands found their way to his broad chest, feeling his smooth, tanned skin melting beneath your fingertips.

He broke the kiss again, this time to take your hand and guide you out of the bed. He sat down at the corner of the mattress, placing you standing between his legs. You couldn't help but notice the bulge forming in his sleeping pants, causing you to blush.

"C'mere, baby, I need to see you," he whispered. His hands roamed all over your body, exploring every ribbon and every spaghetti strap, caressing the parts where the lace were too transparent. "You look gorgeous," he praised and you felt the heat travel from your cheeks to your core.

You felt a little ashamed tho, not used to being so exposed to anyone before. On the other hand, Javi was mesmerized by how you looked, every one of your curves, and how the babydoll suited you so well. He couldn't believe that it was happening; he was over the moon. But he needed you to know something.

"Are you sure, amor?" he asked, finding your eyes. He did his best to be serious, not wanting to appear too eager and pressure you. "There's no rush. It doesn't have to happen just because it's my birthday," he continued, but you silenced him with another kiss, feeling the muscles in his shoulders relax even more.

"I am ready, Javi," you promised. "I've been thinking about this for like two weeks," you confessed, and he chuckled.

"You have?" he asked, and you nodded. He left a gentle kiss on your lips and seated you on his knee. "Look at me, baby," he said. "You tell me if you want to stop, anytime, okay?" You nodded. "As I told you, there's no rush. We'll just have fun as long as you feel comfortable. We're taking things slow."

You knew it! You knew he was the one. His words meant everything to you. You couldn't feel more comfortable and protected with him. Sex was one of the most vulnerable and exposed scenarios for a person, yet you felt like you could do it with your eyes closed, not worrying about anything else in the world as long as it was Javi touching and caressing you.

"I'm gonna take good care of you, mi amor. Do you trust me?"

"With my entire life, Javi," you answered.

He smiled again, proudly, and took you by the waist. Without wasting any time, he placed you in the center of his bed. You opened your legs, inviting him to take his place between them. He admired you from the top, your body so sexy in that garment, your flushed cheeks, and your shining eyes. That image used to be in his dreams, but now there you were, right in front of him, on the verge of being completely his. And only God knows how much he wanted to be entirely yours.

Javi bent over you, his hands caressing every inch of your body, worshipping you. His lips left wet kisses on the delicate skin of your neck, jawline, and collarbone. Your hands roamed his arms, where his prominent muscles bulged from supporting his weight to avoid crushing you.

And then you felt his hardened cock against your core, making everything feel more real. You moaned in the middle of a kiss, overcome by the sensation and anticipation of what was about to happen. Javi began to press his bulge against the delicate fabric of your panties, leaving a wet spot on his pants.

His hand reached for one of your breasts, gently caressing your hardened nipple, causing a moan to escape into his mouth. The touch sent electric shocks through your core, making you grow increasingly wet.

"Javi, Javi..." you cried out, moving your pelvis to meet him halfway, trying to alleviate the building urgency stemming from your clit.

"You're so needy," he whispered into your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine and painting your skin with goosebumps. "Tell me what you want, preciosa, I want to hear you."

"Touch me, please," you begged as he moved against you. "Please, I need you."

"Fuck," he growled. His hands went to your back, undoing your bra, and he paid careful attention to the way your breasts were revealed for him.

His lips began on yours but then trailed down your jaw, finding their way to your neck. Wet kisses on your chest made you sigh, and then you lost all coherent thought the moment he captured one of your nipples with his mouth. Your back arched, and your fingers tightly gripped his arm. He moved to the other nipple, teasing with his tongue and teeth. Your whimpers filled the room, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, as you surrendered all control over your own body. You didn't want him to stop; you wanted more, so much more.

As if he were a mind-reader, his hand slipped into your panties. His thick fingers parted your wet folds, caressing you up and down, collecting your honey as they found your clit. A gasp escaped your lips due to the sudden and new sensation, feeling your arousal dripping from your sensitive pussy. You couldn't help but moan louder, your toes curling between the covers at the foot of the bed.

"You're so wet already, baby. That's so fuckin' good" He traced soft circles, bringing you relief. He teased your entrance with his fingers, but he didn't penetrate deeply. His thumb continued to stimulate your throbbing clit, while his middle finger attempted to enter you. You could feel the pressure between your folds, and due to your inexperience, it left you feeling overwhelmed.

Now it was your turn to slip your hand inside his pants, something Javi hadn't seen coming. He had been so concentrated on your pleasure that he didn't notice until you wrapped your trembling hand around his hard, warm cock. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. You began moving up and down, a little clumsy and uncertain if you were doing it correctly, but your desire was for him to feel as good as he was making you feel. In response, Javi let out a deep moan, his hips instinctively moving to find your touch, and he started whispering your name like a prayer.

"Yeah, baby, you're such a good girl," he praised, making you moan and became wetter. A few seconds passed, until he moved, ceasing his touch and forcing yourself to let him go. "I need to taste you," he said, slowly tracing a path with his kisses down your body, starting with the exposed skin of your breasts, then moving to your stomach and bellybutton, until he reached your panties. You watched as he positioned his head between your thighs, leaving gentle kisses on each side and slowly making his way toward your core.

"I think you don't need these anymore, sweetheart," he whispered as his fingers gripped the tiny straps on each side of your panties, slowly removing them. A gentle breeze caressed your wetness, and you let out a shivery sigh. He created a trail of soft kisses that led to your center until he finally began kissing your core. The sensation was unexpectedly delicious. You let out a cry and felt the impulse to close your legs, but he prevented it by grabbing you and making you stay still. You lost yourself in a whirlwind of sensations, where only you and Javi existed.

You were a virgin, but you weren't a saint. Of course, you had pleasured yourself before, often thinking of Javier Peña, but the way he was making you feel with his mouth was something else entirely. He was real, devouring you with the hunger of a starved man. His hands caressed your hips, your belly, and reached for your breasts. You couldn't help but whimper and praise him.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. Unconsciously, Javi began to thrust his hips against the mattress, feeling the moist spot of precum staining his pants and boxers. His balls had become heavier, desperate for attention after several weeks without a woman's touch. Of course, he had taken care of himself, jerking himself off in the shower or during the nights he spent alone in his apartment. He always thought of you, reminiscing about your kisses, the warmth of your body against his, and even the way your pencil skirt hugged your heart-shaped butt around the Colombian Embassy.

"Javi... I... I want to come," you whimpered, feeling a knot growing steadily in your belly, signaling your impending climax. Meanwhile, Javi tasted your sweet honey pouring on his tongue. He intensified his attentions, fastening his sucks on your swollen clit, alternately licking your vulva and your entrance. Your fingers tangled in his soft hair, seeking something to hold onto as you approached your powerful orgasm.

You shattered into a million little pieces, melting all over his mouth, your essence dripping from his chin. He admired your body as it trembled and unraveled in front of him.

"There you go, baby, let it go," he encouraged.

You lost track of time, caring about nothing else; the entire world had disappeared beneath you, and you couldn't care less. As you descended from your peak of pleasure, Javi traced a trail of tender kisses from the curve of your hips to your belly and up to your neck. Until you felt his lips on your mouth again, and you moaned when you tasted yourself on him. You wanted so much more of him, to spend your entire life tangled with him in his bed.

Javier felt your heart beating rapidly against his chest, and for a moment, he thought that you might be tired and overwhelmed. But you proved him wrong by starting to pull his pants down, freeing his dick. You felt his weighty member against your belly, so you looked down. It was the first time you saw it. You found yourself even more aroused, if that was possible, and at the same time, you felt a touch of shyness. By this point, you had allowed him to kiss your entire naked body, bringing you to climax with his skillful mouth, and yet, your cheeks burned at the sight of his cock above you. He couldn't help but notice the pearl-white drops of his pre-cum that painted your lower belly.

"Baby, if you're tired, we can save it for another time," he managed told you, even though he didn't stop you from helping him remove his pants and boxers.

"I want you inside of me, Javi," you begged, your voice carrying more desperation than you had realized. "I want to make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

"You're such a naughty girl, who would've known?" he chuckled.

"Only for you, Javi," you assured him.

His eyes darkened further, drawing nearer to your lips again. "I can't believe no one has ever touched you before," he said, "You're every man's dream."

"Many had tried," you confessed. He felt a wave of jealousy, because he knew it was true and he couldn't bear the thought of another man touching you, kissing you... It made him feel selfish, but he couldn't help it. "But no one but you was worthy. I waited for the right moment; I always knew it would be the right man. And I knew it was you the very first moment I saw you."

"I swear I'll spend the rest of my life being worthy of you," he said, dead serious, and you could tell from the look in his eyes.

After placing a peck on his lips, you said, "You can start by fucking me," with a shy smile on your face. You were attempting some dirty talk, but he could tell from the way you whispered and tried to hold back a laugh that it made you feel a bit awkward. He also promised himself that he would help you get used to it, taking charge of teaching you.

"Your wish is my command, bonita" he answered. Javi reached for the first drawer of his nightstand and, without searching too much, took out a condom.

He knelt between your legs, and you watched him put it on. He was bigger and thicker than you had imagined. For the first time that night, you felt a wave of nervousness coursing through your body, anticipating the pain you had always heard about the first time.

Would it hurt? Would he be gentle enough with you? Would there be any bleed? These thoughts raced through your mind as he positioned himself at your entrance, collecting your wetness with the head of his dick. He had been so focused on this moment that he hadn't noticed your worried expression until he looked up at you for a kiss. In that very moment, he stopped, his heart skipping a beat. He didn't want you to feel unsure or uncomfortable. His only desire in that moment was for you to have the best experience, feeling loved and well taken care of by him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. You shook your head to indicate that everything was okay. "Words, baby, I need you to use your pretty mouth," he added, his voice gentle.

"Everything's fine," you assured him, trying not to sound too nervous. "I'm just a little nervous."

"That's normal, mi amor, just relax," he replied. His lips met yours, and then he whispered in your ear, "You tell me if you need anything, preciosa. Are you ready?"

"Yes," you sounded more confident this time, and you could hear a smirk forming on his lips as he buried his face in your neck, and you held onto his strong arms.

Javi's hand traveled between your bodies, and you could feel him positioning at your entrance. The sensation made you gasp. Then he began to push inside slowly. At first, you felt pleasure, followed by a slight burning, as if something inside you were stretching. You couldn't help but wince and feel yourself growing pale. Javier didn't move, and you were grateful for that because you needed a moment.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a whisper, his voice tense.

"I'm okay," you tried to convince him – and yourself – that everything was fine. But it wasn't; it hurt a bit, it felt invasive. You wanted him to continue, but at the same time, you needed a break. So you decided, "Could you... could you pull out?"

He immediately complied, carefully withdrawing, his forehead creased in concern. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No, it just felt awkward"

"Do you want to try again?" he asked. You couldn't tell because he didn't show any hints, but he was almost praying for you to give him an affirmative answer. He was as hard as a rock, and it was almost painful. However, he wouldn't push you to do something that might hurt you, so he remained patient and reminded himself that he had a whole lifetime to wait for you to be ready.

"I do," you murmured. He nodded, kissed you again, and continued. He left soft kisses along your neck and shoulders. You smell so good, like a mix of fresh flowers and fruits, he thought. It drove him completely insane.

"Relax, bonita. You're doing so fuckin' well," he praised. This time, when you felt him inside, it didn't hurt as much as before. On the contrary, it became a pleasant sensation.

Then you realized that he wasn't fully inside yet. As he continued to push, stretching you further, any discomfort faded away.

"You feel so good," Javier took his time to start moving slowly. His chest touch your nipples, stimulating them, making you increased your soft cries of pure pleasure. That was when all uncertainty disappeared. You began to feel incredible. Moan built up in your chest and escaped your throat. Javier was captivated by your gaze as you saw him directly in his eyes, and the way your lips parted to release cute moans and sighs.  Nose, cheeks, and chest turned red, the frown on your brow, and the way you scrunch your nose. He wouldn't last long. You looked so cute and sexy at the same time. You were a completely goddess, so pure and gorgeous.

His face disappeared between your hair and neck, leaving soft kisses and tasting your essence, whispering your name right into your ear amidst his own moans and pleasure-filled grunts.

"¿Te gusta, mi amor?" he wanted to hear you, although your mouth emitted the most sensual sounds he had ever heard.

"Si...," you could barely speak; the bliss was too intense, rendering you almost speechless. He was fucking you completely dumb. "Si, Javi, así me gusta."

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned. He rose to his knees again, his hands firmly gripping your hips to raise them and thrust harder. He was captivated by the way your beautiful breasts bounced, your face lost in pleasure, goosebumps covering your body. The morning sun illuminated your skin and hair.

He knew he wouldn't last, but he needed to make you cum again. Using his thumb, he began tracing circles on your swollen clit, sending you into an intense spiral of raw pleasure. Your back arched of its own accord, and your hand clutched his wrist just to have something to hold onto.

"¡No pares, Javi!" you whimper, so ecstasy-filled, begging him to keep fucking you like that. "Oh, you feel so good, Javi. I... I'm..."

"Cum for me, baby," he encouraged, "I wanna see you fucking cumming on my cock."

And then another wave of pure chaos consumed you. You threw your head back against the pillow, digging your nails into the muscles of his beautiful, strong arms. You felt your world crumbling beside you, and imploring again.

Javier had never cum as hard as he did the very moment he felt your pussy clenching around his cock. His balls throbbed as he cum inside of you. He was so deep on you, filling the condom with his thick, warm load and he couldn't help but imagine your pussy filled with his cum. Carrying his baby...

A couple of seconds passed until you both came down from the clouds. Javi pull out before went completely soft. He reach again for his night table and looked for a box of Kleenex and started cleaning the mess he made. And then he cleaned you, so gentle and caring. Then, he lay next to you, pulling your naked and warm body to his, kissing the top of your head.

"How do you feel, bonita?" he wanted to know. With one hand he traced soft circles on your arm, and with the other he massaged your head, making you feel sleepy.

"Amazing," you mumbled.

"Sleep, baby, you sound tired," he spoke in a soothing tone.

"But I've plan an entire birthday for you..." you tried to say, but your body felt so relaxed and exhausted.

"We have an entire life to do whatever you want, mi vida hermosa," he placed a soft kiss on your forehead and thighed his embrace around your body. "Now sleep, baby."

"Happy birthday, Javi," those were your last word before fell asleep on his arms, bodies tangled and hearts still racing.

Javier Peña wasn't a selfish man, but he wanted you to be his for as long as he may live.

NEXT CHAPTER