#Of course there's going to be physical downfalls

[celiastjamesoscar]

Wildest Dreams

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: you are helplessly head over heels for Sam, even though she despises you. But your relationship with her changes when you get in a lightly physical altercation with her.

Warnings: light sweating, reader accidentally walks in on Sam changing, small violence

My Masterlist

AN: if you have the time, I highly recommend reading ‘The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo’ and watching ‘Carol’ <3

Word count: 6.3K

For the first time in what seemed a millennium, you finally had the house to yourself. Anika was out with Mindy for a date, and your other roommate, Luke, was doing god knows what, probably out fornicating with one of his many boyfriends, but you didn’t care. You only cared about relaxing on the couch and rewatching your comfort show, Game of Thrones.

You grabbed your phone and a bowl of popcorn and went to the couch. You curled up with the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa as you turned on your show.

Tarantula: you up? ;)

The ‘ding’ from the text pulled you away from the tv, and you smiled when you read the text from your best friend, Tara. The two of you had met on campus in the library and instantly became friends. You two bonded over your love for books and shared a passion for horror movies, even though your opinions drastically differ.

Sam lover: maybe, it depends on who’s asking

Tarantula: you’re best friend in the entire world?? Who else?

Sam lover: mhmmm, okay. What are we doing?

Tarantula: movie night, obviously

Sam lover: sure, I’ll be over in ten

Tarantula: just a heads up, you’ll have to come in through my window

You raised your eyebrows at Tara’s message, ‘Why would I have to do that? I’ve been over before,’ you thought to yourself.

Sam lover: why?

Tarantula: because Sam is watching a movie in the living room, and we are hanging out in my room

Sam lover: fuck, okay. why does she still hate me?

Tarantula: I don’t know, but don’t make any noise when you come over. Sam can’t know and don’t try and hit on her if you see her

To say that you and Sam were acquaintances would be an understatement; Sam despised you, while the woman completely enchanted you. Sam was so tall and handsome as hell. She’s bad for you, but she does it so well; you could see the end as it begins. You admired her strength, both physically and mentally, and you loved the way she cared so much about her sister. And that was also your downfall; Sam believed that you were no good for Tara, as every time Tara did something stupid, you were always at the scene of the crime. Of course, Sam didn’t know that you were always there because you tried your best to stop Tara out of respect for Sam (and a shitty attempt at winning her heart), but she never listened when you tried to explain yourself.

You scoffed at your best friend’s words. She knew of your infatuation with Sam and loved to tease you about it. At first, however, she thought it was a bit weird as you were her best friend and thought you were using her to get close to Sam, but after she saw you turn down an invite to go with Sam and Mindy to the movies just to stay at home and play Mario Kart with her, she knew that you were the real deal.

Tara found it a bit sad, though, because every time you would talk to Sam, you would either get silence, a death stare, or a one-word reply, but she would rather die than tell you that she felt pity for your shitty attempts to talk to her sister.

Sam lover: I will not be held responsible for my actions when I am around a beautiful woman with big brown eyes

Tarantula: yeah, yeah, whatever. just get over here soon and climb in through my window; I’ll leave it open

Sam lover: sounds good. I’m omw

With that, you shut your phone off, grabbed your backpack and put a spare change of clothes along with a cable to charge your phone in it, and went towards Tara’s apartment. You enjoyed walking by yourself as it allowed you to be with your thoughts, and you couldn’t help it when you started to think of Sam. The gravitational pull you felt towards the older woman was something you couldn’t explain even if you had to; you just knew that you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt. You longed to get lost in those dark eyes and don’t even get started on those muscular arms; to you, Sam was perfect, and you would count all the stars in the sky if you could call her yours for a moment.

When you reached the street Tara lived on, you sent Tara a quick message asking her which side her window would be on, and she responded with ‘the one that’s close to creepy ass alley,’ which was all of New York in your eyes.

Sam lover: that’s all of NY, Tarantula

Tarantula: It’s across from the McDonald’s, five stories up. And stop calling me ‘Tarantula.’ It’s offensive.

You laughed at your friend’s reply before sending back a quick ‘huh uh.’ You walked around the apartment until you saw the McDonald’s and then the creepy ass alleyway and looked up five stories. And true to her word, Tara had her window open for you. You climbed onto the fire escape and slowly made your way to Tara’s window before sending her a quick text telling her you were here, only you didn’t see the message she sent back telling you you weren’t at her window.

When you pushed Tara’s window the rest of the way and climbed halfway in, you nearly died; Sam was standing in a towel with her back facing you as she grabbed some clothes from her dresser. When she dropped her towel, your heart exploded, and it felt like you were in your wildest dream. You admired her perfect curves, and then the leg that you had in Sam’s room gave out, causing you to fall into Sam’s room with a loud thud.

Sam turned around with a shocked expression before she quickly turned back to her dresser and grabbed a knife. You could not seem to pry your eyes away from Sam’s chest, and you swore you could feel drool fall down your chin. You were too busy trying to engrave Sam’s naked figure into your brain that you didn’t feel the blade fly into your left thigh.

“Sam, I am so sorry,” you said as you tried to stand up on your legs, but one gave out and screamed in pain. The only thing on your mind was Sam’s breasts that you swore looked like the softest pillows ever.

“What the fuck is going-Oh my god! What happened to your leg?” Tara exclaimed after bursting into the room, disregarding her sister, who finally covered herself with a towel. At the mention of something wrong with your leg, you finally felt the sharp pain shoot through your entire leg as you stared at the blade in your thigh.

“You’re weird friend just broke into my room and stared at me while I was changing!” Sam stated as she grabbed her clothes and stormed off to the bathroom, clearly not caring about your wound. Tara quickly ran to your side and knelt beside you, “I am so sorry about this, Y/N. I didn’t know that she also had her window open.”

You shrugged off Tara’s comment as you tried to move, but the pain was too much. You watched as your crimson-red blood steeped onto the room’s flooring and stained your clothing. “Come on, we have to get you to a hospital,” Tara stated, pulling you up to the floor and leaning your weight onto her. By the time Tara had entered the living room and to the door, Sam was dressed and had her phone and keys in hand. “I’ll take you to the hospital; let’s go,” Sam stated as she moved Tara off you and took her place. It was pitiful how your face heated up when you felt Sam pull your left arm over her shoulders and hold it while her right arm was wrapped around your waist, allowing you to lean your weight onto her.

When you reached Sam’s car, Tara opened up the back row door and helped Sam lay you down on the seats before she got into the passenger door. “Do not die in my car, Y/N. I don’t need you to haunt my car,” Sam dryly stated as she closed the door and got in the driver’s side. You don’t remember much of the car ride to the hospital; the only thing on your mind was seeing Sam naked, and no matter how hard you tried, you would never be about to erase that beautiful image from your mind.

One moment you were daydreaming about the beautiful goddess that had just stabbed you, and then the next, you were in a hospital bed with stitches in your thigh. For the life of you, you couldn’t recall what had happened, just that you saw Sam naked, and then she stabbed you. You saw yourself, in hindsight, tangled up with her all night in your wildest dreams. Someday when your mind leaves you, you bet that the memory of Sam will follow you around.

“Oh, thank god, I thought I was going to have to murder Sam,” Tara said as she moved from the chair in the corner of the room and approached your bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What happened? The last thing I remember was being in the back of Sam’s car,” you recalled as you looked around the room and saw Sam, who was standing creepily in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“You passed out on the drive here. You should have seen Sam, though; she was terrified you had actually died,” Tara said with a small laugh as she remembered her sister’s frantic attempts to make sure you were still alive, and she also wanted to let you know that Sam slightly cared about you.

Sam scoffed at her sister’s words as she uncrossed her arms and walked toward you. “I was worried you were going to ruin my seats and then haunt my car,” Sam stated coldly, but her eyes betrayed her icy stature. You could see the way her eyes darted across your body, subtly checking to see if you were actually okay, and how she had her hands shoved into the pockets on her bomber jacket, slightly ashamed that she had hurt you.

Within the first encounters you had with Sam, you noticed how she always hid her hands when she was ashamed of something, and right now, all you wanted to do was reach out and comfort the woman. “Eh, I’m fine,” you shrugged briefly.

You talked to Tara while Sam stood around the room, looking out of place as she watched you with her sister. When the doctor came in, she gave you painkillers and told you could leave in the morning. “Could one of us stay here with her?” Sam asked the doctor worriedly when she was close to the door. “The hospital rules say we can’t allow non-family members to stay overnight, but I’ll let you stay with your girlfriend,” the doctor replied with a smile as she looked between you and Sam, clearly reading into some tension in the air.

Sam didn’t even have time to deny the doctor’s words before she left the room and shut the door, so Sam turned around with a scoff and was met with your drugged-out smile and Tara’s knowing one. “Well, Sammy, I will leave you here with your ‘girlfriend,’” Tara joked as she stood from the bed and grabbed her things.

“No. Tara, there is no way you are leaving here this late at night,” Sam replied as she followed her sister to the doorway. “Well, I’m certainly not staying here; I hate hospitals. And besides, Mindy is here to pick me up,” Tara replied with a smile.

She hated to admit it, but Sam was at a crossroads. She didn’t want Tara to stay here after the last time her sister was left alone in a hospital, and she also didn’t want you to stay here alone. She worried about you for Tara’s sake and definitely not because she felt terrible for being the reason you were here.

With a defeated sigh, Sam nodded and spoke, “Alright. Just let me walk you out.”

You watched the two sisters open the door and smiled when Sam stopped and looked back at you, “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“Okay, girlfriend,” you replied with a dopey smile, clearly enjoying the effects of the painkillers.

When Sam returned, she said nothing as she brought two chairs together and made herself an awkward bed. “You know, you can join me,” you suggested as you scooted over to the side, allowing Sam some room if she chose to sleep with you.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Sam replied as she got out a blanket and a pillow from the wardrobe and got comfortable on the chairs.

“Why not? I’ve already seen you naked.”

Sam rolled her eyes and laid her head on the pillow, and covered up with the blanket, “Do not mention that ever again.”

“Okay. I want to let you know you have a beautiful body, Sam. Your boobs are perfect! I mean, my god, the things I would do-”

“Please stop talking,” Sam interrupted you as she tried her best to fight off the fluttering feeling in her stomach at your words. She knew the painkillers were talking, but she couldn’t help but believe there was some truth to your comments. “Goodnight, Y/N,” Sam said after a few awkward moments of silence.

“Goodnight, girlfriend,” you teased as you got as comfortable as you could you a hospital bed before sleep consumed you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, you were discharged from the hospital but had to walk around with crutches for a while. And to put it short, you hated it. Yes, having to walk around with them constantly clanking every time you walked got annoying, and how your armpits ached at the end of each day. But the worst part was that you couldn’t impress Sam with them.

Naturally, you were angry at Sam for throwing a knife in your leg, but you also shouldn’t have been staring at her while she was changing.

“Who even changes with their window open anyways?” Mindy asked one night while over at Tara’s apartment for dinner. You and Mindy had been invited over for a girl dinner with the Carpenters as you four sat around the dining table. The table had a dish of lasagna along with a salad bowl prepared, and you could not wait to eat the delicious food Sam had prepared.

“My room was hot, and I was letting in fresh air; I didn’t think someone would try and break in,” Sam stated as she made herself a bowl of salad with her lasagna.

“I did not break in. Tara invited me over and told me to go through her open window,” you said once you finished a bite of your food, “so technically, it’s her fault.”

Tara scoffed at your words while throwing a crouton at you, earning herself a scolding look from Sam. “Do not try and blame this on me; I texted you and told you that wasn’t my room, but you didn’t see it,” Tara replied.

“Why did you even tell her to climb through your window?” Sam asked with a puzzled look.

“Because, Sam, you would have told her to leave or probably stabbed her, but you already did that,” Tara dryly said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sam rolled her eyes at her sister's statement before focusing on her food.

“I was lightly stabbed, so it’s not that big of a deal,” you said.

“You were still stabbed, Y/N,” Tara replied annoyedly. She knew that you were weirdly happy about Sam stabbing you, but she tried her best to ignore it.

“Lightly stabbed.”

Mindy chuckled while looking at you, “Whatever. I still can’t believe she threw a knife at you; me personally, I would not let that slide.”

“It’s whatever; I didn’t even notice it until Tara came barging into the room,” you said while looking at Sam, who picked her food with her fork and refused to meet your gaze.

Mindy just laughed at your response before returning her attention to her food. The rest of dinner was filled with laughs and idle conversations, but you couldn’t help but notice how Sam didn’t participate in any of the conversations. You had tried to get her engaged, but she would either respond with a nod, a laugh, or a single word.

Sam felt bad for reacting the way she did, and she wanted to apologize to you, but she didn’t know how without bringing up the fact you slightly deserved it. So, when dinner was finished, and the rest of the group moved into the living room to watch a movie, Sam pulled you aside.

“What’s up?” You asked with a smile as you leaned on a crutch. It had been a couple of weeks since you were discharged from the hospital, so now you only walked around with one crutch.

That smile you gave her, Sam couldn’t find the correct words to describe it. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she wanted to kiss it off your lips. “Just so you know, you’re insufferable and intolerable. And I hate you.”

“Oh, okay,” you said with that same smile, fully knowing Sam was lying. Sam, on the other hand, desperately needed to get away from you, or she might do something she would regret. “Is there anything else you need?” You asked.

With a sigh, Sam asked, “Yes, actually. What are some books I could read? I’ve been trying to get into reading because of Tara, and I wanted to discuss them with her, and I need to have a few books under my belt before I do that.”

Your smile grew ten times bigger at Sam’s question, and the older woman wanted to murder you for it. “I have been waiting for ages for you to ask me that. I actually have a copy of my favorite book with me if you want to give it a try?” You asked as you made your way over to your backpack.

Sam followed behind you and watched as you moved around your sleeping clothes and pulled out a weathered book. It had different colored sticky notes hanging from the pages, and the edges around the book looked like they had their share of bumps and drops.

Sam grabbed the book and read the cover with a scoff. “Look, Y/N; I’m not reading a book about a woman who had seven different husbands. That’s just absurd,” the Latina said with a dry tone.

“No,” you replied as you placed your hand on Sam’s wrist, holding the book, “trust me, Sam. Just try it; it’s not what you think it is.”

“Alright, fine. If this book is better than it sounds,” Sam said as she looked around the room with a huff, “I guess I’ll treat you with respect or something.”

Sam didn’t even have time to react before she felt the hand on her wrist pull away and pinch her cheek. “I know you’ll love it,” you said with a cheeky grin as Sam slapped your hand away from her face. “Do not ever do that again,” she warned as she pointed a finger in your face.

“Yes, ma’am,” you responded with a salute before walking back toward the living room, “is there anything else you need?”

‘I want to take you on a date and then put your head on a stick,’ Sam wanted to say but said, “I’ll let you know what I think of it.”

You gave Sam a soft smile as you returned to the living room. Sam didn’t know what she was feeling toward you, but she eventually sauntered off to her room after realizing she cared about you more than friends do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on, Tara; The Babadook is easily one of the worst horror movies ever made!” You exclaimed with your hands as you stared down at the more petite girl. You had finally gotten your stitches out and were no longer walking around with a crutch, so that meant a celebration night over at the Carpenter’s apartment.

“No, it’s not! You just hate it so much because it scares you!” Tara retorted as she hit the leg closest to her, which happened to be the one Sam lightly stabbed.

You moved your legs up onto the loveseat you were sitting on after she hit you, “Yeah, and also because it scares me so much! And don’t hit me, you little shit.” Tara scoffed at your words and stood up and grabbed one of her shoes, and was getting ready to launch it at you when the door to the apartment opened. She quickly dropped the shoe and stood facing the door with her hands clasped behind her back and an innocent smile, as if she wasn’t just getting ready to throw a shoe as hard as she could at your face. “What’s going on?” Sam asked when she saw Tara standing with a creepy smile and your shocked expression.

“Tara was-”

“I was getting up to order some pizza!” Tara interrupted you and sent you a death glare when Sam turned her back to hang up her purse. Sam turned around and looked between you two and ignored the shoe she saw by Tara’s feet; whatever her sister was getting ready to do to you, you probably deserved it.

“Okay,” Sam replied as she exaggerated the word before walking to her room, but not before sending you a glare. “Nice to see you, Sam!” you said with a smile while Sam huffed before slamming her door. “You are such a charmer,” Tara joked as she shoved your legs off the couch so she could sit next to you.

You scoffed at Tara’s words while you reached for the remote and pushed Tara off you when she tried to take it from you. “No! Down girl, down!” You said when you finally pushed Tara off of you. She scoffed as you turned on the tv before leaning back on the couch and putting her feet in your lap. You pulled her feet more into your lap and let your hand rest on her leg while you looked for something to watch. Naturally, Tara made it hard for you to pick something out because she refused to watch anything you wanted to spite you, but eventually, you settled on watching ‘Carol.’ You loved this movie more than anything, even though you cried every time you watched it.

For some unknown reason, Tara pulled her feet from your lap and left the couch roughly ten minutes into the movie. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she walked toward her room with her phone in hand. “Do you want me to pause it for you?” You asked as you reached for the remote but stopped when Tara told you not to wait up on her. You missed the devilish smirk she wore on her lips as she disappeared into her room.

You continued to watch the movie by yourself when you heard a door open up. “Finally! I was starting to think that you were leaving me here to hang out with Sam,” you said with a smile as you paused the movie and finally turned around to face Tara, but your smile faded once you saw Sam. “Oh, I’m sorry; I thought you were Tara,” you said with an embarrassed tone as your eyes refused to meet Sam’s piercing gaze.

The older woman huffed at your words before she went to the couch and sat at the opposite end while unlocking her phone, trying to keep as much space as possible between you two. “Tara texted me and told me that she felt sick and she didn’t want you to leave because it’s late at night and doesn’t want anything to happen to you, so she wants me to keep you company,” Sam read aloud her text messages between her and Tara before she closed her phone and set it on the coffee table in front of you guys.

“You don’t have to; I’m fine staying in here by myself,” you said with a polite smile while looking at Sam. The woman turned her head and looked at you before giving you the fakest smile you have ever seen while she lied through her teeth, “That’s alright, I’m good to stay in here with you.” The tension was so thick you could practically taste it on your tongue, but you held your breath and muttered a quiet ‘okay’ as you restarted the movie.

It’s not that she hated being around you after the incident; the only thing she wanted to do was kiss you and call you hers, but she was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same. Especially after she lightly stabbed you.

“Wait, why are you restarting it?” Sam questioned as she looked between you and the tv.

“Because you missed the opening scene, which is arguably one of the best scenes in the movie, and you also need to watch it to understand the ending better,” you reasoned with an honest smile while your gentle eyes danced across Sam’s face.

She didn’t know why, but after listening to your explanation of why the opening scene was essential and listening to your voice that was full of only love and admiration for this movie, Sam decided that she would actually pay attention to it, rather than send you hateful glances every once in a while.

So when the tv finally stopped the introduction, and it was Carol and Therese sitting together at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant, Sam picked up on the tension-riddled scene and couldn’t help but glance over at you. She noticed how your eyebrows furrowed, and your eyes danced between Carol and Therese as if you were getting ready to jump through the tv and become a part of the movie. Her eyes finally drifted down to your lips, and she noticed how your tongue was barely sticking out between your lips as you studied the screen, as if there was going to be something small in the background, and if you blinked, you would miss it.

“Are you even watching?” You questioned when you felt eyes burning into the side of your skull, but your own eyes never left the screen.

Sam awkwardly cleared her throat before speaking, “Sorry; you just seem really invested in this movie, and I thought it was funny.” You felt heat creep up the back of your neck at Sam’s words but shook it off as her being cautious of you. “It’s a great film, Sam. I think you’ll like it,” you replied with a gentle smile as you pried your eyes away from the screen to look at Sam before returning your attention to the tv.

When you said that she might like it, Sam took her eyes away from you and actually paid attention to the movie. When the sex scene came up, the air in the room became tense, as if both of you were holding your breath and holding back from one another. Sam tried her best to fight back the blush she felt, and she looked to you for help. You had your mouth agape, no matter how often you watched this scene, you were always enchanted by it, and you whispered, “I wish that were me.” Even though she tried to, Sam couldn’t come up with a retort for your comment; she also wishes she could do that with Cate Blanchett, but she also wishes that was her with you.

Sam then turned her attention back to the screen and had to fight any urges that she might have been feeling toward you. Her eyes never left the screen until the very end; only when she had to blink back the eyes that threatened to escape as she looked up at the ceiling. When the end credits rolled, you cleared your throat, tension still left over from the sex scene, “So, what did you think of it?”

“It was certainly something. It was a lot better than I expected, just based on your taste in things,” Sam joked as she subtly wiped the tears away in her eyes. You chuckled at her words, ‘if you only you knew,’ you thought as she stared at her with hearty eyes.

You quickly snapped out of your daze when you noticed Sam shuffling uncomfortably on the couch, “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. And just so you know,” you said as you stood up from the couch, “I have an exceptional taste in things.”

Sam laughed at your words before standing up, “I highly doubt that.” You smiled at the older woman before making your way to Tara’s room; you had plans to murder the little shit for leaving you alone with Sam. “Goodnight, Sam,” you said with a smile as you opened Tara’s door slightly. Sam gave you a genuine smile as she went to her room, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

This was the first time you had had a direct conversation with Sam since she pulled you aside and asked for a book recommendation, and you wished you could have more conversations with the woman. She was smarter than she gave herself credit for, and the way she expressed herself through body language while talking was something you found attractive, to put it lightly.

When you entered Tara’s room, you saw the girl lying toward the foot of her bed with her laptop open, and you could faintly hear Toni Collette giving her ‘I am your mother’ speech. “So, how did it go with Samantha?” Tara questioned with a smug grin as you sat on the bed with your back propped against the headboard. You threw your legs up onto the bed and dug the heel of your right foot into Tara’s back, causing the girl to let out a small yelp before shoving your leg off of her and scolding you.

“Whatever, you deserved it,” you said as you crossed your ankles and left them next to Tara, who was still facing the foot of the bed. “And for your information, it was fine. She didn’t try and kill me again,” you joked.

“A win is a win,” Tara replied as she moved to sit next to you and put the laptop on your lap while she cuddled up next to you. You put your arm around her waist and placed a platonic kiss on her head right when Sam walked in.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back later,” Sam said as she looked down at the floor and turned her back to you two, embarrassed that she had just walked in on an intimate moment between you and her sister and ignored the pain she felt in her heart. “No, it’s okay, Sam,” Tara said while pulling away from you and silently encouraging you to go after Sam even though she was still in the doorway.

“I thought you were sick?” Sam asked with her back still facing you two. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one without unveiling my grand scheme of things plan,” Tara said while getting up from her bed and turning Sam to face her, “I’m serious, Sam. Nothing is going on between me and Y/N.”

Sam looked away from her sister and saw you sitting on Tara’s bed, smiling as you sent her a small wave. The woman scoffed at your actions before returning to her room.

Once Sam was gone, Tara closed the door, walked over to you, and hit you in the stomach. “The fuck was that, Y/N?” She whisper-shouted at you, “I basically admitted to having a plan of forcing you and Sam together, and you fucking wave at her?”

“I didn’t know what you wanted me to do!” You defended.

Tara sighed at your statement; she had laid the groundwork, and then just like clockwork, the dominos were supposed to cascade in a line because she’s a mastermind, but your dumbass messed it up. “Go talk to Sam. Right. Now. Or so help me God, I will violently murder you to death,” Tara commanded as she pulled you from her bed and pushed you toward the door. “And do not come back until you have talked to her,” and with that, Tara shut the door in your face and locked it.

You sighed before walking toward the living room. You thought about sleeping on the couch, but you knew Tara would probably draw a penis on your face while you slept, so you sucked in a deep breath before walking toward Sam’s door.

Sam heard a gentle knock of three intervals at her door, pulling her away from her note. “Just a minute,” she said as she finished her writing and slipped it into a preselected page in the book.

“What’s up?” She asked once when she opened her door and saw you.

“I just wanted to ask you about the book,” you replied with a smile that Sam wanted to kiss off your lips.

Instead of doing what she desired, she left her door open while grabbing the book and handed it back to you. “This is the saddest book I have ever read. Who would come up with such a thing?”

You chuckled at her words and accepted the book, “I know. I take it; you finished it?”

“Barely. But I finished it in one sitting,” Sam said while staring into your love-struck eyes. Sam swore she could feel herself getting lost in them, and she never wanted to leave your eyes.

“So, what did you think of it?” You asked.

“It was alright. Some pages were hard to read because of the tear-stained pages.”

You lightly laughed at Sam’s words, and the older woman felt her heart might explode if she heard that soft laugh again. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. This book really gets to me, you know?” You said while your eyes quickly glanced down at Sam’s lips, wondering if they tasted as good as they looked.

Sam cleared her throat, and you knew you had been busted. “So, I guess I’ll have to treat you with respect now,” she admitted through a tightened jaw.

“Or whatever,” you said with a smile, hoping Sam picked up the double meaning, and she did.

“Yeah, or whatever.”

“Just so you know, nothing is going on between me and Tara,” you clarified after a few seconds, and you set the book down on the couch behind you.

Sam knew that there wasn’t anything between you and her sister, but hearing those words leave your lips gave Sam a feeling of comfort she didn’t know she needed. “I know, Y/N.”

“Okay. I just wanted to clarify that before I did this,” Sam didn’t even have time to react before she felt your hands grip her neck and pull her into a passionate kiss. The way your lips felt like they had been made for her lips amazed Sam, and she finally felt her heart explode when she matched your intensity.

Your lips danced together as Sam deepened the kiss and pulled you by your waist closer to her. You felt her tongue push past your lips, and an involuntary moan slipped out, causing Sam to laugh against your lips. When you felt Sam’s hands drift toward the bottom of your shirt, you lifted your arms, and Sam got halfway into taking it off before you two heard a voice behind you, “Goddamnit, Y/N! I told you to apologize, not swap spit with her!”

You pulled away from Sam and turned to face Tara, who smiled knowingly. “Sorry,” you mumbled while fixing your shirt.

An awkward beat of silence passed while Tara looked between you and her sister with a sly smirk on her lips before she finally said, “I’ll leave you two to it,” and walked away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sam said once Tara was gone. You turned to look at Sam, and you smiled at her swollen lips and blown pupils. You said nothing as you placed a final kiss on Sam’s lips that the older woman happily reciprocated.

“I should probably leave,” you mumbled against Sam’s lips, and she kissed you once more before pulling away. “Don’t forget your book,” Sam said while grabbing it for you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a tint of blush on your cheeks. Sam walked you to the door with her hand on the lower of your back, and you only wanted to run back into her room and throw Sam on her bed, but you doubted Tara would appreciate that.

When you reached the door, you placed a chaste kiss on Sam’s lips before opening up the door. “I’ll see you around?” You asked, afraid that this was a one-time thing.

Sam leaned against the doorframe, and she couldn’t contain the smile that pulled at her cheeks. “Of course, Y/N.”

You smiled at her and began walking down the hallway when Sam called out, “It's me and you, true blue.”

You placed a kiss on your pointer and middle finger before holding them toward Sam with a smile on your face. The woman laughed at your action and pretended to catch the fake kiss and her fist to her heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At home, you fall onto your couch and struggled to get your shoes off. Once they were off, you relaxed and pulled out the book and started reading it. When you ran your fingers over the pages, a small note fell out from the middle of the book and you moved to that page.

In the center of the page was a headline from Sub Rosa titled, ‘Evelyn Hugo and Celia St. James Slumber Parties,’ and you couldn’t help but laugh at the page.

When you opened up the note, written in the most beautiful penmanship said,

‘Want to go grab a milkshake with me sometime? I doubt we’ll find a place as good as Schwab’s, but we can try. We can also have ‘slumber parties’ of our own when Tara is away. ;)

All my love,

Samantha

Sam’

#sam carpenter #scream #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x female reader

[kalki-tarot]

Love & Career in 2024 🖤🍷💸

@kalki-tarot

I'll be using tarot cards and my own intuition so it may not resonate with everyone. Keep in mind that this reading is purely for entertainment purposes so be mindful of your own actions and choices. I'm not responsible for any decisions you make on behalf of my readings.

Pick a pile masterlist 🖤

Pile 01

8 wands, 6 wands, page of swords, queen of swords, knight of pentacles

Hello beautiful souls 💓

Let's talk about your career first. I'm seeing you getting praised or popular very fastly. If you're manifesting something career related then it's your sign it's gonna enter your life soon! You'll get a promotion at your workplace and if you're still studying then I'm seeing you're gonna be the top student of your class. Everyone will praise you and you'll be in Everyone's talks and gossips about how did you achieve it.

If some things got stuck or stagnant then a change is coming soon. All this stagnant energy will flow away and new creative and inspiring energy will lead you towards success my dear pile 1. Don't worry just be consistent and your efforts will be recognized and appreciated very soon.

New ideas will be put into action or will be manifested in reality. If you wanna start a new course then it's the right time to do so. I'm seeing communication for you too. You'll get new opportunities and will make new contacts and connections in your work life which will help you alot leveling up more.

Your overall energy is the Queen of swords which tells me that this year, you'll just focus on your goals and won't spend too much time thinking about the bs. Your plans would be clear cut and will be put into action. I'm not seeing you procrastinating or smth like that. It's a very fast, quick and easy going energy, but stable throughout.

New opportunities on the way! I'm seeing you getting a job letter or something like that. If you're struggling with getting a job then an opportunity is out there in 2024! So be ready ♡

2 wands, 8 wands, 9 pentacles, Temperance, 6 swords, 9 swords ( 5 pentacles, the devil, 4 pentacles, the moon, 5 swords)

Woah! You know what pile 1, we need to let go of some things before before it's too late. We need to let go of things even if it hurts only for our own good. The bad or good news is I'm seeing you breaking up or finally letting go of a toxic relationship or love. You've held it in for so long and in 2024, I'm seeing you releasing all of that. It's better to leave than being left out in the cold, right?

2024 is the year of a fresh start and ending the cycles. It's the year to relax and heal. It's great that you're walking away from such people. I know it takes a lot of strength and courage to do that and you have the guts to leave someone so toxic and unhealthy for you. I'm not necessarily seeing someone new entering in your life. I'm seeing YOU, choosing to walk away from this situation.

You'll know that the grass is greener on the other side. You'll explore new things in love. Maybe go on a few dates? By the end of 2024, you'll be balanced spiritually and physically. You'll be properly healed and you'll discover much more about yourself rather than other people. It's necessary to know ourselves before trying to understand some one else. That's it for you, please reblog this post if you liked it. Thanks ♡

Pile 02

3 of swords, page of pentacles, ace of swords, 6 of wands, the devil, 8 of wands

Career wise, Things may get a little rocky for you this year. But don't worry, with extra caution and mindfulness you'll be able to thrive through this. The advice I'm getting for is to not take any shortcuts for success to come fast, as it'll only result in your own downfall.

Be careful of people who look very nice and popular as they're not what they seem from their outer side. Just focus on grabbing opportunities and working truthfully for yourself and your loved ones. Your creative energy would be at peak this year, it's time for you to realize your potential and work with it next year.

Your 2024 is the year to hustle hard so be dedicated to your work/study. Lot's of success will be at your door if you don't fall into any traps.

Knight of cups, wheel of fortune, 9 of pentacles, 4 of pentacles, the hermit, 7 of wands ( 9 swords & 8 pentacles )

Wow babe! You've done lots of healing and lot's of self care in 2023! And now it's the time for love finally coming into your life through divine intervention in 2024. As we have the wheel of fortune here, I'm seeing You've finally let go of the old cycles and karmic patterns.

The old thinking patterns and attachment wounds will be healed. You'll fight your way through this very powerfully. You've done a lot of self introspection and self discovery in 2023.

You are one step ahead of pile 1, you're asked to just go with flow and let the universe guide you through the vast ocean of sadness to the never ending love. A romantic, water sign energy may approach you with love 👀 next year. Abundance and clarity will flow through just don't complex your emotions any more. Trust your intuition and let it guide you.

That's it! Pile 2 ♡ If this helped you a little bit please comment and reblog xoxo

Pile 03

The magician, Temperanc, ace of wands, 8 wands, ace of cups, the fool (king of cups)

The year 2024 will bring you lots of emotional satisfaction in terms of your career. You would be a successful person, but with the right actions and decisions. Create a path for yourself and walk on it. You should have the desire amd commitment if you wanna achieve something in life.

In 2024, there is a need for you to have a clear mindset snd step wise approach. Do everything in a proper balance. Good things take time to manifest. Your dedication and ability to stay composed under pressure will help you stand out.

Whatever you're thinking about, go for it. Just "go for it", don't think too much if that gives you happiness. Whether you've been thinking about launching a project or reaching out to a new networking connection, 2024 is the time.

Next year would be an year of swift progress and rapid growth. Everything will seem so fast and would gain momentum. You may even travel for work.

Something would be headed your way in your professional life, whether that's a new job, a new responsibility within your current role, or even a new business partner or connection, a new and promising path may be opening up.

You'll overall enjoy this year in terms of your professional or career life.

10 swords, 2 of wands, knight of pentacles, 5 of pentacles, queen of swords, 5 of wands, the tower ( 9 swords, 7 cups, magician )

Listen pile 3, to be honest 2024 would be rocky for you, you know. I channeled that you should not go alone in clubs or pubs or take any drinks with strangers. Be careful guys.

For some of you I'm getting that you guys are just staying single this year and focusing more on your self growth and options in love. You may solo travel or go on solo dates. You know loving yourself and all.

You may actually reach out to a therapist if your experiences were not so good in love before. If not, then I'm seeing you reaching out for yourself, my love. You're giving yourself the love and warmth you've never received from anyone else. You're now, not letting bs people get into your life and make a hell out of it. You're tryna stay healthy and happy.

For some of you, there's an advice of manifesting new love in your life. Get into that mindset. List down all the qualities you want in a partner and visualizing would also help you.

I'm seeing a divorce for some of you, or even a legal matter that involves a person you once loved. They probably lied and deceived you. You may fight for yourself in the court this year. Sending Lots of hugs and love to you dear if this is happening to you. Stay strong and you'll be more blessed. 💓✨️

#tarot reading #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot #pick a card #tarot and astrology #tarot asks #pick a pile #tarot community #tarotblr #2024 predictions #tarot readings #tarot pick a card #pick a picture #psychic readings #astro notes #tarot masterlist #kalki tarot #tarot lessons #future spouse reading #divine feminine #twin flame #future spouse #tarot help #intuitive #intuition #indian aesthetic #spiritual awakening #soulmates #spiritual disciplines

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 32

summary: It’s the night of his bachelor party, and a sober Javier gets a call from his very drunk fiancée asking him to pick her up from her bachelorette party. Three days later, it’s their wedding day, and Javier hasn’t seen or talked to his bride since the night before—they’d agreed not to see each other until it was time to say ‘I do,’ and his father took it one step further by having her guarded to keep Javier away. Will that really stop him from going to her before the big event (with his eyes covered)?

rating: M (This chapter is very story-driven, BUT there’s a little bit of inappropriate touching. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), Drunk!Reader, bachelor/bachelorette parties, emotional hurt/comfort, dysfunctional family, Javier taking care of you while you’re drunk and when you get sick (it’s very sweet), grief, discussion of pregnancy, WEDDING, getting ready for the wedding, Chucho hardcore not letting you see each other before the wedding, blindfolded Javier sneaking to where you are anyway, tying his bow tie, nerves, panic attack, EMOTIONS, Javier crying when he sees you in your dress, EXTREMELY romantic things said, Javier being cute with kids, you both wrote your own vows (did I mention emotions and romantic things said?), Chucho being a great officiant, (1) bible verse about love with no mention of God/Jesus/anything religious, crying, comedy sprinkled in, a fun and heartfelt chapter)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (no physical descriptions)

word count: 23k+ (Tumblr hates my long chapters and might not let you reblog with a comment. Since reblogs are super important, if you wish to comment, feel free to do it in the comments on the post or send me an ask. 🥰🥰🥰)

a/n: Get your tissues ready; it’s time to get married! 🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭 First of all, Happy Birthday to this story! 2 years old! I just want to thank everyone who’s continued reading this labor of my love. All the comments, reblogs, and likes mean the world to me! They make me want to write more, too. I know there’s no smut in this one, but, in my opinion, I think it’s still really good, and the people who’ve read it agree. There also was literally no opportunity for them to be alone and do anything more than touching—you can blame Chucho for keeping them apart. But the next chapter? Oh, it’s on. It’s gonna be so horny. Lol Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing. I love you.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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In the year 1981, Ronald Reagan was sworn in as the 40th President of the United States and almost assassinated two months later; the Space Shuttle Columbia became the first crewed reusable spacecraft to return from orbit successfully, and the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer was watched by over 750 million people worldwide.

It also happened to be the year Javier Peña’s life went to shit.

Looking back at all that happened, he could pinpoint the exact moment everything went wrong. It wasn’t disappearing in the early hours on the day he was supposed to be wed; it was six months earlier when he let a pretty girl, who never once acknowledged his existence in the several years they went to school together, buy him a drink—that was the beginning of the end. That was the start of his downfall and had his life veering off course.

By the time his wedding to Lorraine had rolled around in early September, Javier was at the lowest he'd ever been in his twenty-two years of life—so depressed, hopeless, and scared that he became numb and was just existing instead of living. Back then, he still had buddies in Laredo with whom he'd gone to high school, and though Lorraine didn't let him hang out with them much, she approved of them throwing him a bachelor party the weekend before their nuptials were supposed to take place.

He hadn't wanted one.

Who would want to celebrate marrying someone they didn't love or even liked? Marriage to Lorraine was a prison sentence, and his only crime had been dating the wrong woman. It’d also be a cruel reminder that he’d lose what little freedom he had in a week’s time.

His friends had known him for many years, having practically grown up together, and they were well aware of Javier’s dread. They had tried to talk him out of going through with it on multiple occasions, but he always stood firm that he wouldn’t abandon his child and their mother, and that he got himself into the mess, and he needed to own up to it—plus there was Lorraine’s father who told Javier he’d never meet his kid if he didn’t marry her.

To stop his pals from worrying about him, he finally agreed to the party and tried his best to act like he was fine when, in reality, his world was crumbling.

It may come as a surprise, but he was once a very social creature who had a lot of friends in his youth—his three closest had been Benito Esquivel, Salvador ‘Sal’ Soto, and Ken Miller. These were the guys who packed him into Sal’s moss green colored ‘72 Chevrolet Blazer and took him on a road trip to Austin, where they went bar hopping and ended up at a strip club, as was the course for bachelor parties.

Javier drank so much that night his memory was spotty on all that had happened, yet he distinctly remembered a moment when he was completely wasted in a private room at the club, crying while getting a lap dance and the kind stripper comforting him in the middle of it.

His first bachelor party didn’t go so well and wasn’t something he liked to think back on. He wished he could rip that entire chapter out of his life, but it was important for shaping the man he became—it began a chain of events that would eventually lead him to finding the perfect woman he was meant to be with—the one who truly loved him, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, and filled that part of him he’d always been missing.

Cielito was the love of his life, his soulmate, his media naranja.

And they shared the same kind of love his parents once had, which he’d always dreamed of having but never imagined he’d actually get to experience.

His buddies had tried to keep in contact with him after he ran away, but he was too ashamed of how he left and didn't want their pity. It wasn't until his mother's funeral in '91 that he saw most of them again, and though he appreciated them being there, he kept them at arm's length. Even when he returned home in '93 and '96, he continued avoiding them because he wasn’t the same Javi they once knew, and he didn’t want to see the looks on their faces when they realized how fucked up he’d become.

Now, he was having his second bachelor party seventeen years after the first, and he couldn’t be happier celebrating that he was getting married in a few days.

This time around, his dad planned the party, and there wasn’t any bar hopping or strip clubs. Instead, Chucho got Javier’s tíos (uncles) and male primos (cousins) together for an asada (barbecue) in his backyard.

It was close to midnight, and he knew the party wouldn’t end any time soon. His family were sitting in groups, taking up the picnic table, or sitting with him in lawn chairs around the large fire pit, which was currently ablaze, with the tall flames licking up toward the sky. He’d already eaten and was nursing his third beer over the many hours he’d been there, the bottle in his hand resting on his jean-clad thigh. The fire and his black leather jacket were keeping him warm while he listened to his friend Ken, sitting beside him talking about his four-year-old daughter’s recent T-ball game.

“—so she hits the ball off the tee,” he said, “and throws her bat as hard as she can behind her at the backstop—which, thank fuck they don’t have catchers—and starts runnin’ as fast as her little legs can go, only to stop halfway to first base to pick up the ball and chuck it with all her might out of bounds.”

Javier chuckled and sipped his drink—he couldn’t wait to tell these kinds of stories about his own children.

“Clever kid,” Benito replied, sitting on his other side. “How pissed off was Emily when she didn’t get to stay on first base?”

“You know Em, Benny. That little girl is more fiery than the hair on her head.” Her father had dark blonde hair, and she had bright red, yet both shared ocean-blue eyes.

A few months back, Javier felt like he was finally in a place where he could reconnect with his old friends. He’d gone out for drinks with Benito and Ken a few times to catch up, and they’d shown him pictures of their families; Ken had three daughters, and Emily was his youngest and the only one with red hair. He’d even introduced his wif-fiancée to them and took her to have dinner with them and their wives—it was nice.

He tried to reach out to Sal, but the other man was a part of the Special Forces in the army and had spent more time deployed than at home since Desert Storm—Benito and Ken said he was okay, or as okay as a guy can be after spending so many years in active duty. It made Javier feel like a real asshole for avoiding them for so long when they’d just wanted to be there for him like they were for Sal, who’d been through more dangerous and worse shit than him.

By no means were he and his old friends back to having the tight bond they shared when they were twenty-two or had anything close to his relationship with Steve—they’d grown too far apart and were virtually strangers now. That didn’t mean it wasn’t great to hang out with people who knew him before Lorraine and hadn’t taken her side or were judgemental of the choices he made.

“Big tantrum?” Benito asked.

“A complete meltdown. You’re gonna love havin’ kids, Jav.” Ken patted him on the shoulder.

“They have their moments,” Benito added, “pero, dios mio, mi vida no sería la misma sin ellos (but, my god, my life wouldn’t be the same without them). I love my little terrors.” He had five children; his littlest wasn’t even a year old.

“Yeah,” Javier said fondly. “I’m really fucking excited to have kids and get married.”

The other two men were smiling.

“And that’s how it always should’ve been,” Ken replied. “That’s how we know you’re marryin’ the right girl this time. It’s great to see how happy you are—and Benny and I can tell you’re actually happy.”

“Yeah,” Benito said, “‘Cause you’re smiling this time around and not crying—that stripper, though, what was her name? Diamond? Ruby? Shit, what was it?”

“Jade, maybe?” Ken answered. “You should remember, Benny, you’re the one she took home.”

“I can remember her amazing tits and ass, but couldn’t tell you what the hell she looked like or her name.”

Javier couldn’t remember what she looked like or her name either, which made him frown.

“Do you guys have that one woman you can remember every fucking detail about the first time you hooked up?” Benito asked. “She haunts you—I’m talking her face is burned in your brain, and you can remember everything like what she smelled like or how soft her skin was?”

“Yeah,” Ken said. “That girl, my third year in college.” He raised his beer bottle.

“The one who deepthroated you for the first time? You wouldn’t shut up about her.”

“That’s the one—too bad she wasn’t lookin’ for anythin’ serious. Best sex I’ve ever had; don’t tell my wife that.” Ken and Benito chuckled.

“Mine was Carmen’s roommate.” Carmen was Benito’s wife and someone they went to school with. “We had a casual thing before I started dating Carmen—her name was Valentina, and mi mamá would not have liked her, which was fine; she wasn’t wife material anyway.”

What did he mean by that?

“What about you, Javi?” Ken asked.

“I’m marrying mine,” he answered and took a drink of his beer.

Benito scoffed. “Are you just saying that shit, or do you mean it?”

He met the other man’s eyes.

“I’m being completely serious. She’s it, and I’m marrying her.”

Benito blew out air, shaking his head. “You lucky pendejo (asshole).”

“Now you gotta tell us what she’s like,” Ken said, and this conversation just took a turn in a direction he did not want to go in—even when he was younger, he didn’t like to brag about what went on in the bedroom.

Javier had never been happier for his cell phone to ring, but the feeling only lasted a moment as he pulled it off his belt before panic slammed into him that something was wrong because it was Cielito calling him. She was out having her bachelorette party with her girlfriends at the town bar.

“I gotta take this,” he said, setting his beer on the ground and groaning as he got up from his chair. He briskly walked out of earshot of everyone else.

His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He hit the accept button and answered when the Nokia phone was at his ear, “Hello?”

“Ohhh myyy god,” his wif-fiancée slurred on the other end. “How do you make ans’ring the phone sooo sexy?”

He let out a breath that she didn’t sound like she was in trouble.

“I don’t know—are you okay, baby?”

"Nooo, I miss you, and I wan’ you and I need you to come ge’ me—can you pleeease come ge’ me? I don' wanna be out anymore—I wanna be at home with you and naked in our bed; wait, have I told you how amazing you fuck? If there-was like an Olympics for fucking, you'd ge’ all the gold medals tha’s how good you are.” She inhaled before she continued speaking. “And your face, god, I miss your stupidly han’some face with your big baby cow eyes tha’ Daphne and Velma totally inherited from you, and tha’ gorgeous nose, and your lips—everything on tha’ mug of yours is perfec,’ and I canno’ believe you’re marrying me. Me?! How the fuck did I ge’ so lucky?! Like, you’re too pretty for me, and usu’lly, the pretty boys jus’ wan’ my family’s money—like fucking Daniel,” she fumed. “But you jus’ like me for me, and I’m sooo in love with you tha’ I canno’ stand bein’ so far away from you righ’ now. Javiii, can you pleeease come pick me up?"

Oh, she was drunk and missed him.

With how sloshed she sounded, it had him worried she hadn’t eaten much food or had enough water, and he wanted to go to her right that second to get her home and sober her up so she wasn’t too miserable the next day. He was trying to ignore what she said about her ex, but the more he learned about the guy, the higher the chances rose that he’d kick the fucker’s ass if they ever met.

"Are you sure you want to leave early?" he asked.

"Yesss, pleeease. I wanna go home wit’ you."

"Are you somewhere safe, cariño (sweetheart)?" It didn’t sound like she was inside the bar.

“I’m ou’side the backdoor where people smoke—Stacy and Arleta from the grocery store are ou’ here wit’ meee. Say hi to Javi!”

He could tell she held the phone toward them.

“Hi, Javi,” he heard the two women say. “Are you coming to ge’ me?” Cielito asked.

“Yes, mi amor. I just need to tell everyone bye—don’t hang up.”

He didn't as he quickly walked over to say goodbye and thank his dad, friends, and family for the lovely night, telling them his fiancée wasn't feeling good and he needed to go pick her up—the plan had always been he’d be her designated driver since he hadn’t wanted to drink too much; the rest of the people at her party had their own rides.

His long legs had him striding toward where his pickup was parked.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked her.

His truck door squealed as he opened it and got inside.

“Yesss! There was karaoke and I had a lot of tequila. Like a lot. Like sooo much, I sang “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic withou’ anyone daring me to—tha’ movie is sooo fucking sad. If we were in the freezing water and you pu’ me on a door or whatever piece of wood, you beh your ass I’m gonna figure ou’ a way to ge’ you on it with me. I’m not gonna be a fucking liar and say I won’ leggo and fucking leggo! You’re gonna be like nex’ to me, or hell, you could ge’ on top of me, and we’d survive—I’d make sure we both survived.”

She made him smile because this wasn’t the first time she’d gone on this rant.

He was already on the road heading toward town.

“I’d make sure we survived, too, baby. I’d use my body heat to keep you warm.”

“Why is tha’ sooo romantic? Honestly, I think you’d figure ou’ a way to ge’ us into one of the lifeboats.”

“Probably.” He shrugged.

“And then we’d ge’ to Amer’ca and start our new life together and have sooo many babies.”

He was still smiling. “Yeah—so many babies?”

“It was ye olden times when the only thing women could do was take care of their husbands and babies, plus there was basic’ly no birth control and you only cream pie, sooo yeah, we’d hav’ a ridic’lous amoun’ of babies.”

“I wanna have a ridiculous amount of babies with you now.”

“God, I know you do, and I wanna have all your babies, all of them, ‘cause you’re gonna be the bes’ dad. Like, the bes’, and our kids will be sooo lucky to have you, and they’re gonna love you sooo much and be so cute—I hope they look like you—you were sush a cutie, and I’d love to have a bunch of mini yous.”

“I want them to look like the both of us.”

“Meh, you’re cuter.”

“Stop that, you’re fucking adorable, and I’d love if our kids looked like you.”

“Fine.”

“Why’d you drink so much tequila, mi amor? That stuff makes us—”

“Horny?” she finished for him. “Our clothes magic’ly disappear.” Her speech was still slurring. “Robyn got us Tequila Sunrises, then Cat—” That was the wife of one of her coworkers at the hospital; they hung out with the couple occasionally. “—got us another round of them, bu’ Alma—” His prima (cousin) and sister of Sebastián. “—got us all tequila shots, and I also got us tequila shots, and I think there was another round—too much tequila, whish is why I called you to pick me up.”

His mouth turned down in a frown.

“Please tell me you had some food, too, and water.”

“Yesss, I knew you’d worry, so I ate a plate of fries and shared mozz-mozzarella.” She giggled. “Tha’s a fun word to say—I shared mozzarella sticks with the girls, and I drank water—had a glass aft’r ev’ry drink ‘cause I was-like, ‘If my Javi were here righ’ now, he’d wan’ me staying hydrated,’ and I couldn’ le’ you down.”

He smiled. “Thank you, baby. I’m proud of you.”

There was someone in the background who sounded just as drunk as her, asking her, “Wha’ are you doin’ out here?” It was Robyn.

“Calling Javi,” Cielito answered.

“Come back inside. You said you were goin’ pee.”

“I wen’ and Javi’s comin’ to pick me up. I’m waitin’ for him to ge’ here.”

“Girl, it’s barely pas’ midnigh’, and your bachelorette party! Leave the man alone and have fun with us! We’ll get pie after here at the diner.” It was open twenty-four hours.

“I need him,” she whined.

“Oh my god, you’re ditchin’ us for dick!”

“It’s really good dick, and I need it!”

“Mi amor?” Javi said to get her attention.

“Yes?” she answered.

“I’m not gonna fool around with you while you’re fucked up…”

“I know,” she whispered. “Don’ tell anyone, bu’ I’m too drunk, and I hate it. I wanna go home.”

“Okay, cariño (sweetheart). I’ll be there soon to pick you up.”

Another voice was heard on her end. “Why are you guys ou’ here?” He was pretty sure it was his prima, Alma.

“She’s ditchin’ us for dick!” Robyn exclaimed.

“I told you it’s really good dick!” Cielito said just as loud.

“Gross!” Alma was slurring her words, too, and sounded disgusted. “You’re gonna-make-me puke!”

“Sorry, Alma,” the other two women replied in unison.

“It’s okay,” Alma said. “You’re leaving already? I don’ wan’ you to go. We’re having so mush fun!”

“Yeah, don’ go!” He thought that was Cat. “This is the only night I can go ou’ alone this month! Le’s keep partying!”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Cielito responded. “Tequila was a mistake, and I need to go home.”

Javier figured she’d forgotten he was on the phone with her.

“I’m horny, too,” Robyn said, “bu’ you don’ see me booty callin’ my boyfriend to ge’ me, and he’s got really good dick, too!”

“¡Guácala (Gross)!” Alma interjected. “No sé por qué salgo contigo (I don’t know why I hang out with you).”

“Because we’re fun!” Robyn said. “Don’ lie, you loved it when I got our bride-to-be to rap “Shoop” with me.” Javier only knew that Salt-N-Pepa song because he’d heard his bride-to-be rap it on many occasions—she was really good, to be honest.

“You are fun, bu’ who wan’s to hear about their brother and cousin’s sex lives?”

“Sorry, Alma,” Robyn and Cielito said again.

“You all can still have fun withou’ me!” his wif-fiancée told them.

“A bachelorette party withou’ a bachelorette?” Robyn asked.

“I think that jus’ makes it a girls' night out—yeah, you can have a girls' night out! Fuck, where’s Javi? Did I tell you guys he’s comin’ to ge’ me? Wait, my phone! Javi, are you still there?”

“Yes, baby, I’m still here.”

“Where are you?”

“Maybe ten minutes away.”

“Ugh, okay.” She whispered the next bit loudly, “Robyn’s mad at me.”

“Damn straigh,’ I’m mad at you!” Robyn said. “It’s your bachelorette party, and you’re abandonin’ us for a man!”

“But he’s like a really grea’ man, and wonderful, and han’some, and the bes’, and I love him so, so, so, sooo, mush and wanna have his babies. So, I’m not abandonin’ you for ‘a man,’ I’m abandonin’ you for the greates’ man alive, and you can’ be mad at me for tha’.”

What she said had Javier grinning.

“Y’all are too disgustingly in love, but wha’ever, nex’ girls' night, no fuckin’ tequila.”

She forgot he was on the phone with her again and listened to their drunken discussion about what they should do for a girls' night, going off topic a few times. Her friends stayed with her until he arrived.

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the back of the building where he saw the group of women and some other bar patrons hanging out by the door, the area lit by two lights on the building.

“Cielito?” he said, hoping it’d get her attention. “Are you still there?”

“Oh my god, Javi!” Came her exclamation. “Where are you?!”

The truck was put into park, and he kept it idling as he got out.

“To your left.”

Her head turned to the right, making him snort with a smile on his lips.

“Your other left, mi amor,” he said. He’d walked around to open the passenger door, and her gaze finally landed on him under the orangeish glow of a towering street light.

“He’s here!” she squealed, and he ended the call, putting his phone back on his belt. He watched her shove her own in her purse before she hugged all of her friends goodbye.

Javier had seen the dress she was going to wear tonight; he just hadn’t seen her wearing it. When she turned his way and he got a good look at her, his mouth fell open, and he thought his heart would beat out of his chest like a cartoon character in love.

The champagne-colored mini dress was long-sleeved and covered in sequins, the neckline plunging to accentuate her breasts, the skirt ending just a little above her knees, a white sash across her chest reading in fancy black script, ‘Bride-to-Be,’ and she looked fucking stunning.

His awe ended when he suddenly had to act fast and catch the woman he loved who flung herself into his arms—he grunted at her body slamming into him, her lips crashing into his, wrapping his arms around her back to feel her skin from the deep V down her back.

The smell of booze hit him almost as hard as she did, along with the undertones of her perfume, Javier tensing when she grabbed his ass. With how she was hitching her leg up on his waist, he thought she was trying to climb him like a goddamn tree.

“Mmm… hi, baby,” his muffled voice said.

His hand went to her face, his thumb under her chin, and fingers splayed along her cheek as he gently pushed to separate her mouth from his. Her eyelids were closed, and her lips pursed.

“Hi, baby,” he said again. “Did you miss me?”

She smiled. “Yesss.” Her glassy, bloodshot eyes blinked open, and it was obvious she was utterly blitzed; there was no way in hell she could pass a field sobriety test. “God, you’re sooo gorgeous—look at your cute nose—” She poked the tip of it. “—boop. Your eyes are sooo pretty, and you smell sooo good—you always smell so fucking good. I love you so, sooo much.” She pecked him on the lips. “I’m sooo happy you’re here.”

She looked so cute and it had him smiling.

“Yeah?” He shrugged off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.

“Mmm, tha’s nice and warm. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Cielito. You ready to go?”

“Oh my god, yesss!”

“Okay, let’s get you into the truck, hermosa (beautiful).”

He helped her get up into the cab, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, he was in the driver’s seat, with her pressed right against him.

“I’m sooo happy we’re going home,” she said, hugging his arm closest to her.

“I’m happy we’re going home, too, Cielito—let’s get you buckled.”

He leaned over her to grab the seatbelt, getting it over her lap and buckling it in, ensuring it wasn’t loose, before getting his own belt on.

The short drive to their apartment had her in his space, kissing his cheek and neck while telling him how much she loved him, and it was so sweet that warmth spread through his body.

When they arrived, Javier had to keep her steady as they walked with an arm around her waist, making her lean into him. Once inside, he propped her against the front door to remove his coat from her shoulders and her sash, hanging them with the other jackets on the wall. Then, he pulled her purse from her arm, putting it on the console table, and he helped her remove the flats on her feet, kicking off his shoes afterward.

Her eyes were closed most of the time while she mumbled, a lot of it he didn’t understand, but what he did make out was her confessing her love for him and waxing poetic about how attractive she found him—it was adorable.

He wanted to get her sober, so he helped steady her as they made their way to the kitchen, moving past the counters and appliances to the small connected dining room and having her sit in a kitchen chair, pushing her close to the table in order to keep her from falling onto the floor.

Javier’s palm rubbed circles into her back. “Cielito?”

Her head tilted up in his direction, looking at him with red, glossy eyes and a big, dreamy smile.

“You’re pretty.” Her speech wasn’t slurring as much. “And you’re marrying me. I can’t believe you’re marrying me. We should blow this popsicle stand and go back to our place to have premarital sex—gotta do as much of that as we can before we’re married and our sexy times become legal.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean by the sex becoming legal?” he asked.

“You know, sex is only legal to God when the couple is married—we won’t be living in sin anymore; gosh, that’s gonna make your dad sooo happy. I love your dad. He’s the fucking best. Let's make him your mom’s flan next weekend ‘cause that dude deserves it—man, I’m hungry.”

“We’ll make him flan, baby.” His hand cupped her cheek. “Can I make you some buttered toast?” That seemed like a safe choice and shouldn’t make her sick.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, toast sounds fucking amazing!”

He smiled. “Okay, mi amor. I’ll make you some.”

Javier bent to kiss the top of her head before padding into the kitchen.

Making her two slices of toast and having her eat them, along with drinking a large glass of water, didn’t take too long—there were a few times he had to remind her about the bread because she was so chatty; at one point she went on an entertaining tangent about how those mythical half horse, half human creatures, centaurs, would wear pants, and even made him tear off a page from the notepad on the fridge, so she could draw him visuals on why the correct answer was the pants would go on the back part of their horse body.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucking in love with her.

He felt better after she finished her snack and drink with how her speech sounded clearer and that she didn’t seem as fucked up as when she called him from the bar—she was definitely still a little drunk since she couldn’t walk without stumbling, and her eyes were having a hard time staying open.

His next priority was making her comfortable. He led her to the bedroom, where he carefully replaced her dress and bra with his olive green t-shirt, leaving her in the shirt and her cute cotton panties she already had on that were covered in red hearts.

He took her to the bathroom, where he sat her up on the countertop and stood between her legs to keep her in place.

“Cielito,” he said, grabbing a wet wipe, “I’m gonna clean off your makeup, okay?”

There was a big smile on her face, her eyelids shut. “Mmmkay, you’re sooo nice.”

He pressed it to her face to begin removing her makeup. When that was done, he used a warm washcloth to dampen the skin he’d cleaned and grabbed her face wash off the counter, which was amongst her other skincare products. He used his fingertips to apply it to her skin, starting with her cheeks, then down her jaw to her chin, and back up to spread it along her nose before doing her forehead last.

He used the wet cloth to wipe away the cleanser when she spoke.

“Did you just wash my face?” she asked.

“Yeah?” He’d finished, and her skin was finally completely clean and looking dewy. Her face wash was put away, and his eyes squinted as he read the labels of the other products until he found what he needed and picked it up. He’d seen her do her skincare routine more times than he could count and had the basics down; the serums and special creams intimidated him, though.

His fingers were massaging the moisturizer into her skin along the same path they’d taken with the cleanser.

“Is that moisturizer?”

“Yes.”

Her breath stuttered, her mouth turning into a frown, and he matched her look.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, leaning toward the sink when he was done to wash his hands. He then dried them with the towel on his other side hanging on the wall.

Her bottom lip was trembling, and it worried him.

“You love me,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said and kissed her forehead. “I love you so fucking much.” His hands rubbed over her bare thighs.

She opened her eyes, and they were welling up, glistening under the lights above.

“You love me,” she repeated.

He held her cheeks. “Yes, sweetheart, I love you—I love you more than anything.”

Her voice was so small. “Why doesn’t my family love me?” With tears rolling down her face, her question shattered his heart into a million pieces.

“Oh, Cielito, baby.” His tone was soft, and he wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her tight, her face going into the crook of his neck. “They’re assholes and they don’t deserve you.”

Her body started shaking with sobs, and it had his chest squeezing tight, his eyes getting watery, wishing with every cell of his being to make her feel better.

She was the strongest and bravest woman he knew, who didn’t like to show any sign of weakness, and ever since her parents’ unexpected and unwanted visit earlier in the week, she had acted like she was fine in an attempt to hide her sadness.

The day after he was offered a large sum of money to leave her, they’d gone over to his father’s to use the fax machine in his office—the office was in its own little building across the driveway from his house—and she faxed Jerry, her parents’ lawyer, a typed letter that conveyed her disappointment in how they acted and also told them to never contact her again which she signed at the bottom. She changed her home and cell phone numbers and discussed with him possibly moving to the ranch earlier than they originally planned.

He’d tried to talk to her about everything, but she’d put on this smile he knew wasn’t genuine by the lack of its usual luster, and she was unable to keep the sorrow from showing in her eyes—it killed him how her usual happy glow had dimmed from her hurt. She’d reassure him she was okay, reminding him that her family made their choice and had to live with the consequences of it, but she also had to live with the consequences of their actions and deal with the emotions of never seeing or speaking to her loved ones again. He was expecting the façade to break at some point, and it took inebriation to cause her carefully crafted walls to finally crumble.

To add salt to their wounds, Javier was served at work the following day after the fax was sent, with a lawsuit for breach of contract from her mom and dad.

What were they trying to sue him for? Going against his word to not tell their daughter about their visit and proposition, thus breaching a verbal contract that was made. He’d laughed as he called Chucho’s attorney because they never fucking agreed with his terms and, instead, had countered with the damn prenup. They didn’t have a fucking case, and it was dropped by the next day.

Javier was so unbelievably pissed off at these people for what they’d done to the woman he loved that he knew there was no way in hell he’d ever be able to have a civil conversation with them again. It was possible it’d turn into a physical altercation, and he’d end up in jail, which he honestly thought would be worth it if he got the chance to punch her dad in his stupid fucking face.

“They’re my family,” she choked out, “they’re supposed to love me—why don’t they love me? Why am I so unlovable?”

“Mi amor, you’re not unlovable—I love you, Pop loves you, my tías (aunts), tíos (uncles), and primos (cousins) love you, Robyn loves you, mi mamá loves you—you’re loved. We love you, baby. Those people you’re related to are shitty and so blinded by their obsession with money and how they’re perceived that they wouldn’t know what unconditional love was if it bit them in the ass. They’re horrible fucking people, and you don’t need them, Cielito. You don’t.”

“But they’re my family!” she cried. Her tears were soaking through his shirt. “It doesn’t feel right that they aren’t going to be at our wedding, and it hurts so fucking much that they don’t support us!”

He kissed her hair, rubbing circles on her back with his palm. “I know, cariño (sweetheart). I know you’re hurt and that it’s fucked they won’t be there.” It was hard for him to swallow around the lump that’d formed, his eyes burning, and he squeezed them shut. “I’m sorry you fell in love with me and that I’m not good enough for them or good enough for you. I’m sorry for causing all this shit and the pain you’re feeling. I’m sorry, baby—it’s all my fault,” his voice cracked on the last word. He had to clear his throat. “But I’d do it all again because you deserve to be loved—you deserve all the fucking love in the world. Your family is supposed to love you because they’re your family, and our kids will love you no matter what because you’re their amazing mom, but me? I’m choosing to love you with every fucking thing I have because you’re incredible and so lovable.” His cheeks were wet from his own tears. “I love you, Cielito—I promise I’ll love you enough to make up for them. I promise I’ll love you so much you’ll get sick of me. I love you, Cielito. You’re my everything, and I hope my love’s enough…”

She sniffled loudly, her head rising, and he opened his eyes to meet her reddened ones, her face streaked with wetness.

Her voice was hoarse. “It’s not your fault,” she said, her hands in the small space between their bodies, clutching his button-up shirt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, and you’re enough—you’ve always been enough. It just hurts how hateful the people who are supposed to want me to be happy are toward what makes me happy.” More tears fell down her cheeks. “You’re what makes me happy, and they don’t accept you.” Her lower lip was wobbling. “I’m mad and sad, and I don’t want them to be a part of our lives, but it feels… it feels like they’ve died,” she said quietly. “It feels weird grieving over people who are still breathing, who are just a phone call or a plane ride away. I’m grieving them like they’re dead—are they dead to me? Why am I grieving what little relationship we had, yet also grieving the relationship we could’ve had? One where they welcomed you with open arms, and even if it wasn’t your favorite thing to do, we visited them once a year—you’d joke around with my brother, we’d fawn over his many children, and my parents would actually be impressed with what you did in Colombia and brag to their friends about their son-in-law who helped take down Pablo fucking Escobar and did take out the Cali cartel. Why am I so fucking sad about living people and a fantasy?”

He stroked his fingers along her cheek to cup it. “I don’t remember much from my mother’s funeral ‘cause my head was pretty fucked up, but there was something the Priest said that stuck with me. ‘Grief is just all the love you had for someone that suddenly has nowhere to go.’ So, it collects inside you, makes your chest ache, and leaks from your eyes—it fills all the places that were left empty by their loss. I’ll always feel my mom here—” He put a hand over his heart. “—but over time, a lot of my grief slowly disappeared, and you’ve made it easier to live with what’s left.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t think what you’re feeling is weird. They might be alive, but you lost the only family you’ve ever known and are grieving the death of your relationship with them—now there’s all that love you still have for them that has no place to go, so it’s filling the emptiness they left behind, and it’s gonna take some time to heal.” He held her face in both of his hands. “It’s okay that you're sad, Cielito, but you don’t need to hide it from me or pretend that you’re okay because I know you’re not, and I don’t want you going through this alone. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on; I’ll hold you or talk things out with you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help ease your pain. Just please don’t shut me out.”

She was frowning, her eyes darting away as she spoke softly, “I knew if you saw I was upset, it’d make you sad, and I didn’t wanna make you sad so close to our wedding—this should be a happy time for us, but all I wanna do is lay in the dark and cry.”

“Baby?” His finger went under her chin to make her look at him, their gazes meeting. “Don’t worry about my feelings, and let me be there for you—I’d rather be sad with you than have you suffer alone in silence. Now, let me get you to bed so I can hold you while you cry.”

Her smile was small, and her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’d like that.” Suddenly, she looked panicked, her hand going to her mouth. “Move,” said her muffled voice. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Shit.” He immediately helped her off the counter, for her to stumble the handful of steps and drop to her knees in front of the toilet, where she did, in fact, get sick.

It took a lot to gross out Javier—he grew up on a ranch, where he witnessed animal births and deaths regularly. Combine that with the horrible things he’d seen in Colombia, someone throwing up was a welcome change.

“Oh, mi probecita (my poor thing),” he said, spinning around to the wall opposite the bathroom vanity to get a small rag from the linen closet before moving back to the sink to wet it with cold water. “Déjame cuidarte, Cielito (Let me take care of you, Cielito). Sé que no te gusta enfermarte (I know you don’t like getting sick).”

She’d told him that when she had a little too much fun at a party playing drinking games with his primos (cousins) and found herself on his old bathroom floor, hugging porcelain with Javier there for support—they’d ended up being too drunk to drive home and spent the night in his childhood bed.

He wrung out the washcloth and walked over to her, a grunt leaving him and knees popping as he lowered himself to kneel next to her. He pressed the cloth to the back of her neck with one hand while the other rubbed comforting circles over her spine.

His tone was warm and gentle. “Get it all out, baby. I know it’s awful, and you hate it, but it’ll make you feel better.”

It didn’t take long for her stomach to empty and her heaving to stop. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and Javier took care of flushing the toilet. He scooted back and pulled her with him, the tiled floor cool underneath them, until he had room to stretch out his legs in front of him while she sat between them with her spine to his chest, her eyes closed.

He held the wet cloth to her forehead, the fingers of his free hand laced with hers, and kissed her hair.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered.

“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbled.

He huffed amusedly and smiled, placing a kiss behind her ear.

“Liar,” he said. “You said that last time you drank too much.”

“I mean it this time.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“I do—this is embarrassing.”

“I think it’s good practice.”

He knew the look on her face was one of confusion without seeing it. “Practice for what?”

“If you get morning sickness.” He kissed the side of her neck.

“Oh, god,” she whined. “Why can’t we be seahorses?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Seahorses?”

“Yeah, male seahorses do the whole pregnancy and birth thing—that’s the fucking dream.”

He thought about it for a second, taking into account how badly he wanted kids, and it was really fucking weird to say this out loud, “If I could… I’d, uh, do that for us…”

He could hear her smiling. “You’d have my babies?”

Javier inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “...yes.”

“I know the scenario is weirding you out, and it’s sweet of you to say you would, but I’m not sure if, given the opportunity, you’d actually do it—which is fine. Pregnancy and childbirth are scary, and it just proves that mothers are more badass than fathers.”

“You’re definitely more badass than me.”

“I appreciate you saying that, man who literally hunted bad guys for a living and had a bounty on his head.”

“You are, and since you’re taking the brunt of everything for us to have a kid, I promise I’ll do whatever possible, so all you’ll have to worry about is growing our baby and working.” She’d made it clear that when she got pregnant, she was still going to work until either the baby was born or the Doctor told her to stop.

“You know, I think we’re gonna crush being married and becoming parents.”

He smiled. “We are because we’re equals, even if you’re more badass than me.”

“We are equals, and thank you for acknowledging my badassery, man who helped eliminate two of the biggest cartels in the world.”

He snorted. “Smartass. How are you feeling?”

“A little drunk, sad, and I’ve got the spins.”

“Do you still feel sick?”

“Not really—just dizzy.”

“Do you want me to help you brush your teeth and then get you comfortable in bed?”

“That actually sounds wonderful because my mouth feels icky, and I’d like to cuddle.”

“Okay, mi amor.”

He started to move, but she stopped him with her hand on his arm as she said, “Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“You’re worth it.”

“Worth what…?”

“The pain and sadness over my family. You bring me so much love and happiness that I know it’ll outshine the hurt in no time, and this low I’m in is only temporary. You’re worth it and more than enough—your love is all I need. I love you.”

His throat was feeling tight, and he spoke softly. “I love you, too.” His arms went around her middle, and he didn’t squeeze as he hugged her to not hurt her stomach. He still wanted to hold her, his chin resting on her shoulder and their heads touching. “I’m happy I’m worth it to you, and just know that I’m yours; I’m here for you—good, bad, it doesn’t fucking matter because I’m not going anywhere, and we’ll get through anything together.” His lips pressed to her hair. “I tell you I love you a lot, but I hope you understand that I love you more than words can accurately describe—I love you, Cielito. I love you, and I promise I’ll be yours forever.”

Her hand came up behind her to press her fingers into his hair. “Yeah, we’re gonna crush being husband and wife.”

She made him smile. “Less than seventy-two hours, Mrs. Peña.”

“And I can’t fucking wait, Mr. Peña.”

The town of Laredo was buzzing with the news Javier Peña was getting married—yes, the same Javier Peña who left his first bride at the altar, had tumbled in the hay with many of the girls he’d gone to school with, and was apparently some kind of lothario in South America.

It really bothered you how fucking interested and judgmental the townspeople were of his sex life.

Your wedding with him was all anyone could talk about, and the bar was even taking bets on whether or not he’d disappear again, which was fucked up, but Chucho gladly put five hundred dollars on his son marrying you because he knew it was easy money. There was so much interest in how things would turn out that people you either barely knew or had never met approached you both like they were old friends of Javi’s to try and get invites—they were politely rejected with the excuse there wasn’t enough room.

According to Robyn, your wedding had the same amount of hype as your fiancé’s first, and though Javi hated that, you really hoped it annoyed the fuck out of his ex.

When you discussed how you wanted to tie the knot, your husband-to-be agreed the ceremony should be attended by a select few, and afterward, there’d be a big party to celebrate with the rest of your friends and family. Once the date was decided, the planning started immediately since there was so little time.

Chucho and his sisters would make a killing as wedding planners. They sat you and Javi down to get an idea of what you wanted the party to be like, a color scheme, and a budget, then told you guys not to worry and that they’d take care of everything. All the two of you had to do was approve things, hand over cash, and get your rings, which wasn’t too much of a hassle since you wanted simple matching gold bands.

Something you loved about the family you were marrying into was how they were all there for each other and so tight-knit—your fiancé's dad and tías managed to get all that was needed in less than a month with the help of his primos, and by calling in favors from their friends.

Javier and you didn't want anything extravagant. The party would occur in Chucho's backyard, under a giant white pole tent. Tables, chairs, and a dance floor had to be rented, and it was highway robbery how much the local place wanted to charge—Lorraine’s family frequently used them for their events, and you wouldn’t put it past her father to be the cause of such an exorbitant price just to spite Javi for wasting the absurd amount of money he spent on Lorraine’s first wedding. Luckily, on such short notice, tía Lupita’s oldest son, Matías, had a friend who knew a guy an hour away in Zapata who ran a party rental store and could get them everything at a reasonable price.

The tías, along with their daughters/daughters in law were handling food; Anna, who was friends with Javi in high school, had a bakery and was taking care of making the cake and Mexican wedding cookies that were tiny, buttery, ball-shaped, melt-in-your-mouth, powdered sugar-covered cookies, dotted with crushed nuts like pecans, walnuts, and almonds, and traditionally served at weddings and Christmas; tío Ángel and tía María’s husband were in charge of getting alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, and Ángel’s youngest son Diego was going to DJ, as it was his side hustle and he’d been paid to do gigs at other parties in town and in a couple of big city clubs.

An hour and a half before you were to be wed, practically every family member of Javi's who lived locally was at the ranch. Many had been there all day setting up the backyard or in the kitchen making food, and every time you tried to help cook, you were shooed away, but your presence was wanted outside to instruct those putting things together on how to arrange and decorate everything inside and out of the tent, and that ended up being what you did until it was time to start getting ready.

Most of Javier’s family and you were there, yet your groom was nowhere to be found and hadn’t set foot on the property in a good sixteen hours.

In that time, you hadn’t seen or talked to him either, and your last interaction was the previous night when he dropped you off at his dad’s—that’s where you spent the night, and thank goodness, Chucho had already gone to sleep when Javi helped you get settled in his old room, because he had a hard time leaving and it led to him fucking you slow and passionately in his ridiculously squeaky bed one last time.

Why were you staying at the ranch? The two of you, encouraged by Javi’s dad, made the decision not to see each other on the day of your nuptials. Since your almost father-in-law would be driving you to where the ceremony was taking place, it made sense for you to sleepover and get ready at his house—the moment Javi left you there in his room that smelled like him, under his sheets that smelled like him, in one of his white t-shirts that smelled like him, you realized it was going to be really difficult and a test of your strength to be away from him for so long, and you both knew, if you spoke even a single word over the phone, the resolve between you would shatter, and he’d be back at Chucho’s for you in record time.

That led to the lack of communication and him getting ready alone at your shared apartment.

You were sitting in a kitchen chair you’d brought into Javi’s old bathroom, wearing a white satin robe cinched tight over your clean body, fresh from the shower and the special undergarments you'd chosen for the big day. Robyn was in front of you in her matching black robe as she did your makeup, something she offered to do and you happily accepted due to how good she was at it. She'd already smoothed out your complexion and hid any imperfections; currently, she was working on your eye shadow.

"Between you and Javi," she said, her attention focused on what she was doing, "your kids are gonna have some pretty eyes."

You smiled. "I think his eyes are prettier, and just imagine tiny versions of them; they'll give me the sad puppy dog eyes, and I'll have no choice but to give them whatever they want."

She giggled. "Your babies will be spoiled."

"I have already accepted that fact—hopefully, they'll take after their dad and be spoiled, but sweet, caring, and well-behaved, and not some little assholes." You frowned. "My brother was a spoiled asshole."

She paused what she was doing to meet your eyes. "Hey, now, we agreed not to think or speak about those people today. We aren't lettin' them sour the best day of your life so far."

"I know," you sighed.

It was the right choice to sever your ties with your family, and you had no regrets; that didn't mean it wasn't hard or hurt any less. Especially today, with it being your wedding day—your mom wasn’t there to help you get ready, nor your dad for a father-daughter dance. They should’ve been there supporting you on the happiest day of your life. Instead, they destroyed whatever relationship you had with them, and it hurt a lot. Even suspecting for years that they had no love for you didn't ease much of the pain of discovering it was true. You felt stupid for caring about these people when they cared so little for you, and you weren't sure why you hadn't cut them out sooner. Was it naively thinking they'd change? Or the ingrained notion that even if you didn't like them, you had to suck it up because they were your family?

It didn't matter now because what they'd done and how they treated the man you loved was unforgivable. There was no chance in hell you’d ever trust them again, and you didn’t want the new life you were starting with Javi to be tainted by their toxicity.

Robyn's cell phone was sitting on the bathroom counter next to your open makeup bag, and it started ringing—nobody wanted to bother you while you got ready, so Robyn was made the point of contact to either deal with what was going on or talk it out with you.

She straightened and turned around to pick it up.

"Why's he callin’?" she mumbled, hitting the accept button and putting the phone to her ear. "What's shakin' bacon? Robyn speakin,’" she answered. "...yes," she told them, "I'm doin' her makeup right now... No... No, you can't... Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? No one is supposed to see her before the wedding... You're a fuckin' liar, and Chucho wouldn’t let you in here anyway... You're ridiculous," she said in exasperation. "But if you swear, on your mama's grave, you won't peek, then I'll allow it... Okay, fine. Give us a sec, then quietly knock—I don't want anyone knowin' you’re here... bye."

She set the phone down and the eyeshadow palette, spinning on her heel to face you and grab your hand.

"Was that who I think it was?" you asked.

She was smiling. "If you’re thinkin’ someone annoyin’ who could get me in more trouble than an armadillo on the highway with your father-in-law, yes—come with me."

Robyn tugged you up to stand and led you into the bedroom, where you both came to a stop.

There were two large windows on the opposite wall beside each side of the bed, sitting half a foot above the floor with closed blinds and red curtains over them. A soft knocking sounded on the one in front of you. You followed Robyn and watched her push apart the curtains, pulling on the string to raise the blinds. Her body blocked your view as she unlocked the window and shoved it up.

"How many fingers am I holdin' up?" she asked the person outside.

"I don't know," Javi answered. "I can't see shit with this thing on."

The sound of his voice had your heart beating faster.

"Good," Robyn said, moving out of your way to look at you.

With the window's position, you could only see your fiancé from the thighs up, wearing black tuxedo pants and a white long-sleeved dress shirt tucked into them. Your sleep mask covered his eyes, and there was a loose regular tie and bow tie around his neck that matched the color of his slacks, the ends of each resting over both sides of his chest. Aside from his perfectly trimmed mustache, his face was freshly shaved, and he looked unbelievably handsome as always.

"This annoyin' man—" Robyn pointed at him with her thumb. "—says it's an emergency—he needs you to tell him how you want his hair done and which tie you’d like."

It made you smile because his hair was already how you wanted it—you had given him a haircut a couple of days ago, so the sides looked nice and clean cut down, and he combed the longer top and bangs to swoop over to the other side of his head, holding it all in place with his favorite pomade, that kept his hair soft.

He also knew damn well which tie you’d chosen.

It had you feeling gooey that he couldn't wait any longer to see you.

You walked toward him, and Robyn made herself scarce by disappearing into the bathroom. At the window, you got down on your knees to make it easier to talk to him, Javier still standing above you with his height.

"An emergency, huh?" you asked, and he smiled. Taking his outstretched hand, you guided him closer.

“Are we alone?" he countered

His palms began mapping your body, sliding over your arms and shoulders and along your neck up to your head, where he avoided your face but carefully felt your ears and hair.

"Yep."

“You feel beautiful.”

Air huffed from your nose in amusement. “Well, you look handsome, even without being fully dressed.” You rubbed your hands up his thighs to rest them on his tiny hips. “Your hair looks perfect,” you continued. “Did you really forget which tie I wanted?”

He smirked. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the only way I knew I could get Robyn to betray Pop’s orders and let me see you; well, talk to you.”

Your eyebrows creased. “Orders? What orders?”

“He might’ve made it sound like a suggestion, the whole us not seeing each other today, but Pop is super fucking superstitious like mi mamá was—he doesn’t think he is—believe me, he is, and it made him feel better we agreed to do it. So, he has everyone out here on strict orders to keep us apart, including Robyn. One of my tíos is sitting at the end of the kitchen table right now so he can watch the front and back door; another is on the living room couch to stay close to my room in case he’s gotta intercept me. You’re being guarded like a fucking high-security witness with a hit out on them. I had to park my truck down the road and have Seb hide me in the trunk of his Bronco to get here without anyone seeing.”

“That is insane.”

He sighed. “At least Pop kinda gave us a choice; my mom wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have let us take any risk of getting bad luck because I saw you.”

“It’s sweet and extremely intense.”

“Yeah, and I can’t see you, so we’re good.”

You smiled. “Gotta love loopholes.”

He was smiling, too. “Yeah. I missed you so much. I just needed to touch you and talk to you.” He grabbed your hands off his waist, stroking his thumbs over the back of them. “I couldn’t sleep last night without you—even when I tried sleeping on your side.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep either, and I missed you, too. I’m happy you’re here so we can talk. I’ve got butterflies in my tummy, and I can’t tell if they’re nerves or excitement.”

“Maybe both?”

“Could be. Don’t know what I have to be nervous about.”

“I’m nervous about having to say my sappy bullshit in front of other people and have it recorded.”

“That’s actually a good point—if we leave now, we can make it to the courthouse before it closes and skip all of that.”

He huffed out a breath. “It’s too late for that, mi amor. Pop’s excited about being a part of the ceremony and getting to walk you to me.”

There wouldn’t be an aisle per se, just a small trail of rose petals leading you to where Javi would be standing in front of the tree. Chucho cried happy tears when you asked him to give you away.

When your soon-to-be father-in-law heard about your parents' impromptu visit, you’d never seen him so angry—his face had gone red, and he went off in Spanish about what terrible people they were. He was so mad he repeatedly tried to get you to give him their phone number so he could tell them himself how lowly he thought of them and that they were awful parents; he wanted them to know that their loss was his gain and you were his daughter now; you would finally be loved and cherished by a proud parent and that it was God’s will you came into his and his son’s lives. He also needed them to be aware that their pride and greed had turned them villainous, and he’d be praying that they someday realized the error of their ways and saw you for the blessing you were.

His anger toward those who wronged you was fueled by a protective father’s love for their child, and it made you incredibly emotional that after so many years without one, you had a parent who loved you unconditionally, wanted nothing more than your happiness, and would selflessly fight battles for you.

Chucho was the best dad you’d ever had, and you were happy that in less than two hours, you’d share a last name with him, too.

“Ugh, you’re right,” you said, “Pop deserves his moment. Hey, babe?”

“Yes, mi amor?”

“When you’re saying your sappy bullshit, focus on me. It'll just be the two of us in that moment, no one else, and believe me when I say all of my tears will be happy.”

His smile was brighter than the sun. He lifted your hand to kiss each of your knuckles, saying when he finished. “All of my tears will be happy, too, and you do the same thing—it’s just us, nobody else. Will you, uh, tie my bow tie?”

His question had you smiling. “I’d love to.”

He pulled off the regular tie and stuffed it into his pocket, bending his knees and crouching with a grunt to put his neck within reach. You took the ends of the bow tie, your attention focused on what you were doing.

"This is why you had me learn how to tie a bow tie, huh?" You started going through the steps—ensuring one end was longer than the other, then crossing it over the shorter end, bringing it up from under the loop and through it.

"Yes."

The bow tie had taken shape, and you were almost done.

"What was your plan if Robyn didn't let you see me?"

"I would've called you and gotten you to sneak away."

You finished tying it, and it wasn't perfect, but it didn't look too bad.

"And I would've with zero hesitation," you said, patting the bow tie. "You look so good." You leaned out to peck him on the cheek.

"Not as good as you."

You huffed out air. "Obviously, you can't see me because only half of my makeup is done—there's literally eyeshadow on only one side. I look like a mess."

Your hands were on his shoulders, and he rubbed his hands back and forth on your arms.

"A beautiful mess."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm in love."

"I'm in love, too—madly, as a matter of fact. Oh, your dad took me out for breakfast this morning in the Mustang. He filled up the tank on our way home, and when we got back before everyone came over, he polished it, so I think it’s safe to assume you’re gonna get to drive it at some point in the next twenty-four hours—you can’t see, but I’m wagging my eyebrows.” You were.

His lips pouted, and his hands remained still. “Who drove to and from the diner?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I just wanna know.”

“But why does it matter?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“No, I’m just curious why you need to know who drove.”

His shoulders slumped. “I think I have my answer—how many times has he let you drive it now? Was that four or five?”

“Six. He let me drive with him in the passenger seat and Robyn in the back when we went wedding dress shopping.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you get weird like you are now that he lets me drive it—I can’t help that he thinks my cooking is Mustang-driving-worthy.”

“But you didn’t make him anything when you went wedding dress shopping…”

“No, but he was so touched I wanted him there to help me pick out a dress, he thought the special occasion warranted me getting to drive.”

“He didn’t let me drive the Mustang when we went to find a tux…” he grumbled.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, babe, but my wedding dress I bought and am going to save in case our future daughter wants to wear it one day is a little more special than your rented tux that has been worn many times before you by strangers. Now, stop being jealous, and get excited that you’re finally going to drive it, and unlike me, you’ll be allowed to drive it wherever the fuck you want, so there, you have one up on me.”

He seemed to be thinking long and hard about that last bit.

“That is better…”

“It sure is. Lean in and kiss me. It’ll make you less grumpy.”

“As much as I’m dying to kiss you right now, I, um, wanna wait, so it’s kinda special…”

“I respect that and understand what you mean. Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married today, and I hope you like my dress.”

He smiled brightly. “I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married, too. I’m gonna love your dress.”

“I hope so.”

“Baby, you could show up in a paper bag, and I’d be blown away.”

“The bar is so low. Do you wanna feel what I’ll be wearing under the dress?”

The pink of his tongue quickly peeked between his lips, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

His timbre deepened. “Yes.”

You poked your head out the window to ensure no one was around, then loosened the belt, holding your robe shut. Taking his hand, you started at your shoulder beneath the silk, letting his fingertips graze over the bare skin, trailing them down to the lacy cup of your strapless bra. He couldn’t help himself and palmed your covered breast before you moved his hand once more to continue the journey downward, where he got to feel the smooth, stretchy material hugging your middle; you let his fingers find that the spandex covering the warmth between your thighs, too.

“Not very sexy,” you said. “Well, the bra is cute. The rest is so I don’t look lumpy in the dress or have panty lines.”

He was about to say something, but you spoke before he had a chance. “Yes, Javier, I know you love my natural body, including the bits I don’t, but I wanna look my very best, and that means Spanx.”

He was frowning. “Are they uncomfortable?”

It warmed your heart that he was concerned for your comfort.

"Not really," you answered truthfully. "They're like my bicycle shorts, so stretchy and breathable. Will it make you feel better to know I have sexier bottoms I'm gonna wear when I change into my comfier dress after food and our first dance?"

He didn't know what your wedding dress looked like, but he had seen the one you were changing into after it.

His free hand went to the window frame, feeling along it until he found where the opened window stopped and ducked his head under it. His face was close to yours, one of his palms still between your legs, the other carefully sliding up the edge of your open robe.

"I'd prefer you wear no panties," he rasped, pulling the silk off your shoulder. His mouth pressed to the newly revealed skin, the soft kiss of his lips and tickle of his mustache, paired with his hand on your pussy beginning to rub, had sparks dancing down your spine. "It's gonna make me hard," his words were muffled between kisses as he moved across your shoulder toward your neck, "seeing you in your wedding dress.” Your fingers went into the hair at the back of his head, his spare hand palming your breast. “I'm gonna lose my fucking mind hearing you say 'I do.'" He was kissing and nibbling at your throat now, the added friction of his palm at the crux of your thighs making it hard to think. "It's gonna drive me fucking crazy that you're my wife—my wife,” he repeated against your throat. “And I’ll be your husband—I already want you, but all I’ll be able to think about after we’re pronounced husband and wife is getting you alone, and if you’re not wearing panties, it’ll make it easier for me to lift up that pretty—“

“No, Javier!” Robyn interrupted, and you felt cold water mist against your bare skin, the spray bottle hissing near your ear. “Bad!”

“Fuck!” he yelped, his head narrowly missing the bottom of the raised window as he pushed back from you so fast you’d think he was burned. His expression had turned grumpy as he stood. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I promised your daddy I wouldn’t let you see her,” she said, looking mad. “But out of the kindness of my heart—” She pressed a hand to the left side of her chest. “—I went against my word to your father, and how do you repay me? By wastin’ time gettin’ fresh with your fiancée when I’m riskin’ your daddy bein’ madder than a box of frogs at me for not doin’ what I said I’d do—you’re bein’ real rude Javier Peña, exploitin’ my niceness and I’d appreciate you sayin’ your goodbyes, and bein’ on your way.”

His eyes were covered, but it was visible how his face shifted from grumpy to guilty.

“I’m sorry, Robyn,” he said.

“Apology accepted. Say goodbye, and then we gotta get back to work.”

“Okay,” he replied.

The other woman headed back to the en suite. Leaning forward, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to step toward you.

“Thank you for coming to see me or, you know, talk to me,” you told him.

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “There was zero chance of me waiting to talk to you until the wedding. I love you too much.”

“I’m happy you did, and I love you, too.”

He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know you will, and I’ll be there.”

Javi sighed. “I better go. Bye, Cielito,” he said and didn’t move.

“You’re gonna see me in a little bit—get going, babe.”

He sighed again. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

This time, he quickly pecked the back of your hand and started quietly walking along the front of the house. You assumed he had taken off the sleep mask to sneak away.

You closed and locked the window, shutting the blinds and curtains, feeling happy that you'd be seeing him again soon.

It took some time to finish getting ready, as you wanted to look perfect. Robyn did a fantastic job on your makeup, and your hair turned out well. When you saw yourself all dolled up and wearing your dress, you almost couldn't believe it was your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

The white, silky satin hugged your curves as it cascaded to the ground to pool around your feet, the fabric having some stretch to it so your movements weren’t hindered. The neckline dipped in a slight V, your upper back bare from under your armpits up, and thin straps went over your shoulders connecting the two sides.

With how the satin draped over your figure, perfectly fitting the contours of your body, then flared out below your knees, it had a Morticia Addams feel to it—change the color of it to black, add sleeves, and you’d find it in her closet.

Javi was right. You looked so amazing that he was absolutely going to get a boner when he saw you.

And wasn't that just the sweetest thing?

A man so in love with you he gets aroused even when you're fully clothed because he thinks you're that pretty. He was also the kind of guy who sometimes got too excited from a kiss, and you had to wait a little while in the car for him to calm down…

"What do you think?" Robyn asked beside you. She'd put on her dress—a lavender-colored, A-line, floor-length gown with ruffled short sleeves and a V-neckline that, as an added bonus, had pockets.

You met her eyes in the mirror. "That I've never looked more beautiful—if you ever wanted to get out of nursing, you'd be a fantastic makeup artist."

She smiled, her full lips painted in rose-pink lipstick. "Thank you, but I prefer doin' it as a hobby and bein' able to help my friends out."

"Well, thank you for making me look insanely pretty."

"All I did was enhance what was already there, girl—Javi's gonna lose it."

"I hope he does."

A knock sounded from the bedroom door, and without a word, your friend went to see who it was.

"Is it okay for Chucho to see you?" Robyn called from the other room.

"Yes!" you answered, and nerves started fluttering in your belly over what he'd think.

Within seconds, your father-in-law was standing in the doorway, where you faced him with a grin.

"Dios mío (My God)," he gasped, his hand going to his mouth, “eres tan hermosa (you’re so beautiful)!” His dark eyes behind his glasses started to shine.

He was wearing light grey slacks, a white long-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie in the same shade as Robyn’s dress resting against his chest from a perfect Windsor knot at his throat, his camera dangling from a strap around his neck; as usual, his long hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.

“Ese vestido es perfecto (That dress is perfect)!” he said. “Estoy tan feliz de que lo hayas elegido porque te ves increíble (I’m so happy you chose it because you look amazing). Javi se va a volver loco (Javi is going to go crazy)."

"You really think so?" you asked, looking down at your outfit.

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "He's not going to leave you alone. We'll have to get a crowbar to pry him away from you."

You giggled, looking at him. "Yeah, I have a feeling he's gonna be stuck to me all night."

"When isn't he?"

The question made you laugh. "Touché."

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to," the older man started, "but I went through mi amor's jewelry to see if there was anything I thought you might want to wear—it could be your something old—” You hadn’t figured out what to do for something old; your something new was the perfume Javi got you for Christmas that you saved for today so he’d have a scent memory. Something borrowed was Chucho’s land, where your ceremony and party would take place, and something blue was a garter from Robyn around your thigh under your dress. “—and I found this necklace,” he said.

That's when you realized he was holding a large, thin, black leather box in his other hand.

Chucho walked closer to you, holding it in a palm, while the other lifted the hinged top—the necklace was made up of many silver waves connected together, purple sapphires resting in each dip, that you counted seventeen in total. It was stunning, the metal and precious gemstones glimmering beneath the lighting.

"I gave this to mi Antonia on our twentieth anniversary," he told you. "We'd visit her family in Mexico two, three times a year, and always for Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). On one visit, she saw this necklace and fell in love with it—it's Taxco silver and known for its high quality; many pieces made with it are crafted by hand and marked, so you know it's real. She wouldn't let me buy it for her because she thought it was too expensive for something she’d hardly wear, but the way she looked at it, I had to get it for her anyway, so I did and surprised her with it on our anniversary; she yelled at me," he chuckled, smiling. "Then had me put it on her and covered my face in kisses." He sighed fondly. "I think if she were here today, this is what she would've chosen for you, too—if you don’t like it, we can go upstairs for you to pick something else out..."

"No, Pop," you said quickly, meeting his gaze. There was a lump in your throat at the thought he'd put into finding you this piece of jewelry. "It's perfect, and I'd love to wear it. Can you help me put it on, please?"

"Yes, Mija." He set the open box on the bathroom counter and picked up the necklace with the same care as you would a newborn. Turning so your back was to him, he had an end in each hand as his arm went over your head to get the silver and sapphires around the front of your neck, clasping it at the back. He stepped away, and you faced him again.

There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were soft. "Mi hija hermosa (My beautiful daughter).” The sentence had your breath hitching. “¿Ella es preciosa, no (She is gorgeous, right)?" he asked Robyn. She understood Spanish but had a hard time speaking it.

The other woman was beside him, grinning. "She sure is," she agreed. "A real stunner."

"I'm so happy this day has finally come." Tears were brimming on his eyelids, and he took off his glasses to wipe them away. "I just wish mi amor was here to see our son marry such a wonderful woman."

Your eyes were burning as you held back from crying. He'd put his eyeglasses back on, and you stepped forward to hug him, being careful of your makeup. His arms went around you, squeezing you back.

"I wish she was here, too," you said. "At least we've got you, the best dad in the whole world. I love you, Pop."

"I love you, too, Mija. Thank you for loving my son and making him the happiest I've ever seen. We're blessed to have you in our lives, and I can't tell you how much joy I feel that you've decided to take our last name; I think it suits you better."

"I think it suits me better, too."

“You’re gonna kill the grass if you keep walking back and forth like that,” the other man told him.

They were at the oak tree on the hill, and the sun was getting close to setting. Javier had his whole outfit on: a black tuxedo and bow tie, white shirt, and lavender pocket square—he’d borrowed a pair of his father’s golden cufflinks, and one of his mother’s violet roses was pinned to his lapel. He didn’t have a cigarette to calm his nerves, so he was pacing, but the comment had him stopping with a sigh.

"Are you wearing a hole in the ground 'cause you're being impatient?" Steve continued. "Or are you nervous?"

His gaze went to his best friend, who was standing in front of him holding a small, white, heart-shaped pillow adorned in lace that went around the edges—there were two golden rings, one bigger than the other, secured to the top of it by a satin ribbon tied into a bow. The older man was dressed in a charcoal-colored suit he regularly wore to work, with a new tie provided by Javier that matched his lavender pocket square. Nate was in a carrier on his back; the parents put the one-year-old in a onesie that made him look like he was wearing a tuxedo and some dark pants, the child happily chewing on a football-shaped teething toy.

His hands went to his hips as he frowned. “Both?” Javier answered. “I can’t wait to see her, and I’m nervous about saying shi-stuff—“ He quickly corrected himself with the children present. “—I usually save for when we’re alone.”

Steve was giving him a weird look. “My kids are here. This ‘stuff’ is appropriate for them to hear, right…? It’s not anything… lewd…?”

Javier’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s not anything like that, you judgemental pri-prude.”

The blonde man’s free hand went up in a placating gesture. “Hey, you said you save it for when you’re alone, and y’all have stayed at our house—any time the two of you were alone, you… folded laundry.”

“Folded laundry…?”

“Javi,” Connie said to get his attention, and he looked over to where she was fussing with the purple bow in Olivia’s hair. “You know when there’s a big load of laundry that requires two adults to fold, and they have to lock the bedroom door so there aren’t any distractions.”

Oh, ‘folding laundry’ was their code word for sex—that was smart.

“Mom and Dad have been folding a lot of laundry together lately,” Olivia added with a quizzical expression. “I didn’t know it was so hard to do alone—the baskets don’t seem that big.”

Javier smiled, his head turning from one parent to the other, seeing they were avoiding his eyes and blushing—good for them, fucking regularly.

“It’s more satisfying to do laundry with someone, so it gets done quicker,” he said.

“Doesn’t seem to get done quicker,” she replied.

Steve cleared his throat before he spoke. “Anyways, enough about laundry—what are you planning to say that’s got you nervous, Jav?”

He stopped smiling and scratched his mustache. “Uh, like, lovey-dovey, romantic crap…”

His best friend’s smile grew into a shit-eating grin. “What, like, super cheesy stuff? Are you gonna read the poetry you wrote about her eyes in your diary or something?”

Javier ground his teeth.

"Leave him alone, Steve," Connie said. "In our wedding video, before I walked down the aisle, you were clearly figuring out where all of the nearest exits were in the church. It’s refreshing and sweet that Javi’s gonna be vulnerable in front of everyone for the woman he loves.”

"I was checking where the exits were in case of a fire!" Steve rebuked. "All those candles they lit made me nervous."

"If that's what you tell yourself." She didn’t sound convinced.

“I was! Why did we need to be here forty-five minutes early?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “I was really enjoying the food your aunties were feeding us back at the house.”

There wasn’t a chance for Javier to respond; the answer to the question was he wanted to show how eager he was to marry the woman he actually loved and avoid any chance of being late—it also was a ‘fuck you’ to the people betting against him at the bar.

"Tío, tío!" The three-year-old Stevie shouted, running up to him; he was holding a Ninja Turtle action figure he'd been playing with in the grass.

Javier smiled, his attention moving to the child, crouching to be at his level. "Yes, mi principito (my little prince)?"

"We match!" His tiny finger pointed at his little light purple bow tie over his white dress shirt. The kid refused to wear a regular tie like his dad, and the only way they got him to agree to the clip-on bow tie was by telling him Javier had one, too.

His friends weren't by any means struggling with money, but Javier and his wif-fiancée, sent them a check to pay for their trip to Texas, which included flights, lodging, a rental car, and clothes for the wedding since they wanted those at the ceremony to match—Olivia got a new dress and so did her mom in the shade of lavender everyone else was wearing.

The family had gotten into town the day before. Cielito and Javier had shown them around town and taken them out to the ranch where Chucho and Connie finally got to meet in person—there was a lot of hugging—and that evening, they all, including his father, went out to dinner. Today, he’d spent more time with his friends before they all needed to get ready, then they followed him out to the ranch to distract Chucho while Javier covertly went to see, or, well, talk to his bride-to-be—the sleep mask was Connie’s idea, and she thought them sneakily meeting without anyone knowing was incredibly romantic.

"We do, bud,” he said. “You look so cool." He gently patted the child's arm.

Stevie was grinning. "I'm gonna walk from Mommy to Daddy and give him the rings?"

The hill they were on wasn’t too steep; Olivia was fine with walking up it from the bottom—she was excited to do it. For her younger brother, it was too much for him, so Connie was going to stand with Stevie a little before the land evened out at the top to signal when it was time for him to walk to his father.

"Yes," he nodded. "You'll walk while holding the pillow with the rings and hand it to your dad."

"It's a special job?"

"It's very special."

"Sissy's gonna throw flowers?"

"Yes, flower petals."

"It's a special job, too?"

"It is. They’re both important. Thank you for helping me, mi principito (my little prince).” He ruffled the child’s dirty blonde hair, making Stevie laugh.

Javier’s primos, Sebastián, and his tía Rebeca's daughter, Angelita, were taking care of the videography and photography, respectively. Seb had the video camera Javier bought, and Angelita had her own gear since she was a professional photographer—when you had fourteen cousins on just your father’s side, the odds were in your favor, one of them could either help with what you needed or knew somebody who could.

Photos were taken of Javier with the Murphys when they all first got there, and then his primos told everyone to pretend they weren’t there while they got candids and views of the scenery—his cousins arrived together in Sebastián’s SUV.

“Hey, Javi?” Seb said as he walked toward him.

"I gotta talk to him, buddy," Javier told Stevie. "I'll be back." He rose up with a groan, taking a few steps to reach his primo. "Yeah?" he answered.

When camcorders first came out, they were big and had to be rested on the operator’s shoulder, but the one Seb was using, he held in one of his hands with the side pulled open to see the little screen that previewed what was being recorded. The younger man hit a button on the video camera to pause what he’d been doing. “Do you want me to interview people?” Seb asked. “Ask how they like the wedding, if they have any advice, that kinda stuff.”

"Uh." He thought about it and Cielito would probably enjoy that. "Sure.”

"Perfecto (Perfect)." Seb nodded, hitting the button to record again.

Javier immediately regretted his decision when the camera was put in his face.

“It’s your big day, primo,” Seb said. “How are you feeling?”

“Um, excited and nervous.”

“The audience would like to hear how you met your bride.”

Javier smiled, heat rising on his cheeks. “At the grocery store, in the produce department—I guess it was obvious I was struggling to pick out a tomato, and she came to my rescue and showed me what to look for.”

“What was your first impression of her?”

He scratched at the back of his neck while looking away. “Uh, that she was sweet for helping me out, and beautiful. I could tell she had a good, kind heart and—” he lowered his voice so the children wouldn’t hear him. “—no fuckin’ clue who I was.” He chuckled. “I was hooked from that first conversation; an instant connection—there was something about her that told me she was going to be someone important to me, and I’d never felt that with anyone else.”

“What’d you do for your first date?”

His immediate thought was what happened after the bar, and his face felt hot. “We, uh, went out for drinks.”

“When did you know you loved her?”

He looked at the camera. “Honestly? Our third date. We were dancing in her kitchen to “¿Y cómo es él?”—”

“Mi mamá loves that song,” Seb said.

Javier huffed, smiling. “All my tías do. So, uh, we were dancing in her kitchen, and I realized she was the woman I was going to marry. I could see us having a future and was picturing what our Sunday mornings would look like—which, they’re exactly how I imagined—yeah, I knew I loved her on the third date and that we were going to get married one day.” He cleared his throat. “When my dad tells the story of the first time he saw my mother, he says his gut told him she was the one, and I always thought he was talking out of his—ass,” he whispered. “But it’s real and crazy to know deep down inside that you’ve found the person who completes you—feeling that confirmed she was it and that I truly did love her.”

“I think I know the feeling you’re talking about, and it’s great.”

“It is, and at your wedding, I’m gonna grill you on camera about it.”

“Hey, your wife is gonna eat this up, and you both want kids; think about your hijos (children) watching this one day and seeing how much you love their mom on your wedding day.”

The thought of sitting on the couch surrounded by his wife and kids, watching this wedding video, made him soften to the point he was putty—he wanted it to be a reality one day.

“What’s something you want to say to the bride before you get married?” Seb asked.

“I love you, and today is the best day of my entire fucking life—”

“—Eso es un dólar en la jarra, tío (That’s a dollar in the jar, uncle).” Olivia interrupted.

She meant the swear jar.

Javier sighed. “Lo siento, mi tesorito (I’m sorry, my little treasure). As I was saying, mi Cielito, I love you, and today is the best day of my entire freaking life. Happy isn’t enough to describe how I feel about us starting this new chapter of being husband and wife, and I’m looking forward to our future full of love, happiness, and hopefully, a lot of kids.” He smiled big. “I love you more than anything, and I will tell you that every day for the rest of our lives. Te amo, mi amor (I love you, my love).” To end the sentence, he blew a kiss at the camera lens.

In order to get to where Javi was, it involved Chucho driving you off-road, and the trip was bumpy; you sat in the passenger seat, and Robyn was in the backseat, and because your father-in-law was probably as nervous as you were about speaking in front of people, he held your hand the entire way.

The previous day, when you brought the Murphys out to the ranch, you’d taken them to where you were going to be wed to do a quick rehearsal on how things would go; Olivia was beyond ecstatic to be a flower girl, and Stevie didn’t really understand what was going on, except that his tío Javi had an important job for him.

Chucho pulled up and parked at the base of the hill with your door opposite it so you couldn’t get a closer look at everyone atop it. The butterflies in your belly were flapping around so hard you thought they might get out, while your mind was racing with what could go wrong like you falling—that was a reason you wore flats, but with how much of your dress touched the ground, there was a chance of it tripping you up. Or what if Javi’s handsomeness made your brain stop working, and you couldn’t speak a single coherent word? Something that has happened before. God, your heart was pounding, and you thought you might be having a minor panic attack due to your vision starting to tunnel—a small silver flask was held up in front of your face, the cap already twisted off.

“Take a drink, Mija,” Chucho’s soothing voice said. “It’ll calm you down.”

The man was a lifesaver.

You grabbed it, taking a big swig, and your face pinched as the whiskey burned down your throat—from the taste and smoothness, you recognized it as Javi’s favorite, which was top shelf, a little spendy, and probably came from the bottle your fiancé gifted his dad to thank him for his help in getting you to give the green light to start your family.

The effect the alcohol had on you was almost immediate, feeling all of the tense muscles in your body relax at the same time. Your father-in-law took the flask from you and knocked it back with a drink of his own.

“Robyn?” he asked when he finished, holding it up for her to reach.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied, accepting it from him to take a gulp.

“I couldn’t see Antonia before our wedding,” he said, his head turned your way, “or talk to her. We were kept apart at the church, and I was so nervous that I was shaking like a leaf.” He chuckled. “Not about getting married, but having to stand in front of so many people. It had to be minutes before I needed to go out with the priest that mi amor’s maid of honor, her best friend, found me to give me an opened bottle of tequila and a note written by Antonia that read, ‘Mi amor, un trago para el coraje (My love, a drink for courage). Yo también necesitaba uno (I needed one, too).’ And she left a lipstick stamp of her lips at the bottom, where she kissed the paper. I won’t deny it. I kissed where her lips had been and took two shots.”

The story made you smile.

Chucho had put on a jacket that matched his light grey pants, and you watched as he pulled something from the inside pocket. It was a small folded piece of paper that’d been ripped from the notepad he kept by the answering machine at his house to write down messages. He passed it over to you, and you unfolded it, finding Javi’s scratchy handwriting. You read what he wrote:

Cielito, You said you were never drinking again, but I think this can be an exception since you’re probably freaking the fuck out about embarrassing yourself like I am. I’m worried I’ll see how beautiful you are and forget how to talk, or my brain will stop working. Have a drink to calm your nerves, and know it will all be okay because we’re doing this together. I love you, Your husband

The note was touching, especially since he knew how you’d be feeling.

“When did he write this?” you asked Chucho, whose eyes you met, the man smiling.

“When he met up with Connie and all of them at the house before they came out here. I’d given him the flask when he got there as a gift, but he told me to keep it for you and asked if he could write you a message. It reminded me so much of his mother, I couldn’t say no.”

“Thanks, Pop. I needed it.”

“I know you did, Mija.” He patted your leg.

When Javier saw his father's truck in the distance, his heart rate increased, and by the time they parked at the bottom of the hill, his heart was beating so fast that he was sure it was going to beat right out of his chest.

With where he was standing at the tree and how the land sloped, he didn’t have a visual. Steve was beside him with Nate still in the carrier, Connie and Stevie, who was holding the pillow with the rings, had walked to the top of the hill and were looking down it, probably watching Olivia, who booked it to join the people at the truck. Seb was near Steve's wife and kid with the camcorder and a battery-powered boombox on the ground he was supposed to hit play on when Robyn gave him the signal.

Sweat was forming on his brow and on his palms. He turned to Steve.

"Do I look okay?" he asked his friend. "How's my hair? And the bow tie?" He lifted his chin.

The other man was wearing an amused smile. "Hair and bow tie look as fine as they did when you asked five minutes ago." He put a hand on Javier's shoulder and squeezed. "Relax, man—you look great. She's gonna love what she sees."

"I fucking hope so."

The sun had started its descent on the horizon and was the backdrop for the place they’d be standing; the sky where it met land was lit up in burning orange, bleeding into golden yellow where the sun was positioned, and high above that, it turned into a calming mauve.

The soft, melodic sound of a piano began, and it was Javier's cue to face the others. Christine McVie’s voice floated through the air as she sang the opening to the Fleetwood Mac song, "Songbird:"

“For you there'll be no more crying For you the Sun will be shining And I feel that when I'm with you It's alright, I know it's right.”

Seconds later, Robyn came into view, smiling while holding a small bouquet of sunflowers with a lavender ribbon wrapped around the stems. She shot her boyfriend, Sebastián, a wink as she passed him. She took her spot across from Javier beside where Cielito would be.

When he discussed with his wife-to-be the music for today, she only knew for sure what she wanted them to dance their first dance to, and since Javier didn’t object to it, she left what she’d walk down the aisle to up to him. He knew she’d hate the traditional “Bridal Chorus,” a couple of Elvis Presley songs came to mind, “No Sé Tú” by Luis Miguel perfectly described how Javier felt when they met and was a good option, “At Last” by Etta James would be appropriate, too, and “I Could Fall in Love” by Selena was in the running, because, Selena, but then he remembered this song on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours—his favorite album, and for good reason with it having some of the band’s best classics like “The Chain,” “Dreams,” and “Go Your Own Way;” it was also seeping with palpable heartbreak of a messy breakup, except for the track, “Songbird.” It was a major tonal shift from all the angst with its pretty piano and Christine McVie crooning her love. What sold him on it were the lines:

“To you, I’ll give the world To you, I’ll never be cold ‘Cause I feel that when I’m with you It’s alright, I know it’s right.”

He loved it when he heard it played live at the band's concert twenty-three years ago—he’d been seventeen and still in high school; he and his buddies snuck off to Fort Worth to see them, and “Songbird” was the last song of their set before the encore.

It was his three-year-old sobrino’s (nephew’s) turn to walk forward, his mom sending him to his dad with the rings—they all laughed at how he ran as fast as he could, making Javier smile.

"Here, Daddy," the child said to Steve, holding up the pillow.

His father accepted it.

"Great job, kiddo—high-five." His friend had to bend a little to gently hit his palm to Stevie’s tinier one, and the toddler turned to Javier expectantly, who, of course, bent his knees and high-fived him.

"You did good, buddy,” he said.

Steve told his son to stand with him, and Connie went to be next to Robyn as everyone watched Olivia walk up, tossing red rose petals from a small white basket, leaving a trail of them behind her. He hum-sang under his breath along with the song:

“And the songbirds are singing Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you Like never before.”

Finally, his bride came into view, her eyes locking onto his, and all the love he had for, all of his happiness, and thanks he had to the universe for making this day happen overflowed from him, falling as tears down his face and made his smile so big, he could feel the dimple in his cheek.

She was breathtaking and better than anything he could’ve imagined; this moment would be seared into his brain for all eternity, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt this happy in his entire life—he almost told Steve to make sure he didn’t float away.

Her bouquet was made up of roses from his mother’s garden, and his heart felt like it would burst. Then the dress—Jesus Christ, the dress was perfect with how it molded to her body and showed off her tits from the neckline V-ing between them. His fingers were itching to see if the fabric was as buttery smooth as it looked, wanting to explore the expanse with his fingertips, mapping out every curve, line, and dip he’d already ventured countless times before but now on a new canvas; He desired to feel her softness under his palms and cradle her beautiful face to kiss those delectable lips he so loved; he wanted to hold her in his arms, her familiar shape he knew as intimately as his own, pressed against him, where she belonged.

All of it was getting him too excited, and his pants were feeling tighter, just as he suspected might happen.

Javier’s dream wedding night would have them partying with their friends and family well into the later hours and holding off on consummating their marriage until they retired to the room he rented at the nicest hotel in town he was surprising her with. He’d been determined to do just that up until he had to spend the previous evening by himself where he was alone with his thoughts and ruminated on how beautiful she was going to look, that she was going to be his wife, and one day soon, the mother of his children; since she wasn’t there to distract him by simply being in his vicinity, he worked himself up until he was rock hard and had to take a freezing shower.

He didn’t see there being any chance they’d make it to the hotel without them fucking at least once beforehand.

God, she was so fucking gorgeous.

He had to wipe at the wetness on his face, his smile continuing to shine.

Telling her his feelings in front of everyone wasn’t all he’d been nervous about; his brain was a real asshole, and there’d been a tiny thread of worry she wasn’t going to show—it was stupid, to have even fathomed something so absurd, yet looking at how shitty his luck was up until they met, he thought it wouldn’t have been too surprising that this time he’d be the one left at the altar.

But she was here! She came! And he was so overjoyed he couldn’t stop crying.

Wait.

Oh, fuck, she was close now—what was he supposed to do? It only just registered that she was walking with his dad, and they were almost to him, and he couldn’t remember what needed to happen when she got to him. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he was starting to panic that he didn’t know what his next move was, worried he was going to fuck it all up; it was unbelievable that he’d been in gunfights, had to think on the fly to stay alive many times, and put on press conferences, yet at this moment when there wasn’t any danger or eager reporters, he was so overwhelmed by the woman he loved’s beauty, and that she was marrying him, his brain had ceased functioning entirely, and he was spiraling at embarrassing himself with so many onlookers.

Javi was having a panic attack.

The change in his eyes, how they went from bright and happy to panicked, clued you in, and any nervousness you felt flew out the window because your only concern was helping him.

Unhooking your arm from Chucho, you held out the hand, not holding flowers to Robyn.

“Flask me,” you said. Quickly, she pulled it from her pocket and passed it to you, taking your bouquet in return. You stepped in front of your betrothed as you unscrewed the cap on the container of booze. “Hey, baby,” you said in a soothing tone. “You’re okay.” You grabbed his hand and put the flask in it, pushing it toward his face. “Have a drink to calm your nerves. Everything is gonna be okay, honey. Remember, we’re doing this together—it’s just us.”

The music had stopped playing.

He shook his head once like he was trying to shake the bad stuff out, and he took a drink, or several, with how his Adam’s apple kept bobbing.

“Looks like I’ll be driving us after this.” The adults surrounding you chuckled, and you smiled.

His hand lowered, and his vision focused on you, a pink flush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“No reason to be sorry—I freaked out in the car.” You took the flask from him, screwed on the cap, and handed it back to Robyn without looking. “Feeling better?” you asked, smoothing your fingers over his bangs while his eyes were on yours.

“Much,” he answered with a small smile, his palms moving to rest on your hips.

“Wanna get married?”

“More than anything.”

“Good—liquid courage helps.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek, then put your lips near his ear for only him to hear, “Say the word, and we’ll pack up, go party with everyone, and hit the courthouse tomorrow.”

He spoke softly in your ear, “Thank you, Cielito, but I promise I’m okay.” He kissed your cheek. “I told you I’d see how beautiful you are and forget how to function.”

You giggled, pulling back to look at him, taking in the black tuxedo jacket and bow tie over his crisp white shirt and the lavender pocket square and the pinned violet rose for a pop of color—his hair still looked good, and you rubbed away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

When he saw you in your wedding dress, the expression on his face was something you’d never forget—it was a look of pure, uninhibited joy, and you were sure you saw hearts in his eyes with how they beamed his immense love and devotion. The way that it had him crying happy tears made you feel emotional that someone loved you with such magnitude. It’s why your immediate thought when you saw him panicking wasn’t that he wanted to back out, knowing from his note that he was freaking the fuck out about embarrassing himself, and the nerves got him.

“Let’s get married.” His head turned to kiss one of your palms.

“Let’s get married.”

Turning to your almost-father-in-law, you gave him a quick hug, and he kissed your forehead before he moved to give Javi a side hug, careful of the stuff held in one of his hands and whispering something in his son’s ear, you didn’t catch.

The elder Peña went to stand at his place in front of the tree, holding his worn, soft leather bible, with a picture of Javi’s mother stuck to the cover and a note card sticking out from between the pages to mark a spot.

Javier took your hand, and you both walked the few steps to your spots before his father; he grasped your other palm in his once you faced one another, Chucho on your left and Javi’s right.

Your husband-to-be mouthed, ‘I love you,’ and you silently replied with the movement of your lips, ‘I love you, too.’

Chucho cleared his throat, and your attention went to him.

“Welcome, loved ones,” he started, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and each other to bear witness to the perfect union of Javier, and—” He said your name. “What a joyous day we get to share with them as they embark on this new journey of a life together in matrimony that will, no doubt, be long, healthy, and filled with love, happiness, and laughter.

“Mijo, Mija,” he addressed you both, “I called this union between you perfect, and I meant it. Besides my marriage to my dear Antonia, que en paz descanse (may she rest in peace), I cannot think of two other people more suited to share a life together. It’s clear the good you bring out in one another and how happy you make each other.” His eyes landed on you. “And you truly make my son happy. This might come as a shock,” he said to everyone in attendance, “but Javier is a smiley guy when he’s happy, and I haven’t seen him smile so much in a long, long time.

“He also has never been able to hide his feelings because that handsome face of his tells his secrets—it’s his—” He glanced at you. “—I’m stealing this from you, Mija—it’s his puppy dog eyes, he got from his mother, and she suffered the same problem.” His gaze stayed on you. “I know Javier loves you more than there’s blue in all the sky because he looks at you the same way mi amor looked at me, and as we know, their eyes don’t lie.”

He was right, and it made you choke up that he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such honesty and the weight of so much love.

Chucho looked at his son. “Your media naranja (soulmate) isn’t much better.” He nodded toward you. “Her eyes betray her, too, even when she does her damndest to hide behind a mask. When she looks at you, though, the truth of her love is revealed—her thoughts are loud when she stares at you, and sometimes I think I can hear them; the declaration of ‘I love you,’ she’s repeating over and over again. She looks at you like you’re her whole world, and I know it’s true from those looks, how she treats and cares for you, the things she does for you, even when you don’t ask, and the effort she puts into cultivating your relationship.”

He spoke to you both again. “Marriage can be wonderful with the right person, but it isn’t always easy; I want to take a moment and give you some advice that kept my marriage happy.

“Be best friends—talk about everything, even when you don’t want to or it’s a hard subject. Communicate your needs and wants constantly, and don’t stop talking to each other. Be best friends who share everything, and I mean everything, because your relationship needs to be built upon trust, and there’s nothing better than spending your life with your best friend.

“Keep having fun—joke around, cook together, dance in the kitchen, don’t stop having fun. And keep dating each other. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean that the dating stops. Go out, stay in, just have romantic time you dedicate to one another; that way, the spark stays alive. I know it’ll be harder to do when you have kids; you’ll be exhausted and won’t have much energy. Dating still needs to be a priority, and it doesn’t have to be anything exciting; it can be as simple as putting the kids to bed, staying up, watching a movie together, or baking cookies.”

“—or folding laundry together,” Steve interjected.

Javi chuckled, and you were confused. He leaned toward you to whisper in your ear, “It’s their code word for sex.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” you said as he straightened.

A furrow was between Chucho’s eyebrows. “I guess folding laundry can be romantic…” the older man said. “Now, where was I?” He opened his bible and pulled out the notecard, his eyes scanning over. “Oh, yes—anyone can fall in love; it’s nurturing that love, sharing your life with the other, facing challenges together, and growing as one that makes it real love, and what you have is real. The love you share and I had with my wife is beautiful, but it’s also fierce, it’s powerful, and all consuming; it’s not something anyone can get between and will live on even when you no longer walk the earth. I know you didn’t want a religious ceremony, but there’s a scripture I’d like to share that perfectly describes what I mean. May I?” he asked, his bible already open to the page.

Javier and you figured he’d slip in a verse or two simply because he was a devout Christian man. It was nice of him to ask permission first, though. You turned your head to meet your almost-husband’s eyes and shrugged that you were fine with it. He smiled, his attention going back to his father.

“Go ahead,” Javi said.

Chucho had a toothy grin. “Wonderful—it’s in Songs of Solomon 8 and reads: Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If one offered for love all the wealth of one’s house, it would be utterly scorned.”

He shut the bible with one hand, his notes resting atop it.

“I wish more people got to experience that kind of love—it’d do the world a whole lot of good. Javier—” He looked at his son, then over to you, saying your name. “I know with how you feel for each other, it’s natural to think marriage is the next step in your relationship. I want you to be sure you know what you’re getting into.” His eyes were moving between you both. “This is a lifelong commitment that will have its ups and downs, highs and lows, and you’ll need to challenge yourselves to love the other more completely each and every day. Are you ready to take this step?”

Without missing a beat, Javi and you said simultaneously, ‘Yes,’ your hands still in his.

Chucho smiled. “Wonderful. Javier—” His eyes went to his son. “—do you take—” He said your name. “—to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor her, cherish her, love, trust, and commit to her and her alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Javi said.

His father turned his attention to you and addressed you by name. “—do you take Javier to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you honor him, cherish him, love, trust, and commit to him and him alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” you answered.

“It’s time for you to share the vows you’ve written for one another before you exchange rings. Who’d like to go first?”

“Me!” you said immediately, and everyone laughed. “I need to get them out of the way before Javi makes me a blubbering mess. Robyn, vows me.” Turning her way, you put out your hand, and she juggled the two bouquets she held to pull a folded piece of paper from her pocket to hand to you. “Have I told you your dress is amazing?” you asked her.

“Thank you—I look good and have pockets. What could be better?”

“Dresses with pockets are a game-changer.” You faced Javi, and heat bloomed up your neck and on your face at remembering you had to say how you felt in front of people.

“Hey,” Javi said to get your attention, and your gazes locked. “It’s just me,” he whispered. “Talk to me—no one else is here.”

“Right.” You smiled, then focused on the lined notebook paper you unfolded that had your writing on it. “Javier Jesús Peña López,” you began, “the first of his name, King of my heart, Lord of our tiny apartment, and Protector of me—”

“Just Javi’s fine,” he said.

You giggled. “Javi, not a day goes by that I am unaware of how lucky I am to have found you. When I think about how much time you spent away from this town—that I both love and hate—all the people you’ve met, the life you’ve lived, and the things you’ve gone through, it’s a miracle our paths crossed, and possibly Divine Intervention or the universe doing me a solid, that after everything that’s happened to you, you’ve ended up here, with me.

“It’s crazy the number of obstacles we’ve had to face together and how many people are obsessed with making your life difficult—this isn’t me complaining. I’m weirdly thankful for it; it’s kept us on our toes and tested our bond. It’s improved our communication and has built a strong foundation for our relationship.

“Something I’m also thankful for is the trust we share. I can count on you. I know you’re true to your word, and I have no reason to worry about you ever being deceitful.

“What’s also reassuring is your star signs back up the faith I have in you—as a Sagittarius, you value honesty, and when you find someone you think is really worth it, you commit, and you commit hard. With Capricorn and Scorpio in your top three, you’re super loyal, a little possessive, and definitely a relationship guy. To sum all of that up, you’re pretty much perfect and an amazing partner.

“You’re a good man, the best I’ve known. My life is better with you in it. Thank you for loving me.” Tears started to distort your vision, the emotion coming through in your voice. “Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for your unwavering support and for being my rock. Thank you for being my protector and making me feel so safe with you. Thank you for being my best friend and the love of my life.”

You had to take a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Here are my promises to you,” you said, “I promise to love you until the end of time, and if I happen to go first, haunt you until we can be together again.” He chuckled. “I promise to be your protector and to always have your back; I will go to battle for you in a heartbeat, and hopefully, you know that. I promise to be honest, and it should go without saying because, as we’ve established, you’re perfect, but I promise to be faithful. I promise to keep making you laugh and smile. I promise to put you first and to always be your best friend—sorry, Steve.”

“You can have him,” Steve replied, and everyone laughed.

You continued speaking, “I promise to make your mother’s tamales a couple times a year—I promise to make you one of her other recipes on the days you miss her particularly bad. I promise to keep reminding you that you’re sexier and better than Harrison Ford.” That one made him and the others crack up. “I promise to rap “Whatta Man” for you every time it comes on, so you don’t forget whatta man you are. I promise to dance with you in the kitchen every chance we get. I promise to try, keyword here, try, not to recite the movies word for word when we watch Star Wars or Addams Family Values. I promise to always make sure we don’t run out of limes or your hot sauce or side-eye you when you put either on the perfectly seasoned food I made. I promise to always leave you the last of the ice cream because you’re a dirty liar when you say you don’t want it. I promise to tell you I love you every day until the day I die. I promise that you and your love will always be enough, and I’ll always pick you; I’ll always choose you over anyone else.

“Today, the separate books of our lives have come to an end, and we’re starting the next one together—I can’t wait to see what each new chapter will bring. What I know for sure—” You glanced over at Chucho. “—I’m stealing this from you, Pop—” Your eyes went to Javi’s, and his were reddened, his face glistening from crying and flushed from the alcohol. “—What I know for sure,” you said, “is this new adventure we’re beginning, will be filled with love, happiness, and laughter.

“Javi, you are my person. You’re the love of my life, my one true love, mi media naranja, the person I want to go to sleep with every night and wake up with every morning. You’re my best friend and my forever.

“I love you, Javier Jesús Peña López and I am so happy I get to spend eternity with you.”

His smile was big enough his dimple was showing and you hated that you couldn’t kiss him.

Chucho sniffled, putting his bible under his arm to get his handkerchief from his pocket, lifting his glasses to wipe away his tears.

“That was beautiful, Mija. When you’re ready, Javi, go ahead.”

All she said had Javier feeling so unbelievably happy that he couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks, and he thought his smile might be permanently stuck on his face—he was sure the alcohol wasn’t helping him to keep his composure.

His dad’s speech had gotten him, too, especially about how Chucho could see her feelings for him and said their love was real. He always wondered if the intensity of what he felt for her was normal, and hearing that his parents were the same way reassured him that they just had a strong connection. His father’s advice was helpful, too, and he planned on following it.

She looked incredible and smelled amazing; her perfume wasn’t one she’d worn before, but he knew the scent because he got it for her as a Christmas present—it was intoxicating, and he was dying to shove his face into her neck to drown himself in it. With the emotions she was eliciting from him, her beauty, the perfume, and the whiskey he drank, it was a heady combination that had him feeling buzzed, and he was so caught up in all of it that it had completely slipped his mind that he had to speak.

“Shit,” he said under his breath and barely pulled open the left side of his jacket to get into the inside pocket. First, he grabbed his reading glasses, which he put on, then the folded piece of yellow, lined paper he’d taken from a legal pad at work.

“I am literally the luckiest woman in the world,” Cielito said, and his eyes lifted to her. She was smiling, her eyelashes wet, and she looked incredibly delighted.

“The glasses?” he asked with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she answered. “You’re spoiling me. I get glasses Javi in a tuxedo, and he’s gonna say pretty, romantic things about how much he loves me—talk about the best day ever.”

“With how you look?” he said. “It’s my best day ever, too.”

She playfully smacked his arm. “Stop it, don’t make me want to suck—”

Robyn started coughing loudly, and his wife-to-be’s eyes widened.

“—hug you more,” she tried to save and cringed. “Hugs, not drugs, am I right?” She chuckled nervously.

He snorted, shaking his head. “You ready?” he asked.

“Wait.” Her upper body twisted so she could look behind her. “Tissue me,” she said to Robyn, and her friend got a clean one out of her pocket and exchanged it for Cielito’s folded paper. She faced him again. “Okay, I’m ready. Remember to focus on me. No one else is here.”

“That’ll be easy.” He cleared his throat, his eyes moving to what he’d written. It wasn’t something he said often, but he let her first name slide off his tongue, thinking how perfect it was going to sound paired with his last. “—mi Cielito, mi amor, mi alma, mi media naranja, y ahora, mi esposa (My Cielito, my love, my soul, my soulmate, and now, my wife), my life didn’t begin until the moment I met you; what I mean by that, is I was alive, yes, I was breathing, I had a pulse, but I didn’t start living until we met. You made me want to live and be happy—for so long, I thought I would die miserable and alone, and you showed me that I deserved happiness and to be loved.” His eyes were burning, and the following sentence made him choke up. “You showed me I deserved a family of my own.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I thank the universe, the powers that be. I thank whoever let you find me because I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”

He went off script to look into her beautiful, teary eyes. “Pop was right; I love you more than there’s blue in the sky, I love you more than there’s water in all the depths of the oceans, I love you more than there are stars in the entire galaxy—I love you more than anything, and I mean anything.”

He focused on what he’d written again. “I once told you I didn’t believe in true love, and I didn’t—that was just made-up stuff in the cartoon movies I watched with Olivia. Or at least I thought it was before you, and then, having you in my life, I discovered it was real. With you, ‘media naranja (soulmate)’ isn’t just a term of endearment; it’s an acknowledgment that you’re my other half and that we’re two parts meant to be together. Love with you transcends what most people have; we feel it deeper than our bones, all the way down into our souls, where we’re connected.

“Our love is true love.”

Wetness was dripping from his eyes to splatter onto the paper.

“Those fairytale movies got something right, and it’s that this kind of love would make a person fight dragons and sea witches for their true love. As my father said, it’s fierce, powerful, and all-consuming. It doesn’t end when our hearts stop beating; it continues on—it’s infinite—what we feel for one another is more than a single life can handle, and I’ll follow you when this one’s over; we’ll find each other again, and live another life together because there is no me without you or you without me.

“From the first day we met, I knew you were special. We spent hours talking in that bar, and I’ve never felt such peace or so comfortable with someone; with you, I don’t have to keep my guard up. I can be vulnerable, speak what’s on my mind, and openly show my affection. With you, I’m safe, and from the first night, you were my Cielito, my little heaven—there’s no better name for you, not with how happy you make me, how you make me feel, and how much better my life is with you.

“You’re my little heaven, mi Cielito, my everything. You’ve shown me more love than I’ve ever known—thank you.” His voice faltered, and he had to wipe at his eyes as best he could beneath his glasses. “Those two words aren’t enough to express my gratitude, and I will spend every waking moment showing you how thankful I am for you and all you’ve done.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, “it’s not enough, but thank you.”

He sounded gravelly, the words thick. “In you, I’ve found love, a wife, a partner for life, a best friend, an incredible lover, a home, a teacher to show me how to live; someone who makes me happy, makes me laugh, someone to have a family with, who supports me, inspires me, and makes me want to be a better man.

“Thank you for being all of this and more. Thank you for marrying me today and making me the happiest man in the entire goddamn universe.

“Fuck,” he breathed, taking off his readers to hold with the paper while his other hand scrubbed away the tears. “I really hoped I wouldn’t cry this much—it’s embarrassing.”

“I love it,” she reassured. “It just shows you really mean what you’re saying.”

He put the lenses back on and looked at her, seeing her eyes were red from crying, the tissue in her hand stained with mascara—she’d managed to keep from ruining the rest of her makeup.

“I do mean it all,” he said.

She was smiling. “I know.”

Javier composed himself by taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. Finally, he was ready to speak again. “It was hard figuring out my vows because I wanted to promise you everything your heart could possibly desire, but Pop said that was boring.” He frowned.

“And that he needed to do better,” Chucho added.

Javier sighed.

“I would’ve been fine with that vow,” Cielito said.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Pop was right. You deserve the best.” He took another deep breath and slowly let it out, looking at what he’d written and patting himself on the back for making notes—he was definitely too emotional and tipsy to have remembered everything he wanted to say. “Cielito,” he started, “you have all my love and devotion, and I give you myself; my mind, body, and soul belong to you. I vow to never stop loving you, even when this earth is no more and the stars stop shining. I vow to make you feel loved and cherished until the end of my days. I vow to always be your best friend, your confidant, your shoulder to cry on, y un chismoso contigo (and a gossiper with you)—me encanta chismear contigo (I love to gossip with you).”

She giggled, and he smiled.

“I vow to be your equal in everything and give more than I take. I vow to always be there for you no matter what, in sickness and health, when life is easy and hard, I’ll stand by you and be your anchor.” The next one made his smile get bigger. “I vow to treat you like una reina (a queen) and be the best husband you could ask for so when you brag to your girlfriends, they can see their worth and deserve to be treated like queens, too. I vow to be the best father, one you can rely on, and doesn’t call watching my own children babysitting; I’ll pull my weight, I’ll never let you get overwhelmed, and I’ll be an active parent who loves our kids so fu-freaking much.”

“I vow to keep you safe and always make you feel safe; I’ll protect you and our children with my life. I vow to make sure all of your needs are met.” He smirked, glancing at her. “I vow to ‘fold laundry’ with you whenever you ask.” He winked, and she laughed.

“Why are adults so obsessed with laundry?” He heard Olivia ask.

“I’m wonderin’ the same thing, kiddo,” Robyn said. “I’m not obsessed with it.”

“Oh, believe me, you are,” Connie replied.

“I know the stars,” Javier said, “that astrology stuff you love, told you this already, but I want you to hear it from me, too: I vow to be loyal to you and faithful, always—to me, you are the only woman I see, or will ever want; I vow to put you and our family before all else.”

He looked at her with a smile. “I have some more things I’m gonna promise after hearing yours. I vow to always give you my pickles.” Her grin was big and happy as she giggled. “I vow to always let you sing Freddie Mercury’s parts in Bohemian Rhapsody while I do the guitar solo, and I’ll always leave you the last piece of cheesecake because I love you and value my life.” That made her giggle harder. “I vow to try, the keyword here is try, to not, as you put it, ‘creepily watch you while you sleep,’ even though you’re guilty of the same thing.” Her giggles transformed into laughter. “I vow to always dance with you when we’re cleaning the house and in the kitchen while we cook together. I vow to pretend—I mean, agree that you’re the best driver in Laredo and always know your way around, even when you don’t.”

There was a reason he drove them the majority of the time.

“Rude!” she gasped. “I’m an amazing driver!”

“I agree, mi amor, you’re the best in Laredo.” He winked again, folded his paper, and put it back in his inner pocket. He spoke as he took off his reading glasses. “There’s one more thing I vow,” he said, putting the lenses away. His hands were free and he grabbed hers, ignoring the tissue clenched in one of her palms, and stared adoringly into her eyes. “I vow that years from now—decades—after our kids are grown, and we’ve retired, maybe we’ll be living in Florida like other retirees, or we’ll still be here where our family lives and we made our best memories; I vow that when we’re old and grey and can’t hear or see shit without hearing aids or glasses, that we’ll look back on our life together, and we’ll have no regrets.

“Zero,” he said.

“We did everything we wanted and lived the life we shared to the fullest, filled with love, happiness, and laughter.”

Her shoulders started to shake, and she had to let go of his hand to blot at her eyes.

“Javier!” she cried, and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. “Why would you end with something so sweet?”

“Para que sepas cómo nuestro futuro será (So you know what our future together will be like). Quería que vieras que cuando me des ese anillo, te daré mi futuro y lo que venga después de eso (I wanted you to see that when you give me that ring, I’ll give you my future and whatever comes after that).”

She leaned back to look at him, and he was impressed that only her mascara had gotten messed up. She poked him in the chest and said, “That ring is going on your finger right this second.” Javier chuckled as her head turned to his dad. “Can we do the rings now, please?”

Chucho laughed. “Yes, Mija, you can do the rings. Who has them?” he asked aloud.

“Me!” Steve answered and moved to stand next to the older man, being careful not to bump Nate, who’d fallen asleep in the backpack carrier. At some point, the three-year-old Stevie had gone over to his mom and was now sitting in the grass next to her, eating Goldfish crackers out of a plastic baggy from the diaper bag near them. Steve untied the ribbon keeping the gold bands secured, then picked them both up, the pillow getting shoved under his arm. “Here, Jav.” Javier turned a little, holding out his palm to his friend, and her ring was set in it. He faced his bride again.

“At this time, they will exchange rings,” Chucho said, holding his bible in front of him with the notecard atop it. “Javier, go ahead and place it on her finger.” She looked adorably giddy, presenting her left hand to him, and he held it in his palm as he slid the band onto the finger with her engagement ring, pressing it against the other. “Now, repeat after me,” his dad said, reading his notes, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

Javier’s eyes fastened onto hers, and he repeated what his father said: “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.” When he finished speaking, he lifted her hand to press his lips to the new addition on her finger with a kiss, keeping his gaze on her watery one.

“I love you,” she told him.

His thumb rubbed over the gold as he lowered her arm. “I love you, too.”

“Mija,” Chucho said, “it’s your turn.”

Javier held his hand out for her to take, and when she did, goosebumps rose on his skin, practically vibrating from anticipation. Her palm was smaller and softer than his, and he watched as Steve passed her the remaining ring. A big smile formed on his face at her not waiting for his father’s instruction, putting the band onto his finger immediately—it got stuck on his knuckle, and she had to wiggle it a little to finally slide it home.

“Repeat after me,” Chucho said, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

She held his larger palm in both of her smaller ones, gazing into his eyes and smiling as she said, “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

His breath hitched as he watched her raise his hand to kiss the band, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

His father started speaking to them, “Now that you’ve proclaimed your love for one another and exchanged rings as a seal of the promises you made today in front of these witnesses and myself, by the power vested in me by the great State of Texas, I am so happy to pronounce you husband and wife! Javier, you may now kiss your bride!”

There was clapping and hollering, someone patted his back, and Javier didn’t waste any time—he was told he could finally kiss this stunning woman in front of him, who he loved more than anything; she completed him and made him happy like no one else—ella es su vida (she is his life), su amor (his love), su media naranja (his soulmate), finalmente su esposa (finally his wife), his Cielito.

The fingers of one of his hands traced over the familiar line of her jaw, the other pulling her tight to his chest, finding the fabric of her dress was as buttery soft as he suspected. The sun had barely sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky fiery in its wake, and as it descended, so did Javier’s mouth onto hers, crushing his lips to hers. At the first touch, it felt like electricity was thrumming just below his skin, his heart racing, the press of her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck making tingles wash down his spine.

It was almost like he was kissing her for the first time, and it started out gentle, wanting to savor this moment with his wife—his wife—they were married. He was a husband and wearing a ring, the metal currently pressed to the warm skin of her cheek. His excitement got the better of him, and he deepened the kiss, licking in her mouth, her soft moan causing arousal to erupt in his belly, feeling blood begin to rush to his groin. She seemed to be just as ravenous as him, their tongues tangling and her hands gripping handfuls of his hair.

Javier didn’t think he could be happier than he was at this moment.

This was the best day of his entire fucking life.

He was a married man with an amazing wife and their lives were intertwined now, becoming one they both shared. What wound him up even more was her taking his last name—not in a possessive way, but because it was another thing they’d share, and Javier wanted to share everything with her. Name, life, home, things, children, all of it, he wanted to have and with her by his side.

His dad’s voice showed amusement when he heard him speak. “We’ll just let them get that out of their system.” People laughed. “It’s my great pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Peña!”

Mr. and Mrs. Peña.

Nothing sounded more perfect.

They hadn’t stopped kissing, too caught up in each other.

“Why are they trying to eat each other’s faces?” Olivia asked, clearly confused.

Steve shouted, “Cover her eyes, Connie!”

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a/n: The song she walked down the aisle to was "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac. The bible verse mentioned is Song of Solomon 8:6-7 (RSVCE).

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #Javier Peña/you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

[pandoraslxna]

Double trouble

Jake Sully x female recom reader x Miles Quaritch

Words: 4.9k

Summary: The Colonel had send you on a mission to get information out of Jake Sully, but things take a different turn than what you were expecting. Not that you mind.

Warnings: explicit smut, p in v, phone sex, sexual tension, teasing, flirting, degradation kink, praise kink, not really a threesome because one of them isn’t physically interacting idk??, confident reader turns into a shy mess, mentions of spanking, enemies to lovers, authority kink, dirty talk

The mission was simple, really.

Send the cute newbie to go and flirt with the enemy, let her bat her pretty long lashes at Jake Sully and if they were lucky and he was stupid enough, he would reveal important information to her that would ultimately lead to his downfall and result in his death.

The Colonel licked his lips at the thought of crushing Sully’s skull with his bare hands. It was a sight that sent a physical shiver down your spine, as Quaritch explained the whole plan to his recom unit –that now included you too.

They had you dressed up in a loincloth, pretty feathers decorating your chest, colorful beads in your braided hair to make you look like a real native. It was almost impossible to tell that you weren't part of the omatikaya clan. On top of that, you haven't been a recom for very long, which meant there was no way Jake could recognize you or even figure out that there was any form of connection between you and the RDA.

Or so they thought.

You couldn’t help but fiddle with your hair, brushing it with your hands, nervously pulling it back and forth over your ears in an attempt to hide the little communication devices inside them. The Colonel had assured you multiple times that they were pretty well hidden, almost impossible to see even if you paid very close attention to it.

You heard him through the ear comm. The Colonel, Miles Quaritch. Your superior. Heard his low, breathy chuckles whenever you put on your flirty tone with Jake, which in return caused your cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. The whole experience was nothing short but humiliating, truth be told. But you were an expert at pulling up a façade that made you look confident in front of men. Especially the intimidating ones.

Luckily, it seemed like Jake didn’t mind all your questions. Pretty little thing was probably just curious to know everything about her beloved olo’eyktan, was what he had thought at first. If anything, he relished in the attention you showered him in, enjoyed the way your hand held onto his arm when he walked with you, how you followed him around whenever you spotted him during his duties. How attentive you listened to him, tail curling in excite and cute ears twitching when his voice grew lower and his gaze began to subtle wander over your body. Much more so, he enjoyed how your eyes wandered over his body as well, when you were so obviously flirting with him. How you always managed to turn every innocent conversation into something that made his cock throb underneath his loincloth and how you seemingly took great pleasure in planting those kind of thoughts in his head that made him drool like a starved man. But he never gave in.

Jake really enjoyed playing with you, just as much as you enjoyed playing with him.

But of course he wasn’t stupid.

He knew it the moment you introduced yourself to him, that there was something up with you. How could a beautiful woman like you live among his people and he had never seen or heard about you before? He had to admit, it took him a while to figure out what exactly you were after. But with the way you practically acted as his shadow, following him around and poking holes through him with all your little nosey questions, your true intentions became pretty obvious after a while. You were one of them. An RDA spy, sent to collect information.

Still, and he knew he was putting himself and everyone around him at risk, he couldn’t just do something about it– about you. Not until he at least got a little taste of you. Call it reward for sparing your life, when he could’ve kept you as a captive, use you as leverage against the RDA or… worse.

While he knew most of the things you said and did were solely an act to get him to spill informations to you, Jake could tell that some of your reactions were genuinely. Like the way you were blushing right now, squeezing your thighs together and chewing on your bottom lip as your gaze fell to the prominent bulge under his loincloth. Usually, he would’ve ended it right here. He would restrain himself from giving in to you, walk you home and watch you trying to hide that frustrated little pout, because another day went by without him giving you anything to report back to the RDA. Another day where he had left you desperate and flustered and didn’t make a move to touch you how you so wordlessly begged him to.

But not today, Jake decided.

"W-What?", you blinked up at him, hands nervously fiddling with your hair. Whatever he had said to you, your brain barely had the capacity to register his words anymore. You were too caught up by the moment, the sight in front of you and his sudden change in mannerism. You could literally feel your tough façade crumbling under his intense gaze.

Usually, Jake took your flirting and teasing very composed. He did flirt back once or twice, a smile here and a grin there. But a hand to your thigh as you were lost in a conversation or resting on your lower back as he walked you home was the most that had happened so far. He could be a real gentleman if he wanted to. No matter what you said to him, he hadn’t acted upon any of his desires or reveal anything important to you.

So when he finally did, it definitely took you more than just a little off guard.

"Oh don’t make me spell it out for you", Jake chuckled and the sound of it was enough to make you swallow dryly, feeling like a mouse caught in a trap. "I thought you were a smart girl. You must’ve figured it out by now."

The noises on the other end of your communication device had gone awfully quiet. What should you do? A mixture of uneasiness and anxiety rose in your body, without Quaritch’s voice in your ear. It wasn’t like he gave you a whole script, most of the time you were simply improvising. But now that you seemingly lost all capacity to act on your own, you wished he would just tell you what to say and do, lead the direction and get you out of here.

"Figure out… what exactly?", you laughed, the nervousness in your voice becoming more obvious. A mischievous grin spread over his lips and you watched with wide eyes how he stepped closer to you, until he was close enough to feel his breathe fan over the top of your head.

"That I want you", he states the obvious unapologetically, a wicked grin spreading wide across his face and you blush deeply, trying to swallow around the lump in your throat, but it’s no use. You’re left unable to respond to him.

Jake then reaches out to caress the side of your cheek, gently running his thumb across your jawline and it almost felt affectionately. Your breath quickened and at his touch, an uncontrollable shiver runs down your spine, into your very core. You’re left in the thick air of the moment. Jakes touch, his stare, everything so suddenly overwhelming and all-consuming. He sees it in your eyes and smiles down at you once more, his expression shifting to one of coyness and mischief.

He leans in closer, his face just inches from yours now while he stares deeply into your eyes. "Not what you were expecting? C’mon", Jake scoffs, genuinely amused at how shy you had suddenly become. "You’ve been flirting with me, teasing me for days now, sweetheart. Don’t you think it’s finally time to stay true to your words?"

The scent around him has grown thick, an intoxicating mix of pine and musk. It lingers in the air, filling your lungs, making you light-headed, almost drunk. He makes no move to touch you further, instead retreating his hand to cross both of his thick, muscular arms over his equally board chest.

"Or was all that talk about wanting to fuck me really just talk?", he chuckles, tilting his head, "Just wanted me to tell you a thing or two, hm?" His voice grows lower, with an edge of danger that was sharp enough to cut. "So you can report it back to your superiors."

An very audible gasp escaped you at his words, all blood running cold in your veins as you stare at him with wide eyes.

You had been caught.

A thousand thoughts run through your mind all at once, when one of his hands reaches out for you again. To your surprise, he just taps the device inside your ear with his index finger.

"You think I didn’t notice? That someone was there, listening to you, trying to sweet talk your way into my pants like a cute little slut."

His words make your cheeks turn bright red, all blood rushing through your face when you realize that he knew it all this time. Thinking back about all the times you had flirted with him so obviously, tried to touch him and act as seductively as possible— it made you want to hide your face in embarrassment.

God, you probably made the biggest fool out of yourself. Now you wished he would just get it over with, kill you right then and there and end your suffering, spare you from any more embarrassment.

"Who is it, huh?", Jake asks with the corner of his mouth curved into a dangerous smile.

For a moment you consider your options. Should you deny any of this? Should you at least try and get out of here before he could actually hurt you? Should you tell him the truth, be cooperative and maybe he would spare your life? If you would tell him who’s been listening the whole time, who’s been giving you orders, what could he possibly do with this information anyways? It’s not like it would change anything about your current situation.

It’s silent on the other end of your communication device and for a second you wonder if Quaritch is even still there. Maybe he was already on the way to rescue you? No, that was just foolish to think. He wouldn’t risk his whole operation just to get the useless newbie of his squad back. Good for nothing but to play the bait in all of this. No, he wouldn’t come to get you. Nobody would.

By the time you had gathered yourself to answer him, your breathing had become rapid and anxious. "Quaritch, it’s- it’s Colonel Miles Quaritch", you whisper, as if he couldn’t hear you like this.

"Ah, I knew it", Jake shakes his head, chuckling softly.

It’s almost a little intimidating, the way he looks at you now. His eyes are completely focused on you and he’s so close, you can see your own reflection in them. You watch yourself, your mouth open and closes like a helpless little fish on land, trying to find something to say that could get you out of this situation alive. But then something rustles in your ear, a static sound like someone was turning on their mic again. Instantly, your brows furrow and it’s like Jake senses that you’re trying to listen to something. Or someone.

"Answer him", Quaritch’s voice echoes in your head. His words make a puzzled face appear on you and Jake seems visible amused by this.

"E-Excuse me?", you ask, no doubt a little perplexed that Quaritch had finally decided to say something and those were his first words. How would that help you get out of this mess?

"Sully asked you a question, didn’t he?", he asks and you can almost hear the grin in his voice, "Answer him."

Question?

The adrenaline still rushes through your veins from being caught by the enemy and feeling like you’re in a life and death situation didn’t help with your memory at all.

"What question, sir?", you ask him, finally adverting your eyes from Jakes, so he won’t get the impression that you’re talking to him. But said man then hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head upwards again. Your eyes widen when he makes a shush gesture and then reaches for the comm in your other ear to plug it into his own.

Jake can hear Quaritch sigh. He can hear him so clear now, that he hears how he licks his lips before he responds, "Did you mean what you said? Preferably all the times you teased about wanting to fuck him."

Immediately, your face flushes a deep shade of red that causes Jake to smile and Quaritch to hum in amusement. "I never said that!", you squeak in defense.

"Well, you didn’t word it exactly like that, but it definitely sounded like you wanted to", Jake says lowly. He watches the way your lips press into a thin line, your face growing more flustered and when you don’t respond to him, he takes it as a victory.

"That's it?", he teases in a husky tone, a grin spreading over his lips. "Now's when you're lost for words? Now's when you're all cute and shy?" He leans down to whisper in your ear, "You’ve been so bold all this time, what happened? I'm getting the feeling you're not as confident as you like to pretend." His voice is playful, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or am I wrong?"

There’s a hunger in his eyes and his tongue darts out to lick over his sharp canine. Your breath catches when Jake leans in just a little closer and now his lips are but an inch away from touching yours, soft and pink like cherries, and his eyes flash with desire.

"No, you’re– I’m, uhm I’m…", you stumble over your own words, unable to form a coherent sentence with him being so close to you, his gaze so intense, it feels like your knees are about to give in.

"She’s just a really good actress", Quaritch suddenly chimes in with a dirty laugh, "Acting all though and confident, but she turns into a cute little mess so easily, getting all shy and flustered."

"S‘that so, hm?", Jake steps forward, invading the last inch of personal space he’d left you with, so you’re chest to chest with him and his lips brush against yours as he speaks.

Something in him snaps then, when you shake your head. Jake is on you in the blink of an eye, pressing you against the nearest tree, his hips nudged between your thighs. His left hand is wrapped up in your hair, his right hand holding you still by your hips. His eyes are fiery and his lips are on yours before you can say anything.

You gasp into the kiss, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck to pull him closer as you allow him to deepen the kiss. A sigh leaves your lips as Jake snakes his tongue into your mouth.

You lean into him, a soft growl escaping him as he runs his tongue along your teeth in a long, deep kiss. He holds you tight to him, his breath warm with passion. Finally, he pulls away, smiling mischievously, as his breath comes in shallow gasps. "Is that a yes?" His tone is teasing yet again, "Did you mean what you said?" The corners of his lips curl into that cocky smile, his eyes flashing with heat and amusement while he stares at your kiss-swollen lips.

"Maybe…", your voice comes out quiet, hushed in a whisper, yet there’s a hint of confidence returning to you in this moment.

"Oh you’re trouble, aren’t you? Little tease", Jake chuckles, then shakes his head, his gaze flashing back to meet yours, "Bet you love to tease all the boys, wrap them around your pretty little finger."

"Ha. She certainly does", Quaritch’s voice sends a tingling feeling through your body, "You should see her walk around the base. Our girly here sure does love skimpy dresses and shorts, don’t you?"

Even though it’s just Jake standing in front of you, it feels as if there are two pairs of eyes on you and slowly, you begin to squirm under their gaze. If it weren’t for Jake standing right in between them, you would’ve squeezed your legs together right as his hand starts to wander over your thigh. Your skin grows hot where his palm touches you and Jake seems to realize that as well.

"You should see her right now", he tells Quaritch, "She’s putty in my hands. Poor thing is probably soaking wet already." As if to prove his point, Jakes hand moves higher on your thigh, until his fingers pull away the thin fabric of your loincloth. You suck in a sharp breathe when two rough digits swipe through your folds and tease your opening.

"How long has she been working for you?", Jake asks ever so nonchalantly. There’s a pause and if it weren’t for the blood rushing behind your ears and up to your head, drowning all the other sounds, you would’ve heard the Colonels response.

Jake wasn’t even looking directly at you now, his eyes entirely fixed on his fingers that he held up in front of his face. The same ones that were between your thighs just a few seconds ago. They’re covered in your clear, sticky arousal and Jake smears it between his digits, observing, as he talks to Quaritch like they were old friends. "And you didn’t touch her once?", Jake scoffs, "You’re a cruel man. Did you really need her that desperate to get the job done?"

The absurdity of the whole situation makes your head spin. Much more so, when Jakes hand nudges itself past your loincloth again.

"You’ve been awfully quiet, cupcake", the Colonel finally directs his words at you again, snapping you out of your thoughts, "What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

Right on cue, Jake seems to have found your clit. His thumb presses down it, circling it gently and pulling a soft whimper out of you, that you’re unable to hide behind your hands clasped over your mouth. "Oh I see", he chuckles, "‘s Jakey boy making you feel good, hm?"

You couldn’t help but nod, Jakes eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t really put a name on as he watched how obedient you were to your Colonel, "Uh-hu, y-yes, sir." The words were mumbled against your palm and when Jakes index finger circled your soaking entrance, another mewl fell from your lips. He leans forward to kiss your jawline, enjoying how you don’t resist and instantly tilt your head to make room for him to move further.

"Jake", his name drips from your lips like honey, more of a breath than a proper word, "feels so good. Please I… need more." Jake pulls away from where he had been mouthing at your throat, looking into your hazy eyes. He can’t help but smirk. He’s been waiting and holding back for way too long to finally have you like this, see you like this. There was no turning back now, not with how hard he was for you.

"Yeah? You want more, pretty? Turn around and I’ll make you feel even better", he whispers against your lips. You’re eager to kiss him again, chasing his mouth when he pulls away so you can turn around and you whine in frustration.

"You heard the man", Quaritch‘s rough voice full of authority makes you still, "be a good girl and turn around. Show him how well you can listen, cupcake."

"Of course, sir", you mumble under your breath, quickly turning around and placing both hands against the tree you’ve been previously pushed against. Behind you, Jake gives a gentle spank to the backside of your thigh, wordless urging you to spread them, so you do.

"And here I thought I should be a gentleman with you. Now look at you, spreading you legs for the enemy like a little slut", Jake said as he flipped your loincloth up to expose yourself to him. He groans at the sight, your glistening folds completely on display before him. You hear the rustling of him untying his own loincloth, cursing your current position because you’re unable to see how it falls to the ground.

"I would’ve bend you over my desk weeks ago if I had known what a filthy girl you are", the Colonel laughs in your ear.

"m‘not filthy", you protest weakly. Jakes hands hold a firm grip on your hips while he teasingly runs the tip of his cock along your entrance a few times, testing your wetness. You bite your lip to suppress the needy groan from escaping your lips at the feel of your arousal dripping out of you and slickening up his cock. Once he‘d lined the mushroom-like head up with your entrance, he carefully moves forward. You can’t help but moan softly when you feel him stretch you inch by inch, a sound that makes both men shudder simultaneously.

"Yes you are", Quaritch scoffs, "Making all these cute sounds for the man you should want dead."

Surprisingly, Jake ignores him. He takes his time, savoring how you tremble beneath him, how you hold your breath until he was fully seated within your tight little cunt. He blows out a breath against your neck and you whimper.

"F-Fuck, it’s so big", you moan, your head now hanging low between your outstretched arms. And then Jake begins to move, drawing back all the way before slamming home. You gasp, like he pushed those noises out of you by the force if his thrusts.

"You hear that, Quaritch? I‘m gonna ruin her for you", Jake groans mockingly, the sounds of his hips snapping against yours travel through the communication device and straight to the Colonels ears, that are pinned back against his head.

"Good luck trying, Sully", he chuckles, yet there’s a hint of anger in his voice. This would have to wait until he was done with you, Jake thought, completely unfazed. If anything, it seemed like he was only spurring him on more like this.

Jake was drilling his cock into you hard and fast. The force of his thrusts was starting to lift your feet off the ground with every powerful thrust, shaking your entire body with pleasure. You could feel your senses beginning to blur, your heart thrumming loudly in your chest as your walls clenched around his length.

All the while, Jake was completely transfixed by the sight of his pelvis smacking against your plump ass, your soft flesh bouncing against him.

"Jesus, look at you, baby. Taking this cock like you’re made for it", he said with a sharp grin, cursing between groans. You feel the grip on your hips tightening, moaning louder when the tip of his cock repeatedly brushes against your sweet spots.

"Oh fuck, fuck, Jake right t-there, yes", you chant, not caring for the way you must sound to them.

"Oh cupcake, you just wait till your back at the base", Quaritch sighs, barely audible over your desperate moans, "I‘m gonna give you a real nice punishment for this, bend you over my knee and show you it’s best not to rile me up for weeks just to go and fuck Jake Sully instead."

"What? You’re not touching yourself to her moaning my name?", Jake laughs mockingly, obviously trying his luck with the Colonel. Meanwhile, you swear you could feel him in your stomach, the head of his cock bruising hard against your cervix again and again, while he talks to Quaritch like nothing‘s even happening.

"Ha, keep dreaming. I‘m not going to cum into my fist like a pathetic looser. I‘m not you." The air around you begins to feel electric, the tension between them growing thicker by the second but you’re barely able to keep up with their conversation.

"No, if I cum, it’s going to be either down her throat or inside that pretty little pussy", Quaritch growls and Jake doesn’t miss the way you squeeze his cock at his words. A waterfall of moans and curses fall from your lips when angles his hips higher, his pace increasing to a point where it felt like he was splitting you in two.

"You hear that?", Jake taunts, "I think all that talking of coming inside her got our girly a little too excited." One of his hands loosens the grip on your hips to snake itself to your front and between your thighs, feeling for your throbbing clit. You whimper when he tabs two of his fingers against it a few times and then starts to draw tight circles around the little nub.

"That true? You’re going to come, huh?", the Colonels voice is hot in you ear, causing a shiver to run through your body.

"Hmh, yes sir!", you hum, desperately pushing yourself back to meet Jakes thrusts, "So close, I’m so close!" The man behind you groans when he feels your need, your sweet arousal pooling around his cock and running down his balls.

"You’re gonna have to ask first, girly", Quaritch chuckles, "You’re not going to cum without permission from your Colonel."

"Please, please c-can I come? Please, sir I can’t hold it!" You almost sob when Jake rubs your clit faster, not showing any mercy, as if he was trying to see how long you could stay put. A mean chuckle finally redeems you then, "Go ahead then, Jake. Make our little slut cum."

And that he did.

The grip on your hips is hard enough to bruise as he fucks into you. It feels like Jake was letting himself fully go now, not caring for how loud you were moaning his name, how red the cheeks of your ass had gotten from slapping against his pelvic bone and how your legs begin to buckle under the sheer force of his thrusts.

"Glad to see you’re still listening to some of my orders, Corporal." You hear Quaritch’s voice but you can barely pick up what he’s saying to Jake, too lost in the sensation of your rapidly building orgasm.

"Don’t get f-fucking used to it", he grits out. His response is followed by a deep groan, almost a growl and you feel his cock throb inside you. All your senses black out at once when your orgasm crashes through you. If it weren’t for Jakes hands holding you tight and his thrusts forcing you against the tree, you would’ve collapsed.

Jake curses under his breath and with one particular hard slam, you then feel his hot cum fill you to the brim, trickling down your thighs, almost feeling as if it lasts ages as the warm stream dies to a trickle.

"Holy shit", Jake’s hot panting bring you back to reality as his fingers loosen around your middle. His cock is still twitching so deep inside you, pulsing heavenly. The moment he finally slides out leaves you almost disappointed, empty, and when his hands leave your sides, you let yourself slide down against the tree, until your knees hit the moosy forest floor with a soft thud.

Looking up at him, you’re met with a smug grin from Jake, skin glistening from sweat, board chest heaving but caught quickly. He’s glorious in his after sex sheen and you swallow thickly when your eyes lock.

One of his hands then reaches out to caress your cheek, almost affectionately, and as you lean against his palm you realize, that his lips had been moving and that he was talking to Quaritch again.

"Come and pick her up. You know where", is the first thing your fried brain can make out, having completely missed what either of them had said before that.

So Jake wasn’t going to kill you? Take you hostage? He was willingly letting you go?

There’s a long pause with neither one of them saying anything, just Jake winking at you when he realizes the questioning look on your face. He’s also the first to break the silence with a dark chuckle, "Don’t worry. I won’t be here when you show up." There’s another pause in which Jake licks his lips, "Lucky for you, because I aim better after a good fuck."

Quaritch then laughs and you can practically feel your face flush red in embarrassment. "Lucky for you, Sully. That little minx has me walking around with blue balls for way too long now. And I aim twice as good when I‘m mad."

You breath is caught in your throat at his words, the only thing keeping you from saying or doing anything to protest, was Jakes hand still cupping your face, his thumb gently swiping over your bottom lip.

"Don’t be too hard on her", he sighs, "Would be a shame to see that cute ass littered in bruises the shape of your hand."

"What gives you the impression that you’re going to see her again, Corporal?" The mocking tone in the Colonels voice had disappeared almost completely now and the danger of it made goosebumps appear on your skin. Still, it’s not enough to faze Jake, not even in the slightest.

"Worried I'll steal her away?", Jake grins at you, his tail curling behind his back.

"No", Quaritch huffs out a breath, "But I keep close tabs on what's mine."

It’s the last thing that Jake hears, before the line goes dead, cutting him off from all communication to the RDA.

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[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ “Stacey’s Mom has got it going on” — Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: You can’t help eyeing your daughter’s pretty boyfriend when he’s just so sweet, and he can’t help himself either when you’re the best he would ever find.

— word count: 4.2k

— A/n: idk if this qualifies as dc (I don’t think so) but it has like, idk age gap and cheating concepts so take care

— warnings: smut!! MDNI!! Age gap (Gojo is 20 and you’re bordering late 30s); cheating; sort of asshole representative? But how else would something like this work; hair pulling; body worshipping; oral (f! Receiving); dub-con (slightly?); Satoru is a shit boyfriend to your daughter; hinted domestic abuse; mentions of scars; almost subby! Satoru? (There’s no definite concept of who’s dominant- and if satoru then a lot of soft dom); slight spitting; riding; simultaneous orgasm

21-7, Shinjuku 3-chome, Shinjyuku, Tokyo.

He had the address memorised, down to the number of windows in your house and the exact shade of the monotonous white your husband had deemed “minimalist”.

19 he was now, you stood at an elegant 37—arriving in the vicinity at an estimated 5 years ago, your husband’s property, he’d guessed.

Gojo Satoru was 14 when he first saw you, puberty making its way into the young boy’s mind—you did none but encourage the certain downfall in the way you tapped his cheek when he offered to help you in carrying the many bags.

Over the years, Satoru saw you a lot, and also, didn’t at all.

Satoru saw you in the afternoon haze, dealing with the heat—staring obnoxiously when you took off your floral shirts, standing in front of him in those tight leggings and tank tops—but he also saw you at times that you didn’t know about.

And when he didn’t see you physically, you were present on his mind.

At least up until his 18th birthday, you knew of his presence when he would come to meet you.

What had begun as an innocent tap on his cheek for being adorable had developed into an innocent friendship on your accords, smiling wide every few months when he would zoom past your house on his cycle.

The routine was simple then, left-right-right-left, 15 minutes of a way from his house, and there he would be, at your gate—somehow always when you had grocery to carry.

The routine was simple now too, 11 p.m. he would sneak out of his dorm room, a smirk on his face as he used his infinity—making his way into your house, all so quietly, to watch your pretty face as you slept—sometimes even snickering when he caught you being fucked by your husband, snickering at that bored expression on your face, knowing just how much better he could treat you.

He’d never been inside however, general courtesy to be shown, not as a kid—never yet as an adult.

Back then you’d giggled when a 17 year old Gojo had brought his shy friend to meet you, both their cycles parked outside your house as you tended to their boyish smirks, he doubted you’d giggle knowing that the same friend, Geto, was the one he sent your pictures to when he found you sleeping.

But Satoru wasn’t dumb, he knew you’d realise at some point and so, he did what he had to.

In his head, it was all your fault too, so oblivious to everything that he had to choose the second best, your daughter.

“I know she’s like hot and what not but you gotta let her go dude,” Suguru’s voice was a drag—partially dry from all the alcohol he’d consumed.

Satoru’s 20th birthday was approaching, a week left, the celebrations of course had to last a month.

Satoru chuckled beside his best friend—almost wasted he noted—“it’s not like I wanna fuck her or something,” he grinned, he knew wanted to, he knew he possibly couldn’t, “it’s just, I could treat her so much better you know? That stupid little house-”

Suguru smirked, “-don’t bring money into it you pervert,” his eyes bore into his best friend’s, “her daughter ain’t that bad ya know,”

Satoru snorted at that, “which is exactly why I went for her too,”

Just at that, Geto snorted too—mindlessly, shamelessly, both of them.

-ring!!

Slow, both their eyes panned onto Satoru’s phone, ‘my love’ the screen flashed, Suguru snorted again, “Ironic,”

With a roll of his eyes and a short smirk, he shook his head—knowing she’d only be calling because she was needy, at least that’s all he remembered her to be.

“Mmhmm baby, gonna drop by in half an hour yeah? Yeah, yeah, miss you too, bye,”

He always sounded sweet- that was what your daughter rambled about, Satoru Gojo was the sweetest guy ever, and you were glad mostly, a little jealous? You weren’t sure.

It just wasn’t something you ever had.

As Satoru got up to leave though—“you ever let your girl go though, hit me up alright?”

Satoru eyed his best friend with a grin- that was something he could do—“have our own fucked up family eh?”

“Satoru?” You smiled, “long time honey,”

‘For you’, he thought, smiling smugly, “I keep you in well wishes all the time so, not so much Ma’am,”

You chuckled at his words—ever the gentleman he’d been, “that’s adorable, is that how you charmed my daughter too?”

His heart ached at that—only a little however, no, it was all only for you, all the charm—all for his only woman.

Thoughts flashed onto his own girlfriend, he remembered the night well—it wasn’t much, her 16th birthday, he’d just turned 17 too— he’d dropped by, getting you those medicines you’d requested a week or so ago—they were only found near his vicinity, he could only oblige.

Curiosity often killed ended up killing the cat.

-

He’d racked his brain, he thought of it for endless nights—he didn’t want to accept it, not so easily, not when you made it seem simple.

Each of what you’d asked him to get was a pain killer.

He’d disliked your husband before, but since after, he was sure he hated him.

That night, he’d sat outside your house with your daughter, she was smoking—he was used to it, he hated the smell.

“Aren’t you too young to be smoking?” He’d teased, exactly how he used to Suguru and Shoko—except she didn’t entertain the jokes, never had, never would.

However, before a mean retort could fall off of her lips, a crash sounded all too loud.

Not accidental, Satoru knew that.

He was quick to get up, he was no hero, but his life be sworn if he let you suffer such—a hand held him back.

“Don’t get into it,” she warned, your daughter did.

He didn’t, it wasn’t his place to.

Your husband cheated that night, as he had countlessly, your daughter found her first boyfriend—you wept that night, Satoru’s heart did too.

-

“Can’t lie I keep a special bank reserved for my uh…mature ladies,” a wink he passed, he made you feel young, alive.

A shake of a head you passed and a knowing laugh.

You noted his lingering gaze, the bruise on your forearm ever present, never you said a word- never him.

The silence engulfing and nauseating.

“Your uh,” his words were rough, “anniversary yeah? Round the corner isn’t it?”

You giggled, almost as if it mattered, “So he remembers? And your own, isn’t it?” A look of slight confusion masked your face, he grinned, “a week after yours, it’s my birthday though, on the same day that is, you always mess it up,”

An apologetic smile you passed this time around, “why, I’m sorry, let me make up by baking you a pie honey?”

A thin smile adorned his face—shaking his head, he ushered you back in, waiting patiently for your daughter to bounce back, to remind him of his reality.

But just as you did turn, “wait, by the way,” his eyes lay stuck upon the bruises you didn’t care to hide, “how’re things going?”

His eyes gazed upon the sheer material of your shirt, “how’s…Mr Y/l/n?”

Almost a sneer, as if, you stared, “perfectly fine, Toru—how’re things with Y/d/n?”

He stared blankly this time around—“perfectly fine Ma’am.”

-

“Pass me the lighter,”

Satoru stared at his best friend’s outstretched hands—your daughter’s pretty smile as she handed him hers—the same smile that had intrigued Satoru to even look at her, the only feature on her face that resembled you.

“What are your plans for the anniversary?” The words registered in Satoru’s ears—he wasn’t sure who the speaker was, he didn’t exactly care, “I could help around your house,” a mutter, as if unsure to why—but certain that he wanted to.

Cocked brows looked at him confused, “…isn’t it your 20th birthday though?”

He nodded.

“Who wastes their 20th birthday helping around random houses?” Suguru’s tone was almost annoyed, as if he knew—or could’ve guessed why.

Satoru’s girlfriend laughed, “You know he’s screwed a little right? Can’t stop him if he doesn’t want to,”

Satoru nodded again—it gutted him onto how well she bothered to know him—and yet, he perhaps didn’t even bother knowing her favourites most of the time.

“No no,” head shaking, a grimace fell onto Suguru’s face, “pretty boy here can do whatever he wants,” a knowing look they both passed—“but 20s don’t happen again, go big or go home,”

Satoru chuckled, of course he had it all planned out, “I’m going big and going home,”

Another charming smile, another wink—just something you couldn’t become a fool too.

A slight frown rested on your lips, “You sure hon? You don’t have to waste your evening like this…”

It was almost motherly, the way you showed concern—in ways Satoru had barely experienced.

He scoffed, “Time well spent is never wasted,”

“You’re going to mow a lawn baby,” you chuckled, “y/d/n isn’t home either- you know her sleepover- I don’t see how-”

“-anything to please and help you is almost the best kind of work I could do,” you’d have smiled usually, at his words—a tiny flirt you always deemed him—laughing about it to your husband, even though he barely cared.

You didn’t care of it either, an empty marriage, so be it—hollowed from both ends, slow.

But this time, this was different.

This time you’d perhaps bask in his help—no husband to taunt by complimenting little Satoru, no daughter to tease by complimenting little Satoru.

Satoru wasn’t all so little, you realised—your daughter and husband weren’t home—just you, Satoru and his praises.

-

6 p.m. — 7 p.m. — 8 p.m.

Satoru didn’t remember a time to the when he’d done all so much work for his own mother- but he was content, with a pair of earphones and a creative little mind, he was intent to impress you.

It amused him, to actually how big of a lawn you actually did have—and he wondered at the almost pristine look of it if you managed it yourself.

Even if you did, he would be your helping hand now—he grinned ear to ear as he thought the countless many scenarios.

‘Desperate’ , a little voice in his head called—“my pretty good boy” your voice, the one you used in his thoughts, fought away all doubts.

But all to quick his train of thoughts paused, “you missed a spot there Toru’”

And most of the time, he’d be pissed on to anyone who dared to correct him—with you he’d nod obediently and carry on—but normally, even your normally, you didn’t step out in front of him in just a small, pretty pink towel wrapped around you.

Satoru Gojo had pretty eyes, a decent imagination too—he’d thought about you plenty of times.

Naked, spread open, on your knees, having him between your knees—many and every and any position but absolutely nothing could’ve compared to the way seeing you covered just enough—in a small towel got him hard.

Satoru Gojo had pretty eyes and for a second they were wide as saucers.

His eyes panned onto the spot you pointed at—he had indeed missed a spot—he nodded slowly.

The music rang in his ears—

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on

Ironic.

“I’ll get to it, going for a bath?”

It shouldn’t have been that casual—him asking you your schedule such—you let it be so.

“It’s getting late, want to stay the night? And yeah—yeah, a bath,”

Stay the night.

There the offer lay and his temptation—he watched the careless way you held the towel, all so small that decency was the only thing that stopped him from staring shamelessly at your exposed thigh.

“I don’t know-”

An attempt, simply a stupid attempt to save him and you—“-I insist and what song is that?”

He stared blankly, “Stacey’s mom,”

“How I love that song,”

Of course you did- he watched you walk away as the song continued playing.

Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?

Your mom came out with just a towel on

I could tell she liked me from the way she stared

And the way she said

"You missed a spot over there"

Down the drain, his character, perhaps yours—then relationships you’d held, everything.

Another nod.

-

“I’m staying the night Suguru,”

“Hah?!”

An eye roll, an obnoxiously pitched questionnaire, “The fuck? It’s your damn birthday tomorrow—why did you make me get that damn cake?”

Jaw clenched, he stared at the recently mowed lawn—10:00 p.m.

It was too late.

“Better get a taste of her damn pussy if you’re staying the night fucker,”

Satoru shook his head, a smile, “Shut up, talk about her nicely,”

“I’ll talk to her nicely when your girlfriend talks to me nicely when I’m dicking her down, really got yourself a brat huh?”

The smirk was evident in his tone- Satoru wanted to feel betrayed, he couldn’t.

“You’re such a bloody fucker,” he muttered through, “Take care of her,”

“Always have—you take care of her damn mom,”

And he always had too.

-

10:15 p.m.

He found it simply, weird, that you were in the shower all so long—shaving?

It was your anniversary tomorrow, a loyal wife, a good wife—you’d present yourself well—he thought.

He wasn’t entirely wrong either, was he?

Foggy, your bathroom mirrors stood as you prepared yourself just right, shaven smooth—a guilty heart panged in your chest.

You watched the many scars lingered upon your body, natural, provided—all yours and you doubted it, doubted the mere fact that Satoru would even think about touching you the way you fantasised.

It was wrong—just a fortnight ago and he was the sweet boy you used to adore and having by, just a week ago he was the boyfriend of your daughter that made your relationship all the more insecure, just tonight he was growing into his age.

Head hung back, you stared at the ceiling- so wrong and so right.

Almost melancholic, your train of thoughts was, and his too as he sat by the window of your room—“Please clean these windows too,” you’d said with a smile, breasts pushed together as you held your hand in front of you—the little pink towel did nothing, you knew that.

His hard-on was obvious, you’d had that effect on guys all the time—but then, maybe it wasn’t for you, maybe he just saw the sight and it reminded him of- maybe-

“God~ fuck-!”

Your ears perked up, maybe that was a moan.

Not maybe, it was—it was all too certain a breathy moan.

And before the better judgement was to be passed, there you were, the pink towel wrapped around all the more perversely as you twisted the knob of the door—entering your room to the prettiest sight in a while that you’d seen.

“Satoru?”

Eyes all so wide, the ministrations came to an immediate halt—“Mrs- Mrs- I- shit,”

You watched him scramble about, struggling to get the pants that he’d pulled down to his ankles, back in place—pale cheeks tinted with the embarrassment he held-“I’ll leave right now,” and you knew your figure standing about, almost naked, did not help.

A giggle you passed, “Satoru, it’s fine baby, what’re you so embarrassed about?”

That, he didn’t expect, neither did you.

A low ‘huh’ dropped from his mouth,a hardened cock hanging out for you to ogle at.

“Yes I mean,” you continued, slowly moving towards him, “it’s all…natural isn’t it? You’re a big boy now too,” your voice was sweet as honey, pulling him, reeling him in.

He watched, estranged, as you swayed your hips, moving in, pulling him—pushing him and there he lay in your bed.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“Tell me Satoru,” you whispered, nimble fingers grasping the hem that covered you—“are you all grown up? Still my big boy?”

A silent nod, your towel fell.

A smile etched across your face as you saw his mouth widen-“l-like what you see?”

A slight stutter, you were nervous too—just as him.

And it was entirely a surprise to you then, when his were the hands that grasped your hips rough—flipping the both of you over so he was on top.

Lips attached to your neck—his hands ran wild as they explored every bit of you—“So much, so so much, you’re gorgeous,”

Frenzied moans, hefty touches—it was almost as he’d been dying to touch you—and he had.

His lips moved fast—faster than his fingers, moving across every inch of you—a slight tingle you felt as wet and sloppy kisses he left across your shoulder blades, your hands tugging at the white tuft of his hair.

“So soft,” he murmured against your skin— “so fuckin pretty,” he was skillfull, almost, in the way he managed to completely disregard your needs in the moment.

Not a single brush of his fingers or crotch against your pussy—a tease.

You wanted to cry, pleasure hit you hard—and in the way he lingered seconds too long upon every scar that your husband had given you, at every bruise that you held—in the way he handled you so carefully, not as if you were fragile but as if you were his desire personified.

“Tell me, Satoru,” you snickered, at the breathy moans he let out, “how long have you waited for this,”

“Forever,” he breathed out—the crystal blue eyes finally met you then, “God forbid I just- please, please let me?” A whine he let out still, so desperate.

“Always this needy hm?”

He shook his head fast, “Only for you,”

And you knew that just there he was begging all so easily.

“Please- ple-ase,” his voice was a drag, as if afraid that he’d lose this moment all so soon, “please let me…let me touch you- feel you,”

A twinkle in your eye, “if you’re good, yeah?”

He bobbed his head at that- “on your knees for me baby,”

And that he did, so obedient, “Show me how much you’ve yearned,”

It was a dynamic, if anything—you held the control surely, and you lay naked too—sprawled out as your head rested upon the pillows steadily, his between the plush of your thighs.

An airy gasp you let out as you felt him spit upon it, “fuck you’re glistening,” he whined, “So wet from just the thought of me?”

You felt his fingers spread your folds out, he felt so cold against the warmth of your pussy, “Didn’t even need me to spit huh? But had to mark you didn’t I? Remind you that I am the one who gets you this way- has your husband ever gotten you this way huh?”

His words seemed almost feral, a growl with every word as he kept lowering his head— he focused upon your clit.

Your legs lay spread wide open for him, one his hands resting upon your thigh, rubbing soft soothing circles—while the hand finger fucked you.

His finger slipped in so easily, a groan both of you let out together, “so fucking warm I- your pussy’s pratically begging to be ruined,”

You squirmed at his words—already dumb at the way his middle and ring finger pumped inside of you,

“More please,” you moaned out, “need more,”

A smirk he held as he lowered his lips, nipping at your pussy lips, “More what Ma’am? More of what hm?”

A loud whine you let out at his word- “Fuck Toru’ not tonight, please just touch me—want you,”

Enough encouragement, in fact it was all he needed before landing his tongue flat upon your clit, swiping it back and forth upon the little nub.

“Scream my name please,” rough hands pulled at your legs—resisting you from closing your legs—“Arch your back and scream my name, let your neighbours know I’m the one in your silly fucked marriage that gets you so worked up and not that fucker,”

His words barely registered in your head—thrashing at the liable pleasure he held onto you, “Sh-it Toru’ I- right there! Yes please,”

He grinned as he looked up at your face briefly, before diving right back in, suckling at your hardened clit as his fingers prepared your cunt to be ruined by his cock.

“God I should film you being so needy for me,” another groan as his tongue lapped upon your core—“should teach em how to please the perfection you are,”

You whimpered at his words, eyes rolling back at the way he provided just the right kind of pressure- until you weren’t.

A loud whine and groan as he pulled out of your cunt, he grinned, “Want you to cum on my cock when you do — wanna feel you clamp down hard,”

You looked into his eyes, hesitant? Neither of you.

“Taste yourself,” and before you could pull away, shoved into your mouth were his two fingers as you sucked onto it—“Fuckin’ delicious,” he muttered as he pulled away the fingers too.

Needy, he wanted you needy.

Slow, he moved about, rising about and pulling you with him as he kissed your arms—“someday, I’ll leave such pretty marks on you, those are the ones you deserve,”

You bit your lips hard- he did too, as you straddled his lap—“please,” he whimpered and you giggled, “how many times do you think about this?”

All the time.

Any and everytime he was alone, just you on his cock bouncing to chase your euphoria.

You cupped his face as you stared at him, such a pretty innocent look he held—you grinned devilishly as you lined your entrance upon his tip.

"yeah. 'think about it a lot. want you to use me, please, just have me. i'm y — ohhh god, oh fuck me, y-yes please — fuck i'm yours!" his words, bound to be a mess now that you've lowered yourself to meet level with his cock.

It throbbed inside you, it looked so pretty, when you imagined sucking on it— with that curve you always felt pressing against your walls when he would be balls deep inside your pussy- just as now.

“Tell me Toru,” you but down in your lips hard, red, “how many times do you think?”

He gulped hard as he watched you move, unable to hold himself as your warmth spread all over his cock, “J-just some- sometimes, when I- I miss you, when I c-can’t get enou- oh god- can’t get enough,”

He moaned softly, head fallen aback and eyes shut close as you rode him slow, rolling your hips—it took your all to just not give in and fuck yourself dunb over his cock.

“In the shower…after- after practice,”

You giggled at his words, oh how you felt like a filthy girl in the moment, “all sweaty and dirty? Think bout fuckin me in shower?”

“Yeah…” his voice lay a rasp, “think bout you when I’m alone,”

Your words, actions—he was dizzy with pleasure, legs squirming beneath you—toes curling in pleasure and hips stuttering as he reeled in for more.

“Think of you when I fuck your daughter too,” and just at that he thrusted harshly into you, gripping your hips as he moved you fast—“you’re too slow,” he grunted.

A low moan escaped you at his words—him too.

Filthy.

Wrong.

You didn’t care.

"d-you think of me too, when- when you can’t touch it? When it- it d-doesn’t feel right?" his question almost sounded innocent, eager to hear your response.

"Course’ i do. think about my pretty boy all the time. i miss this cock so bad sometimes, 'can't get off the same with any of my toys."

He groaned at that—you could feel him twitching inside you.

11:55 p.m.

You weren’t sure when or how you lost all that time- it didn’t matter.

It was your anniversary in 5 minutes and his birthday.

Your hands grabbed his face and pulled him close—your boobs thrusted into his face, “cum with me ok? Hold on just a pretty while yeah?”

Your words were a lullaby to him, he nodded mindlessly, attaching his lips onto your nipples, swiping his tongue over your nipples.

Your soaking cunt engulfed his cock as you bounced upon it, head hung back as you chased your high—his hands kneaded your skin—one pinching your nipples while the other massaged your ass.

If you could, you’d have seen the adoration in his eyes as you fucked your self onto him—breathy moans and shy grunts, the smell of your sex wafted through the air.

Just another minute.

“S-So good to me-” He stutters, nails latching onto your skin to bounce you more aggressively on his cock as his flustered state slowly dissipates.

So close, both of you—a babbling mess underneath you,Satoru was purely pussy drunk—and just like that, the clock strung 12:00 a.m.

You both drew each other’s orgasm.

You stay there on top of him for a second, panting and heaving you both lay—nuzzling as his fingers drew circles on the small of your back.

Circles, you weren’t aware, those circles were actually his name crafted carefully upon your skin for he knew you were finally his.

“You good?”

A slight smile on your face as you asked him, he lay beside you in your bed—“Happy Birthday Toru,”

“Best birthday I’ve had,”

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

— Taglist: @illogicallyx @rizzmin @immurrsed @bbytamaki @abitoldschool

#satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojou x reader #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo smut #satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru smut #jjk satoru #jujutsu satoru #gojou satoru x you #satorugojo #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk smut

[vendetta-if]

Someone disguises as MC to dig out information from the ROs *gasp* Can they figure it out before it's too late?

I’m just going to picture that the impersonator has doppelgänger ability like Cara’s or illusion one like Yvette’s, so they look almost or even indistinguishable from MC physically 🤔

I’d like to think, of course, that all of them once they actually get together with MC or know them good enough (namely Santana and Skylar), would be able to figure out that it’s not the real MC they’re talking to. But the speed of which they notice and find out would differ 😆

Ash

Might be the one who knows MC the best out of all the ROs, and thus, might be the first one to notice first hints of irregularities. But also at the same time, they would probably be the one who gives the fake MC the benefit of the doubt a bit.

They might ask the fake MC what’s wrong or whether they’re feeling okay. But with more weird behaviour, they will quickly become suspicious and wary, and then they will finally figure it out—could’ve been faster if not for their complete trust in MC, but they will figure it out just in time.

Rin

At the very first hint of weird behaviour or attitude from MC, no matter how minor, they’re immediately suspicious. They’ll then proceed to subtly test and talk with the fake MC about memories or things that only real MC would know, putting the fake one’s ass on the grill.

Would totally be the first one among the ROs to figure out because of this.

Santana

Probably would take them more time than Ash and Rin to start noticing something weird, especially when they’re tired, but once they do, they’ll immediately be suspicious and on guard just like Rin.

At first, if the inconsistency is minor enough, they might chalk it up to them or MC just simply being tired or running on low sleep. But if it happens again or a more major inconsistency happens, they would immediately become alert, but also wouldn’t let the potential fake MC know that they’re onto them.

They’d prod around subtly, trying to gauge the fake MC’s reactions to some things they know MC has strong feelings about. Or, if they want to be 100% sure, they’d probably try to activate their power on MC.

Would probably take a bit longer than Rin, but would be able to figure it out pretty quick (depending on how exhausted they are at the time). What kind of detective would they be if they failed 😭

Skylar

Probably would be the last to find out among the ROs, not because they’re not familiar with MC or anything, but they love to gush to MC everything about their day or something they find interesting 😭

Hence, the impostor can kinda go under the radar a bit just by listening to their stories and commenting on it every once in a while. But actually, depending on the type of person your MC is, that can be the impostor’s downfall as well.

And also, Skylar’s talkativeness might also end up revealing the impostor because imagine if the impostor didn’t have a pretty strong reaction to Yvette while the real MC hates her or something 🤔

I feel like that’s how they would end up figuring out the impostor. It is definitely slower than the others, but they would know. Once they become suspicious, they’d still act as if they don’t know, just all smiles and lulls the impostor into a false sense of security before cornering and confronting them later on.

#asks #anon ask #ro reactions #full cast ros #ro: ash #ro: rin #ro: santana #ro: skylar #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript

[fuckmyskywalker]

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 — 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞

18+, smut, milf!reader x sam, mentions of pregnancy, body changes, breastfeeding, reader is divorced, age gap (reader is in 30s, sam is 21), afab!reader/fem!reader. | word count: 1.8k (not proofread!)

I did this for free ;( </3 (/j)

“Thank you for watching him, you are a lifesaver,” You smile, kneeling to pick up your toddler. Lifting him effortlessly, the child rests on your hip and wraps his arms around your neck. You kiss your son’s forehead, watching how he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Are you sleepy, Mikey?”

Your son nods and rests his head on your chest, yawning. Sam smiles, biting his tongue and wishing he could lay his head on your chest like that. “Don’t mention it. You know I can babysit Michael whenever you need.”

It’s true. It’s not like he has something better to do with his life, plus the extra money is something he can’t refuse. Your son isn’t annoying anyway— like his stepsiblings— and he can always play Xbox in the living room with him until he asks for food and Sam microwaves him a hot pocket. Not the best meal for a child but feeding him properly is your job, not his. His job is to make sure he doesn’t die. Babysitting always comes with an extra pay… seeing you. Sam has seen you all his life, and maybe— just maybe he has the biggest crush on you. At first, it was somewhat innocent; seeing you share a glass of wine with his mother, driving around, tending your garden… that’s it until he began paying more attention to you (which gradually became more and more physical the more he grew up).

It was still somewhat healthy, but that was until you had your son. Seeing you pregnant and being the only 19-year-old at the baby shower, made him feel… different. He couldn’t take his eyes off your stomach for a reason, he did notice how your body changed and that’s when everything went downhill. Sam did everything he could to be near you. Helping you with your trash, helping you with your garden, damn, even helping you move stuff when your husband was at work. He didn’t have anything against him, but the lingering thought of a young man who had a crush on his older neighbor who was married was a cliche.

I can treat you better than him.

Being realistic, he couldn’t. Unemployed, thinking about dropping college every week, and with a tiny teeny problem with weed and cigarettes. He always drowned himself in cologne when he knew you were coming over, but that didn’t mask the smell and he could see your nose twitching every time he walked in— pregnant women always know when you smoked— which almost made him quit tobacco… almost.

When he heard the news about your divorce, he was thrilled. Delusional would be the correct word, but thrilled nonetheless. Sam tried to be subtle, and he could listen to your conversations with Robin about the downfall of your marriage if he pressed his ear against his door. Of course your husband didn’t treat you right, of course his dick was just enough to impregnate you and not to make you feel good. That only reinforced his illusions. Seeing you just made his hormones crazy, and he would never forget that one time he walked downstairs for some water— after jacking off to the thought of you— and found you in the living room with his mother talking about the current flaws of the government while you were breastfeeding. He’ll never forget how he got a peek of your breast. 

So, naturally, when the excuse to spend time with you came with the label of “babysitter”, Sam took it. No questions asked. He would’ve done it for free but you insisted. He’d never do anything for free— but for you? Just say the word.

“Let me put him to sleep and I’ll be right back.” 

He nods and watches you go upstairs, his blue eyes gluing to your ass in that pencil skirt. He needs to go to the company you work at and thank whoever decided tight pencil skirts were a requirement. Sam feels and probably looks awkward as he waits for you, tapping his worn black Converse against the rug. His fingers twitch with the need to smoke, but not inside your house and not in front of you. You hate tobacco. It reminds you of your ex-husband. When you come back, Sam smiles politely, trying to focus on your precious face instead of the open buttons of your shirt. He was tall enough to get a peek of your cleavage if he walked closer, but it would be too obvious. 

“You want to stay for dinner?” You ask with a sweet smile. He is a weak man. He can’t resist that charming, beaming smile— and those tits. 

He watches you cook, admiring every movement and every sway. If he focuses too much it will be counterproductive, he doesn’t want to get an erection in your kitchen. Sam says nothing when you pour a glass of wine and declines when you offer him one— he’s not a wine guy, but it’s not like you’d have a blue ribbon lying around your fridge. You don’t look like that type of person— insisting on just keeping you company. Listening to you is one of his favorite activities too, especially when you are distracted. He can see you all he wants, but like it was expected, he has to cross his leg to hide his boner. That was faster than usual.

As you wait for the vegetables to boil, you turn around to look at him. A frown etches on your beautiful brows and when you step closer, Sam’s heart jolts. Is he in trouble? Your hand raises and he expects a slap— but you just remove a little piece of plastic off his cheek. He had no clue that it was there.

“You had a little something,” You explain, smiling comfortingly. “Were you guys playing with his legos? I think the new set I got him last week still has those little factory edges that Mikey likes to peel off.” You know your son better than he does, so your deduction is spot on.

“Yeah,” He tries to smile back, but it feels clumsy. It’s not something he does often. “He isn’t like Ryan, he is a pain in the ass—” He stops, he should watch his language when he’s around you. You laugh, which brings him relief. “He is!”

You laugh again, and what a joyful sound that is. Sam chuckles too, just following along. “He’s a child, he’s still discovering his own personality.”

Sam doesn’t have the strength to say otherwise. If you say the sky is purple, then he believes you. Whatever you say, he believes it.

So when you compliment his eyes, he finds himself suddenly shy. He tries to play it off modestly, which is 99% genuine. He just wishes you could compliment something… else. Thoughts begin to spiral down. It’s like a rabbit hole that keeps going and going and keeps him awake during his most lustful nights, with his hand wrapped around his cock and peeking over his window with the pathetic hope to see you. His silence doesn’t go unnoticed, and you bring him back to reality by placing a hand on his cheek.

“You alright?” Your concern makes him nod and swallow. In his fantasies, it is the other way around. He is the one supposed to make you flustered. “You sure? You dozed off.”

“I'm great, don’t worry.”

Or maybe he is dreaming. Because you definitely aren’t leaning closer, tilting your head to get a better look at his flushed cheeks… and you are definitely not smiling and placing your free hand on his thigh. Your fingertips must feel so soft, your nails, manicured and a vivid red color must feel so good touching his thigh but his damn ripped jeans are in the way. 

“Are you sure?” It’s a whisper, and he doubts if he heard the salacious tone in it. “You look… upset,” Upset wouldn’t be the right word. 

His eyes betray him, darting down to look at your cleavage. He can see the edges of your bra, it’s lace, they are black. It must be a push-up bra because there’s no way your tits look so good this close. It makes him want to slide his cock in between them. You chuckle at his reaction but you don’t seem bothered by it. Not in the slightest.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. It’s embarrassing, really. Why is he acting like a virgin? “No,” He manages to croak out, fighting with his own urges to not look at your chest again. 

“Don’t be so shy. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

That does it for him. Launching forward, Sam crashes his lips against yours in a messy kiss. Something came over him, something that he had been bottling up for years. You giggle in response but much to his pleasure you reciprocate. Your lips are as lovely and velvety as he imagined, your tongue tastes like wine and maybe he doesn’t hate it anymore. Lifting the hand that still holds your almost empty glass, you use the other one to cradle his head. It is as if the little restraint he had left snapped. His hand cups your breast, squeezing it perhaps a little too hard. Fighting with your buttons, he breaks the kiss to look at your chest.

“Can I?” He mumbles, taking a deep breath.

“Go on, darling.”

He almost rips off your bra, yanking it down and groaning under his breath when he sees your tits bounce softly. Wasting no time he attaches his lip to your left nipple, sucking it eagerly and swirling his tongue around. The labret piercing feels cold against your skin but his mouth is hot and enthusiastic. For him is like a relief, for you is an adorable display of desperation. Brushing his hair, you moan in delight at the way he is playing with your chest, nibbling your hardened bud and taking care of the unattended one with his hand. He rolls your nipple underneath his fingertips, even flicking it gently.

“Good boy,” Those words make his cock twitch. There’s definitely a wet spot on his boxers now. He could even come in his underwear just by sucking your perfect tits.

Sam moans when you tug his dark hair, urging him to switch sides, practically guiding him. He could argue he doesn’t need guidance, but right now? If you want him on his knees, he’s ready to kneel and adore you.

“Why don’t we take this upstairs?” You offer him and he nods, still keeping his mouth around your breast, sucking harder. He bites this time, which grants him the most delicious moan. Your chest arches, almost smothering him in your flesh. He could die happily. “I wanna see what else that tongue can do.”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes! #sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x reader smut #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe x fem!reader #sam monroe x milf!reader #life changing

[sexydreamgirl]

hey heraa, i would REALLYYY appreciate if you helped me out on this one question that has been killing me rn (it’s in bold on the bottom just incase u want to skip the tangent)

honestly, if i succeed in fulfilling myself that you replied, it'll raise my faith a little bit when/if I see that you replied.

I've been on this journey for the longest time I'm talking divineangelbee, planet, cine, bibi, dreamgrlsworld, daphne, the void obsession, the alpha waves, the mindless or just feeling while affirming, the self and void concept challenges for 2 weeks, and now applying states after edward art and neville and having things click with aphroditeapprentice and blushydior etc ; applying for months. But guess what idk what is happening and what's holding me back!

i know that if i was in the state, I obviously wouldn't be sending this message but since it doesn't matter what I do in the 3D and my human self wants to ask for help, I will ask for guidance.

I've even fulfilling myself, returning to the wish fulfilled whenever I think of my desire, I prioritize the inner man over getting physical results but you know, if someone was doing it right, it would reflected by now right? of course it would because it's the law.

I don't why it hasn't done so yet and l'm slowly and at the same time very quickly losing my faith because it's been like what, 2/3 years since I found out about the law from tumblr? I KNOW I'm meant to be living my dream life in a little cottage in Europe or big mansion in LA, I KNOW I was meant to succeed and live a life of my dreams because I deal with hard things in my life, I AM! MEANT TO SUCCEED. but what am I doing wrong if it's been months of fulfilling myself that it should've been my dominant state already? I feel good and every time I doubt, I know and tell myself that I ALREADY experience my desire in imagination and it HAS to reflect?

thank you, if you answer this I really would appreciate it :)

I'm going to try my best to answer this without further confusing you so sit tight and in the case that I do bring forward any confusion, do let me know.

In a nutshell, the point of manifesting (or moreso the purpose of life itself) is to appease hunger. That is, to free yourself from the feeling of desire (wanting something) by giving it to yourself whether it's money, the mansion, the dream life, appearance, I could go on and on because whatever you want to acquire is possible of being acquired (because imagination is limitless). If you know the law, you know imagination creates reality so imagination will always be your workshop and that is essentially how you change self (I AM).

Imagination isn't separate from reality because imagination is reality itself. Man's greatest downfall has been to separate the two as completely independent when that could not be further from the truth. When you turn to imagination and you use it to think about what it would feel like to have the face card and the mansion and the dream life, you are present in that moment to the point where it feels like a real experience. If you allow yourself to bask in the feeling of the wish fulfilled, it's as real of an experience as you reading this very post. Neville has previously discussed procuring the wish fulfilled in a way as if you are traveling through time to the end and witnessing the outcome firsthand, then you make your way back to the present and trust that it will unfold as you experienced. It's like when you watch a film you've previously watched and you already know what the ending is, you don't stop to think what could happen, you already know what will because you saw it yourself.

If time is a relevant concern for you and you're looking around to see if it's there, I'm afraid to say you haven't fully yielded to it. You simply thought of it and not from it. If you experienced it and knew that it was done, you would be appeased from hunger and you wouldn't desire it anymore. How could you want something you already have? Time is an obstacle that is standing in between you and the state of consciousness that asserts you as being someone who has the desire in question already in their possession. When you nail yourself to that state and I mean you fully yield yourself to it to the point where you don't feel separate from it anymore, the feeling of desire will vanish. You don't care about time, you don't care about the senses, nothing moves you. Why would it if you know it's yours? (Hint: this is the Sabbath)

I constantly receive so, so many "I did all of this, why hasn't it happened?" questions and I believe you when you say you really gave it your entire heart, but you should sit and ask yourself genuinely if you actually focused more on the thing itself versus quenching the desire you have for it.

I'm here once again to swear by the State Akin To Sleep and why I love it so much. I won't repeat the process since I went into it quite extensively so I highly suggest you read the post.

“Whatsoever you desire, when you pray, believe that you have received it, and you will.”

When I started understanding the SATS through the idea of it as "praying", it made so much more sense to me. You're not visualizing to get, you're visualizing to feel its reality so desire vanishes. If you use imagination to feel its reality (believe that you have received it), the 3D will follow and it shall materialize. This is one of the reasons why I love the state akin to sleep so much. It's such a simple and easy way to define the end and identify yourself with it.

When I use the SATS, I let myself sit with the wish fulfilled by thinking of what the end would look like, what would I hear, who would I be with, what would I see, etc. and I focus on it until I'm consumed by the feeling and acceptance of it and then bring myself back. I trust that my prayer has been answered because I felt the reality of it, so that must mean it's already mine. If for some reason I would feel doubtful or separate from that state of consciousness, I would simply induce the state again and focus on its reality. Do this as many times as you need to until you no longer feel compelled to because you're certain that your prayer has been heard (See: the Sabbath).

I highly encourage you to assess how you're going about manifesting and to use the State Akin To Sleep to catch the mood so you can nail yourself to it. You said it best yourself, you were meant to succeed and live the life of your dreams. Remember that failure is only an option if you let it be one. Don't give up, my love <3

#hera's greatest hits

[vampiretendencies]

sfw alphabet — jj maybank

warning; fluff, angst, maybe suggestive, mentions of jj’s dad, mentions of pregnancy pairings; jj maybank x fem!reader authors note; posting old piece from my drafts, hope you’re all well and have full bellies <3 cred to owner of the gif and the sfw prompts (@/afghrodite )

A = FFECTION (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection? do they enjoy pda?)

He wants any and everything that you will give him. No one can ever change my mind that his first love language is physical touch. There is never a moment where his fingertips are not lingering on your skin. All the time, however, whenever.

Any form of affection will do for JJ, as long as he knows you’re present and that you’re there for him to hold and hang onto whenever he needs.

He longs to kiss the small skin behind your ear, paint your neck in kisses, and every other crevice that he can possibly reach.

He wants to breathe in your air, feel you in his lungs.

To get beneath your skin.

And he absolutely shows PDA, whether it be in the middle of grocery store he’s going to passionately love on you in front of everyone.

“J, there’s people staring!”

He would pull you flush into him, whilst you inspected an apple in the produce isle to see if it was the one you wanted. Such a craving ache to feel your skin against his.

“Don’t give a fuck, need you now, baby.”

The apple would bounce on the tiled floor, and he would leave you speechless by placing a slow and saccharine kiss to your lips. Molding perfectly, just how he liked and he would never get enough of that.

B = EAUTY (what is their favorite part of their partner. body part, trait, anything?)

Your hands. He absolutely loves how small your hands would be compared to his. How needy they look when they graze his frame, how intricately they fit into his much larger ones, and because they’re your hands they belong to you. And anything that’s traceable of you, he adores.

Both hands palm down on the bathroom counter.

“Love those lil’ things.”

He crossed his pinky over yours, so you’d get a hunch as to what he was referring to.

‘My hands?”

“Course’ baby. In every way.”

C = OMFORT (how do they comfort their partner? ex. after a panic attack or bad dream?)

It’s practically a given that he would never want you to be in harms way. He’s going to be there to walk you through every step of coming down from the fear, wallowing in the fact that he’d simply hurt the way his lover hurt.

So, an empath but only for you. He doesn’t give many people the pleasure of seeing that side of him.

If a panic attack were to ammense;

He’d pull you gently onto his lap and whisper the sweetest things he could muster, and that the panic wouldn’t be permanent.

“S’okay m’right here, baby.”

“Breathe with me …”

“Gonna’ get through this okay?”

D = EVOTED (how devoted are they in a relationship?)

The relationship is his most prized possession, and the only thing he’s held that close to his heart in years. He’s fully all in and wouldn’t want it any other way. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that you are his person, and he wants that for as long as humanly possible.

He gives you his full devotion, no one has his attention like you.

He’d definitely be one to say “If you’re tired of me, then take a nap, baby.”

E = NDING (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would definitely have to be something tragic enough, like if cheating was involved.

But he would never fathom breaking up with you.

Because, living a life without you is not a life he could envision living.

If he absolutely had to, if he was at his wits end— he’d more than likely, text you or have one of the Pogues do it for him.

As we have established, he hates confrontation and will avoid expressing his feelings to people for fear of himself. All JJ has known is how to survive, and protect himself and the cause of the relationship ending would be his ultimate downfall.

He wouldn’t be able to cope, so having someone do his dirty work is the simplest route he could go.

F = UTURE (what is their ideal future with an s/o? marriage? how would they be domesticly?)

Try as he might, JJ has sort of always been envious with the idea of marriage. Despite all odds though, he would see himself settling down with you. He wants what he never got in life— desiring to allow you to know his heart and give himself free will to wake up next to you for the rest of his years.

“I couldn’t picture getting married before I met you.”

“How come?”

He’d twist the ends of your hair around his finger, stuck in a trance.

“Never felt this loved before.”

G = ENTLE (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He treats you like an ethereal princess, you are his little baby.

Physically— when he touches you every movement is more delicate than the last, frightened that even if he breathes wrong he’ll break you. Lingering around with touches that are sensational.

“Gotta’ be gentle with my baby, alright?”

“You always are, J.”

Emotionally— he tries his upmost to be positive that he won’t damage or corrupt you. He has the worse time expressing his own emotions so it would be twice as horrifying for him to witness yours falling apart and not know what to do. But he’s fragile with you emotionally, no trace of tears should ever be left on your face in his sight.

“Wouldn’t ever fuck with your head like that.”

He was referring to the couple going at eachothers throat on the TV.

“Hope not.”

“Never pretty girl.”

H = UGS (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

This shouldn’t even be a question. He longs for hugs, any formation of his body against yours, he’s all over that.

He does every millisecond of the day without fail.

Brushing your teeth, calls for a hug from behind every morning.

The sensation of you against him, made him feel like he had all the power in the world. It’s freeing, and it always feels like the first time with his heart thumping every which way.

Do not ever deny him a hug, because he will pout like a small child all day.

“Why the fuck are you always all over her?” Kie grumbled, eyes rolling just a tad.

“Can’t get enough of her Kie, what can I say?”

I = NTUNE (how intune are they with their s/o's emotions? can they read their s/o well?)

He can read you like a book, like the back of his hand. It’s like he can sense it everywhere throughout his being. Just because he doesn’t know how to handle all emotions, doesn’t mean he can’t immediately sense when somethings wrong with his baby.

He proceeds to notice the glint in your eye.

“Who pissed you off now?”

“Just been a rough day.”

“Let me help you baby.”

J = EALOUSY (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s going to fucking maul someone that does a double take in your direction. Pummel them, knock their brains from their skulls, whatever it takes. However, it does take a lot for another's gaze to get under JJ's skin; knowing full-well that he can fight and that what you and him have is unbreakable. But, the main thing JJ does when he's jealous is seat you in his lap or pull you closer into him if you aren't already; or give you endless kisses to make others envy the shared love he has with his girlfriend.

"Gonna' let them know you're mine okay pretty baby?"

"Let ‘em know, J."

K = ISSES (good kisser? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

100% guaranteed that JJ is an undeniably impeccable kisser. He’s had much experience before you, with flings and hookups. But when he found that your lips fit more accurate with his than anyone else’s, he was sold.

His favorite places to kiss you are the most untouched places, the places that don’t get enough recognition. He dares to show them more attention. So the inside of your wrist, the nape of your neck, the small of your back— something so intimate about the many crevices. He’d pay them special attention each and every time.

JJ likes to be kissed anywhere on his face, but mainly his lips because he felt your love that you have for him through the gesture. He was obsessed with the way the pairs of mouths would glide together, and fall apart— ravishing in every second of it.

And you never went unkissed. Therefore, don’t forget his kisses or he’s falling apart.

“Where’s my ‘see you later’ kiss?”

“You didn’t give me a chance to-“

He envelopes your lips with his, before you can continue speaking.

“Yeah that’s what I thought.”

L = LOVE LANGUAGE (what is their love language? gift giving? quality time?)

As it has already been mentioned. His love language is physical touch, he always wants to be recognized by you with loving and touching and being full of you— missing you in his bones. Though his second love language, is quality time. Because if in some dire circumstance that he wouldn’t be able to touch you at least he’ll know you’re with him— sulking in every ounce of the infatuation the lovers shared. He appreciated you being in his presence, and just creating moments and memories together— living life.

“Found this recipe for us to try tonight baby … s’got all the stuff you like in it.”

Nuzzling in a way for quality time, not a second more spent away from you.

“Sounds perfect J.”

M = MEMORIES (what are their favorite memories with their s/o or family?)

By far, his favorite memory is when he got you high for the first time and your were talking out of your ass. You were saying so much off the wall shit, JJ swore the muscles of his stomach never hurt more from laughing so vigorously. He always comes back to that memory because it encompasses the relationship so well, and he’d always want to relive it.

“How do you think medicine just knows what part of you is hurting?”

He’d sigh into your neck, placing a small peck there before laughing again. “Don’t know baby, m’not a doctor.”

“Can you be my doctor? You’d be such a hot doctor!”

“Want me to fix you all up pretty girl?”

“Mhm, make me all better.”

N = ICKNAMES (what do they call their partner?)

JJ is a nickname type of guy okay! He loves showering you with nicknames. His all time favorite though was baby, because you were undoubtedly his little baby. He treats you like one, he aches for the way it slips of his tongue and he knows you’ll come running. Pretty girl is his second favorite, because you were so alluring in his eyes that you were declared the prettiest woman in OBX. And the girl stems from, you simply being his girl and no one else’s.

He uses them any and every chance he gets, hell at this point does he even know your real name?

You tended to go for J, because it was something no one else called him. It was your own, like he was your own. And you could keep it that way, the single J in JJ was reserved for you, and only you. Baby was thrown in there too.

Several instances he’d require a nickname;

“Baby will you turn off the alarm.”

“Gonna go to JB’s for some beers, pretty girl.”

“You don’t need a chair, my lap is your own personal chair baby.”

O = PEN (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He is not necessarily closed off, but after having no role model in life to teach him how to express his emotions he tended to sit with them until he could fully process them enough to tell you. When he is ready he’ll come to you, like a sad puppy ready to vent then. Like the first time he told you I love you, he’d known for about 3 months. But he couldn’t find the correct way to say it, either that or he’d back out.

“Don’t know’ s’just when m’around you my heart does this thing … where it’s gonna fly straight out of my chest and I just can’t control it.”

“Is it love … maybe?”

“Always have I guess, because that feeling hasn’t went away. It’s worsened baby.”

P = ATIENCE (how easily angered are they?)

When it comes to patience, JJ has the utmost amount for you, it could go on for multitudes. He was wrapped around your finger, always had a hard time telling you no, and vice versa. It’s also because JJ has walked on egg shells his entire life, constantly getting attacked and belittled by his father— so any given circumstance he has patience to avoid a sour outcome. He knew bumping heads was bound to happen but he always ran away from it. His patience is key, and that’s what keeps JJ centered.

You’d asked him nearly a thousand times if the shirt you were wearing looked fine, and he’s just as amused as he was the first time. Patience not wavering one bit.

Why not make it a thousand and one?

“J, are you sure this shirt doesn’t make me look slouchy?”

“Prettiest slouch I’ve ever seen.”

He was toying with you, picking fun only to receive a glare in turn.

“JJ!”

“Okay, okay … you look fuckin’ phenomenal baby.”

Q = UALITY TIME (how would they spend time with a partner? what are dates like?)

If he’s not working he’s with you, the Pogues even teased him about soaking in all his time with you. But he wouldn’t have it any other way, he is always coming up with little schemes and plans as to how to spend essential time together— something worth remembering.

Unable to keep his hands off of you, Romantic, everlasting and with a twist from JJ.

His ideal date though is on the beach, feet gently getting washed by water as the two of you are sat on a picnic blanket. Drinking beers, smoking weed, a little food here and there. His dates are not well thought out at first, as even though it’s supposed to be a surprise he still asks for you help on little things. Merely flattered by even the gesture, the effort mattered most.

“I wanna stay here with you for a lifetime .. gonna’ love you and never leave, baby.”

“We can’t stay here forever though, the sand is gonna’ have imprints of our asses.”

R = ANDOM HEADCANON

You helped him start journaling, he was iffy at first because though he has patience for you he doesn’t have the patience to write multiple sentences down about how he felt.

So you convinced him to take it one sentence at a time, that it would help him cope even just a little bit with the scarring hurt and pain he’s dealt with in his life.

And you persuaded him.

Something to give him routine, and to subsist for a second.

“So glad you introduced this to me baby, my heart doesn’t feel so heavy.”

You’d kiss his temple gently, and his eyes closed at the comfort.

“Anything to help, J”

S = ECURITY (how protective are they?)

JJ will walks to the ends of this earth to be positive you are safe. Whether that be from Kooks, or from someone that tried to hold the door open for you knowing full well you have a boyfriend beside you. He’d be ranked in overprotective, but in the best way possible and for all the right reasons. He’s overpowering with it when need be. You found it attractive simply because of that. But he’s not toxic, or nasty. He’s just JJ.

“So you don’t care how long I’m gone for?”

“Course’ baby, just let me know that you’ve gotten there safe.”

T = TINY ONES (how do they feel about kids? how would they act with kids?)

If it is a teen pregnancy, JJ is hesitant at first because he can’t even take care of himself led alone an actual real life child. But, if it happens he can’t control it, he took part in making it so he will fully own up to that baby. He will take care of it with his life.

Later in life, if you were to get pregnant JJ would absolutely be captivated by it. JJ always wanted kids that he’d be able to give everything to that he didn’t have as a child. A mother that’s present, a dad that loves them unconditionally, and childhood that will be memorable.

He just always envisioned having children somewhere down the line, maybe a dog or two, and his sweet girl.

“Gonna’ have so many babies with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, gonna give them all to you.”

U = UPSET (how do they act after a fight? Would they be the first to apologize?)

He is like a lost dog, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself. And he’s going to fall apart, because everything in his life feels like it’s coming to an end. So every fight silence would fall over the two of you, he’d assume you were thinking about leaving him. Little did he know you just wanted to pluck his forehead for annoying you. He doesn’t want to always be the first to apologize, but he gives into that pride and always apologizes. Mainly because he can’t go more than ten minutes without hearing your voice or touching you.

“Baby, you have to come out eventually.”

His fist clung to the bathroom door after you’d been locked in there for the past thirty minutes due to some idiotic argument.

“No, m’busy being mad at you.”

“Stop being mad and love me.”

V = ALUE (how important is the relationship to them? what is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

The relationship is his first priority. He cherishes it, as it has both healed him and helped him all at once. He values it above all, if he loses this then he officially will feel as though he’s lost any hope in his life. He treasures it, and wants it to linger and fester on like a cut that scars and the scar never goes away.

You were never going away.

It comes above beer, weed, and maybe even the rest of the Pogues in certain circumstances.

“Starting to save up so that we can have our own place.”

“J, we don’t have to do it now if we’re not ready-“

“No I want this, baby.”

W = HOLE (would they feel incomplete without you? what is their worst fear, what causes a hole in their heart?)

He going to crumble. Chasing a high that he knows he won’t ever feel again as long as he’s not with you. Trying everything just to feel something, he’d be fucking miserable. Losing you was losing himself because you were what he based the entirety of the rest of his life around. It definitely would cause a massive, unfillable, black-hole in his heart that would not be able to be healed by another. Your love kept him going, it was his fuel and he knew it was unhealthy. But when you live a life without love being reciprocated, it’s so deathly hard to not let go of it when you actually get it.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do without her John B?”

“I don’t know but you’ve gotta’ do something man, you’re stinkin’ up my house. Jesus! Go shower.”

X = XENOS (what is something about them that is strange? something that most wouldn't like)

He likes licking your face … like genuinely he likes licking you. He likes watching you squirm as he does it, feeling his tongue against your smooth skin. Most couldn’t tolerate his wet tongue salivating all over them, but you put up with his odd habit because it was JJ. Tasting of the warmest vanilla.

“JJ, do you really have to lick my face in broad daylight?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Y = ANK (what do they do that makes their partner mad? that makes one wanna yank they ass?)

JJ Maybank does not clean up after himself and it grinds your fucking gears. If he eats cereal and the milk is almost empty, he puts it back in the refrigerator instead of throwing it away. Beer cans will be stepped on, because after he drinks them he chucks it at whatever is in front of him. Old clothes are everywhere, hence the reason he can never find anything to wear. But at least he wasn’t a total slob, so you met in the middle.

“M’this close to choking you if I have to pick up your toothbrush again.”

“Do it then, baby.”

Z = ZZZ (what are their sleeping habits? do they snore? is the schedule fucked up?]

Cuddles of fucking course. His favorite type is the give you all of him by lying directly on top of you though he knows sometimes it crushes you, he’ll suffice for snuggling you into his chest and combing through your hair. And he is definite on staying that way all night, not being able to sleep properly if you weren’t present. He snores lightly but angelic almost, as he couldn’t image a better sleep than the one he has. He also twitches, he has to be in a deep enough sleep though. It depends on if the two of you decide to have a night out wether or not the sleep schedule is messy, but JJ typically looks forward to the shared night routine so there’s no complaints from him. Sometimes, he will even rush you.

Night time skin care before bed for instance.

“Where’s my face mask at baby?”

He’d tuck his hands into the front pockets of your pajama shorts, peppering fragile kisses to your collar bone.

“On the counter,” you pointed to the sheet mask. “Waiting for you to put it on.”

“But I want you to. You do it better, pretty girl.”

#outer banks #jj maybank #obx3 #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x kiara carrera #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank x sister reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank headcanons #outer banks fic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagines

[whitemancumslut]

domestic things fbh and y/n would do

word count: fluff, mentions of smut

OKAY I SOOO IMAGINE you're both nineteen. you have a famous boyfriend. how is it that you guys survived all this madness. people swear he's a womanizer, but this is the sweetest man you've ever met. harry loved you to pieces. treated you like the only girl in the world.

i strongly believe harry's love language is physical touch. he's obsessed with you. all of over you. "harry styles womanizer," the articles and comments made by older woman in interviews hurt his heart so much. knowing you don't think the same, but the internet didn't. of course they didn't. the internet was filled with mean teenage girls who wished on your downfall. year 2013 was the year of it all. i swear, he'd mentally get all up in his head about the womanizer comments, promise you that not a word of that is true, repeatedly, while you tell him you believe and trust him with every bone in your body.

at one point in the relationship some fans came to the realization harry in fact wasn’t going to leave you for one of them.

what is personal space?

harry was overall obsessed with the idea of you and only you. be wasn't scared to show his affection in public. although you were iffy of the idea of going out more as the band grew bigger as did harry's mobs.

• whenever he went on stage, he always needed his good luck kiss. it was like a good luck charm. whether he needed a quickie in the dressing room or a quick peck it always happened. it 'calmed his nerves.'

• never letting you go. i swear i can't get this idea out of my head. he is the type to stand with his arms wrapped around your torso, waist- just your front.

• kissing your neck, the back of your neck, letting you know who was still there. immediately relaxing your body.

harry definitely goes “without me?” whenever you shower or mention you’re going to.

when he does, he scrubs your hair for you, your back…. and sometimes it gets a little out of hand

after he gets off stage it’s a peck and “howd i do?”

you constantly remind him of how great he is.

makes sure you're safe when you go out without him. you know he's part of the biggest boy band ever. whether you're getting coffee, going to the arena, you're mobbed.

if you were to go out with someone other than harry, maybe one of your friends, while he was out at rehearsal or whatever it was— he would always try to keep contact with you.

if you went shopping he would want you to send photos of you trying on clothes.

“wow.”

“get the red.”

going to sleep

harry takes off his shirt at night, laying in his boxers.

he lives for cuddles. he doesn’t matter if he’s the big or little spoon as long as you’re there with him.

however if he is big spoon, he is completely cradling you into his arms. it’s the cutest thing ever. it’s like he’s scared youll get taken in your slumber.

big spoon turning into little spoon over night. he’ll be holding you and then all of a sudden, while you sleep you turn towards his and subconsciously wrap your arms around him and he would subconsciously fall against you and let himself be held.

waking up

“no. five more minutes” he’ll babble nothings that you won’t even try to understand.

pecking your temple and convincing you to stay in bed with him 5 more minutes.

he doesn’t care for morning breath. he would have a full on make out session with you.

only way to get him up early is proposing showering together and he’s up and ready.

fbh is such a passionate kisser. his kisses would be so arnghhhhhh, right??

temple kisses. they’re comforting.

he kisses you on the lips so softly. you know his rhythm. you’ve studied it since you got together.

he’s always mindful when kissing.

if it’s to get intimate he will always attempt to let his tongue past your lips and see if you reciprocate.

if he’s having trouble before stage. anxiety persay, you’re always there speaking him through it.

always assuring him he did well.

#harry styles #frat boy!harry #frat boy harry #fbh #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #dom!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles x poc #subbry #dom harry styles #harry styles hot

[arachniee]

Imagine an AU where reader fell from heaven from the sheer grief of losing Lucifer and had been living amongst the sinners for eons without him so much as knowing. And then he asks Charlie to ask about them when she goes to visit heaven and she drops that information on him. What would go through his mind?

now this was sent when i wasnt accepting requests anymore so even tho i wanted to write a fic, i'll just summarize my thoughts

i would imagine the reason that reader fell after lucifer was the fact that she may have rebelled against heaven because of his downfall. maybe she had started neglecting her duties, or worse, literally did not want to do them until they bring lucifer back to her.

of course, heaven cannot fulfill her wish so they ended up giving her a choice to join him and become a fallen angel. she didnt know what to do, she knew that lucifer was already happy with lilith, but she physically cannot be that far away from him, it hurts too much to ignore. so in the end, she chose to fall from grace just to possibly, even just a little bit, get closer to where he was.

she'd admit, the first few years of her life in this new environment was, well, hellish. But the fact that she knew lucifer was here, no matter how far, it made her feel a tad bit calmer. when charlie finally reaches heaven, asking the angels about a particular one that her father knew. and when they break the news to her, she'd be quite confused. but she'll relay the message to her father anyway, who was (clearly) excited about it.

the moment charlie spoke, the pit in his stomach grew deeper and deeper til confliction filled his every being. she was here? all along?

lucifer would be mad, not at her, but at heaven. and himself. he would blame himself for everything that she went through, before and after her fall. guilt would be creeping up quickly, tears fallings as his mind ran miles. did he hurt her that much, for her to choose to give herself up from what people referred to as paradise? he couldnt imagine the things that may have happened to her here, in hell. the kingdom which he ruled upon. him.

maybe he wouldn't tell anyone at first, but he'll look for her. it would even make his daughter worry, noticing the black, dark circles under his eyes. he hadn't been sleeping properly at all, how could he? she was all he could think about. she consumed him. consumed him in his awake, even in his dreams. she was everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time. she was so close, yet so far.

he knew he'd find her, one way or another, sooner or later. and with charlie's (and the hotel's) help, he knew that he was going to see you again. but in the mean time, while he is "resting" (more like thinking about her) as per his daughter's request, he'd probably make multiple rubber ducks that he think you would like. maybe, you weren't mad at him. maybe, you'd accept him again. maybe, you could learn to love him again.

but for now, he'd be flipping hell upside down just to find you, and he's not stopping until he finds you. or maybe, until you finally decide to show yourself to him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #help this was supposed to be short why is it so long

[mania-sama]

A Look into Mental Health: Jujutsu Kaisen Analysis

"Being a child is not a sin." (Nanami Kento, Jujutsu Kaisen)

With the release of Chapter 251, I've seen many horrible takes from dudebros saying that Megumi has "sold" the team. This makes me unreasonably angry because of course it does, so obviously my next plan of action is to take all of my hour-long rants about the mental health of JJK characters and put it here, where said dudebros will never see my (correct) analysis in their entire life. Oh well.

One thing Gege is really, really good at is creating believable, undeniably human, and complex characters. Every character has a different set of motivations, beliefs, ideals, and especially mental states. The constant theme of Jujutsu Kiasen has been "Strength vs Weakness". While the clearest interpretation can be seen through the physical attributes of the characters (Gojo being the strongest sorcerer of his time due to his abilities, and Miwa being one of the weakest, again, due to her abilities), it is also directly applied to the mental strength of characters. No two characters are able to withstand the same trauma and come out the exact same, just as no two real people can process the same trauma. Not only is it a result of nature, as people are genetically different and therefore process information differently, but a product of nurture - in other words, character motivation and environment.

This is where we come to the current state of the manga, Chapter 251. The fated Yuuji vs Megumi debate. I keep seeing people wildly misunderstanding these two, and why it's so important that Megumi isn't standing up to fight, why he isn't able to handle his trauma, when Yuuji can.

Gege writes phenomenal characters. And I want to express just how well done they are, making Jujutsu Kaisen actually kind of deserve its popularity, because some people only care about power scaling. I'm going to touch on Megumi last, because understanding all of the other characters' makes his visible struggle that much more impactful.

1. Geto Suguru

I want to start this mental health analysis with Geto. He is the best representation of depression I've ever seen in Shonen. It doesn't take a hundred chapters to showcase a character's downfall. It doesn't take a hundred significant events to cause a character to break down. Gege shows the best, realistic mental breakdown using only a handful of chapters, and still makes it slow and painful.

Depression can start because of a big event, but it doesn't take more for it to worsen. Untreated, depression runs a vicious course that eats a person through slowly but effectively. It isn't one screaming session, hands clutched over the head and cursing God and the world. It's everything piled onto each other. It's coming to the end of that pile and realizing that nothing will ever change.

This is Geto Suguru's story. He has a big event: the fight with Toji and the failure to save Riko. But his mental health journey was fated to decline, even without the fight and failure. The root issue of his depression came from his ability: Cursed Spirit Manipulation. As long as he kept devouring the embodiment of every vile, human emotion, the more he would lose himself to that vileness. He wasn't changing anything; he couldn't help but continue to swim in negativity because that's all he could do.

Gege wasn't making a commentary on Geto's ability. He was talking about people, as they are, and how staying in a bad situation will not always make you stronger. It can, and most likely will, make you worse. A direct comparison to the sixteen-year-old Geto would be a sixteen-year-old at school, surrounded by people who bully and pick on them with harsh words. The kid will eventually consume all of that bullying, all of that negativity, into their being, because there is simply nowhere else to go. School is mandatory; they can't just leave. They eventually feel isolated, with all that vileness piled on. Even if they have friends, those people could never understand what it's like to put up with humiliation and cruelty day after day.

It's not rational to push away a support system, but who said human beings are always rational? People make mistakes. They don't make the right decisions. Geto didn't. He saw someone offer him a chance at change, a possible light at the top of his pile and twisted it to match his overwhelming negativity. He left and swore to destroy the world that made him the way he is, just as that bullied child may turn away from school and society in whatever form that may take.

I want to touch on the physical aspects of Geto's depression, too. I noted this in a previous analysis I did on him (his character is just that amazing, what can I say?), but Gege knew that the mind can't be affected alone. Geto was drawn with deep eyebags, a nod to an inability to sleep or needing to sleep all the time. Depression makes you tired all the time. Everything becomes difficult. He sits with his back hunched, resting his weight on his knees, like sitting upright is too hard. When someone speaks to him, he blinks and takes a second too long to look over or respond, like speaking takes too much energy. To me, it even looked like he was becoming thinner. It's extremely difficult to maintain a schedule of exercise and mealtimes when your mind is fighting an active war against itself.

Again, a beautiful representation of depression. Geto means a lot to me in this aspect.

2. Gojo Satoru

In comparison to Geto, Gojo's horrible mental health is a lot subtler. Depression isn't the correct term, but you don't have to be depressed to be sad. Sadness is his stagnant state; he has moments of bliss, goals to work towards, a reason to keep going, to continue living, to continue chasing the sun over the horizon, but he does return to the same place he is always at when the lights turn off and he's painfully reminded of this one fact: he is isolated.

All of Gojo's problems start and end with isolation. From the moment he was born, everyone knew he was different. He knew he was different. Through glimpses of his childhood and honestly reading between the lines, it's obvious he never played with kids his age. People don't just develop a superiority complex with their only drive to be better than literally everyone else for no other reason than to get better. It comes from somewhere, and in Gojo's case, it's from his young childhood. It seriously messed him up; even now, he can't shake the lesson that "Strength is the only way to success and happiness".

This is what made Geto so important. Geto was somebody who could share the burden of being the strongest. Geto was someone his age who understood him in a way Shoko could not, though they both were able to see Gojo beyond his capabilities as a Jujutsu sorcerer. Gojo then had somebody to base his moral principles on. Because he couldn't connect with anybody else, he had no basis other than strength. Geto taught him why it was important for the strong to protect the weak.

Then everything went wrong. Gojo became isolated again in his strength and lost the only person who could plausibly stand with him. "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru, or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?" Gojo was young, then, and fresh-faced into his newfound godhood. He didn't kill Geto in that moment because he wanted to deny the claim that he is nothing without his strength, that he isn't as shallow as he was raised to be.

But he knew better. He grew older, he killed his best friend, and he realized that he was nothing without his strength. He never got over Geto. In order to cope with the guilt of being unable to save him when he left, he adopted a whole kid, thinking that if he wasn't strong enough to save Geto, maybe he could save Megumi. But there it is all over again - he never broke from the cycle of strength defining his worth. Saving Megumi would define his strength, right? It would prove Geto wrong, right? He raised Megumi under the same logic (that the only way to save his sister is to be strong), only ridding the boy of the crushing isolation.

In this way, Gojo isn't mentally weak. He didn't abandon society and everyone who loved him, instead choosing to hone the trauma of his isolated childhood into a weapon and teach the next generation to be better than himself. He isn't depressed, but he isn't happy. You can't be happy if you're alone all of the time. He hoped Megumi could be someone to stand by him, but in the end, he failed to save Megumi. His strength couldn't save him, just as it couldn't save Geto.

He isn't mentally strong. He isn't weak, either. He is horribly, painfully average. He's not weak enough to be saved, but not strong enough to save others. His childhood plagues him, but not to the point where it prevents him from living. He killed Geto but was unable to bury the body. Gojo is everything he never wanted to be.

As it turns out, strength can't buy you happiness. Gojo may have understood that, but he couldn't abandon it, even to the bitter end. Just as a human struggles to shed their conditioning. Not everyone can break the cycle, but we are always trying our best to work with what we've been dealt.

3. Okkotsu Yuuta

I'm putting Yuuta in between Gojo & Geto and Itadori & Megumi because he is, in a way, a bridge between the two. Geto and Gojo have lived their lives; their stories are complete and ended in tragedy. Itadori and Megumi's are not. They are still actively struggling and fighting their physical and mental battles; their stories have yet to be completed.

Yuuta's story isn't technically completed (ignoring everything that happened in the recent chapter with him for the sake of MY mental health), he is still a success story. He is the average protagonist who started from the bottom and ended up at the top. Only he, as Gege has done time and time again, has a slightly stronger focus on mental health than most other Shonen. He is success where Gojo & Geto failed, and the success that Itadori & Megumi are narratively striving for.

At the beginning, Yuuta was depressed and suicidal. He was bullied at school and involuntarily hurting others. Instead of becoming resentful of the world, he pushed all of the vileness inward. His guilt caused him to try to take his life, presumably multiple times, but Rika stopped him before he could succeed. His life was effectively out of his hands; he felt powerless with all of the bodies stacking around him, and he couldn't atone for "his" actions.

His mental health, as it was, was in shambles. Gojo then offered him a way forward. Yuuta's mental health did not improve overnight. It was when he made friends at Jujutsu High, and developed a support system, that he was able to relieve his anxiety and realize that life is not so bad after all. That all of this pain and suffering and loss - it will pass.

The most important thing to acknowledge when it comes to Yuuta is the sheer fact that he was not alone, nor did he allow himself to be alone. Unlike Gojo, who still had Shoko and Nanami after Geto left but refused to connect with them, Yuuta allowed himself to get close to those around him. They didn't know the suffering he'd undergone for so many years. They didn't know what it was like to be him, but that was okay. He knew that they had empathy, that even though they could never experience his life, they could still be there for him now when he falls.

When given the opportunity to surrender, Yuuta stands in the face of one Geto Suguru and swears to protect his friends and fight with Rika. He's so far removed from the boy who tried to kill himself at the beginning of the manga, and that's because he let himself be changed. He did not succumb. He had friends, he knew. People that would miss him if he left, and people whom he would regret leaving.

This stays consistent with his character. He doesn't let himself become isolated in his strength or his experiences. He's much stronger than everyone else in the room, he's a special grade and he knows that, but he still treats everyone like they are equals. Like they are his friends, like they are people who could share this burden of existence with him. This is something that Gojo couldn't accomplish, which lends to the fact that Gojo had a very off-hand teaching method when it came to mentoring Yuuta. Instead of influencing him under this idea of strength conquers all, he let Yuuta develop far away from the ideals of the Japanese Jujutsu Society.

And, in the end, the fact of him being physically strong - a special-grade sorcerer from the get-go - never helped him in his mental health. In fact, it made him miserable until he learned to get a handle on Rika. His winning or losing that fight with Geto wasn't the point of his character, it was reckoning with the fact that he is okay now. That he can embrace the ugly part of him with dignity instead of guilt.

4. Itadori Yuuji

Itadori's entire character is that he has an unbreakable spirit. As the only one who can bear the soul of Sukuna, he started off like Yuuta, only on the opposite end of the mental health spectrum. When we first see him, he's happy, spending his afternoons with the Occult Club and watching movies.

... What happened?

Like Geto, everything piled on very slowly. So slow that I'm not even sure he felt the true effects of everything he experienced up until the fall of Shibuya. It starts with the death of grandfather, whose parting words "Just save as many people as you can" haunt him even now during the final fight with Sukuna. He was never given time to properly grieve his grandfather, just as he never had time to grieve the brother curses, Junpei, Nanami, Nobara, Gojo, Higurama. At the end of it all, when the fighting is over, I have to wonder what will become of the boy that realizes he's lost most of the people he loved.

The one time he did try to process it, when he realized that he couldn't control Sukuna, was when he broke down in Shibuya. Sukuna leveled an entire city. For the boy who never wanted to kill another human being for fear of devaluing life, the weight of his weakness killing thousands was crushing. Then Nanami died. Nobara died (still hanging onto that unknown status but I digress). Both are right in front of him, and powerless to prevent Mahito from disintegrating their bodies. So, obviously, Itadori broke down. The boy with the unshakeable spirit, the only person who could contain the King of Curses, has his psyche completely shattered.

He laid on the ground, and he wouldn't have gotten back up if there wasn't somebody to help him, to be there with him. Todo pulled him back together, stitched back up the broken into somebody who has allies and people to fight for. Itadori has the success that Yuuta had, only Itadori did not come out of it with better mental health.

After the breakdown, his unshakeable spirit was nothing more than the will to keep fighting. He cares little for himself, and he tries to distance himself from people to prevent them from dying from his cursed hands. He is jumping, quickly, down the same rabbit hole that Geto fell down. One big event, and they realize just how tall the pile already is, and that it will never stop growing. Unlike Geto, however, he continues to get overbearing support from those around him. Against his will. He can't push them away, for they refuse to leave his side. Yuuta, Choso, Megumi, even Higurama. They won't let him fall. This makes him better off than someone alone, in a sense. He can withstand his trauma when others may not.

Even so, even so, there is only so much support, the lack of self-isolation, can do when the traumas keep actively repeating. When he says that he will gladly die to defeat Sukuna, it is not said with the same tone that another Shonen protagonist would say it. Take Naruto for example. If he were to go into a battle to protect, say, Sasuke, he would scream, "I'll die to protect him." We understand that his willpower is stronger than his self-preservation, but we don't get the idea that he actively wants to die. He'll die if he has to. Now, Itadori says the same thing, but about saving Megumi. He says, "I'll gladly die." There is something different. His willpower is leaps and bounds stronger than his self-preservation, but that's not only it. There is an undercurrent of severe suicidal ideation prevalent in Itadori's tone. It's not that he will die to win, it's that a part of him wants for this to be his final fight. For it all to be over. To save Megumi, then atone for the sin of being too weak to save Shibuya, or being unable to stop the Culling Games, or letting Megumi get hurt when all he wanted was to keep him safe.

I'd call it more along the lines of passive suicidal ideation. He doesn't plan to kill himself, but what would it mean for him to go into dangerous situations without protection? What would it mean for him to succumb to his wounds after he wakes Megumi's soul and kills Sukuna? To not even try to seek medical attention? He's guilty. He believes everything that happened in Shibuya and after is his fault. When faced with the executioner's sword, he was ready to die for his sins, if not for the goal of ending the Games. There is a fine line between willing to die for those you love versus wanting to die for those you love.

Right now, Itadori is fighting to save one person, like his grandfather said. He is not fighting to survive. And that's what people fail to understand about Itadori when they compare him to the other members of the cast. These power-scaling dudebros don't understand that their favorite OP main character has fallen apart at the seams, that his unshakeable spirit to save people doesn't include himself.

5. Fushiguro Megumi

Here we finally come to the question: Why can Itadori take it when Megumi can't? There is a very similar quote that you probably think of whenever you hear this question asked. It's from The Outsiders: "Dally is tougher than I am. Why can I take it when Dally can't?" The answer to this question that Ponyboy gives is the same we can attribute to Megumi. "And then I knew. Johnny was the only thing Dally loved. And now Johnny was gone."

The entire reason Megumi became a Jujutsu sorcerer was to protect his sister. When he was five years old and probably too young to understand most of the words Gojo said, he accepted the offer of training to become a sorcerer in exchange for Tsumiki's happiness. Every day, he fought to protect her. He only had one goal in entering the Culling Games: to prevent Tsumiki from having to participate.

It's easy to attribute Megumi's constant attempts at summoning Mahoraga to a lack of will to live - suicidal ideation, the same that Itadori now experiences. On one hand, I do understand that he has a fundamental lack of care for his own life, but on the other, I don't think that he intends to throw it all away every single time. He just didn't know any better. Ignorance can lead to death as easily as intentionally seeking it out. That's why he changes his habit after Gojo gives him a lesson in risking death versus dying to win; Megumi still has someone to live for, after all.

Megumi's mental health was already rocky from the start. Not that it was in shambles like Yuuta, but he wasn't fully stable. Like a lot of teenagers, he's moody, somewhat reclusive, and only really likes one or two people maximum. Teenagers aren't known for their sunshine mental health anyway.

Megumi was given time to grieve Itadori after he first died. This trauma of losing him in front of his eyes stuck with him, but he was allowed a grace period of two months to grieve with Nobara. He experienced Shibuya, too, but he still had that one important person to protect. His mental health was alright at this point, all things considered. As long as his sister was alive, he would be fine.

Sukuna knew this. So Sukuna killed Tsumiki using only the Ten Shadows Teqchnique. The one person Megumi spent his whole life dedicated to, was killed by his own cursed technique, his own failure to suppress Sukuna.

In the void of his soul, Megumi was alone. Truly, utterly alone. The only person nearby was Sukuna, the murderer of his sister, the murderer of thousands upon thousands of people. He drowned in the ceremonial bath of crushed curses to hold his soul down in the depths of despair, literally drenched in all of the vileness the world has to offer. Sukuna killed Gojo using Mahoraga's adaption ability, and before that, Megumi was forced to take several of Gojo's mind-altering domain expansions.

Already, he had given up. He gave up when his sister died, but the rest ground a pointed spur into his neck. When Itadori shakes his soul, Megumi is repeating, "That's enough." He was at the end of his rope a long time ago. What more is there to keep living for? He doesn't want to live with the blood of his sister, the blood of the man who practically raised him, and the blood of countless others drenching his hands.

Sukuna killed all of these people, not Megumi. But then, Sukuna killed of those people in Shibuya, not Itadori. Why can Itadori take it? Why can he keep fighting when Megumi lays broken on the ground? Itadori wasn't alone. And Megumi has never been known for his unshakeable spirit. That is the one thing that Itadori can hold over everybody else, the one trait that everyone admires. He was born to shoulder the burden of the world. Megumi wasn't. Megumi wants to die. He is not passively suicidal, for he has no goals left to complete, a plan to die within the body no longer inhabited alone. He is suicidal. He would drive a stake through his heart if it meant relieving his pain. He doesn't want to do it anymore. He's had enough.

And Itadori was in this position once, too? Perhaps not as directly, but he was there. Here is the moment that the protagonist gives the motivating speech to will someone to keep fighting, that life is worth living. I realized today that this is not something Itadori has done yet. He hasn't had a grand speech that's not been about his own willpower. He's never encouraged someone else to keep living in the way that you would expect from the main character. This is his moment, I suppose. He needs to be the person for Megumi that Todo was for him. He has to show Megumi that he isn't alone.

He needs to save Megumi when, all those years ago, Gojo couldn't save Geto.

I don't think some of this fanbase understands how horrible Gege has to be at writing if he just. Let Megumi get up to fight in Chapter 251. All this time, he has shown how Megumi has been defeated. He showed him crumbled on the ground, unmoving. It shouldn't be a surprise that all of the measures Sukuna took to ensnare Megumi's soul worked. Megumi is suicidal after the people he loves have all died because of his technique. God forbid a sixteen-year-old is unable to cope with his trauma alone.

Honorable Mentions:

There are a lot more characters in this story that represent/show mental illness that I didn't go into depth on but are worth mentioning. It was easier to only talk about the major characters since we spend so much time with them and I can fully flesh out everything that should/can be said about them. Anyway, here are a few more that are notably well-written in their mental struggles:

Yoshino Junpei. His story arc follows very similarly to Geto, except he is the bullied student I was making a reference to. Depressed, alone with a mother whose habits he can't stand, he turned to someone he thought could provide him a better life. Interestingly, he is a good representation of the type of children that tend to be groomed. That's surely what happened to him. Mahito used him, then discarded him for his own gains.

Ieiri Shoko. Her main struggle can be seen through her smoking habits. She's been through a lot, lost so many people, and has to keep healing sorcerers only for them to die. Eventually, she was able to come to terms with this. She kicked her smoking habit at the same time she kicked the vicious mental cycle of caring too much about the patient on her table. It's no wonder she picked up a cigarette, for the first time in a while, when Geto led the phantom parade.

Zenin Maki. She works as a very good contrast to Megumi. They both lost their sisters, the people they loved the most, but she turned all of her grief to killing the Zenin clan and gaining Heavenly Restriction. But this, this is because she could do so. There is simply nothing Megumi can do as a soul trapped in his own body. Her grief made her stronger, while for most, it made them weaker.

Inumaki Toge. He isn't seen a lot, but his story is ultimately quite compelling. A boy who hurt many when he was young. He turned his guilt into kindness, a will to protect. He tends a garden to raise plants healthily, for God's sake. He's one of the examples that shows Yuuta that your past actions don't define you, but instead, what you choose to do going forward.

I am not proofreading any of this before I post it. Sorry if it is borderline unreadable with spelling / grammatical errors.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen rant #jjk gojo #jjk geto #jjk yuuta #jjk itadori #jjk yuuji #jjk megumi #jjk fushiguro #jjk satoru #jjk suguru #jjk okkotsu #itafushi undertones i won't lie #but it's not about them sigh #friends or not everything still applies #jjk analysis #jujutsu kaisen analysis #jjk character analysis #jujutsu kaisen character analysis #jjk 251 #jjk chapter 251 #jujutsu kaisen 251

[creative-crybaby]

Fly on the Wall

PAIRING: yan!timeskip!Sakusa Kiyoomi x fem!reader

GENRE: smut | dark content (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: yandere themes, noncon, stalking, somnophilia, semi-public masturbation (m), nipple play, fingering (with leather gloves), dacryphilia, cum eating, creampie, size kink, breaking and entering, panty stealing, basically Sakusa is a perv

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 8.7k

SUMMARY: The new Black Jackal’s manager catches Sakusa’s eye. Unfortunately, whatever distance, physical or otherwise, is between you two, is too far for his liking. All characters are 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not meant to be a Christmas gift, but my timing does wonders, I guess :/

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

The Black Jackals getting a manager didn’t excite him the way it did his teammates. The idea itself didn’t bring him dread, of course, but the knowledge that certain players may get distracted–or worse: rowdier–brought more stress to him than he’d appreciate. 

Bokuto and Hinata were already babbling on to each other about what you might be like, reminiscing their high school days when they both had two managers on their respective teams. Atsumu joined in, whining that Inarizaki wasn’t as lucky to have a girl manager, let alone two attractive ones. He also bet that you’d be cute—Sakusa could only roll his eyes at the exchange.

You carried yourself with a grace often unfound in volleyball when meeting the team, offering a polite smile as you introduced yourself. Even when bombarded with questions from the boisterous ones (you know the ones), you didn’t falter, even assuring Meian that you didn’t mind the energy: “It’s nice to know I’ll be supporting a passionate team.”

Pretty, Sakusa thinks. You didn’t blow him away, but it was enough for him to acknowledge upon first laying eyes on you. Even he found himself momentarily frozen when you two made brief eye contact. 

Regardless, you’re not here for a modelling contract; you’re here to help the team grow to its full potential. The wing spiker may not be praying for your downfall, but he certainly isn’t going to celebrate your arrival too soon, either. 

Anyone can refill water bottles and hand out clean towels to sweaty giants. The same goes for taking notes on their progress, especially since you should know how volleyball works. From what Sakusa has observed, you do more than well in that department, too, always ready to correct someone’s form or have a report prepared for Meian in no time. You’re organized, punctual; it helps that you also sprinkle in some encouraging words when necessary. (Certain members are more than happy to gain that praise, which means more headaches on the ravenette’s end.)

It doesn’t take long for you to get him to accept you into the team—in his own way. He doesn’t avoid you like the plague, per se; he merely never saw any reason to put in as much effort to get to know you the way someone like Bokuto or Atsumu would. He was just glad to have one more person to give him some proper feedback. 

That distance Sakusa created is seemingly one-sided. There’s no special occasion, either: it was after a practice that partook a few days after a game against the Tachibana Red Falcons. A close match where the Black Jackals managed to pull through, though that wasn’t precisely what consumed the wing spiker’s thoughts at the time. You handed him a neatly folded towel during the athletes’ break, and he nods his thanks. You stay before him, and he peers up at you curiously after wiping his face. Stretching your hand to him, you carry a mini hand sanitizer pack. Nothing special: it’s a standard bottle in a dark red and attachable case. 

“Noticed you weren’t a fan of the gifts from some of your fans and would look grossed out when a kid would touch you,” you explain, offering a small smile. “Hope you don’t already have one of these. This was the only normal-looking one I could find. Wasn’t sure how you’d feel about having a giraffe case dangling from your bag.”

You offer a sheepish laugh that Sakusa would refuse to admit is something he’d want to hear again. Not wanting to leave you hanging any longer than he already has, he takes your gift, eventually muttering his thanks. 

It’s like a boy clinging onto that one compliment he got a few years back because it’s all he received. A rational voice in his head dismisses your observation as something someone on the team probably mentioned to you—maybe Atsumu made a joke about him being a germaphobe, and you took it seriously. 

Still, that’s not a possibility the wing spiker wants to entertain. Not as he goes on with the rest of practice, not when he’s in the changeroom, not when he’s attaching that case to his gym bag, not when he gets home, and certainly not when he goes to bed that night. A small gesture, one probably wouldn’t overthink, lingers in his thoughts until Occasion #2 appears. 

Coming back from an away game is one of the few opportunities the volleyball players get to recharge. After packing everything into the bus, each member sits in their unassigned-assigned seat. Or, at least, most of them would. Some chose to sit wherever it was convenient for them: they wanted to carry on their conversation with one of their teammates or maybe get some shut-eye. Sakusa was the latter, opting for a window seat far away from his boisterous colleagues as possible. Ready to close his eyes, he only got a few seconds of relaxation before he sensed some shifting next to him. With furrowed brows, he opens his eyes, ready to tell Atsumu off (let’s be honest, it’s always Atsumu), only to find you making yourself comfortable in the spot next to his instead. 

You turn to him somewhat sheepishly. “Hope you don’t mind. I wanted to get some rest, and you’re pretty quiet, so I figured having you as my seating buddy was my best shot.”

You don’t say anything afterwards, waiting for him to tell you to leave him alone. To his surprise (and yours, he’s sure), the wing spiker mumbles a stoic “Go ahead,” his eyes trailing towards the window as he readjusts his mask. Even with his gaze no longer on you, he could hear the smile in your voice as you thank him. 

For the next several hours, Sakusa remained awake, thinking about everything and nothing all at once as he’d glance over to your sleeping form every few minutes. Even people like Bokuto and Hinata lost enough energy to fall asleep, but the ravenette didn’t notice. If anything, his entire world dissolved into nothingness as soon as your frame unconsciously leaned on his shoulder. His whole body froze, but surprisingly, not out of disgust. Awkward, perhaps, but he didn’t feel the need to wake you up, let alone push you away. 

His senses heightened. With you so much closer, his eyes scanned every detail your face had to offer, every reaction you had in your sleep, from stirring after hitting a speedbump to sighing whenever Saksua dared to take a breath too deep. Speaking of breathing, even with yours being so shallow, he can hear the steady rhythm loud and clear, despite Bokuto’s snoring somewhere in the distance. Your scent attacked his nose, even with the mask shielding most of his face, and he can at least admit to himself that it was refreshing to smell something that wasn’t a bunch of sweaty athletes. It’s just your head on his shoulder, but the ravenette felt you burning your mark into his skin, one he didn’t ever want to wash off. Every sense except for taste—

A speed bump. The last thought retreated as fast as it invaded. The remaining hour and a half to return home flew by with his guilt as a distraction. Even when Atsumu woke up and teased the wing spiker for trying to get close to you, Sakusa didn’t feel the need to reply. He merely looked down at your still-sleeping form for several seconds more before eventually trying to wake you up. He’d rather he didn’t, but something about others seeing you in such a vulnerable state irked him in a way he can only describe as filthy. No amount of water and hand soap can scrub away that dirt, but as soon as your eyes opened and met his before anyone else’s, that itch got scratched. He didn’t register your profuse apologies until a couple of other teammates decided to join in on the teasing, and suddenly Sakusa found his voice. 

“It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. And it still isn’t. Maybe you forgot about it or saw that moment as a funny story to share over drinks with friends, but it’s different for the wing spiker. He knows it shouldn’t be, yet here he is, replaying every minor interaction between the two of you. There was a reason for him keeping his distance from you when you first started: you both stick to your tasks during practice and games, only interacting when progress and strategy are the focus. Otherwise, the athlete is back in whatever vacant corner he can find, shrinking his almost 6’’4 frame as much as he can in hopes that he can avoid possible interactions. (And if that means he gets to watch you laugh at something Atsumu said or go over strategy with Meian, then those times in his hiding spot have come with new benefits.)

But he’s not in a corner right now: he’s at Onigiri Miya with his team and EJP Raijin, eyes boring into your frame as his cousin says something he doesn’t quite catch. 

The ravenette hums. “What was that?”

“Your new manager’s pretty cute and all,” Komori starts, not too loudly for others to hear, “but if you keep staring at her, you’re going to look like some creep.” Sakusa’s head snaps to the libero, who sheepishly smiles as he scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, I get that you were never all that good with girls, but even you should know this stuff by now.”

The wing spiker scoffs at his cousin’s joke, opting to take a bite out of his onigiri instead of replying. You’re listening to whatever story the blonde Miya twin has to share, laughing whenever the younger one butts in with commentary to embarrass the former. Now you watch in amusement as the two lookalikes bicker, and it makes Sakusa realize something: besides the few moments he recalls oh-so fondly, you don’t interact with each other much outside of volleyball. 

He glides his thumb across the nori on his food in irritation. The moments shared between you rarely involve anything outside of the sport. For someone as observant as him, the ravenette is almost ashamed he let his very few one-on-one memories of you two distract him from such an obvious (and somewhat embarrassing) fact. 

You’ve probably spent more time with a handful of his other teammates. Sakusa recalls Bokuto and Hinata inviting you to a movie marathon at the latter’s place on your day off, though through all that excitement exchanged between them, all he could do was mutter under his breath about them wasting your time. It probably doesn’t matter whether or not you accepted their offer; they still approached you. 

The same goes for whatever Atsumu says to you that makes you two snicker under your breaths. Inside jokes, Sakusa is sure of it, though it doesn’t make him scoff any less. If anything, his mood grew sour with every interaction you had that wasn’t with him. Another fact he wasn’t aware of until the blonde setter asked him if the stick up his ass was bigger than it used to be. (The wing spiker’s response to the harmless joke needn’t be shared.)

“Just talk to her.” Komori’s voice brings Sakusa back to Onigiri Miya. Staring; again. Lovely. The ravenette faces his cheerful cousin once more, who offers a chuckle. “I’ll even play wingman if you want.”

The quieter of the two finishes his onigiri before getting up from his seat. The libero watches as his relative puts his MSBY jersey on before heading for the exit. “I’m good, thank you.”

The ravenette risks a glance your way once he makes it to the door. You don’t meet his gaze, still occupied with the twins. No surprise there, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment plunging into his chest as he exits the shop.

That one-sided has seemingly returned since then, though the roles are reversed. Even with the few moments exchanged between you two, Sakusa struggles to pinpoint when he started to care for your attention in the several months you’ve been part of the team. The days when he felt indifferent involved less overthinking and even lesser restless nights; now, he can’t stop nitpicking at whatever detail catches his eye. You styled your hair differently one day; you’re snacking on cheesecake-flavoured Kitkat because it’s your new favourite snack. These notes follow up with nothing on his end except an extra bullet point in his brain’s buzzing list. 

It’s a winter evening when he adds his first crucial fact: your home address. An abyss swallows the sky at what seems to be only half past five. Not a usual time for practice, though nothing that disrupted Sakusa’s schedule. He’s making his way to his car when he sees you standing aside, eyes glued to your phone. A rare sight, though not an unwelcomed one. 

You’re frowning, the wing spiker notices. He’s approaching you, he notices too little too late. You notice him. 

“Oh, Sakusa!” you smile, pocketing your device. “Good work today.” The ravenette doesn’t need his mask to hide his contentment at your praise, though the pride that swells inside him grows challenging to swallow. “Off home to relax?”

His tongue rests between his teeth as he nods, and you hug your coat tighter to your body. His brain screams to carry on a conversation, no matter how small or meaningless, but his eyes seem to do enough as they rake through the parking lot. He’s looking for your car, he realizes, but has no clue as to what it looks like. 

“Had to bus here,” you explain sheepishly. Sakusa watches you from the corner of his eye, internally sighing in relief at your (alleged) mind-reading powers. “My car needs fixing, and with practice taking place later on in the day, finding a bus worked better.” Your gaze trails to the streets only a few meters away, exhaustion making them droop. “Guess my supposed ride is being held back, huh?”

“Let me take you home.” 

Your head snaps in the wing spiker’s direction, whose eyes slightly widen in shock at his proposition. Now he decides to talk. He digs his nails into the strap of his gym bag, jaw clenching as he tries to appear calm as he awaits your response.

Your brows crease ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Your voice shrinks at your concern. Sakusa imagines you shrinking under his gaze as well. “You never cause me any trouble.”

Not how he would’ve liked to word it, but it’s too late to take it back. You beam at him, offering your thanks and letting him know you owe him as you step closer to his tall frame. He doesn’t flinch away, instead facing the parking lot once more as he chews on his bottom lip under his mask.

The car ride holds silence throughout the fifteen-to-twenty minutes on his end, with you giving the ravenette directions and discussing the team’s progress. He only offers curt nods and soft hums, not that he minds this time; your sunny tone and presence in such a closed space were more than enough for him. Besides, his brain is occupied with carrying your guidance as you get closer to your destination. Because he’s the driver, and you ought to return home safely. It’s been a long day for both of you: you’re exhausted, and you don’t hide this fact as you slump in the passenger seat and sometimes yawn. 

And when you finally tell Sakusa to pull up into your driveway, he can’t help but scan your home with his eyes, wondering which windows expose which room. He sees one with lavender curtains from the interior, and he’s willing to bet that’s your bedroom. 

You thank him, and the thought evaporates. He’s tongue-tied once more; he nods, unlocking the passenger door. Offering one more smile, you exit the car, and the wing spiker’s eyes bore into your frame as you walk up your porch and enter your home. 

He’s backing out of the driveway when he begins to wonder if there is something different he could have done. The small talk was calming, but he found that he wanted more. 

The drive back consists of Sakusa glancing over at where you sat every chance he got. He swallows harshly, fingers tapping impatiently against the steering wheel at a red light. Even with practice done a while ago, he feels hot. His clothes hug him uncomfortably, and it isn’t until his brain entertains the idea of peering down does he understand why. 

He recognizes this street. The ravenette pulls over to a secluded area, quick to unbuckle his seatbelt before throwing his mask off. His chest heaves as he slowly looks down once more as if the first time was just a trick of the lights. 

He’s hard. Being alone with you for less than half an hour is enough to make him fucking hard.

He’s also alone. For a second, he recalls keeping a pack of tissues in the glove compartment. 

He’s also in his car. His home is not too far from yours, he noticed as you gave him directions. 

You were also in his car. The passenger seat pulls Sakusa’s gaze towards it. He’s leaning into where you sat not long ago, and if he focuses hard enough, he can catch a whiff of your perfume.

His cock stirs in his slacks, and the ravenette climbs over the gear shift before his brain can reason with his body. 

The passenger’s seat is still a bit warm, he notices upon making himself comfortable in his new spot. The wing spiker shakily exhales as he unzips his pants with great haste, shimmying them down to his thighs. His pace doesn’t slow down when he gets to his briefs, either, opting to tuck the waistband between his balls and dick’s base to free his shaft of its confinements. Only then does he pause, breathing still trembling as he tries to calm himself. 

There’s not much time. An empty parking lot when he got there, but it won’t stay that way forever. Sakusa spits into his palm, needing some makeshift lube to start slowly stroking himself. The relief has his eyes fluttering closed and lips parting with a sigh. It isn’t long until he feels some precum sliding down from his slit, and he spreads the stickiness to help with his movements. He takes a deep breath through his nose and again catches your scent. 

What if it was your hand pumping his cock instead? It should be. You’d be smiling as you do so, peering up at the wing spiker through your lashes as you ask him how he likes it. Always there to help during practice; how is this any different? You want what’s best for the team, for him. Anything for him—

Sakusa’s choking on a groan as he paints his hand and the glove compartment a creamy white. He doesn’t open his eyes until his high finally descends him back to earth, where he realizes what he’s done. 

He groans, in both exhaustion and disgust from the mess in his car and thoughts. He was a teenager when he lasted this long, though the quantity of his release takes him by surprise. Has he truly been pent up for too long? Did you do this?

Sakusa’s quick to take out that tissue pack. 

You thank him for the ride home once more the next time you see each other at practice. Other than that, the wing spiker continues to keep his distance. Mainly due to the shame that follows remembering what he’s done after dropping you off, but the one time you two shared eye contact for more than a few seconds when you handed him a towel during a break brought another feeling into the mix: excitement. What for, Sakusa has yet to find out. Or maybe he’s trying to avoid that explanation. Like any minute, you’ll tell him, you know, eyelids heavy as the emphasis tells him more than enough of what you’re talking about. The thought makes his lower stomach churn in an agonizing blender. Then, you’ll pull him into the storage closet, where you’ll—

Say his name. Well, no. Not you. Someone else is saying it. Again and again. 

The ravenette blinks back into the real world, masking his fantasy with a blank slate for a face as he turns to look at whoever could need something from him.

“Oh, so yer awake?” Atsumu. Of course. “Still got some energy in me, and I need t’kill a bit of time. Wanna set fer ya fer a bit.”

The grin the faux blonde offers isn’t reciprocated as Sakusa notices front the corner of his eye some of his teammates entering the changeroom. A part of him wants nothing more than to follow them, the clothes clinging to his body from all the sweat making him internally recoil as he wishes for a shower. He also knows this is an opportunity to improve without you there: as much as he enjoys your presence, you become a distraction as a drawback. 

The wing spiker sighs. “Only for a little bit.”

Atsumu beams at his teammate’s (albeit reluctant) acceptance, already jogging to fetch a ball to begin.

Sakusa finds his focus coming back with every spike he lands on the other side of the court, slowly but surely returning to normal. Another way to release some steam; he tries not to cringe at the memory of the other tactic from the night before. 

The attempt fails as soon as you enter the gym with Meian by your side. The two of you are speaking to each other—about what, the ravenette isn’t sure. He doesn’t get a chance to listen in, anyway.

“Nice kill!” Atsumu chirps, gaining the attention of not just his teammate, but his captain and manager as well. With a final nod, you and Meian go your separate ways; him towards the changeroom and you, the other two athletes. 

“Don’t push yourselves too much, guys,” you chuckle. “You already worked hard during practice. Take the time to relax as well.”

Sakusa can barely give you a nod while the setter grins at you. 

“I’m gonna get cleaned up before we head out, ‘kay?” The wing spiker’s head snaps towards his teammate with a raised brow. Neither you nor the faux-blonde acknowledge his confusion. 

You smile. “Take your time. I’ll just put the net and volleyballs away while you’re at it.”

Atsumu nods before slapping Sakusa’s back and jogging to the changeroom. The ravenette can only look down at a stray ball and pick it up. He remembers enjoying the silence between him and whoever he was with. 

“I’ll help,” he mutters, walking away before he can witness your reaction. It’s ridiculous, like some middle school crush: wanting nothing more than to be close to you, but freezing up as soon as it happens. And he can’t avoid you forever–he doesn’t want to–because you eventually meet him at the ball cart, dropping the armful of volleyballs into it. “What was that with Miya earlier?”

His voice finds itself whenever he’d rather it didn’t. He’s curious, sure, but he didn’t need his tone to give away his distaste. He can only hope you dismiss it as Sakusa being Sakusa and nothing more. 

With the small smile you give him, the ravenette is certain he’s safe. “Oh, ‘Tsumu invited me to check out this restaurant that recently opened with him after practice. Heard they made some of my favourites there, and I wanted to try them ASAP.”

Sakusa pretends that you being on a first-name basis with the setter doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t respond to your explanation and remains silent as he brings the net down with your help. The next time he acknowledges you is before he rushes to the changeroom to shower, ignoring Atsumu as they cross paths.

He’s at the wrong house. 

You’d think one knew the directions to the place they called home, yes? At the very least, have an idea of the area. Yet, it’s only until your driveway makes it to his peripheral vision does the ravenette realize his mistake. And he’s just in time to watch you walk up your porch. 

After another restless night, the wing spiker needed to clear his head. His home brought him no distractions, already too tidy to clean, and his mind continuously drifted away when watching recordings of volleyball matches. With a day to himself, he might as well go around town—there’s a mall not too far from his place, he recalls. It was a better attempt at keeping him occupied, though he couldn’t help it when he passed a perfume shop and wondered what scent was your favourite. Or the neighbouring lingerie store, putting whatever scandalous pieces of lace out on display, giving the athlete’s spiralling mind suggestions on what you would look best in. (White, he concluded before processing.) 

He didn’t want much, nor did he need much. More or less satisfied with his purchases (and dissatisfied with failing distractions), he’s in his car, ready to head back home. 

But he’s not home. Or rather, his house. The latter is a mere building; the former, a sense of comfort. And while there’s guilt bubbling in his chest, witnessing you carry on with your everyday life has him relaxing in his seat.

You were on an errand run, Sakusa observes. Groceries, from what he sees. What would you be making for dinner tonight? He’s too far away to catch what exactly is in your bags. The weather’s fallen to a frigid slumber—stew, perhaps? Or maybe you’ll make some umeboshi—those appeared to be your favourite whenever the team stopped by at Onigiri Miya. He and his teammates have had the opportunity to try some of your cooking firsthand; the ravenette is positive whatever you make will be just as delicious.

Then he remembers yesterday’s interaction, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. Where did you two go? And when did Atsumu get so comfortable with you to take you out? You seemed content and—

And getting angry during this opportunity won’t do him any good. Surprised, Sakusa manages to calm down a little, opting to distract himself with other scenarios.

What could you two eat together? What would you serve him? He lets his thoughts waltz. The two of you share a meal after a long practice, or maybe you cook together on your day off. He’s seen a few romance movies in his life; he can imagine hugging you from behind as you prepared the food, him nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck as you both talked about whatever was on your mind. The conversation would continue as the two of you ate at the dinner table, his hand itching to find yours across from him. 

And for dessert, he’d have you sitting on the kitchen counter with your legs wide open as he ravaged what’s in between them, your hands clawing at his dark curls as his greed controls his tongue. Or, maybe you’re feeling extra generous and decide to help him relax after a tiring practice, lowering to your knees to take every inch of his—

You’re struggling to open your front door. Too many bags in your hands—the wing spiker has half a mind to get out of the car and help you. As crazy as you drive him, he still has some sense to remind him that whatever excuse he has to be in your neighbourhood won’t be convincing, even from him. And with the evergrowing tightness in his pants, he has another problem he can’t hide. Worse, he doesn’t feel as bad as he used to anymore.

You finally manage to get inside, and the athlete starts the engine to find a secluded area once again.

Sakusa has to refrain from spiking the ball at the faux-blonde’s face in the following practice. A match among teammates, and noticing the setter’s little pep in his step upon entering the gym that morning had the ravenette glaring hard. A part of him was relieved being on Atsumu’s opposing team, doubting he could work alongside him for the day. 

For now, the wing spiker aims his spikes at the older Miya twin. Anyone could view the action as part of his strategy; aiming for the setter to prevent them from setting is an old trick in the book, but still in the book. 

“Damn it, Omi!” Atsumu exclaims in frustration after not properly receiving Sakusa’s spike. “Quit pickin’ on me! Ma arms are gonna fall off!”

A twinge of satisfaction plucks at the ravenette’s chest from the outcry, though he masks it with a huff before walking back to his position. His eyes automatically make their way to your form on a bench, keeping track of the points while scribbling some notes whenever possible. You don’t catch his gaze, seemingly occupied with whatever’s on your clipboard. The lack of attention makes Sakusa frown, as he had hoped you’d see him on his little winning streak. 

It doesn’t stop him. If anything, it adds fuel to the fire, the flicker of pride from before blooming into something dangerous. 

His plan doesn’t change: Atsumu will remain his target until he decides otherwise. The next time he’s given a chance to spike, his eyes make the mistake of gluing themselves to his victim. Barnes quickly steps in front of the faux-blonde’s spot, flinching from the impact but still blocking the ball perfectly. 

It’s just one point, one that he can easily take back. Still, Sakusa can’t help but aim his glare at the setter on the other side of the net, something that doesn’t go unnoticed. A hand lands on the wing spiker’s shoulder, snapping him out of his spiralling daze. 

“Take a seat, Sakusa.” Meian’s expression appears relaxed, though there’s a rough edge to his tone telling him it’s not a suggestion.

The bench you’re sitting on is opposite his team’s side of the court. Had that not been the case, the ravenette would try to take the opportunity to sit with you, even if words wouldn’t be exchanged. Instead, he settles onto a bench too far from you for his liking. Even if he were to try and take a peek at you, players from the other team block you from his vision, what with their constant moving. 

He’s observing their movements; anyone can assume that. Sakusa can no longer remember the time he’d do something like that unless he was watching videos of matches at home. If he’s not keeping the ball in the air on his side of the court, then he’s scavenging for a chance to even be reminded of your existence: you handing the athletes water and towels, the captain calling your name to gain your attention. Anything will do. So no matter the frustration that comes with the package, he’ll find a way to catch you. 

It isn’t until he watches you rise from the bench does Sakusa realize that practice is done for the day. He didn’t notice his teammates walking away from the court and giving him a clearer view of your frame; he was glad he could see you at all. His posture straightens as he watches you approach Atsumu, and his hands ball into fists when you rest your hand on the faux-blonde’s arm. Whatever you two may be discussing, the ravenette can only assume it has to do with his teammate being on the receiving end of his pent-up aggression. 

Your conversation ends short and sweet, with you walking towards the storage closet. Sakusa’s only half-listening to his captain when he asks if everything is okay with him. Meian is offered an unenthusiastic response of “Everything is fine” before the younger athlete stalks away.

You’re struggling to roll out the ball cart from its spot when the wing spiker enters the storage closet. He doesn’t hesitate to approach you from behind and grip the handle about an inch away from your hold. You gasp, jolting back slightly before turning your head to face the brooding ravenette. 

“You startled me, Sakusa,” you sigh, clutching your chest. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Always so eager to please, aren’t you? The wing spiker has to refrain from smirking at the thought. 

Still, he ignores your question. “The wheels on this cart have been acting up lately.” With newfound confidence, he places his free hand on your shoulder to gently pull you out of the way for him to yank the cart. It jerks out of its place with a loud screech, and you wince. “You just need to give it a tug. Until it’s fixed, anyway.”

Sakusa looks down at the cart upon realizing this is probably the most words he’s spoken to you without having you carry the conversation. 

You grip the handle after a few seconds of silence. Your voice, suddenly meek, shakes as you thank him. He’s blocking your way; nothing you need to point out to him, but your silence says plenty. His feet stay planted on the ground, and your loss of confidence makes his cock stir in his pants. 

“You were pretty tough out there earlier,” you point out. The wing spiker knows you purposefully left out who he was giving a hard time. He also knows, based on your concerned tone, that you’re asking him for an explanation. 

You aren’t offered a response. Sakusa only takes his time turning his head to peer at you, the darkness of the storage closet and the way his black curls frame his stoic face giving him an intimidating aura. But what has you subconsciously shrinking into your corner are the onyx caskets for irises boring into your frame, beckoning you to crawl into the empty pools of demise. 

“I have to be if I want to win,” is his response before finally leaving you be, exiting the changeroom with the same intensity you witnessed mere seconds ago.

He’s back: closer. 

Parking his car nearby doesn’t cut it for him anymore. Sakusa doesn’t think it ever did. With the amount of patience lost for every practice with his team, the initial distance was just a formality. 

Now, his car hides nearby as he approaches your home, giving a quick yet thorough peek over his shoulder to make sure he’s in the clear.

It took him the third visit to learn where you hid your spare key, having seen you take it out from under the cushion of a little bench on your porch. And luckily for him, it hasn’t left its spot. 

Even with his morals flying out the window, the wing spiker neatly places his coat, scarf and boots aside after removing them, then ponders over his leather gloves until ultimately deciding to keep them on. He eyes the spare slippers by the entrance before concluding they won’t be necessary (for this visit, anyway).

Based on the house’s layout, it shouldn’t take long for Sakusa to find your bedroom. But it’s not going anywhere, and neither are you. Why not get to know you via your home?

It’s a small house: one story and cozy. The ravenette wonders how you afforded it, even with your salary. With how minimal the style appears, he can only assume most of your income went into the building itself. Would it be too much for him to buy you things for the interior? As a gift, perhaps when the occasion calls for it. 

Then again, is he really in any position to ask himself about doing too much? He almost chuckles at the thought. 

A quick yet thorough tour of your home gives him a more detailed layout, though he’d love to stay longer had he had the time. Or better yet, your company. As satisfied as he was to find your living room and kitchen tidy–and by his standards no less–he’s not done getting to know you. 

People don’t really need an exploration of the bathroom. It’s as clean as any other room, though it’s a cast-aside note when his eyes land on your laundry basket. Half full, too. Squatting closer to the dirty pile, a subtle yet musky scent hits his nose. Sakusa almost groans, cock stirring in his slacks; for such a clean freak, he’s never been more excited.

His eyes scan the basket’s contents, eventually landing on flimsy lace. Part of him wishes he wasn’t sporting gloves for the occasion, but he doesn’t let that stop him as he picks up the article of clothing. Underwear, of course it is, and a flattering magenta nonetheless. You wear this to practice? Or are there other times you put it on? Do you have a matching bra? The wing spiker can’t find anything in the basket, though he’s sure–no, he knows–you’d wear it like it was made for you. 

Are you wearing something similar right now?

The ravenette stands from his position, pocketing the lacy undergarment before exiting the bathroom. Consider it a welcoming gift. 

Again, it doesn’t take long for him to find your room. Being in such an intimate location is a different experience compared to looking in as an outsider. Everything is you: the way you organized your shelves and vanity, the colour palette—your scent is more prominent here. Sakusa doesn’t catch his eyes fluttering shut until he distinctly hears shifting. 

To his right, you lay on your mattress, your sheets messily hanging off parts of your body. You’re barely a silhouette in his eyes; the moonlight stalking past the crack between your curtains is the only thing helping the ravenette navigate your room. Parts of the glow highlight a bit of your face, though a shimmer from the light’s reflection teases his peripheral vision. 

You have a bookcase headboard, and on it lays a necklace in its case. Nothing fancy; a golden heart hanging off a thin chain. It’s more the note next to its box that catches the ravenette’s eye:

Thought this would look good on you ;) Hope you like it!

— Tsumu (your favourite setter <3)

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d notice, Sakusa would crumble that note and follow up with the faux-blonde’s neck. When did you get this? He surely would’ve noticed if you received it during practice. 

There’s a good chance the setter gave it to you before or afterwards. The wing spiker’s aware that the two of you spent time together outside of training, though for it to happen enough times that Atsumu found it appropriate to give you a gift as intimate as a heart-shaped necklace has the ravenette glaring at the piece of jewellery. (As open as his teammate may be, Sakusa doubts he’d buy something like that for someone after a single meet-up.)

He hears a sigh: yours. Your body shifts in its spot again, opting to lay on your back. The wing spiker freezes for the slowest seconds his alarmed brain can count, only to relax once you stay in your new spot.

They say an average of eight spiders crawl into your mouth yearly while you sleep. A myth, of course, but maybe that’s what we tell ourselves to ease the paranoia. Maybe, that’s what he is, Sakusa thinks; a spider. Soundless, observant—he’s certainly made himself at home. 

Maybe not, he reconsiders. Most people would carefully trap the eight-legged creature before bringing it outside. Or kill it; no mercy necessary. You have yet to do either. 

Then again, you aren’t like most people. Not in his eyes, anyway. No, his eyes entertain themselves with your every move, and no matter how deep those holes in the side of your head are, you don’t catch his stare. Whatever he may be, he’s always the perfect distance to observe you.

Sakusa’s brain buzzes mindlessly as his hands draw closer to your form, long fingers pinching the hem of your pyjama shirt before lifting the material. No bra: not a surprising observation, what with your nipples poking at the fabric from the cold. Even with how dark it is, the ravenette salivates from the sight, his cock stirring in his pants. He’s grateful for the lack of witnesses, though it’s still embarrassing to be as affected as he is. You’re not even fully nude. Yet.

He waits for a reaction. Other than you moving in your sleep, the wing spiker receives nothing. He exhales through his nose, never thinking that gaining the knowledge about you being a heavy sleeper early on would be an advantage for him. His fingers twitch before slowly landing on your stomach. Again, no reaction; he then lays his palms to join the digits. With a deep and shaky breath, the ravenette glides his hands up your torso until they reach your breasts. 

They feel perfect in his grasp, even with the thick layer of the leather gloves creating that barrier. Your face scrunches when he gives your mounds a light squeeze, though you remain asleep. As deep of a sleeper as you may be, one wrong move could ruin everything. Sakusa gulps, dragging his middle finger to flick at your nipple. A shaky breath from you is enough for him to shift into a more comfortable position on your bed before he continues his ministrations more confidently. 

He’s careful, he assures; eyes flickering from your chest to your face, reading your expressions to discover what you like and making sure you don’t wake up. All the while, the athlete tries to ignore the tightness of his pants, although watching you squirm beneath him because of his touch makes that a challenge. 

“Hnngh….”

It was barely audible, but enough to make the athlete stop everything. You’re still asleep, of course—he’s almost impressed, a bit jealous, even. Countless nights of insomnia on his side because of his fantasies playing on a loop, but yours give you a good night’s rest.

Regardless, the wing spiker gears to earn another reaction like that. Dipping his toes further into the water, he gets a little rougher, tweaking the sensitive buds between his covered fingers. Your back arches in his hold; more than enough confirmation for him. 

Shifting his position once more, Sakusa wraps his lips around one of your nipples, dragging his tongue against it while groping the other breast. You whimper when he begins sucking: a shallow sound, but it travels down to his crotch. He already has to deal with the embarrassment of finishing early because of you; if he cums in his pants without any stimulation, you’ll surely be the death of him.

He can’t rely on you being a deep sleeper forever: the wing spiker must work quickly. Pulling away from your chest, Sakusa brings his attention to the lower half of your body. His hands glide down to your hips, hooking his index fingers past the elastic waistband. He wonders whether he should take his time removing the article of clothing or pull them down in one motion. You help him make a quick decision when your leg accidentally brushes against his hard-on. And while he refrains from letting out a groan, his hands make fast work of harshly tugging your pants to your knees. 

Silence: not a sound from you, not a breath from him. Your thighs clench momentarily out of reflex once the cool air hits the exposed skin. Not fast enough—Sakusa managed to catch a peek at your drooling cunt. And it isn’t until you finally relax again does he exhale with a light shiver from the sight. 

Now, with a clear view, the athlete reaches for his opportunity by swiping some of your essence and bringing that same finger to your clit. Your hips buck into his touch as he rubs slow but tight circles on the pearl, making his brows furrow in concentration and chest swell with pride. It isn’t long until he adds to his pace and slides a finger from his other hand into your sopping hole. Your thighs clench on impulse, a mewl leaving your throat as the air remains stuck in his. His movements are forced to a halt due to your hold, and it takes several seconds for you to settle. Do you enjoy the sturdy material of leather rubbing against your insides? Maybe you’re unaware of the answer, but God, wouldn’t the ravenette love to know.

Dipping his toes in the water is long out of the discussion; if anything, he’s in too deep, the water rising every second he proceeds. He might as well follow the rest of him down, no? Take that final gulp of air before dipping his head in and letting that frozen abyss swallow him.

Sakusa experimentally wiggles his finger inside you and, after gaining no reaction, slides in another. With how wet you already were, it doesn’t take much effort on his part. You gasp, but your eyes stay closed. Even with his morality slipping away each day he sees you, the wing spiker still finds himself surprised (and grateful) that you can sleep through his actions. He wonders how far he can go. 

The longer and deeper he pumps his digits inside you, the more reactions he earns from you. The squelching noises between your legs also become louder, especially with the leather material of his gloves. He’s no longer worried, just curious about what sounds and expressions he can pull out of you. 

A particular response tells him he’s found your sweet spot. With a drawn-out yet breathless wail, you lift your hips off the mattress once the ravenette prods at a certain part inside you. 

Where there is darkness, there is also light, and that’s exactly what could be said to describe the glimmer in his eyes upon discovering this hidden gem of information. He continues his ministrations, watching in fascination and lust as you grind into his touch. 

Meanwhile, his cock is begging to be released from its restraints, throbbing due to the display. Sakusa was hoping to hold out for a bit longer, mapping out your body in ways he hopes no one else has, but along with any logic and morality, his patience flies out the window. 

You whimper when the athlete slides his fingers out; he almost wants to coo, assure you that he’ll make you feel all better. He can’t, of course, so he opts to taste you, lick his digits clean of your slick. He’s certain he almost cums on the spot, your sweetness consuming his tastebuds (as well as a hint of bitter leather) and leaving its mark in his memories. The wing spiker’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he tries to refrain from groaning. 

When his gaze returns to your form, he’s swift with your pants, further sliding them down before doing the same to himself. Having his cock out of its confinements already does plenty for him, but not enough. Sakusa recalls how your cunt squeezed his fingers, practically sucking them in. You were warm, dripping, even with his gloves in the way. And with how eager he is to have you make a mess on his dick, he knows he’s no longer the same person he was before meeting you.

The athlete taps the tip of his cock against your clit a few times, just to watch you squirm, before sliding into your entrance. Only a few inches in, and he already has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip. None of this was a part of his plan—he’s not even sure he had one in the first place; he just needed to see you, feel your presence in some way, shape or form. And the latter is more than he could ever ask for, your insides hugging him just as tight as they did his fingers. The lack of a barrier is the icing on the cake. 

He’s bottomed out before he knows it, and Sakusa doesn’t know where to look: your face contorting from being filled to the brim or your cunt stretching open to accommodate his size. Either one intensifies the swirling of his lower stomach. All he can do for now is play with your clit until you appear to feel better. (And if that means you clench harder around him, then so be it. He’s come this far as is.)

After a few minutes, the wing spiker reels his hips back with a deep breath. His thrusts are gentle, as much of a challenge as it may be to hold back. He bites his bottom lip as he feels you hug every inch of his cock, threatening to milk him for all he’s worth when he’s barely begun. You’re so much better than his hand; no fantasy can compare. 

A few strokes in, and Sakusa’s restraint is thinning. Every time, he thrusts in a bit deeper, a bit faster, a bit harder. You’re quietly moaning between pants, your face twisting from a pained expression to one much lewder. Pretty lips parted with brows both furrowed and raised, you have the ravenette throwing his head back with a silent groan. 

Unfortunately for him, that’s when he catches sight of that damn necklace again. His grip on the sheets next to your head tightens, his thrusts sloppy as his mind races. What made Atsumu think he had the right? Does he think a necklace is all it’ll take to get you? Sakusa drops his head to glare daggers as you continue to mewl and whimper. What do you think is happening right now? Who are you thinking about right now? 

His mind keeps reeling, and the wing spiker fails to notice how he’s taking out his aggression in his thrusts.

Your whimpers grow to pathetic cries, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and his hold on your sheets move to your wrists on instinct. With the mental spiral and physical force, the ravenette fails to notice your eyes shoot open.

Then, you gasp. “Sakusa!”

He hears the fear in your voice, no doubt. Yet, in a situation like this, with you beneath him, tears streaming down your cheeks as your sobbing and panting mix together, he can’t help but create a more beautiful scenario. You’re begging for him, his cock, needing him to fuck you stupid and fill you up to the brim, the pleasure so overwhelming that your nails are digging into his back, only his shirt shielding his skin from the potential marks. 

The athlete doesn’t think; he slams his lips against yours, his tongue quick to explore your mouth as his release hangs on to the edge. And when your pussy flutters around his dick, creams around it, it’s the push he needs. Hot spurts of cum paint your insides white as Sakusa kisses you harder, his hips stilling. Even as he groans against your mouth, he can hear your choked moans, and he never wants any of this to end. 

But that’s not how it works. Eventually, you both come down from your highs, his cock going soft and out of cum to give you. The wing spiker doesn’t pull out, but it doesn’t stop the white liquid from trying to seep out. It makes him shiver, slowly ending your kiss for you both to catch some air. The string of saliva connected to your lips that follows him as he sits up distracts him; something else to bind you two together. It’s messy, so so so messy. 

He loves it. 

You’re both breathing hard for the next several seconds, your terrified expression not faltering as your body trembles lightly. 

“Wha—How?” you gasp, sob, you’re not sure, and neither is he. He’s only half-listening, still floating on that release and too far away. “Sakusa, how did you get in?”

There they are again: those eyes. Empty pools, yet always full of judgement. Like you’re the crazy one. Tracing the river streams down your face and clumps of shields for lashes, they seemingly do more talking than his mouth. 

Then, Sakusa reaches a hand out to cup your cheek. You flinch, but it doesn’t stop him from wiping a stray tear. Even with your helpless sounds quieting down, the silence isn’t any less deafening. And when his voice, smooth and deep and a little too nonchalant, invades the room, you shiver.

“I was always here.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

#haikyuu #fanfic #fanfiction #hq #haikyu #haikyu!! #smut #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #yandere sakusa x reader #yandere haikyuu #sakusa smut #dark content #sakusa dark content #itachiyama #msby bj #msby sakusa

[kimpossibly]

THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART ONE: drummers' curse

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of minor injuries (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies in advance for making Y/n the drummer and putting Warren on rhythmic guitar. I just loooooooove female drummers. Also can you tell that I love Karen and Camila? Because I love them with alllllll my heart and soul. Another sorry in advance because this one may break your heart a little ― it sure broke mine. NOTES ON THE WORK: I used the timeline from the book, mostly because I couldn't keep track of it in the show haha. I read the book twice before watching what episodes of the show were out, so the lines may blur between the two. For your convenience (and mine, tbh), I'll put the year all the characters were born underneath this note so you can reference it when you need to. I just couldn't keep track honestly. I think in the show they start the band when Graham is fourteen, but in the book he's around 18 when they add Warren on, so it's kind of confusing?? I decided to stick with the book because it was a more physical timeline. Anyways, enough talking, here's your guide! ― YEARS BORN (in order of age) Billy Dunne -> 1947 Camila Dunne -> 1949 Graham Dunne -> 1949 Warren Rhodes -> 1949 Eddie Roundtree -> 1949 Daisy Jones -> 1951 Y/n L/n -> 1951

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a terminal illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

It's no secret that the renowned 1970s band Daisy Jones & The Six went through its fair share of ups and downs. Until their inexplicable split on July 12, 1979, they were undeniably one of the biggest bands in the world. While a more detailed account of the band's history will be recounted in a more thorough transcript, this advanced edition will focus specifically on two of the band members: Eddie Roundtree and Y/n L/n. More specifically, it will focus on their individual and combined roles they played in the band's eventual downfall.

THE RISE OF THE SIX (1965 - 1972)

GRAHAM: Y/n grew up next door to us. She was a little younger, two years or so, so we never really gave her a second look. Until the day she wandered into our garage during band practice out of nowhere. She practically ripped the drum sticks out of Chuck's hand and just started...wailing on 'em. I mean, she could make your head spin. Here was this thirteen, fourteen year old girl next door, this kid, and she was the best fuckin' drummer we'd seen. I mean, in the neighborhood. She wasn't Mitch Mitchell, but she was the closest thing we had. And she was too good to be shoved in the back with a tambourine. But we couldn't just take Chuck's spot away and hand it over to the new girl.

CHUCK: I knew right then and there that they wanted to give my spot to the new girl. There was no doubt in my mind. And, you know what? I got it. This chick was good. Way too good. Did I feel threatened by her? Hell yeah, I did. And at the time I probably wanted to tell her to screw off, but now...now I get it.

EDDIE: She was good. Amazing, actually. Graham and I looked at each other and knew that she was something we'd be stupid to pass up on.

BILLY: When Chuck told us he wanted out, we were pissed, of course. We were heading off to open for Winters that week. It felt like things were going to look up, just like I always knew they would, and he was ditching. I know now that that wasn't really what it was ― he'd gotten into college, fan-fucking-tastic. It was a good opportunity for him, a sure thing. But right then it felt like a betrayal.

WARREN: So he ditched, and Billy just turned right to Eddie and said, "Go tell Y/n she's in." And he was just...terrified.

EDDIE: I said, "why me?" You know? It wasn't my band, it was Billy's. And here he was, ordering me to tell some new girl she was in. I was fifteen and could barely ask a waitress for ketchup. At the time, that was probably the last thing I wanted to do.

GRAHAM: He asked why it had to be him, and I told him the truth: he was the least intimidating. Billy, you know him. He had a tendency to get too focused on the task at hand and could get a little...harsh. And Warren? He had one of the biggest personalities you could find. He'd scare her off before we had a chance to offer her the spot...[Pauses] I probably could've done it, in all honesty. I just didn't want to screw it up. Eddie was better with words than I was, and we needed her in our band. Badly.

EDDIE: And I remember thinking, "Here goes fucking nothing."

The doorbell ringing was what got her attention. No one ever used the doorbell. It was always a knock ― that, or someone just walked in. The L/n's front door was hardly ever locked back then. Y/n's mom was a nurse, formerly a school nurse. She didn't want to risk the chance that some kid took a spill and had to limp home on an injured leg. So all the neighborhood knew, if you got hurt playing outside, you could march on over to Miss L/n's place to get yourself fixed up.

Y/n had her own share of walk-ins, too. By the time she was ten, she had seen her mom help out enough kids that she was practically a nurse herself. She could disinfect and bandage and stitch up any old case that walked through her front door. And if someone who was too busted up for first aid? She knew where the keys to the family Winnebago was and how to drive herself and them to the local hospital. She was only fourteen and didn't have a license, but it didn't matter. She was a safer driver than most everyone else on the road.

So when someone rang the doorbell, she assumed that it was someone too injured to knock. She grabbed the car keys and made sure her suture kit was within reach.

When she opened the door, she didn't see the blood and broken bones she was expecting. Instead, Eddie Roundtree stood on her front porch, hands shoved anxiously in his pockets. He looked all right, but that didn't stop her from asking: "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Um. No," Eddie said quickly, taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Okay," she said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

Y/n turned and walked further into the house, prompting him to close the door and follow her. She led him to the kitchen. "Lemonade? I made it this morning," she offered, already opening the fridge.

EDDIE: That jug of lemonade was bigger than she was. [Laughs] I could barely watch her get it down. I was afraid she'd drop it on her foot. But she just took her time getting it from the fridge to the table. I found out later that her mom bought a pound of lemons a week because Y/n wanted something to offer every kid that came through their front door. [Pauses]. She was just like that.

He gave a nod. Y/n stood on her toes to grab two glasses from the cabinet. She poured one glass, hands shaking from the weight of the jug, and Eddie realized that this awkward silence was probably the best time to transition into his real reason for visiting.

"Chuck left the band."

"Oh," she said simply. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

She paused, looking confused. And Eddie, who's will to live was slowly draining from this conversation alone, raced to finish what he had (awkwardly) started.

"I just mean that...you're in. The band. If you want to be our drummer, you're in."

Y/n paused mid-pour, setting the pitcher down on the counter carefully. She turned around until her back pressed into the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest. "And you thought I'd jump at the chance to join?"

"No. No," Eddie said quickly. "We just wanted to offer you the spot if you still wanted it."

"Did I say that I wanted it?"

"No, but―"

"Okay, just making sure," she handed him a glass and hopped up onto the counter, crossing her legs underneath her. "So you need a drummer?"

"Yes. Badly."

She took a sip from her glass and paused, as if weighing her options in her mind. She swallowed. "Are there any other girls in the band yet?"

EDDIE: Yet. Like she knew it was going to happen. It was just a matter of time.

"No, not yet." he replied.

"Then be honest with me: are you guys sleazeballs?"

EDDIE: Sleazeballs. She didn't sugarcoat things. She wanted to know if we were creeps or if we'd let her play drums in peace. I get that, one hundred percent. but back then, it felt like she was trying to accuse us of something.

"No," he said quickly, "Well...Warren can be a little much, but he means well."

She took another slow sip, once again weighing her options in her mind. "When's your next gig?"

"We play pretty much every night, wherever we can find. It might take us a bit to teach you the songs, but―"

"I can learn them," she said confidently. "How soon do you need someone?"

"Soon as possible."

EDDIE: By then, I was terrified she'd say no. All these questions and never once did she seem really interested in joining. I was already trying to figure out which of us would be the least shit at the drums.

"Okay. I'm in."

EDDIE: And that was it. She said yes. I didn't appreciate how much she'd saved our asses right then, but I was relieved. That was for sure.

GRAHAM: Eddie came back, told us she said yes. She couldn't join practice until her mom got home ― she didn't want the house to be empty if some injured kid wandered by ― so we had about an hour and a half to teach her every song.

BILLY: She picked 'em up like [snaps] that. Never doubted it for a single second, either. Once she knew it, she knew it.

EDDIE: She showed up to the first gig in overalls and sneakers. She let Camila put a little makeup on her, too, but we could all tell she hated it.

CAMILA: She was sweet. And, surprisingly, a little shy. I could tell she was a little scared of the boys. That's why she was a little cold to them at first. But she was just the coolest kid. I mean, fourteen years old and joining a rock band? She was a little rockstar, right off the bat. She asked me to put some makeup on her before her first gig with the band. When I gave her a mirror after and asked her what she thought, she said, "I like it, but it makes me feel like a doll. Not a drummer." She liked the glitter the most, though. It became her trademark. She put it on her cheeks, in her hair, everywhere that would catch the light. She'd come off stage and you'd see a little pile of sparkles behind the drum set.

EDDIE: Right off the bat, first gig. It was enough to freak anyone out. She joined the band six hours ago, learned the songs three hours ago, and now she was playing in a club to a couple dozen people. It seems so small now, but back then? It was like starting at Wembley.

Y/n shook out her hands for the eighth time. It wasn't about loosening up for the gig anymore, she just needed something to do that didn't involve throwing a punch or screaming at the top of her lungs. She looked up at Billy, standing at the front of the group, cool and calm as ever, and she had the distinct urge to kick him in the shin. Why did he get to be so calm when she was right behind him, on the verge of throwing up?

She turned to anxiously twisting a single drum stick between her fingers, around and around, faster and faster. Eventually it became so mindless that she barely noticed as the stick slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent to retrieve it quickly, hoping no one had noticed.

But, of course, someone did.

"Hey," Eddie said, looking back at her.

"Warren knocked it out of my hands." she said quickly.

Eddie glanced over at Warren, who was a solid two feet ahead of her, physically unable to have knocked a drum stick out of her hands. Y/n knew from that glance that he could see right through her lie. Now she really wasn't in the mood to talk.

EDDIE: She was terrified. And she was lying her ass off about it. I didn't want to run the risk that she choked up in the middle of the show and screwed up our set. So I figured I'd just, talk. And if she wanted me to screw off, she'd tell me. She had a way of saying exactly what she wanted.

"You've heard of the Drummer's Curse, right?" he asked.

She frowned in a way that told him no, she did not.

"First, there's the obvious stuff: drummers have to lug around the most shit out of anyone in the band. Drums sets are heavy and expensive, so there's that. But the worst part is that they're easy to overlook, you know? They're at the back of the stage behind all this shit, everyone stands in front of 'em. Drummers can fade into the background real easy. The best drummers can outshine anyone else onstage. You'll do that one day, but if you're freaked out now, just let yourself fade a little. You'll play better than anyone up there and the crowd'll know it, but you can let them focus on someone else if you want. You get what I'm saying?"

EDDIE: For a second, I thought she was going to punch me.

But then she nodded, wiped off some of the pink lipstick Camila had put on her with the back of her hand, and pushed her bangs to the side. "Drummers' Curse, huh?"

"Some people believe in it, some don't."

"And you?" she asked, turning to him. "Do you believe in that kind of stuff?"

Eddie paused. Shrugged. "Sure. Seems true enough to me."

Y/n nodded. "I don't. It sounds like bullshit to me."

Eddie frowned. She looked up at him. "I'm not going to let myself fade because I'm scared. I signed up for this, you know. The least I can do is own my place. If I outshine you, it's just because I'm that good," she said matter-of-factly. "I will need help carrying the stuff, though."

EDDIE: I didn't know what to say. I mean, [laughs] what the hell do you say to that?

He felt like he'd had the rug pulled out from under him. And then, he surprised himself: he laughed.

And Y/n surprised herself then, too ― she smiled.

EDDIE: That was just...[Shakes head. Smiles.] I don't know.

"I think we can manage that." he said with a smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen...The Dunne Brothers!"

WARREN: If I were still the guy I was back then, I would completely undersell her to you right now. I'd tell you she was an average drummer who was more in it for the thrill than the craft. But that wasn't it at all. She got up there and she just...shined.

GRAHAM: We all knew she'd be scared before the first gig. In fact, she looked about ready to throw up when they announced us on stage. But the second she hit those lights, it was like she was a different person. She waved and smiled like she'd done it a hundred times. The only other person I'd seen do that ― I mean really become another person on stage ― is Billy.

BILLY: That first show with Y/n was a little bit of a trainwreck. We were at least a half beat behind the entire show. And I'm not saying I blame her, but she was new and shiny. We got through it just fine, but I think we all felt it wasn't our best show.

WARREN: That show was bitchin'.

GRAHAM: It was a great show.

WARREN: Back in those days, we'd get off stage and start cheering for ourselves like we'd just won the goddamn lottery. Somewhere along the way, that stopped. We'd just pat each other on the back, say 'good job,' and that was that. But when Y/n got backstage? She was screaming and yelling like it was the best night of her life. And all of us joined in without a second thought ― well, maybe all of us except Billy. He was kind of a hard ass, even then. None of us had ever heard this girl talk louder than a glorified whisper, and then she came out of nowhere with this full-body scream. And who did she run to? Well, I think you can guess.

CAMILA: She just about jumped into Eddie's arms.

Adrenaline is a funny thing. For one, the effect is had on different people can be vastly different depending on who it was. Some people mellowed out, some people amped up. Y/n fell into the second category.

The second she got off the stage, a giddy laugh ripped from her chest, turning more into a scream of triumph halfway through. She was buzzing. Literally. Her hands felt numb ― or, more accurately, they felt like they felt more. Everything she touched was sharp and blinding.

The next person to join in on the screaming and jumping around was Warren. Then Graham. Then Eddie. And then, reluctantly, Billy. Eddie was the last to come off stage, slinging his guitar off his shoulders, and Y/n, without thinking much about it, ran straight to him, leaping directly into his unsuspecting arms.

The others were too hyped up on their own adrenaline rushes to notice that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She wrapped her legs around his waist hanging onto him like a koala. And Eddie, who couldn't deny adrenaline, held onto her back without a second thought.

After a moment, she leaned back, arms still wrapped around his neck, faces inches apart. "Drummers' curse, huh?"

EDDIE: She didn't fade. She couldn't, not even if she tried.

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

#daisy jones and the six #daisy jones & the six #daisy jones and the six fanfiction #daisy jones & the six fanfiction #eddie loving #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x reader

[writingseaslugs]

Octavinelle: When They're Sick

To all my Emetophobes out there...this does reference the thing but isn't described. They got food poisoning, but as someone with emetophobia it won't be heavily in this...at all. This is your warning though that if even slight mentions trigger you, go away. Floyd is probably the worst one of the bunch, so my apologies. I stan the man but we all know he can’t take care of himself.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Octavinelle: When They’re Sick

You’d think that by now the members of Octavinelle would’ve learned that when Jade brought back a new mushroom to cook with, they should let him try it first. Of course Jade knew this, and oftentimes wouldn’t mention it was something new he found. This caused the two people closest to him to get that beautiful thing known as food poisoning. Not the most glamorous of sicknesses, but it was what they got for eating something that Jade made without questioning him more. Misery does love company it would seem.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is honestly mortified at the thought that he’s sick, especially with something like food poisoning. He refuses to accept it even though he clearly has it. He tells himself it’s just a bit of nausea and that’s all. That is until later when he’s chilling in the bathroom and he realizes maybe it wasn’t just nausea. This isn’t going to stop him though, he has too much work to do at the lounge so he’ll put up with it in order to get things done.

Initially he will be refusing any form of help. He is at his most vulnerable and disgusting moment in life and doesn’t want to be seen. He can delete photos of his past, but he can’t delete your memories of what you’ll witness. You’re going to have to force him to let you help him out one way or another because let’s be honest, something like food poisoning is going to put our poor, dear Azul out of commission for a while.

The moment you shine that beautiful bottle of twisted wonderland’s version of pepto in his face he’s grabbing it and hoarding it away. He’s not even going to question it as he pours the serving size into the little cup they give and downs it in one go. He might turn a bit green at the taste but he’ll keep it down in front of you.

Azul will originally be kindly denying any and all food until he’s confident he can keep something down. Even then, it can only be something bland. Unseasoned fish with rice will be his go to in this situation and he’ll thank you for making it. He will be questioning if Jade got to the dish beforehand, so reassure him that the culprit of his downfall didn’t touch it. He’s going to eat super slow and stop a few times to make sure it’s settling in his stomach, but once he knows he can eat he’ll actually eat.

He will be asking to form a contract with you. Something simple, you get whatever you want and in return, you can’t physically speak of what you witnessed. He’s desperate after having you see him that sick and he will be stressing about you possibly making fun of him. He’ll be playing it off cool, but inside he is absolutely dying. Just sign the contract and ask for something simple, like a free soda on Mondays at the lounge. It’ll be less stressful on him even though he has nothing to worry about with you.

Jade Leech

Jade knows he screwed up the moment he felt his stomach protesting. Honestly it’s not the worst he’s done when experimenting with mushrooms. He’s not hallucinating this time, so that’s a bonus. Still, he hates that disgusting feeling of nausea settling in him and he might become significantly more grouchy and ask to be alone. He’ll find a room away from Floyd while he’s sick just so nobody can interact with him. He’s more moody due to his own failings, and his normal cool demeanor goes away a little bit.

He’s going to try and be nice about it in his own way, mainly when he’s telling you to leave him alone. He won’t out right snap at you, that’s not what he does, but the frown on his face as he tells you that he doesn’t want to have any visitors is enough of a hint. If you nudge him some more and let him know you just want to help by getting him a few things he’ll need, he might let up due to not having the energy to argue back. As long as you make yourself sparse, he’ll allow it. 

Jade has no issues with the medicines you bring him, but he will be reading the bottles thoroughly to make sure it isn’t something that might kill him. He doesn’t often get sick and this is the first time dealing with something like this while on land, so the medication they use is different. You might have to just pour him a shot and hand it to him or else he’ll be spending too long checking over things instead of just taking it. He’ll thank you though, so that’s a bonus.

He’s going to wait until his stomach stops flipping before he eats anything. He’s a firm believer in the BRAT diet after researching it and will only eat the things listed on it. Get him some apple sauce and a cut up banana to start things off. If he’s well enough to eat that means he’s finally getting back to normal. He’ll carry out a conversation with you at this point and not be forcing you out of the room. He might even thank you for helping him out despite his…testy attitude.

Once he’s better he’ll be fully back to normal and probably not discuss the incident too much. He’ll thank you of course, but after that he’ll act like it never happened. It’s probably for the best, he’d rather not have anyone around him when vulnerable like that, so having you take care of him was already something that was hard for him to accept. Easier to forget about it…if not for Floyd always bringing it up.

Floyd Leech

He is one of the most dramatic people when he’s sick, which is saying something. Unlike the others, he really doesn’t want to be alone. The moment he realizes what Jade did, he’s going to be overly emotional. He’s also not going to be listening to his body until it’s too late, which normally leads him to clinging onto a trash can on his bed with tears in his eyes because he didn’t realize he was about to be sick until five seconds before it happened. It’s also violent…very violent. It’s better to not be in the room and clear out.

If you’re brave enough to help him, you need to have a strong stomach and not have emetophobia. He’s not the one to run to the toilet so you’ll be having to take out a lot of trash bags while he’s sick. He also, for some ungodly reason, wants to cuddle while he’s sick. It’s not suggested, not just for his breath but there’s a chance if he’s curled up with you then he won’t have enough reaction time. So simply tell him to lay down and not get sick everywhere. Plus side is if you do have emetophobia, you can probably string Jade into cleaning up for his brother as long as he’s not sick as well.

He hates medicine, and he’s worse than a child. He wants to feel better, sure, but he doesn’t want to take gross medicine. You’re going to have to pop the medicine into a fridge to make it not taste as bad and then try and convince him that it’ll taste fine. If you lie to him he promises he’ll get you back once he’s better. Really he should be fine with taking medicine if he takes the potion to have legs, but he swears it’s only because he’s used to the other one’s bad taste. Plug his nose and force it down his throat if you have to.

Floyd only has two moods when he has food poisoning: he’s either going to eat whatever he wants and his body will force eject it ten minutes later, or he simply refuses to touch anything. Give him bland foods and monitor how fast he’s eating it. Best to just bring really small plates out for him so he doesn’t try to down it all in one go, if he’s even willing to eat. He’s a difficult patient to please.

Once he’s better, expect the world’s clingiest eel to ever exist. He’ll be wanting to go everywhere with you and thanking you for being such a good nurse. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t sleep for two days because you were making sure he was fine, he’s going to be wanting to spend every minute he has with you now. If you’re really that tired then he will just take a nap with you. Just…good luck getting away from him after he’s recovered. He likes to be taken care of and spoiled; he’ll almost be disappointed he’s better which is probably why he’s hanging around you right after. Anytime you turn and ask him how he’s feeling he gets all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST #TWST x Reader #TWST Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Disney #TWST Disney #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader #Jade Leech #Jade Leech x Reader #Jade x Reader #Floyd Leech #Floyd Leech x Reader #Floyd x Reader

[chaithetics]

Furtive Hands

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) reader

Word count: 7.3K

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, smut, fingering, P in V intercourse, some fluff, soft but also kind of dom-ish Stewy? Vague-ish mentions of canonical childhood abuse/trauma, and toxic family dynamics, Logan makes a cameo at the start (deserves its own warning), Logan's death and grief mentioned also Roman being a bit of a douche. I think that's it?

(Reader is technically a Roy because that's how the plot/idea worked but I avoided physical descriptions other than reader having AFAB physical characteristics. You're more than welcome to canon this reader as being adopted or half-siblings with the other Roys. I try to avoid giving physical characteristics and am tempted to continue to code all my readers as readers of colour out of spite due to the lack of intersectionality in fics. My reader in A Cinematic Lover has no physical characteristics other than being chronically ill but is Desi coded.)

Author's Note: I didn't proofread all of it, whoops. This is also my first time writing Stewy and I'm not too sure how I feel about this fic. I don't feel super confident in saying that "I captured his voice" etc. But I adore Stewy Hosseini and Arian Moayed and we need more Stewy fics. Please let me know your thoughts! I'd really appreciate the feedback :)

Like being in the Roy family, being the youngest in the clan had its perks and downfalls. You’d been able to get away most of your life with your father’s wrath directed towards your older siblings but at a certain point when they’d reached adulthood before you and it was quickly redirected towards you. You and your older brother Connor were the only ones to stay out of the family business, Connor was technically more involved than you which said a lot to anyone familiar with the family’s affairs. 

Despite being the youngest it would be fair to say you were the most emotionally mature of your siblings (although you could easily admit that’s a very low bar) and the most well-adjusted (again, another relatively low bar). You were a practising clinical psychologist who had of course undergone a bunch of therapy yourself for your childhood trauma. You’d wrapped up a session and were walking a patient out before heading back into your office for your office lunch date when you were interrupted by a booming presence. 

“Dad?” You immediately questioned. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here-” 

“I thought I’d stop by. See the new office-”

“I’ve had this office for 3 years.” You interjected. 

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, he seemed almost amused at your assertive call out. You had been a louder child like Roman but unlike your brother, you became quieter as a teenager. You knew your father had assumed that was because you didn’t have whatever “deficiency” he believed Roman had and that you’d grown out of it. The reality was, that it was a trauma response and you’d learnt that life was easier with him if you were quiet and made your presence as sparse as possible. 

He’d always found playing his games with you particularly interesting due to this, you weren’t as quiet now as you were as a teenager and you weren’t as loud as you were as a child, somewhere in the middle. You could slink off at the few family gatherings you intended to not be questioned or dragged into shop talk. But you still had a known presence and you were the only one of his children who could somewhat confidently cut him off and respond to him with what he’d deem as some sense of calmness. You weren’t as pliant to him as your siblings which made his mind games all the more intriguing to him. 

“Right. Well, it’s a nice enough place.” 

“Thanks.” You bit your lip as you waited for your father to continue, he didn’t show up for no reason. 

You were trying to project a calm facade you were starting to worry for a myriad of reasons. With what was going on with your family this wouldn’t be any pure coincidence. You weren’t the most involved in the family business but you were well aware and received updates from Kendall. But there was also concern over the potential sighting of your lunchtime visitor. 

“Well dear, I need you to do something for me.” You tilted your head and your brow furrowed at his words. 

“Since when do you need favours? Specifically favours from clinical psychologists?” You questioned. 

“It’s to do with your siblings.” Logan spoke flatly as he then sat himself down on one of the armchairs in your waiting room. He was mildly irritated that you hadn’t invited him into your office and that you’d kept that room off limits for him, blocking the doorway to it. 

You scoffed at his words and rolled your eyes, one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasn’t good. 

“Continue.” 

Logan’s eyes narrowed at you slightly as he watched you as if it was the first time he was seeing you. He was used to you being uninterested and not the way that Shiv tried to play everything cool with Logan. You were genuinely uninterested, your eyes looked cold.

You had a colder approach with your father in comparison to your siblings, it was healthier and the easiest for you to maintain without being sucked in like they were. It wasn’t a big surprise to anyone that you weren’t impressed with the confrontations that happened in your presence, your siblings had weird concepts and responses of support. But there were the built-in responses as you’d gotten older, Kendall defended and you comforted. 

Logan hadn’t always given you a great deal of attention in those moments but he was familiar with your mannerisms as he’d call them now. But today you seemed annoyed, this wasn’t an emotion that Logan felt like he’d seen from his youngest in almost a lifetime. He  found it to almost be the most interesting he’d ever found you, he mused that you must know or be hiding something. 

“Well, you grew up with Kendall, Roman and Siobhan. You understandably know them well and you have a unique skillset with your area of expertise.” He paused for a moment watching your face as he said that before continuing. 

“And?” 

“You would’ve made observations of their behaviours over the years. Symptoms-behaviours- whatever the fuck you want to call it. You have the power to diagnose.” You looked at him and the cooler facade you normally actively projected with him was starting to fade into one of horror. “I’d like you to write a piece on that, about your siblings. Their credibility, illnesses. A media circuit perhaps as well. You’re a credible and telling source.” 

You stared at your father in silence, you didn’t know what to say to him. This was awful, even for him. 

“So?” He broke the silence, his eyes were deadly serious, and his lips were in a small but twisted smirk. 

“No. No! Just no…That’s absolutely fucked up. No.” You looked around starting to think about how messed up that your father hadn’t just come up with this idea but that he was willing to do it to his children, your older siblings and drag you into this. “No, and if I did that who would then get the chance to write the think piece on you?” You asked sardonically rubbing your brow. 

“Well, I’m sure Shiv could whip up a sequel to her letter on Kendall.” He bit back almost nonchalantly. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised but I just can’t get over the fact that you’d do this, that you’d ask me to do this dad. What you did to Kendall after that Board vote, was sick… And again? To all of them?” You were starting to feel nauseous and weaker around him. 

“Are you talking to Kendall?” He asked in a cold tone. 

“He’s my brother.” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And I’m your father.” 

“Unfortunately.” You looked into his eyes and bit your cheek. 

He scoffed at that. He’d come in relatively calm, well calm for him but he was quickly becoming agitated at your lack of cooperation.  

“He’s a lousy excuse for a son and a brother.” 

“Kendall doesn’t interrupt my day of work for a fucked up favour.” You spat out, you weren’t shying away from his gaze even though his presence was getting too much for you. “I think you should leave Dad. I have patients and I need to eat something, I need lunch.” 

“Fine. Don’t give my regards to your fucking brother.” He said as he started to get up, you just leaned against the wall. 

“Hey-” Stewy’s voice crackled against the thick tension between you and your father as he waltzed into the entryway of your waiting room. He paused for a second as his gaze quickly landed on your father and you. You thought you saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes but he quickly and efficiently plastered over it. 

“And what the fuck are you doing here?” Logan directed at Stewy with a huff and an eye roll. Logan’s concern and suspicion were piqued significantly now as his disappointed gaze flicked over to you. 

“Well sir Roy, your deleterious business plans and board meetings are getting a bit too traumatic, that much I now need to see Dr Roy.” Stewy immediately and confidently jumped in, his playful and pointed lie came across smoothly and convincingly. Logan scoffed at that and started to walk out. 

“Don’t think about trying any of your peacock philandering with my daughter,” Logan said to Stewy as he walked past him. 

“How thoughtful, safe travels sir.” Stewy laughed off Logan’s comment which just seemed to irritate him more. 

“Think about it.” Logan said as he looked back at you as he was in the doorway, you just held his gaze for a moment. 

“I’ll see you at the wedding.” You calmly stated, he narrowed his eyes again at you for a second and then just walked off. 

**********

Stewy wasn’t a patient of yours, he fortunately never had been, that would’ve been a massive ethical violation. He was meeting you at the office for lunch, something that you two often did. It had been vaguely discussed in the past that if somebody ever saw him in your office it could be easy to dismiss it as him being a patient or wanting some kind of psychological consultation relating to work. It was never an excuse that had been needed before today and you were surprised at how quickly Stewy went into that mode and how he simply sold it. 

You were sitting on the sofa in your office with your legs in Stewy’s lap, he had an arm over the back of the sofa and his other hand was gently caressing your legs as you recounted the brief visit from your father before Stewy came. Stewy was playful and a bit chaotic but he was also intelligent and he could be serious and thoughtful, which he often was for you. 

“I should call Kendall before something happens.” You said looking at Stewy and he nodded, continuing his comforting, soft touches on your sprawled-out legs. 

You grabbed your phone and called Kendall, the phone barely rang before it was answered. 

“Yo?”

“Dad came by the office earlier today.” 

“Oh? What did the old fuck want?” Kendall teased.

“He asked me to write a piece on you, Rome and Shiv. To air out everyone’s laundry, basically ‘diagnose’ you all and try to discredit your side of what’s going on. It was so fucked up Ken.” There was a pause for a moment, you heard Kendall sigh and then inhale. You made eye contact with Stewy who was silent and watching you. 

You had a requited soft spot for Kendall. He was your older brother and he was a good one at that. He was fiercely defensive of all his siblings, which he seemed to prioritise over his own trauma and feelings in confrontations with your father. But as the baby of the family and not having the same tongue as your siblings, you suppose you came across as weaker, more vulnerable. You’d concluded a long time ago that this added to the soft spot that Kendall has for you. You also thought subconsciously it was also linked to the fact that you were the most patient and sympathetic sibling he had. 

“What did you say?” Kendall finally asked, his voice was more serious now. 

“I said no, a bazillion times. I told him it was sick and asked him to leave.”

Ken nodded, and then he remembered that you couldn’t see that. 

“That’s pretty fucked up. Not surprising though I guess…”

“Are you with Rome and Shiv?” You asked. 

“Uh-huh, they’re in the uh, they’re inside.” Kendall answered quickly. 

“Can you tell them?” 

“Yeah, sure but-” 

“I’m really sorry Ken but I have another patient soon, I just wanted to tell you as soon as I could in case something happened. I didn’t want to do it over text.” You answered. 

“Okay, I’ll see you at the rehearsal. Thanks as well.” His second sentence was softer. 

“Yeah, of course. See you then.” You then hung up and looked at Stewy. 

“Did he sound okay to you?” You asked Stewy. 

“Sounded pretty okay for Ken.” Stewy responded as he moved his hand away from your legs and to hold your now phone-free hand. You just nodded and Stewy changed the subject to something else for the rest of your lunch hour which you appreciated. 

****** 

You would say you have a complicated but good relationship with your siblings. While you had the same mother as Kendall, Shiv, and Roman, you and Connor were bonded by your outcast status regarding family affairs. You didn’t agree with a lot of the opinions that left Connor’s mouth but he was still a compassionate older brother to you. You often were iced out together at family gatherings as it was all a business opportunity for your father’s attention. 

You were glad that you just had to relay your father’s request to Kendall. Roman was unpredictable and Shiv would’ve assumed that you had sold them out and this was a mind game. An opinion she’d probably make clear to everyone else and in some way to you as well. 

There had always been significant sibling rivalry in the Roy household. But Shiv had always seen you as her competition in particular, you two were the only women and she lived in a man’s world always striving to prove herself out of spite and nature. Even now she still believed your kinder nature was an act to disarm. She never hid the looks of distrust in her eyes.  

You were now home. You still had your apartment and stayed there occasionally but that was more to save face than anything else. Somewhere along the timeline of your relationship, you’d almost practically moved into Stewy’s apartment. The walk-in wardrobe was equally divided, and your favourite teas were in the kitchen. “It’s closer to your office” had been the justification at the time when he’d been encouraging you to stay over more. 

It was surprising that you hadn’t been caught yet with that in mind, part of you would sometimes wonder if your siblings did know but they were saving it but you knew that if they did it would’ve come out to slap you in the face by now. 

When you’d first met Stewy what felt like a million years ago you never would’ve expected something like this to happen. Then when this all happened and started a few years ago it was still, very unexpected. But he knew probably better than what anyone else would ever be able to comprehend what it meant to get seriously involved with a Roy, even one not involved in the family business. He and Kendall had an interesting friendship and history, with Stewy having been mostly good to your brother. But Stewy was always good to you. 

As you let yourself in you kicked off your shoes lost in your thoughts but you quickly noticed Stewy wasn’t back yet. This wasn’t a surprise though, your job meant you got to work more of a typical 9-5. Something you were grateful for, it seemed like life was just one, endless business meeting and opportunity for everyone involved at Waystar. 

You’d made yourself a cup of tea and were now leaning against the bench in the kitchen with it while scrolling on your phone. You had Google alerts set for all of your immediate family and Stewy, surprisingly there didn’t seem to be too much drama online today. 

“Ugh, fuck!” Stewy’s voice boomed and you heard a bang. 

“Shit, Stewy? Are you okay?” You quickly called out as you made your way over to the apartment's entryway. 

“Yeah, just tripped over your shoes again.” Stewy responded with an amused expression as he took his shoes off and moved them along with yours out of the way. 

This wasn’t the first time it had happened and Stewy knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

“I’m sorry.” You said bashfully as you walked over to hug him, pressing a soft, playful kiss to his lips. “I guess, it’s a good thing you love me.” You kissed him again, teasingly nipping on his bottom lip that was in between yours. 

“You’re such a brat baby.” Stewy smirked as his hand wrapped more firmly around your waist and he kissed you back. 

“I thought you loved that?” You teased between kisses as each one became more heated and desperate with lust. Despite Stewy often being caught or easily roped into your family drama he was the best distraction, escape and companion from everything. 

“I do.” Stewy breathed out as he continued to kiss you and was now kissing your jaw. 

“And I love you…” You whimpered out as his lips started to travel down your neck. He now had you pressed against the wall.  

“And what is it that you love exactly baby?” Stewy purred out as he nibbled around your pulse point. He was always such a tease. 

“I love your hair-” You moaned out as you dug your fingers into his soft, gorgeous curls that were always perfect. “Your voice, eyes, those goddamn turtlenecks, your smile, your colossal vocabulary-” 

“Didn’t you say it was farcical the other day?” Stewy said as he stopped kissing you and looked at you. 

“Stewy!” You whined out, you couldn’t feel his lips on you any more but you could still feel him against you but it wasn’t enough. You needed him. His gorgeous dark eyes were blown out with lust but he had his signature playful, mischievous smirk painted across his face as he cruelly teased you. “You’re such a tease.” 

“I thought you loved that.” He quipped back. You rolled your eyes and took the bait.  

“I do, I love how much of a tease you are.” He felt your breath against his neck as you spoke and then pressed a kiss against his neck, breathing him in. He always smelt so good, despite being a bit of a natural peacock it wasn’t showy, it was more subtle but strong enough. You were certain there was sandalwood in his cologne. “I also love how you feel inside of me.” You spoke as your soft lips kissed his handsome jaw, your soft lips a burning contrast against the tickle of his perfectly trimmed beard. 

“Someone’s getting laid tonight.” Stewy got out, pressing his hips against you as you continued kissing along his jaw and neck, tugging his now tousled curls. 

“That was the plan after all Mr. Hosseini.” You smirked against his neck, feeling him continue to harden against you. He let out a soft, melodic moan as you sucked softly on his neck. 

“How does now sound?” 

“Perfect.” You left his neck to kiss him on the lips, you moaned against his mouth as his teeth clashed against yours. 

One of his hands left your waist to quickly unbutton your pants. Once he’d done that, he quickly slipped a hand in, teasing you as he palmed you and then started to tease your bundle of nerves over your underwear. Your arousal had already started to dampen your underwear and it only grew with his attention. You continued to moan against him, as he gingerly traced a pattern.  

“You’re already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” Stewy teased. “So beautiful and needy.”

Stewy smirked as he felt you press into his hand more, even with the friction of your underwear, you needed more. You wanted him then and there. You kept hungrily kissing him, feeling starved. Stewy snaked a finger under your underwear and rubbed it along your clitoris for a few seconds before dipping it inside of you making you gasp. 

“More, please Stewy.” You begged between kisses, panting as he chuckled. 

“Such a desperate girl with a needy pussy.” Stewy whispered into your ear as he added a second finger in, he picked up the pace a bit he continued to finger you and his thumb moved to rub over your clitoris a few times. His fingers were covered in your slick and you didn’t have any interest in holding back any of your moans. 

You stayed sandwiched between the wall and Stewy, just moving to press your head against his shoulder, the fabric of his blazer muffled some of your moans as he continued to finger you. You looked down and started to undo his belt and pants. 

“What do you think you're doing baby?” Stewy asked in a low voice that was just making the space in between your thighs grow into an even bigger pool of dampness, you were melting against him. 

“I want you.” You tilted your head up so it was still resting against his shoulder but you were now facing his neck more, you started to kiss his neck again, biting it softly and then licking it. “I want you to fuck me Stewy.” 

“Beg.” Stewy breathed out as he let out a little moan as your tongue darted over his pulse point. His fingers were still entering you but not as deep as before and his thumb was painfully slowly, languidly massaging your bundle of nerves. 

“Please Stewy. Fuck me, I need to feel you deep inside of me.” You nipped him softly right near his pulse point and revelled in the groan he let out at that. “Please, I’m begging you Stewy. I need you.” 

“Tell me exactly what you need.” His thumb cruelly left your clitoris for a moment making you gasp out in shock but he added a third finger inside of you, getting to that soft spot that made you melt and his thumb gently returned to your clitoris after a few seconds. 

“I uh, I-I need you. I need you inside of me now Stewy. I need to feel your cock inside of me.” You moaned out. “Nobody has ever and could ever fill me up the way you do. It feels so good, you make me feel so good. Pl-please Stewy. Please.” You mewled out and you couldn’t quite see his face but you knew it would have that beautiful arrogant smirk. 

“I’ll fuck you, baby. I just need you to come for me first, you can do that, right? I can tell your desperate little pussy is already so close.” You nodded desperately, he wasn’t wrong. You were close to unravelling, he could tell from your breathing and how you weren’t just flooding his fingers but also clamping around him. 

“I’m so close, Stew, fuck.” You moaned out, panting against his neck, it tickled him slightly. You bit your lip and moaned against his neck, he could feel the vibration of it and he loved that, that and the sound of your pleasure. You could feel it coming and gasped into his neck again as you came, Stewy could feel it and smiled as his fingering eased to a slower, gentler pace as you came down from your orgasm. 

“How was that?” He smirked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“It was- it was…” You paused for a moment as your breathing started to settle, your heart was still pounding from that high though. “Good.” 

“Good? Only good?” He questioned with a tone of mock hurt.

“Just shut up and fuck me now, please Stew.” You bit his neck, just feeling even more needy for him than you did before. 

“I thought you liked my colossal vocabulary and voice?” He teased as he playfully grinded into you “I distinctly remember you saying so a few minutes ago.” 

“You’re so mean Stewy.” You giggled softly, gently pulling on the roots of his curls. 

“Was that just to get me into your pants?” Stewy paused the grinding, his tone acting as if he was hurt and that the insinuation was possibly true. 

“I guess not because that obviously didn’t work very well.” You responded, leaning back against the wall. He raised an eyebrow at you and then looked down at his belt. You rolled your eyes playfully and started to undo his belt, palming him. He was completely hard but you already knew this from when he’d been grinding into you. 

“Bedroom baby.” Stewy moaned out as you pulled his hard cock out and rubbed it with one hand. 

“You can fuck me here, you’ve done it before.” You pouted and he just chuckled as you kept up with your ministrations. 

“You said I was mean, so you’re not getting it here. You can wait the whole ten seconds it takes to walk to the bed. Our bed for me to have my way with you.” Stewy’s voice was low and firm but there was still that natural teasing tone there. 

You walked briskly to the bedroom that you two shared and Stewy followed and chuckled over the eagerness of your gait. As soon as you both were in the clean room, you kissed him hungrily again. He smirked and expertly unbuttoned your blouse as you pushed his blazer off. You kicked your pants and underwear off and he quickly followed suit. 

Stewy pressed you into the bed and you tugged on the turtleneck he was still wearing to bring him closer to you and then started to push it up off him. 

“Do you love my turtleneck baby?” Stewy teased as you did. 

“Absolutely love it.” You breathed out with a smirk. 

As soon as it was off and thrown to the floor, you were kissing each other again as if you couldn’t survive without the other. You were running your hands over Stewy’s back and up his neck to the luscious locks you loved as he quickly undid your bra. You were both now naked and he continued to kiss you as his hands cupped your chest. 

You moaned out as he started to caress you and pinch your nipples. His lips travelled from yours down to your jaw, your throat, he kissed your breasts and teasingly licked along your nipple for a minute as he started to rub your heat with his other hand. 

“Please Stewy.” You begged out in a desperate moan as your eyes were closed in pleasure. 

“Please, fuck you?” He again teases as he starts to line himself up at your entrance. 

“Yes, please that.” 

Stewy stopped his teasing and happily obliged after what felt like an eternity of almost edging. He pressed his head into you and you gasped as he did, gently scratching his shoulders as he did. It wasn’t long till he was bottomed out, he waited a few seconds for you to adjust before he started to slowly thrust inside of you, eliciting the most melodic moans he’d ever heard. 

“You’re so beautiful and tight, I love being inside of you baby.” Stewy cooed out as his pace quickly picked up a deeper and slightly faster rhythm. 

“You feel so good Stewy, so good inside of me.” You mewled out. 

Your words were literal music to his ears and it wasn’t long till he was grunting out as his thrusts became deeper and harder. 

It was so easy to become lost in Stewy. Especially when he was fucking you like this, having his way with you in the bed you shared. How couldn’t you be lost in him when your eyes were open he was all you could see?

His scent was dizzying as it mixed with the sweat he’d built up from snapping his hips into yours, he was all you could feel, on you and in you, his grunts, words and the filthy sounds you were making together were all you could hear. Stewy was intoxicating, overwhelming, a sensory overload in the most spectacular way. 

You were pulling on his hair as you felt him hitting that perfect soft spot deep inside of you. Your bundle of nerves was already sensitive from the teasing and your earlier orgasm and you could feel the warmth of another orgasm building. 

Stewy wasn’t clueless about this, he could feel you clenching around him especially as he reached that sensitive spot of yours and you were flooding him in your arousal. Other than the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, Stewy couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the noises of your moan and whimpers and the sounds of the squelches made of him thrusting into you and being met with your juices. 

Stewy continued to pound into you, his thrusts were faster and needier, and he was getting close himself. He pressed some sloppy kisses to your neck that warmed your insides up even more with desire and love for him. Stewy’s lips travelled back to yours and you opened your mouth inviting him in as your tongues and teeth passionately attacked each other. 

The kiss became deeper and deeper, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and felt him groan at that against your lips which in turn made you smirk. You two continued to kiss and he started to rub your clitoris with his thumb, you moaned into his mouth at the sweet pressure and slightly writhed under him. 

“That feels so good Stew.” You panted out as the kiss broke for a second and you both panted as he continued to thrust into you while rubbing a circular pattern on your bundle of nerves getting closer to their peak. 

“You feel so good. I love you.” He panted out between moans, as his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him. 

“I love you too.” You moaned out, as your legs tightened slightly around him and you scratched his back. “I’m, so, so, so close.” 

“Yeah? I can feel that baby. Oh fuck, I want you to come for me, come on my cock baby.” He encouraged as he continued. Kissing along your pulse point, fully knowing that would drive you closer to your climax. 

You moaned out while scratching his back and pulling on his hair as you unravelled from your orgasm. Stewy smirked against your neck and continued to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves and thrust at the same, perfect speed as you chased your orgasm and rode out that high. 

“Thank you, baby, that was so good. I want you to come, to fill me up.” You panted out as you placed a hand to cup his cheek as his hips continued to snap back into yours. 

“Fuck, I’m pretty close.” 

You dug your nails into his back as he felt you clench around him in the most spectacular way as you orgasmed and post that. He began to chase his own high and you knew he was close as his thrusts spread up and the pace was more sporadic than rhythmic. 

After a couple more minutes of thrusts, Stewy grunted and kissed you more desperately than he had all day and finally chased his own climax and finished inside of you. Before he pulled out the kiss changed to a gentle, affectionate one and you lightly combed your hands through his hair and then ran them along his face and jaw as he kissed you like that. 

Stewy kissed your forehead softly and then pulled out to go towards the ensuite to get a washcloth to clean up the mess you had made together. He was so firm but gentle with you. 

After that, he laid in bed again on his back, you were cuddled into his side, with your head on his warm chest feeling almost half asleep. 

“What do you think of marriage now?” Stewy asked interrupting the peaceful post-sex silence. There was an air of playfulness but his voice was softer, quieter, almost sleepy. 

“Pardon?” You shifted slightly off his chest to get a better look at his face. You were certain you’d heard him correctly but you weren’t sure if maybe you’d fully given into sleep and this was gibberish or a dream. 

“We’ve talked about eloping before.” 

“Yeah, yes we have but-” 

“I wasn’t joking.” Stewy said as he gently held your chin between his index finger and his thumb. His voice was still soft but it was a bit firmer now, more serious than tired or playful. You bit your lip unsure of what to say as he continued to look into your eyes with his beautiful, diluted ones. 

“You know what that would entail Stewy. Your career-” 

“I do and-” 

“Stewy.” You rested your chin on his chest looking at him. He could see that you were tired. 

“So you don’t want to marry me right before your brother and Willa? Maybe a day or two after? Get that IUD out, then pop out a few babies. I’ll even be super fucking generous and get a vasectomy.” His tone was more teasing now and you had a feeling the humour wasn’t completely genuine but partially a cover-up of possible hurt. 

“Sweetie, I love you. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Maybe not talk about this ‘post-coitus’.” You offered him a small smile and combed your fingers through his hair, admiring the dark locks and the stunning strands of silver. 

“Yes ma’am.” Stewy nodded and kissed your forehead. You settled back into his chest and it wasn’t long until you had dozed off in his arms and on the comfortable pillow of his chest with the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. 

********

You’d been the only one of your siblings to stay for Connor’s wedding. Weddings were just business opportunities in the world of the Roys, grief couldn’t exist with the market and leadership decisions. You didn’t like how the wedding or death side of that traumatic day went down or how it was handled but unexpected deaths weren’t meant to be convenient or follow logic. 

You were now in your deceased father’s penthouse at his wake, having spent most of the morning hiding in a corner from as many eyes as possible. You’d really only spoken to Connor and Willa, your other siblings were in a sitting room being as business-focused as possible. 

It had been a little while into the Wake and you were with your siblings when Stewy and the Furnesses came in. Connor and Willa had been the easiest to talk to which wasn’t really anything new. Kendall and you occasionally made little remarks to each other and even you and Shiv exchanged some looks over other people’s comments or well, audacity.

You took Stewy’s handsome face in, he looked well-rested and fresh-eyed despite the fact that he’d been up most of the night with grieving you. He was handsomely dressed and groomed as always. You wanted to be held by him again, to leave and be curled up in a ball with him. Normally you two acted amicably when your paths crossed in the Roy world and public like this. But you were too depressed and exhausted for the usual furtive nature. 

He’d hugged and given his condolences to your sister Shiv and then she’d moved on to Sandi. You looked at Stewy and gave him a small smile, he went to give you a hug and a faux kiss on the cheek as he did for Shiv but you needed more than that, you needed him. You genuinely hugged him and pressed your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, a firm, undeniable reminder that he was there was always comforting. You didn’t care that your siblings were nearby, it wasn’t an indecent act. 

Stewy couldn’t and wouldn’t say no to affection from you ever, let alone in your state in this context. He reciprocated the genuine hug and you held onto him for maybe a few seconds longer than you should’ve if you wanted to avoid the suspicion of your siblings. 

You pulled away despite never wanting to do and tilted your head to see that he was looking at you warmly, sympathy written all over his eyes. His hands had moved to softly rest on the sides of your arm, the touch was comforting but could easily be perceived and argued as platonic to an onlooker. He had a small, genuine smile on his face as he looked at you. 

“Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey.” You responded back quietly. You wanted to kiss him, you were almost tempted to and then Kendall was quickly whisking Stewy away. 

You went back to your corner and eventually, you were joined by Kendall and Roman. You saw that Stewy was making his rounds of small talk and his eyes occasionally wandering, searching for you to see where you were and how you were doing. 

“Have you thought about psychoanalysing yourself?” 

“What?” You questioned exhaustedly as your mind was pulled away from stealing glances at Stewy by Roman’s words. 

“That was a bit too touchy with Ken-doll’s boyfriend.” Roman retorted. “I didn’t realise jumping on your brother’s BFF was one of the five stages of grief.” 

“Excuse me?” You now glared at him. 

“Oh, I guess it must be a new one they added in.  Are you gonna get a model named after yourself? Or are you saving the Roy model for something more fucked up?” 

“I’m not doing this Roman.” You sighed in exasperation and walked off to find a glass of wine but were quickly disturbed again. 

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually know about you two,” Kendall smirked as he whispered to you. 

“What the fuck Ken?” You jumped at the fright from Kendall, you were grateful that you were still empty-handed or else you’d have stained your outfit if not all of your surroundings from your brotherly jumpscare. Your reaction just made Kendall’s smirk grow. “You knew? But Stewy never told you.” 

“He didn’t. I figured out a while ago that you two were uh…” He dramatically paused for a moment as if he was thinking of the right word with a teasing smirk. “Copulating.” 

“Ken!” You elbowed him softly to try and get him to quieten down. “Why did you never say anything?” You quietly questioned. 

“Well, it was pretty fucking weird at first. He’s not the worst Harvard finance bro out there.” Kendall said with a playful expression. “He keeps you happy-adjacent right?” 

“Yeah, he does. Thank you.” You gave Kendall a tight-lipped but grateful smile. 

“You know, you don’t have to hide it anymore right?” 

You looked up at Kendall, questioning him with your eyes. You and Stewy’s relationship was complicated and you’d say it was pretty healthy despite the furtive nature, it had been that way for everyone’s personal and professional sake. Kendall’s smirk started to slowly slip as he took in your expression. 

“He’s dead.” Kendall spoke softly as you stared into each other’s eyes, he placed his hand on your arm as his face grew more serious. You eyed Kendall trying to find the right words. Sure your father had been part of it but it was a complicated situation with many pieces. 

“I could live with dad icing me out, cutting that relationship. I made peace with what that is a while ago. But-but, it’s when Roman, Shiv, and you. That’s what really hurts.” 

“That’ll be all that Roman says and well Shiv, she’ll only say anything about it behind your back.” 

“So comforting and reassuring.” You dryly said. 

“I’ll send you the invoice for Kendall Roy’s Therapy.” He teased and you both chuckled dryly at that. 

There wasn’t much else to say to that and you knew Kendall wasn’t ready to talk about the bigger problems yet so you gave your brother a tight hug that he quickly reciprocated. You stayed in each other’s arms for a few moments, it was healing and reassuring in a way. 

You then left to sit on a miraculously empty couch as Kendall went off to talk to Roman and Shiv again about company matters you didn’t want to hear about and that they wouldn’t want to discuss in front of you or Connor anyway. As you sat there, Stewy caught your eyes again and this time he finally came over. He sat next to you on the sofa but left a reasonable, person-sized gap between the two of you. 

“Kendall knows, you know.” You quietly state looking at him tiredly, the events of the last 24 hours and your lack of sleep were quickly catching up with you. 

“Well, I’m in private equity not acting baby.” You scoff at that and smile, sinking a little further into the sofa. 

“Perspicuously not in comedy either, babe.” You say with a smile that grows. You tilt your head to look at his expression, his big beautiful eyes are watching you and there’s the cocky smile plastered on his face that you’re in love with. 

“I’ve learnt it’s best to save the wit for the Roys.” He shoots back with a mischievous gleam in his eye. 

Stewy’s here and he’s being cheeky for your sake. You love that about him, his tongue isn’t biting like your siblings but his humour is a way of showing up. 

“Do you want to go on the balcony for a minute?” You questioned. “I want some fresh air.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He leaned his hand over that empty space of safety between you two to squeeze your hand for a second before you got up and he then followed you. 

He leant against the railing and watched you once you were both out on the much more, pleasantly quiet balcony. 

You laid your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, listening to his heart calmly beat as he pressed his chin against the top of your head and exhaled. Stewy’s thumb was tracing reassuring patterns on your arm. He hummed softly for a moment and you could feel the vibration of it on the top of your skull. 

You and Stewy both knew this was a sure way to be caught but neither of you cared in this moment and didn’t care about any of the consequences. They were manageable, they felt minor now and realistically they were. This would shift the family dynamic and having furtive hands with your lover always seemed to you to be in the best interests of Stewy’s career and the dramas between him, Kendall and Waystar. 

You were pretty okay with being out in the open with Stewy and he felt the same way. As the relationship went on, he wanted that more and more. His post-coitus conversation was serious and not a post-orgasm thought. 

“You were serious about eloping before Connor’s wedding weren’t you?” 

“Probably poor taste to say it right now but yes baby, dead serious.” 

You laughed at that and he felt it vibrate against him and it made him smile. He just wanted to bring you a bit of comfort and joy on an awful day like today. 

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” 

“Are you saying you want to get eloped?” 

“Well, I was thinking of leaking the story to ATN that Stewy Hosseini is so whipped by the Roys that he gets a vasectomy for one and not the one they’d expect.” You teased, laughing a bit more and he laughed as well. 

“Well, as much as I think we could find you something short to wear as an elopement dress, maybe something fun and scandalous like Sharon Tate’s since you like those old flicks. I don’t think we should leave your dad’s wake to go off and elope, might be the cultural upbringing differences but seems a little rude to me.” Stewy teased, you laughed and kissed him on the lips softly for a moment. 

“How does tomorrow sound?” 

“For an elopement?” “Yeah.” 

“Perfect.” 

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