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kiwisbell · 4 months

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darling, so it goes [javier peña]

She glows.

read las mañanas here! | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: pregnancy, pregnant sex, wife guy!javi, extremely protective!javi, girl dad!javi, javi is an overprotective dad and the baby isn't even born yet, fluff, married life, a sprinkle of texas!javi, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), rough sex, unprotected piv (i mean she's not gonna get more pregnant), a bit of papi kink, slight degradation, she pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 14k (i know, my bad)

read on ao3!

a/n: this is another re-upload from my ao3 account, and part of my siempre series! if you'd like to read the first instalment, las mañanas, it's linked above next to my masterlist!! ! i love you all so much, thank you for your patience 💋 xoxo kiwi

MONTH 3

She calls him crying.

Javier picks up the telephone and tucks it against his shoulder as he rushes to close the door. Feistl and Van Ness are taking respective phone calls, tossing a ball of wadded-up paper between them. “Peña.”

“Javi,” she sniffles, her sweet voice so weary. His heart beats a little faster, grows a little bigger in his chest. It's a swelling, heavy feeling, to hear someone’s voice and fall in love.

“You sad, baby?” he coos. “What can I do, huh?”

“I just miss you.” Another sniffle, and he knows she's curled up on her good side, clutching the receiver.

Javier can't help the grin that splits his face. “Company here isn't good, either, bonita. I’ll be home soon.” He knows that isn't the only reason she's calling. “Dime que está mal.”

“Everything hurts, I need to pee every ten minutes, and we're out of hot sauce.”

There it is.

Her third month of pregnancy has been riddled with emotion. A day rarely goes by when he doesn't see her cry at least twice. It'll be the question of what they'll eat for dinner, or it'll be the fact that there's a baby growing inside her and she doesn't know what to do with all the emotion she carries. Sometimes, it'll be both, and more.

On top of that, her cravings have been giving him whiplash. Two weeks ago, she would fall asleep with a jar of pickles on the bedside table, and now she can hardly stand to smell them before she’s rushing to the bathroom to heave into the toilet. Last week, Javier came home to her curled up on the floor in the kitchen, tear tracks on her face, digging a spoon into a plate of instant rice slathered in hot sauce.

“Hi, Javi,” she chirped.

“Hey, baby.” Javier lowered himself to the floor next to her and wiped the salty tears off her face with a washcloth nearby. Kissing her left his lips tingling. “This is new.”

She shrugged. “I really wanted hot sauce. Couldn’t really eat it by itself, so I put some rice in the microwave. But then I started to cry because the rice was taking a long time.” She lifted the spoon and lifted her brows. “Want some?”

Javier likes spicy food. He’s indifferent to rice. Together, they didn’t sound especially thrilling. But it was the way her eyes went wide and expecting, the way her brow furrowed in anticipation of sharing her new obsession with him. He took the spoonful into his mouth.

Although it was exactly how he expected—bland, chewy, and mostly tasting of hot sauce—she grinned, leaning in to put her lips to his cheek, and he wanted to eat the entire plate if it made her this happy. “I love you,” she said.

“There’s another bottle in the cupboard, querida,” he tells her. “You want me to run a bath when I get home?”

The happy little sigh that leaves her tells him she’s not crying anymore. “Will you join me?”

“You know I can’t say no to getting in the bath with you, baby. Estaré en casa pronto.”

“Javi?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

There’s a new round of sniffles on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna be a mom,” she cries.

This is the second time she’s called him today.

MONTH 4

“Más despacio, baby. Let me help you.”

“Javi, I love you, but if you don’t let me get out of this car by myself, I’m going to choke you out.”

Okay. He knows. He knows he's smothering. Javier waits for her to step down out of the truck (he demanded the DEA give him one after he found out how much they both hated the fucking Cooper they wanted him to drive). “See?” she says proudly. “Still spry.”

He splays a hand over her belly: already a force of habit. The bump there has only just begun to show, but he's been putting his hand to her abdomen, imagining he can feel his baby’s heartbeat, since the day they knew she was pregnant. Now that he can see the slight curve to her belly, it feels so real, so immediate.

Javier was a grump before. He’s become somewhat of a monster when it comes to his wife. His pregnant wife.

“¿Estás bien?” he asks her.

They’ve known each other for over a decade. The way Javier looks at her still knocks the breath out of her. He wields those wide brown eyes like a weapon, gentle but incisive, staring deep, past where words exist and into the very soul of her. He can pull her thoughts and her feelings from her head just by looking at her. Yes, he’s been smothering her with closeness since they found out about the baby. Yes, he’s a thorough grump. She’s never loved someone more in her entire life.

“Javier,” she says softly, lightly tugging on his belt loop.

His eyes search her face for discomfort, but he won’t find it. “Cielito.”

“Kiss me, please.”

He’s learned not to compromise, raise his voice, or oppose. So, he cradles the back of her head and ducks down to kiss her, his hand still firm at her swelling belly. Another new habit: he doesn't let her stand on her toes anymore to kiss him. He started to bring himself down to her level, and now he won't stop. It was unconscious, just another instinctual desire to make his wife do as little work as possible.

Javier nudges his nose against hers. “I’m about to ask again.”

She places her hand on his chest. “Javi, don’t—”

“Are you sure you want to go back?”

Reparations on the university are still underway, but most of the infrastructure of the peripheral buildings affected by the blast are intact. Classes resumed last week, but Javier’s been reluctant to let go of his wife’s hand and watch her disappear inside the building where she nearly died two months ago.

She bunches up the material of his suit jacket in her fist and giggles. “You're a fool, Agent Peña. You and your… your sexy suits and your sexy pout.”

“Did that bomb give you a concussion we didn't know about, baby?”

“I just love you.” She cups his face in her hands. She can't choose which eye to look at, so she searches between them for the answer. “I love you. So much. I’m gonna be okay, Javi. I am okay.”

He wraps his hands around her forearms and strokes her skin with his thumbs. “You say something like that and expect me to let you go?” he grumbles.

“I know you worry,” she says, “but we've gotten this far. I'll be right here when you come to pick me up, and we’ll go home.”

He's still pouting when he presses his lips to her temple. “Have a good day at work, amor.”

“Don't work too hard,” she tells him, pushing his sunglasses back onto his nose. “I have plans for you when you get home.”

“Yeah?” He lifts his brows behind those aviators. “What kinda plans?”

She rolls her eyes and gives him a gentle shove toward his truck. “You'll have to wait and see, vaquero.”

Javier steals one more kiss before he's backing away to his truck with his hands in the air like he's in a stickup. “Sure you don't want me to walk you up the stairs—”

“Go. To. Work.”

“Feistl.” Javier peeks his head out of his office. “You and Van Ness find the fucker who planted the bomb?”

Feistl tucks his pen between his teeth as he hurries toward Javier’s office with a stuffed manila folder in hand. “Think so,” he says, his voice garbled by the pen. He jerks it out of his mouth as if he forgot it was there. “Alvaro Diaz made a call to his girlfriend the morning of the… well, you know. Told her he had an important job to do.”

“Diaz works for Pacho Herrera.”

“Got that right. After the bombing, he disappeared. May have been him.”

“You're saying the president of the school was involved in something Cali didn't like?” Javier frowns. “We would've known about that.”

Feistl snorts, slapping the folder down on Javier’s desk. “Yeah. We're always one step ahead, sir.”

Javier lets the attitude slide when he opens the folder. “Puta.”

He doesn't love the smug look on Feistl’s face. “The president’s son partied with North Valley just before the attack.”

“Jesus. He transported coke for them?” Javier flips through the file, lingering on images of the president’s mangled body, then the recovered cocaine from the operation.

“All the way to Panama.”

“How dutiful.”

“Yeah, well, like a good little soldier, he lost one of the duffels on the trip. North Valley wanted money to compensate, and the president offered to pay it. Looks like Cali wanted the world to see what happens when you get in with the wrong cartel. Fucking over North Valley on some money might have helped Herrera sleep better, too, I guess.”

Javier only breaks his intensive eye contact with the folder to pin a glare on Feistl. “Do I wanna know how you got this intel?”

“I have informants, sir.” Feistl chews on his retort for a moment before he decides it's worth saying. “You used to have those, too.”

“As I so love being reminded,” grumbles Javier. “Okay. Fine. Thank you. Where’s the kid now?”

“Turn a couple pages and you'll see that the prodigal son decided to pay his dad a visit the day of the attack.”

Jesus. The kid’s bloodied body greets Javier, and he closes the folder. Something nips at him. “Cali’s M.O. isn't bombs. It's not public attacks. They get by on threats, not action.”

Feistl scrubs at his jaw with his hand. He looks like he hasn't shaved in a while. “My informant overheard a conversation between Pacho and one of Cali’s sicarios. He mentioned a lost bag of money.”

“And your informant is close to Herrera?”

“In a way.”

Javier’s getting a headache. He rubs two fingers over his lips, squinting faintly at the folder. He should've worn his glasses. “Okay. Keep looking. We know who was behind the bombing, right? So we raid manufacturing houses in Cali to get some of those bombs off the streets. And look for Diaz.”

Feistl slaps his hand on the doorframe—his typical way of saying roger that—and moves to leave. “Oh, shit. One more thing. Your wife called while you were out. I answered your phone for you.”

Javier grits his teeth and tries not to reach for a cigarette. “Keep looking for Diaz.”

Before Feistl can back out of his office all the way, Javier has the telephone to his ear. “Hey, cielito,” comes his boss’s gentle rasp. Chris doesn't hear much more than that, closing the door behind him, but it makes him smile a little. Peña’s got one hell of a heart; he just lets it beat louder for her.

When she finally appears through the front doors, Javier finally breathes. He doesn’t realise he's been holding his breath until he sees her take the steps down to meet him in the pickup zone.

“Bonita,” he murmurs, crowding and kissing her before he even bothers to open the door for her. She laughs into his mouth at his tenacity but kisses him back just as eagerly. Her back meets the truck door and it's the sound of a horn honking that forces him away from her. He glares at the car waiting for him to move out of the way even though he's in the wrong.

She waves at the driver in apology and climbs up into the truck. Javier turns out of the pickup zone and grabs her hand.

“Fucking…” He huffs, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “Fuckin’ missed you. Jesus Christ, these assholes are trying to kill me.”

She beams at her grumpy husband and places their joined hands on her belly. “We missed you, too.”

Javier is lucky the drive home is so brief. His blood is humming with the need to be close to her, his bones weary with the weight of stress. He hoists her up and wraps her legs around his hips before they've even made it through their door. She buries her face in his neck and kisses everywhere she can reach. “Gotta give you your present, vaquero. Slow down.”

He pulls away and gives her a look that melts her. The fucking look. He’s staring up at her with those brown, begging eyes, a hopeful gleam in his smile. “Gonna tell me now?”

“Gonna set me down?”

He pats her thigh before he sets her on the floor. She wraps her hand around his tie and pulls him to the sofa. “Sit,” she says softly, kissing him on the cheek.

He's a little too eager when he obeys her command, adjusting himself on the sofa and spreading his thighs wide. She bites her lip, salivating at the sight of his strong body, so receptive to her. He's already hardening in his jeans, visibly straining against his zipper, and it only worsens when she hooks her thumbs in the waistline of her long skirt and pulls it down with her panties.

“Jesus.” Javier’s eyes are glued to her body as she reveals it to him, from her glistening cunt to her swelling breasts as she lifts her shirt over her head and unclips her bra. His hand flies to his length, squeezing it over his jeans. “Fuck, baby. Fuck, I wanna touch you.”

She steps closer, her legs bracketing one of his thighs, and removes his hand from his cock. She lifts it to her mouth and sucks on two of his fingers, swirling her tongue around them. His lips part, unconsciously, shifting in his seat and awaiting her permission to touch her. Her bump is more pronounced in this light: the shadows arch over it and bathe it in the soft orange low from the lamp beside the couch.

“You want to touch me?” she says, whisper-soft, bringing his wet fingers to her pussy and pressing them against her clit. Her eyes flutter, and Javier doesn't know if it's possible to be harder than he is right now.

“Fuck,” he rasps, swallowing hard. “Baby, please…”

She bends her knees until she's straddling his thigh on the cushions, her wet pussy darkening the fabric of his jeans. Her breath shudders out of her. “You can watch,” she says, gliding her hips experimentally, letting out a moan that makes his entire body convulse with shivers.

“Fuck!” His head tips back until he stops himself, desperate to watch her grind on him. He keeps his hands dutifully by his sides and fixated on her face as her brow furrows in pleasure, her eyes struggling to focus on him, her hands lifting to her tits and squeezing.

He's going to die. He cannot refrain from touching her. He needs her more than he needs air right now, and he'll suffocate happily inside her body. But Christ, he wants to watch her fall apart like this.

“Feels so good,” she gasps, rocking on his thigh, the friction against her clit sending jolts of pleasure ricocheting off each nerve. “Oh, fuck, yes. You're so good to me, Javi. So strong, always keeping me safe. Putting your baby in me.”

She's always been vocal during sex, but this is something else. This is making him leak precum into his pants, his mind going dizzy and lolling with lust. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, but it does nothing to help him clear his head. “Fuck. Fuck. You like that? Like getting yourself off?”

Her moan breaks into a whine as she picks up her pace, her hands clutching his broad shoulders to keep herself from listing. Javier can't hold back anymore, not when her tits press up against him in her desperation to come. He holds onto her hips, squeezing her soft flesh as she stiffens, crying out his name. She soaks his jeans, falling into him, her face buried in his neck. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, kissing her temple, his fingers gently tracing up and down her sides. “Fuckin’ great present.”

She giggles, drunkenly nipping at his throat. “Not done yet.”

He gently urges her away from him so he can look her in the eye, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “There’s more? Jesus, bonita, go easy on me.”

“You need to feel good,” she purrs, squeezing his cock over his jeans.

He hisses. “Fuck. I feel good. I feel real good already.”

Her lips chase his, and he ends it happily, cradling the back of her head as his tongue explores her mouth. She shifts so she's straddling his hips, sitting right atop his cock. “Tell me where you want me.”

He's so lightheaded he can barely process her words, let alone speak. Javier drops his face into her neck this time, breathing in her scent. She's fresh air and rippling water and hormones, and she's popping open the button of his jeans and pulling out his cock. It taps against his stomach as he makes his decision. “Turn around, baby. Sit on my cock; I’ll take care of you. ¿Claro?”

She does so with an excited smile, shuffling around so his cock rests between her asscheeks. Javier holds onto her and shifts down the couch so she can lift up and sink herself down perfectly on him. He works her open, gently guiding her to rest against his chest. She turns her head to meet his eyes, clouded with desire. Her laugh is breathless when he bottoms out inside her. “I'm supposed to be taking care of you,” she mutters, lazily nosing her way along his cheek until she finds his mouth.

“You are.” Javier rolls his hips, thick and heavy inside her, and nibbles her earlobe. His arm is around her belly like a seatbelt, keeping her snug against his chest as he drags his cock in and out, in and out—

“Javi!” she moans, her thighs trembling around a particularly deep stroke. It makes him feel good, really fucking good, making her clamp down on him like this, her changing body supple and seeking his touch. She's all his to hold this way. She's his to touch forever. Her hair drapes over his own shoulder, soft and rich with her shampoo, and Javier eases her thighs open to keep her firmly on his cock.

“Who makes you feel this good, hmm?” he coos into her ear. It wrecks her, her sweet drunken eyes trying to focus on him. He grunts when he prods at her cervix, so fucking deep inside her hot, wet body that he's having trouble seeing straight, too. “Who gets to give you a baby? Say it, sweetheart.” He nips her jaw. “Dime.”

She gasps, grasping at his wrists, her eyes rolling back in her head. It's the very picture of eroticism: she's writhing and frowning and trying to stave off her orgasm, make it last. She never wants to lift herself off his delicious cock.

“Ohhh, you. It's you, Ja—vi!” He presses two fingers to her clit and makes her squeal, hips rocking up against them. He soothes her back against him, keeping himself nice and warm with her body. “It's you, amor, it’s you. You're the one who fucks me this good. You gave me a baby. You're gonna be a daddy. Fuck, it feels so good, Javi, oh!”

“That's right, baby.” His balls draw up at the sound of her babbling for him, his fingers rubbing circles into her clit. Her orgasm is intense when it crashes down on her, but he's got her, he always does. “Easy, easy,” he whispers into her ear, watching her jerk and writhe on top of him, her cunt soaking his cock. “Fuck,” he grits out, tucking his cock all the way inside her warmth. “Jesus. I’m gonna—”

His words crumble to groans when he comes, the pleasure crackling up his spine. He bites down on her shoulder as her pussy milks him, his cock drowning her in hot cum. They both collapse backward on the sofa, Javier’s mouth still attached to her skin, pressing gentle kisses around the bite mark.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he grumbles. “Does it hurt?”

She just giggles, high-pitched and somewhat delirious. He loves her afterglow; she smells of sex and her, and she always laughs. It's never felt emasculating. “You could never hurt me, vampiro.”

“That…” He huffs his way back to her face, turning her face toward him with his finger, and kissing her softly. “… was a good surprise.”

“Mmm. Maybe I don't fuck you enough,” she says, kissing him back. “Shouldn't have been that big a surprise.”

“Honey. You fuck me plenty.” He laughs into her mouth this time. Her post-sex giggles have their way of infecting him. “I’m an old man, remember?”

She laces their fingers together and places their hands on her belly. “Our little baby,” she says softly, playing with his fingers, “is gonna be so safe and happy with their papá.”

Javier’s entire body feels like it's swelling with the choking, lurching feeling of love for this woman. He slants his mouth over hers, caressing her jaw with his thumb, taking his time with the kiss and relishing the sweetness of her mouth. He'll never forget the first time he tasted her. And here, draped in the body of his pregnant wife, inside their dim little orange-lit home, Javier wants to forget every day before her.

MONTH 5

Most days, his job is thankless. Not that he welcomes the praise; in fact, he'd rather sit at home and talk in whispers with his wife while they share dinner. She knows what to say. She knows when he doesn't need her to say anything. The world doesn't know, and they never seem to learn.

Javier likes his smoke breaks. He doesn't like the actual smoking. He feels like an asshole, a failure, every time he puts a cigarette between his lips, remembering his promise to her that he'd quit.

I had a smoke today. Hands on her body, caressing the smooth skin up and down her sides, the only tonic that exists. It was a confession he'd wanted to smother until he suppressed the urge again and quit, for real this time. But he knows what happens when he keeps things from her: he knows the self-hatred that festers, black flesh in a wound, when he lets the silence stretch between them. He knows how it feels to push her away. He never wants to feel that shit again.

I don't know if you know this about yourself, she said, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him in the darkness, but your job is stressful. And you've always been a smoker.

I tried, baby. It was an excuse. A shitty one. But he wanted her to know. He really did try.

She lifted her hand to his face and traced his lips with her fingers. I know you did. Do you think that makes me love you any less? She lowered her fingers only to grip his chin. Because you'd be real estúpido to think something like that.

Jesus, he doesn't know how she does it. How she loves him the way she does.

His fifteen-minute smoke break is the time he carves out for being alone. It's the bright, languid sky as the clouds roll across it. It's the whorls of smoke lifting to join them. It's the bustling of suits between buildings and the sheer lack of anyone approaching to pester him. He's found the perfect spot behind the wall to sequester himself. He manages to get half his cigarette smoked down before someone decides to fuck over his plan to be alone for a fraction of his day.

“Agente Peña. ¿Puedo decir algo? (May I have a word?)”

Javier glances over at the man who's intruded on his mandated fifteen minutes. Obviously a reporter, carrying a tiny tape recorder with a belt clip. Javier lifts a brow—does he carry that thing on his jeans in the off-chance he can ambush a DEA agent for a story?

“You can have two,” he grunts. “Smoke break.”

The reporter doesn't give up, which doesn't surprise Javier. “I’m from The Bogotá Post. Would you care to comment on the DEA’s failed raid in search of Miguel Rodríguez?”

He certainly would not fucking prefer to reminisce on that.

“No comment.”

“And the sicarios who planted the bomb in the attack against President Gomez? Have they been apprehended?”

Apprehended? No. They've done an impressive amount of guesswork into who's involved, sure, but Alvaro Diaz has fled the country, for all they know. As for Cali’s involvement… They haven't spoken a word about it, nor will they. They'll let some other small, hopeful cartel take the credit. It's not their way of doing things: planting bombs and killing civilians. But if their rivals in North Valley were involved, they may have thought it worth it just to fuck them over a little, send a message to potential allies.

Either way, someone planted a bomb at a school. And nearly killed Javier’s pregnant wife.

He takes his time puffing at his cigarette. “No comment.”

The reporter clears his throat. “Agent Peña, can you confirm the rumours of escalating rivalry between the Cali Cartel and North Valley?”

Javier taps out some ash. “No comment.”

“Your wife was a victim in the bombing, isn't that right?”

Javier grinds his teeth and almost bites through his cigarette. His wife isn't a fucking victim. She's alive. She's healthy and safe and he's going to break this asshole’s jaw if he keeps trying to toe his way into Javier’s personal life.

“I hear your wife is pregnant, Agent Peña.”

One… two… three…

“Did the incident harm the baby?”

The smoke stops curling from Javier’s cigarette. He plucks it from his mouth, turns slowly toward the reporter, and presses the butt of the smouldering cigarette to his chest.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The reporter backs away until his spine slams against the wall, smacking away the ash on his shirt. “I…”

Javier can't clear the red mist. “Ask me again,” he says, stalking toward the man and sizing him up. “You want an answer, right? So ask me again.”

“I won't print it,” he says frantically.

“No, you won’t.” Javier looks down his nose at the reporter. “You don’t ask questions about my life. You don't ask or say or print a fucking word about my wife. If you want a story, ask the guys in the mail room. They’ll pick something out of the trash for you.”

He turns and heads back inside, nostrils flaring, slamming doors and drawing worried glances. More than glances, he figures, when the whispers. What's angered the boss so much? That's just him. No, someone definitely pissed him off.

“Don't you all have work to do,” he grumbles under his breath, charging through the bullpen. “Where’s Ramirez?”

“On lunch, sir,” says Cindy.

“Tell him nobody in the fuckin’ building talks to a single reporter who wants to target my family for their stories.” Javier shuts the door behind him, locking himself inside his office before anyone else can make the choice to bother him. He loosens his tie and picks up his phone.

In the bullpen, Cindy and the others exchange brief, knowing glances.

He’s rushing up the stairs to their apartment, fumbling for the keys, nearly falling over himself to burst through the door, and searching for his wife through the tunnel that suffocates the edges of his vision.

There she is, in the bedroom, shrugging out of her blouse and exposing her beautiful, soft, swelling belly to him. “Hi, baby,” she says, beaming up at him. “Sara drove me home. I hope things weren't too—mmmph!”

Javier cups her face in his hands and kisses her. She stumbles backward with the force of it, but he guides her toward the wall and gently balances her against it. He needs her. He needs this. Her blouse hangs off her shoulders, her swollen tits heavy against his chest, her body emanating hormones and jasmine and the perfume he bought for her birthday.

Javier presses closer, crowding her, her rounded belly an ever-present reminder against his abdomen. He gave her that. She's pregnant with his baby. Javier groans into her mouth, sliding his tongue across the seam of her lips for permission. She grants it, letting his tongue enter her mouth, letting him devour her the way he needs to. His hand slips down to her open shirt and squeezes her tits, then slides underneath the fabric, fingers splaying over her lower back.

She tastes so good, so sweet. There's citrus on her tongue from an orange she ate earlier. He tastes like smoke and wood fire. “You never… told me… what happened at… mmm, work,” she manages to gasp through his assault, winding her arms up around his neck.

“Need you,” he rasps. If he disconnects from her body now, if he loses the warmth of her skin, he'll die. He knows it.

“You have me. You have me.” She breathes it into him, telegraphs it onto his skin as her fingers fall to his chest, shoving off his jacket and trembling in their effort to unbutton his shirt. She pouts and it's so cute, so impatient, that he takes pity, trapping her hands in his and helping her shed his shirt.

“You next,” he says once he's shirtless, sliding the blouse off her shoulders and unclasping her bra. He growls at the sight of her tits and hoists her up onto his hips, lowering her gently onto the bed. She giggles at his overzealous attitude, but it pitches up into a whine when he lies over her and takes a nipple into his mouth, shucking down her skirt at the same time.

“Javi!” she gasps, her hand flying to his hair, fingers curling at the crown of his head. “Insaciable. What's gotten into you?”

He grunts, lavishing her nipple with his tongue, tugging it between his teeth and sucking hard. She moans, her head falling back against the mattress. He alternates between each nipple as his hand snakes between their bodies, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties to wet his fingers in her slit.

His eyes flicker up to meet hers, black pools that eclipse the sweet, rich brown, his lips still attached to her nipple. She whimpers at the sight: her husband so hungry for her, his tongue flicking and tasting her swollen tits like he’s the one that will be feeding from them. “Fuck,” she croaks, sparks of arousal crackling up and down her spine, a closed circuit.

He’s gone nonverbal, devoting all his body and mind to worshipping her body, sensitive and needy in her altered state. Javier wets her sternum with his tongue, her belly, pressing kisses to the little life growing in there, at last reaching her panties. He hums in satisfaction when he finds them soaked with arousal, peeling them away from her glistening cunt. His wife whimpers his name. “Please… Please, my love.”

He knows. He’s halfway to pleading, too. Javier flattens his tongue between her folds and grunts at the taste of her, bucking his hips into the mattress. He’s leaking into his fucking pants, looking up at her face, scrunched in pleasure, over the bump on her belly.

He laps at her clit, drenching his chin in her wetness as he buries his face deeper, licking and sucking at her clit, her hole, her entire fucking pussy until he’s making out with it. The sounds of his ministrations echo throughout the bedroom, mingled with the slick noises of her cunt and her soft moans.

Eating his wife out may be his favourite activity. The cacophony in his head quiets to a dull roar as he devours her, the hairs of his moustache creating the perfect friction against her clit, his groans of pleasure drowned by her cry as she bursts on his tongue.

He doesn’t relent while she rides out her high. If anything, he’s spurred on by it, swallowing down everything she gives him and spreading her cum around her pussy, lathering her clit with his soaking tongue.

“I… I can’t… papi…” She’s wrecked, her mascara dribbling down her cheeks in black tears. Javier moans at the nickname, his cock relentlessly twitching and beading precum into his briefs. He delves deeper, pressing his tongue into her hole. She screams his name but it comes out raw and used. “¡Papi! No puedo, no puedo—gonna come… gonna come again!”

And she does. Fuck, she soaks him, her thighs quivering around his head and her cunt pulsating around his tongue as she spills onto his tongue. Javier grunts, holding onto her thighs to keep her grounded, taking every drop she gives him and swallowing. For the first time since he got her naked, he speaks. “That’s it, bonita,” he coos, licking through her slit one last time and watching her twitch.

“Fuck.” She covers her face with her hands. “Fuck, Javi.”

Javier kisses his way back up her body until his clothed cock rests on her hip. “‘M sorry, baby,” he mumbles into her neck.

“For what?” she sighs, scratching her nails along his scalp. His cock twitches. He wonders if there’s anything she could do that wouldn’t make him horny. “For making me come twice? Malo.” She clicks her tongue. “You know that’s not allowed.”

She giggles when his pleading eyes meet hers, her handsome puppy dog, nipping at her jaw. “Can I fuck you?” he asks.

She pulls his face toward him and kisses him. “You’d better.”

Her eyes transcribe the meaning of her words. Fuck me until you can breathe again. Javier shuffles off the bed and almost trips over himself in his rush to get his pants off. His cock slaps up against his stomach, already dripping precum into his pubic hair, and he crawls over her body again. Keeping a hand on her bump, he slides inside her and bottoms out in one deep stroke.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to come like a fucking teenager, settling inside her even as she huffs and puffs like the hormonal, impatient siren she is. “I know, baby,” he says gruffly. “I need you, too. Need you so fuckin’ bad.”

“Then fuck me,” she pleads, rolling her hips.

Javier bares his teeth when he picks up his rhythm, the one that gets her gushing around him. “Spoiled,” he groans. “You want my dick real bad, huh, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, nodding frantically. “I'm spoiled, I love you too much, love your big cock.”

The praise makes him double over, twitching inside her. His thighs nudge hers until they're sitting up against his hips and his free hand locks around the crook of her knee. He keeps her spread open for him as he fucks her, giving it to his spoiled little wife exactly how she wants it.

She knows it, too: that he'll give her everything she wants even if he tells her to beg for it through a façade that he won't. Sometimes, though, he knows it's okay to beg himself.

“Say it like you mean it,” he grits out, thrusting deep and hard and making her eyes roll back in her skull. “Mírame,” he demands. Eyes glassy and ringed with black, she tries to focus on his face and mostly succeeds. “Say it for me, baby. Fuck, wanna hear you. Please.”

She knows exactly what he needs. Her hands slip around her thighs and pull them toward her chest as best as she can with the bump in her belly, opening herself up wider so Javier can watch his cock disappear repeatedly inside the tight seal of her cunt. It makes him a little more wild, his head spinning with desire, her slick clinging to his length and his thighs. Every slap of his hips against her thighs, every wet suck of her pussy, make obscene noises that echo throughout their bedroom.

“Fuck!” she moans. “You fuck me so good, Javi. You're so big. Baby, it feels so go—od!”

He moulds his hands to her hips and lifts them slightly, deepening the angle and making her sob with pleasure. Javier hisses, his cock twitching inside her. “Yeah? Like that?” he manages to say between breaths. “Taking me so well. Good fuckin’ girl. You close?”

She cries out when his thumb presses into her clit. “Ohhhhh, Jav, honey, I need to come. Wanna come on your cock.”

But he's not quite done yet. He pulls out of her and urges her gently onto her side, sidling up behind her as he plants sloppy kisses up her spine. Tasting her skin at her shoulder, Javier grasps his cock and slides it through her folds. He shudders at how soaking wet she is. “Muy hermosa,” he whispers into her body. “Too pretty for me. Gonna kill me someday.”

“I will if you don't put your dick inside me,” she huffs.

“Shh, bonita,” he coos, notching his leaking head at her hole. “Be patient.”

“Fuck patience,” she gasps, pushing her ass back against him. “Take me. Take me, Javi. I’m yours.”

He slips in easily, her walls sucking him in and squeezing his length without abandon. He grunts into her neck, and she gasps at the first short thrust, her hand flying backward to grab a handful of his hair. His hand snakes around to warm her belly while he nudges his leg between her thighs and keeps her spread wide. He can't reach her mouth like this, and he doesn't want to make her expend any more effort, so he sucks bruising kisses into her neck.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps. Her nails are scratching at his scalp, but it only makes him groan, and she knows it. He likes the delicious sparks of pain.

He fucks her hard but slow in this position, his cock pressing up against her front wall and making her lips part, her head collapsing into the pillow and foregoing her mission to kiss him. He guides her through it, nudging his nose against her cheek as he kisses her jawline, her throat, the corner of her mouth.

His fingers find her clit again, teasing the oversensitive bundle. She jerks in his grasp, pushing out soft whimpers. “Can’t… Can’t come again…”

“Please.” His voice sounds pathetic, his thrusts growing sloppy as his hips and stomach begin to pinch with his imminent orgasm. “Need to feel you come, baby. Please.”

“Javi, fuck, I can’t… need—” Her head turns, seeking his mouth, and he leans over her farther to slant his lips over hers. He slips his tongue along hers, tasting her, groaning into her mouth when he feels his balls pull up.

“C’mon, mamá. Give it to me.” He keeps rubbing her clit until he feels her body stiffen underneath him, losing control of her own movements, a telltale gush of warmth soaking his cock and thighs.

“Mmmm.” She keeps kissing him, getting messier, their noses bumping and his moustache tickling her upper lip. He fucks her hard, his cock throbbing with the need to fill her up with everything he has. “Dámelo, papi,” she whispers.

His grunts pitch up when he comes until they become whines. “Fuck. Fuck.” His mouth slips from hers, so he puts it on her shoulder instead, biting down. He pumps hot cum into her cunt with every twitch of his cock, puffing air over her skin and shuddering from his spine to his feet. He's pretty sure he whimpered a couple times when he came, but he doesn't care.

He keeps himself tucked inside her for longer than he should, her sweet body so warm, her scent so enticing. He rests his head next to hers and messily ties up her hair so he won't lie on it. She's immobile but smiling, her eyes fluttering shut as sleep pulls at her. Since her pregnancy, she's liable to fall asleep at any given moment—especially after three orgasms.

Still, she tangles her fingers with his, resting over her baby bump. “Tell me,” she says softly.

“What, baby?” He’s a little distracted by the soft skin of her throat, nosing his way to her ear and nibbling.

“What happened at work?”

He grunts unhappily. “Fucking reporter. Asking me questions.”

She giggles. “That's their job, Jav.”

“He was asking questions about you, mi amor.” He rubs their joined hands over her abdomen. “About our baby.”

That gets her attention. “What the fuck business does he think he has asking questions about our baby?”

Javier’s blood is thrilled by the beautiful, terrifying tone in the voice of the woman curled up in his arms. “Tranquila, mamá bear. I told him to fuck off. Nobody touches our baby.”

In fact, the thought alone is enough to summon the beast that lives in his bloodstream. It has claws and teeth and it dwarfs the sun. Nobody touches her. Nobody touches the baby inside her. He and the monster will ensure it.

“Javi. Javi, wake up.”

He's become a light sleeper since her pregnancy began, finely-tuned to any sounds of distress that come from her side of the bed. She's sitting up in bed, one hand on her belly and another grasping his wrist.

Panic strikes him like the chime of midnight. He sits bolt upright and places his hand over hers. “Baby, what's wrong?”

But her eyes are soft and buttery, still half-asleep. He feels wide awake, terror-stricken at the thought that something’s gone awry. “Feel,” she whispers, slipping her hand out from beneath his so his palm is flush with her belly.

He waits, watching her stomach with a frown, until the jolt happens. It's small, concentrated, the minuscule undulating movement that makes him blink up at her through the darkness. “Holy shit.”

She begins to laugh, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “Holy shit,” she sniffles.

Javier crawls up next to her, his hand still firm on her belly, feeling the flip and turn of his baby inside her. “Mi amor,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the salty tears on her face.

Their hands remain there well into the morning.

MONTH 6

They're both late for work today because Javier wanted to fuck his wife before breakfast.

It's not that he's any more insatiable than he was before her pregnancy: it just seems he likes to take his time with it, take his time with her. Kiss every square inch of her body and admire it from above or below as they connect, puzzle pieces in the darkness or the morning glow. Hold onto her afterward and soothe her. Make her feel worshipped. By the time he's through with the worship, though, it usually means they're scrambling not to get chewed out by their respective bosses. Thankfully, hers is a lot more forgiving.

He drives her to work and kisses her good-bye on the steps. He makes sure she gets inside safely and drives to the Embassy. He buries his nose in paperwork and wants to shred it all to scraps. He catches air of the word Stechner and sincerely hopes he isn't in the building. He takes a smoke break in his usual spot, thanks to Ramirez sending word to the reporters that like to linger around the Embassy about Agent Peña’s nasty attitude. It's nice and quiet.

He calls her at lunch and listens peacefully as she talks about her day, her coworkers, the excitable kicking of the baby inside her. She puts the phone to her belly and Javier whispers into the receiver.

“Te amo, pequeño. Take it easy on mamá. She's keeping you safe in there.”

She laughs. “Don't scold our baby before it’s born, gruñón. How's work?”

“A miracle I haven't gone blind.”

“Are you wearing your glasses?” she asks sweetly.

He isn't. “Are you?”

She clicks her tongue. “Answering a question with another question is an admission of guilt, my love.”

“Yeah? Who told you that?”

“You,” she says. “And I’m not the one who spends all day reading files in the dark. Put on your glasses, vaquero, and I’ll be real nice to you tonight.”

Javier scrambles to tuck the phone between his ear and shoulder, digging around in his jacket pocket. He slips his glasses onto his face.

“That's my boy,” she says teasingly. “Now take a look in your wallet. You’ll need your glasses to examine it properly.”

Javier frowns. “You put something in my wallet?”

“Just look, sweetheart.”

He flips open his wallet and finds the edge of a Polaroid picture peeking out. He plucks it out and nearly slips off his chair.

His eyes flick upward to make sure his door is locked before he fixes his eyes back on the image. Nobody else gets to see this: his wife, scantily-dressed in his favourite baby blue lace, taking the picture of herself from above as she displays her body on their bed. One leg is bent and the other stretching out, a hand resting just beneath the curve of the bump on her belly, her tits spilling out of the lacy bra. She's got that wicked smile on her face, and Javier drops the picture abruptly on the desk to frantically adjust his hardening cock in his trousers. The phone tips off his shoulder, and he has to scramble to pick it up.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Jesus.” He can hear her laughing as he fixes the phone back to his ear. “When did you take this?”

“You were working late a couple nights ago. Thought I’d make the next time a bit more enjoyable.”

There's rustling outside his door, and he swipes the picture off the desk. “Holy shit. You expect me to get back to work now? Fuckin’ fox.”

“Just think of it like motivation,” she says, oh-so innocently. He pictures her twirling the telephone cord around her finger, and it doesn't help his new erection. “It’ll make you want to come home that much faster.”

“Yeah. Got that right.” He winces as he squeezes his shaft over his pants again. “Playing with fire, bonita. I’ll have to shoot anyone who tries to take my wallet in the fucking head.”

“Aw, honey.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “You can take one next time.”

He huffs. She's trying to kill him. “Of me or you?”

“Why not both?”

“Sir, we've got a likely location for Alvaro Diaz.”

Javier’s head shoots up and his neck twinges. Feistl stands in his doorway. Apparently, Javier forgot to lock it. “Jesus, Feistl. Knock.”

He seems to recognise that he's intruded on what the bullpen has dubbed Agent Peña’s wife time and cringes. “Sorry, sir.”

He shakes his head and says into the phone: “I gotta go, baby.”

“Don't work too hard,” she purrs. “Say hi to Chris for me.”

Javier’s mood turns sour the second he hangs up. “Where’s Diaz?”

Feistl is smart not to apologise again or linger. “Safe house outside Cali. There aren't phones in the house, but he made a call to his girlfriend from a pay phone down the street. It was the only house nearby registered as abandoned, but satellite confirms they've been keeping up with the gardening.”

The news is thrilling. “Shit. Your informant was right.”

Feistl shakes his head. “That's the thing,” he says. “My informant is a male escort who Pacho paid pretty handsomely. They were seeing each other regularly, but apparently North Valley was paying him a lot more to approach a DEA agent and pin the bombing on Cali.”

Javier doesn't know if he can frown any deeper. His wife would probably insist that he's capable of anything.

“North Valley wanted the school president dead? What, because his kid fucked up the coke delivery?”

“They've been known to get violent when people don't pay their dues. It checks out.” Javier has to admit he agrees. Cali’s involvement in the bombing makes little sense given their dedication to politics for getting what they want. Feistl continues, “Seems likely they also paid Diaz to plant the bomb so it would look convincing.”

“Explains why he's on the run.”

“Bingo.” Feistl folds his arms over his chest and says, “My guy’s got a lot riding on my promise to get him out of the country.”

“So why come to you with the truth?” Javier points out. “He could run away with North Valley’s money.”

“Not if Herrera finds out. Cali’s not publicly violent, but that doesn't stop them from avenging betrayal in private.” Feistl shrugs. “He knows we're the only ones that can get him out—safely.”

Javier pins Feistl with a glare. “You gotta be sure about this, Chris. Dead fucking sure. Especially if you want to apply for a visa.”

“I’m sure,” he replies. “This guy’s scared for his life. He wants no more part of their money. He just wants to get out.”

Javier rubs his jaw. “Okay. Good.”

Feistl pats the doorframe. “Team’s setting up to raid Diaz’s safe house. He won't see it coming. If he's there, we’ll get him.”

“Feistl.” The agent turns around in the doorway, and Javier sets his jaw. “By the book.”

“You got it, sir.”

Javier looks down at the picture on his desk. It’s a rare occasion he allows a photograph of himself, but he's happy to get behind the camera to document his wife’s beauty. This one is a memory from their honeymoon. The sun makes her squint and there's sand in her wind-blown hair, and she's laughing at something he said, though he doesn't remember what it was. She's wearing a flowing dress and carrying a pair of sandals in one hand, the other shielding her face from the sunlight. It's his favourite picture of her.

Second favourite.

“One more thing.”

He's doing things by the book this time around. He won't get entangled in the spidery webs of conspiracy again. He's got a family to stay alive and healthy for… as healthy as one can be in a life like this. But he stops Feistl anyway.

“When you bring in Alvaro Diaz,” says Javier, “I want to be the first to talk to him.”

Feistl’s brows shoot up. “Just talk, sir?”

He remembers the terror of that day: the brief seconds he thought his wife was gone forever.

“What else?” says Javier.

Feistl leaves without another word.

When she slides into the passenger’s seat, Javier leans in, grabs her chin, and kisses her like usual. But she doesn't relent once he begins to drive. Her mouth travels from his lips to his jaw to his ear, where she sucks and nibbles. Javier grunts, his hand flying to her thigh.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Fuck. Más despacio.”

“Javi,” she whines into his ear, her hand on his chest, indulging in the strong body of her husband as she traces his pecs, his stomach, the hardness in his lap. “Wanna suck your cock. Want to make you feel good. Let me? Please?”

He inhales sharply. He wants to. So badly it makes his throbbing cock twitch in his pants. She sees it, fondly squeezing his length with a hum. But he blinks hard and focuses on driving. “We can't, baby,” he says, swallowing the pang of self-loathing in his chest for refusing her, even for something so small. “Too crowded in here. Don't want you to get hurt.”

“You never used to care about that,” she teases, licking a stripe up his throat.

“This—shit, this fuckin’ truck,” he grunts, hips bucking up into her hand. “Too small. You gotta be comfortable.”

“You'll take good care of me.” She caresses his thighs and nuzzles her face into his neck. “I'll take care of you, too, Javier. You know I will. Please let me, honey.”

She really is spoiled. And Javier is nothing if not accommodating to his girl. He pulls into their driveway after a short but agonising drive and swiftly parks in the garage between two empty cars. She sidles up next to him on the bench and pulls him toward her for a kiss.

He cradles the back of her head and she cups his cheek. It's slow to begin, bending to his own whims as he takes his time tasting her. Her mouth opens for him and he plunders her mouth with his tongue. “Did you… like my… mmm, present?” she asks when he gives her room to breathe.

“Are you kidding me?” He pushes his hips up into her wandering hand to let her feel his aching erection. “Been hard all fucking day.”

She grins wickedly. “Want to know something?” she says, pulling back and perching with her legs folded underneath her. Her fingers slip buttons out of each hole on her blouse, slowly revealing her blue lace bra to him. “I changed before we left for work. Thought you'd like it.”

Javier lurches toward her and places his hands on her swollen tits. “Love these,” he murmurs, tracing his fingertips over the lace at the swell of her breasts. “My beautiful girl. Take it off.”

She slips the blouse off her shoulders and he can see her protruding belly, her blue panties peeking out from the waistband of her skirt. She's a picture. Prettier than even the little thing he keeps in his wallet. “Are you going to stare,” she says, “or will you take those stupid pants off?”

He unzips his dress pants and she yanks them down to his thighs, taking his briefs with them. Her mouth waters at the sight of his leaking head tapping against the hairs on his stomach. She shuffles backward until she has enough room to bend over him, pressing a flutter of kisses down his belly, up his twitching length, to its tip.

Javier’s head thunks against the driver’s window. His wife is on her knees in the fucking parking garage, on the bench of his truck, her ass arching up in the air as she wraps her lips around the head of his cock. He chokes on his own tongue. “Jesus… fuck.” His hand finds the crown of her head, resting comfortably, grounding himself in her soft hair. She suckles on the tip for a while, taking her time with him, hungry and hormonal and fucking dripping for him. “Fuck. That’s it. Doing so well. Fucking love you.”

He speaks in broken sentences, but it’s all right, because she can only moan around him as she begins to take him deeper. The hand that isn’t supporting her own weight shifts to fondle his balls, and he goes blind, bucking up into her throat without warning. She gags, and he’s ready to pull out, already muttering apologies, but the gaze she pins on him tells him she’s okay. She wants this. They’ve known each other for so long that even a fleeting glance will tell a story.

She sinks down until her nose is buried in his pubic hair, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. Javier reaches out and swipes them away with his thumb.

When she swallows around him, he thinks he goes cross-eyed. Then she begins a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down, and it’s so overwhelming that he forgets to breathe for a moment, schooling himself to relax his tense muscles and just feel.

And he feels. Every slow drag of his length along the walls of her hot, wet throat shakes loose his very soul and makes all of him tremble. The song of it is filthy and obscene, and its melody clings to the ceiling of his brain. It’s a clawing, high feeling he cannot rein in. It’s cloying and hazy. The window fogs with his breath when his head lolls, unable to remember his fucking name. Where is he, what is he, it’s her on her knees and it’s all he knows—

He can't even speak when he comes, when her mouth seals tight around him and her tongue wiggles along the vein on his shaft and her hand squeezes his balls. He just feels his face screw up, his brows pinching, and he unleashes a vaguely pitchy grunt, only half of which is clear through the rasp in his voice. He can’t even remember a curse word.

When she slides off his cock and swipes a drop of cum off his length, bringing it to her lips, he’s still recovering his vision. “Told you I’d be extra nice to you,” she says with a grin, tucking him back inside his pants and kissing him so sweetly that he’s dizzy with the shift.

“Come here,” he croaks, tugging her gently onto his lap. His hand rests on her belly like it usually does. Her lips are swollen, her makeup smeared, and he tucks her into his chest, folding her precious heart up inside his ribs so nobody will ever touch it again.

“Javi.”

“Mmm.”

“I think it’s a girl.”

MONTH 7

She's been staring at the little picture in her hand since they got home. Actually, she stared at it throughout the whole drive back, too. When he closes the door behind them and sits with her at the kitchen table, he looks at the picture, too.

They’re both so busy fawning over the little square image that they forget to make dinner until ten o’clock. As they lounge on the couch, a record crackling out Vicente Fernández, Javier plays with her fingers as he rests his head on her lap, humming along to the music into her growing belly.

“She’s gonna need a name,” he murmurs.

She hums, using her free fingers to toy with his hair. She’s exhausted, slipping in and out of dreamland, their daughter having kicked up a storm inside her today. “Our little butterfly. Little star. I’m fresh out of ideas, Javi,” she says groggily.

“We’ll figure it out, amor.” Javier presses his lips to the bump peeking out from beneath his button-up. It’s all she’s wearing, so his head is nice and warm on her thighs.

She giggles, her head falling back against the sofa. “I’m gonna have a little baby girl. Is it bad that I can’t wait?”

“I wanna hold her so bad it’s killing me,” says Javier. “But I still get to hold you.” He squeezes her hand.

“Casanova,” she mumbles, her eyes fluttering. Sleep is pulling at her.

“C’mon,” he urges softly, standing up so he can help her off the couch. “Gotta get you to bed, cariño.”

She protests with her mouth only, but her body is pliant and willing to go. Once they’re in bed, it’s minutes before her breathing slows and her lips part in blissful sleep. He watches her for a moment. His best friend. He used to pine over her like a puppy and wish he was the one who got to marry her over her shitty ex-husband. Here she is, his ring on her finger, and here they both are. Older, maybe wiser, but happier than they both were the first day he slipped into that nondescript little café and befriended the pretty girl behind the counter.

The pretty girl who’s carrying his little star.

“Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, placing his hand atop the bump on his wife’s belly. She remains asleep, content and warm in his arms. He's falling asleep, too, his eyelids dragging. But he feels compelled to say this. “Soy tu papá. You're inside your mamá right now, but we're gonna meet you soon.”

His eyes close, but he still faintly hears himself speak. “I'm gonna keep you safe, mi mariposa.”

On the bedside table lies the picture of the sonogram.

They round up Alvaro Diaz at the safe house, and he confesses to every crime. When Feistl and Van Ness escort him to the van, Javier is already inside it.

The kid is short, mousy, and won't meet Javier’s eye. “Alvaro Diaz,” he says. “You've got a real fuckin’ set on you, I’ll give you that. How much did they pay you, huh?”

“I…” Diaz shakes his head. “They didn't give me a choice. They threatened my girl.”

How very funny. Javier doesn't have a scrap of sympathy. The beast inside him is rearing up with its teeth snapping. “Yeah? Your girlfriend? She get away unscathed?”

Diaz nods meekly.

“How much did they pay you?”

“I… want a l—lawyer.”

Javier lifts a brow. “Did you enjoy it?”

“What?”

“Did you like it? Putting that bomb together and blowing up the president?”

Diaz’s hands are white-knuckling his own knees. “It wasn't personal,” he squeaks.

Even fucking funnier.

Javier leans forward and drowns Diaz in his black gaze. “You made it personal when your bomb almost killed my wife. You're lucky you're still alive to get a goddamn lawyer.”

“I'm resigning,” he tells her one night.

She lifts her head and frowns at him. “What? You're sure?”

“I’m sure.” He caresses her spine with his fingers. “I’m done, baby. I’m tired, I’m smoking, and I want to go home. Real home. I want to raise our baby somewhere safe and quiet, and I want you to be safe. I could never guarantee that here, and you still came with me.”

“You should know by now that I’ll follow you anywhere, Javier.” She smiles, kissing him deep and slow. And that's it. The end of it.

Next week, on a random Tuesday, a reporter presses a button on a tape recorder, and Javier throws his entire career away.

Crosby is furious, of course. On Javier’s desk sits an already-packed box of effects, a picture of her on top.

“Any aspirations you had for your career just got dragged behind the barn and shot.”

Javier thinks of his wife and the baby girl he gets to meet oh-so soon. This world, this building, and the people inside it seem so small in comparison.

“My aspirations have changed,” he tells Crosby. “I resigned from the DEA this morning.”

They're a little worried about getting to the airport only to get told she can't fly in her condition. But when the airline lets her on with no questions, Javier is a little worried about the lax security in this place. What kind of company lets a seven-month-pregnant woman fly cross-continent without so much as a medical once-over? She kisses his cheek as they settle in their seats and holds his hand. “I’m okay,” she tells him, because of course she knows what he's thinking.

When they touch down in Texas, Javier pulls along all the luggage until he notices her stop dead in her tracks. He's by her side immediately; he's been monitoring her Braxton Hicks contractions, they've both been counting the flutters and kicks to her belly, and nothing has been out of place. They see their doctor every two weeks, although now they'll need to consult a new physician in Laredo. If there's something wrong, he should be prepared to note it, take care of it. It doesn’t help the terror that strikes him.

But she's looking at a television inside the duty-free shop. BREAKING NEWS, it emblazons in red across the screen. He's seen so much breaking news in the past ten years that it hardly fazes him.

Then he reads it.

Universidad Nacional de Colombia bomber found dead in cell, suspected suicide.

Her hand flies to her belly and she sways a little on her feet. Javier steadies her, a hand steadfast on her back, guiding her to a nearby chair. “Baby,” he says softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and kneeling in front of her.

There are tears in her eyes. “I’m here,” she whispers. His hand covers hers: two thumbs rub circles on her belly, soothing the excitable baby inside. “We're here.”

He senses the conflict inside her. She's a loving soul, and a soul like that often aches for others more than herself. Sometimes she gets afraid to feel too happy. But they're home, together, so close to bringing their little butterfly into the world.

“I know, sweetheart.” Javier kisses her cheek. “I know.”

She smiles at him through her tears and brushes a knuckle across his chin. “Let's go home, Javi.”

MONTH 8

Javier has a problem.

It's two o’clock in the morning. They've left the window open for the past week because she complains about overheating in the night. Javier, who runs hot in his sleep, doesn't mind. That isn't his problem.

As his wife lies sleeping next to him, Javier stares up at the ceiling and tries to soothe his deep, thrumming arousal. It comes from the hormonal scent of her, belly round and lips parted in serenity, that banks off every wall in Javier’s head and rattles his brain against his skull. The hard line of his cock is visible, tenting the sheets, and he can't seem to conjure a single thought, no matter how dark or abhorrent, that will ease the ache of desire.

He can't wake her up. He won't. She's so peaceful in her sleep, the moon brushing her cheeks with silvery light, her lashes fluttering in the small movements of her eyes behind their lids. Her round belly peeks out beneath his button-up, which she insists on wearing to bed because it smells like him.

He wants to bury his body inside hers until they become one. He wants to possess her. He wants to sidle up right next to her and support her bump under his hands, breathe in the scent of her hair and the taste of her skin. He wants to slide his leaking cock inside her and fuck her deep, drawing those sleepy, buttery noises from her throat. But she's soft and still and he is certain he will become the world’s shittiest husband if he wakes his pregnant wife to take care of him.

He tries to shift slowly off the bed, but a little whine puffs out of her mouth. She's got one leg hitched up over one of his, her hand over his chest, and her calf flexes to keep him close. Javier’s heart is pounding wildly to keep pace with the love he has, the need he has. “I’m here,” he whispers to her, though he’s almost sure she’s still asleep. “I’m not leaving, baby. Just going to the bathroom.”

Her nose traces a lazy path from his collarbone to his jawline. “Can I go with you?” she mumbles. Her sleepy words ignite a candle in his chest, one that melts the wax of his sensibilities.

Is it possible to fall in love a million times with one person?

He puts his forehead to hers. Her eyes haven’t opened once. “You need to sleep, vaquera.”

“‘M pregnant,” is her nonsensical reply.

“That’s right, baby. Gotta get your sleep.”

“Mmm-mmm,” she protests. “Means I get what I want.”

Oh, she has him there. Javier chuckles, and her eyes finally peel open. Her sleepy grin makes him lean down and attack her lips for a kiss. She barely reciprocates, merely humming happily, but he doesn’t mind. She lets him slip out of bed and follows him, a little waddle in her step with her belly in the way. Her back has been aching so badly for the past month, and he can see her weary face pinch a little in pain when she first stands up. Since he sleeps naked, she spots his aggressive hardness instantly, tapping his stomach and leaking into his pubic hair. She bites her lip. “Oh, honey.”

“Tell me about it,” he grumbles.

When he guides her to the bathroom, he crowds her up against the vanity and laces his fingers underneath her belly. When he lifts the weight of the bump, she audibly moans, her head falling back onto his shoulder. He nips her earlobe, certain she feels the hardness of him at her ass.

“Thought you had to pee,” she sighs, a little giggle slipping out from the sheer relief of him taking the weight of her baby in his arms.

He’s so busy burying his face in her neck and inhaling her scent that he forgets to respond for a moment. “Need to jerk off,” he groans. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

She hums. Every little noise she makes sends sparks crackling down his spine. “Thinking about me?” she asks, gazing at him in the mirror through her heavy-lidded eyes.

“Mmm. So soft.” He kisses her neck, her shoulders, toying with the collar of his shirt draped over her. “So beautiful. You smell so fucking good. Carrying my baby.”

“Don’t have to jerk off,” she says, turning her head and seeking his lips. He slots his mouth over hers and traps her in a soft kiss. He’s leaking onto the back of the shirt she wears, and she reaches backward to grasp his shaft. Her hands are warm and soft and so much gentler than he would be. He grits his teeth against her cheek. “Let me do it, Javi.”

He huffs. “You shouldn’t… fuck, shouldn’t have to—”

“I want to.” She squeezes the head of his cock and his chin falls onto her shoulder.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you.” He whispers it like a prayer into her ear as she swipes her thumb through the precum at his tip and begins to slowly jerk him off.

It’s slightly awkward in this position: his arms around her, holding up her belly, one of her hands twisted and tucked between their bodies. But it feels so fucking good to have some relief—for both of them. His mouth falls open and his brow furrows when she establishes a quick rhythm, his nose crushed in the crook of her neck. He needs to breathe air that's touched with her scent or he’ll suffocate and drop dead.

She rests her head against his, the tension in her back loosening, the coils that tighten between the knobs of her spine untying as her husband holds her swollen belly.

Even half-conscious, she knows she's making him feel good. His precum lubes him up enough that she can stroke him easily, and she whispers things into the darkness of the bathroom as his breathing warms her throat and his heaving chest pushes against her back.

So hard. Breathe, Javi, I’ve got you. You always take good care of me. Let me make you feel good.

She likes when he whines. It makes her feel strong, capable, sexy. Her mere touch sucks the breath out of him in fast, punching groans—ones that pitch upward into whimpering croaks of her name.

She coos at him through the din, the thick hazy air that tugs at her senses with the desire to sleep. It doesn’t take long for him to come. He really does huff out a whine when the pleasure racks his body, jerking his hips up into her hand and spilling hot cum all over her back, her ass, his own stomach. It’s a mess, and it isn’t the most earth-shattering orgasm he’s ever had—it certainly doesn’t compare to being inside her—but she’s oh-so tired, and sex with Javier is more often than not a doubly exertive sport. Besides, coming by her hand is infinitely more pleasurable than his own. He winds down by breathing into her skin, kissing her jaw and her cheek and her shoulders and murmuring soft thank-yous.

He cleans her up and brings her back to bed after they both use the bathroom, and Javier can sleep better. When he wakes up, his fingers are entangled with hers, and his mouth has somehow found his favourite spot on her back. Their wedding rings glimmer in the golden Texas sun.

She loves the barn cats.

Because she knows Javier won't let her lift a finger, not even to help carry a bucket of slop for the pigs, she's settled into a chair near the haylofts where the stray cats love to roll and lounge. She has a parenting book in her hand, but there's one particular calico who's taken a liking to her and keeps bumping his nose into the novel. She coos at the old, one-eyed feline and abandons her book to gather him up in her arms.

He settles in happily, nudging his furry forehead against her baby bump and curling on her lap. She introduces herself to the cat as if he can understand her, and Javier watches her with a surprising jolt of jealousy. Jealous of a goddamn cat. He huffs to himself and continues to saddle up the brown-and-white paint horse Cowboy.

“I wish I could ride,” she tells him while the calico licks her fingertips.

“You will, baby.” Javier saunters over once he’s got Cowboy in his saddle and she tips her head down to look at him over her sunglasses. He’s a different man in Texas. She rarely saw him out of a suit in Colombia, which was fine and dandy, but here, he wears those tight fucking jeans and those boots and those flannel button-ups. He keeps his moustache trimmed as usual, and he’s the same Javier she’s always been in love with, but there’s something about the way he carries himself here.

It makes her beam a little. Sometimes, she gets overwhelmed by the sheer joy she feels at having him in her life. Joy that he’s alive, safe, and healthy. Joy that she gets to wake up married to her best friend every day.

Javier lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “Just gonna have to ride a different cowboy in the meantime.”

She snorts. “My very own poet.”

They’ve taken up residence in the guest house on the ranch to make sure they don’t impede on Chucho’s territory, even though he’s repeatedly told them he’s overjoyed to have them back in Laredo. She loves Javier’s father, and he loves her like a daughter, but it’s nice not to share guilty looks when Chucho teases them about their late-night activities over breakfast.

He was ecstatic when they told him she was having a girl. I can’t wait to meet my first-ever nieta, he gushed. When they touched down in Texas, Chucho was waiting to pick them up at the airport with a surprise in the backseat: a tiny pink onesie. She burst into tears and wouldn’t release Chucho from their embrace, but he didn’t mind. Javier had to discreetly wipe a tear aside under his sunglasses.

The calico hops dutifully off her lap when she pats his bum to signal she needs to stand up. “He’s beautiful,” she remarks, accepting Javier’s hand. He holds onto it as they greet Cowboy once again. She lets him sniff her hand and he nuzzles into her palm. She grins up at him. “Hey, stud. You’re the one carrying my husband around here, huh?”

Cowboy snorts in accordance. Javier pats his snout. “C’mon, old man. Let’s round up those sheep before it gets dark.”

“Two real vaqueros,” she muses. “You gotta wear your hat, baby. Please.”

Javier reaches around a post and plucks a cowboy hat off a hook. She practically squeals in excitement, but he sets it on top of her head first. He assesses her, that cute little maternity dress underneath one of his flannel shirts, complete with his hat that dips down over her brows. “Yeah. Looks a hell of a lot better on you.”

She schools her face to look somewhat stern. “Stick ‘em up, partner.”

Javier pats her ass. He decides to make her wear that the next time she rides him. For now, he finds another hat and secures it on his own head, guiding Cowboy out of his pen and toward the sheep pens. Out in the sunshine, the horse bends his head and gently brushes his snout against her swollen belly, his ears flicking with curiosity. Javier clicks his tongue with a warning of, “Careful, boy,” but she smiles and rubs Cowboy’s snout.

“My baby girl is in here,” she tells the horse. “Can you feel her?”

Javier grins, and he looks good enough to eat in that hat, his moustache and his crooked smile and his dimples striking her deep in her gut. She hopes their little girl will get that smile, those dimples, those eyes. “He can. Animals are like that.”

“So many new friends.” She steps back and watches fondly as Javier swings himself up onto Cowboy’s back. “I like it here, Jav. I really do.”

Javier’s chest swells with a pride that fills him up all the way to his throat. He swallows. This is where he grew up. His childhood ranch. In the main house, Chucho cooks for their twice-weekly family dinner. The home runs over with memories, all the way from the front porch to the outskirts of the property where he would sneak out to watch the stars at night or drink beers with his friends. It’s where he watched his mother and father navigate their lives so deeply in love, and it’s where he now gets to live with the love of his life. The sun is beginning to set and he can’t help but wish his mother were here to meet the incredible woman next to him.

While he rounds up the sheep into their pens, his wife takes a walk around the property, never straying too far at his request. She greets the sheepdogs and bides her time cuddling up with another stray cat until Javier is hopping down from Cowboy’s back and heading across the field to join her.

A spark of panic rises in him when she turns toward the river.

Javier calls her name suddenly. “Don’t go near the water.”

She looks back over her shoulder with a frown. “Is it deep?”

There’s some tension in his jaw that he rubs away as he approaches her. “The boats,” he tells her.

She takes a step backward until she bumps into his chest. “Shit,” she mutters, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry, Javi. Let’s go back.”

His gaze lingers a little on the river, void of a soul even as he pictures the motor churning up the water, and shakes his head. She squeezes his hand. “Whatever you’re about to say,” she says softly, “don’t. They’re still here, and they always will be. But you…” Her fingers at his temple, brushing aside stray hairs, soothe the erratic heartbeat in his chest. “… saved so many lives. Stopped so much evil. Don’t you dare say a word about it being for nothing. Those people that didn’t die because of you would disagree. Me included.”

Javier places his hand on her belly. “Mi mariposa,” he says, whisper-quiet. “Your mamá always knows what to say.”

There’s a little porch swing outside the Peña home. It’s a nice wraparound porch, the kind she wants when they find a place of their own. It’s long after dinnertime, and Chucho is in bed. Husband and wife swing idly on the bench.

“I can’t wait to look at her, Javi,” she tells him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He knows the feeling. He’s pictured her a hundred times: whether she’ll have her mother’s eyes or his, her nose or his. Nothing will compare to really knowing.

They stare up at the stars together. Of all the blinking lights in the galaxy and the planets that may or may not house life, he got to exist on this one, with the one person who erases that sensation of feeling so utterly small in such a big universe.

MONTH 9

She’s angry.

Javier senses it when he closes the door softly behind him. She’s sitting at the table with two plates of steaming food atop it. She meets his eye and stands up abruptly, despite the swaying she gets from the adjustment of her big belly. He rushes to steady her, but she smacks his hand away.

“You're late,” she says plainly, her eyes brimming with tears. It’s only five o’clock. An early finish on the ranch.

He knows his wife better than she does. She's his best friend. Her moods are like the lines on his palm, traceable and legible. It's how he knows what is wrong before he even says a word.

“Sit,” he says. “On the couch. Go on.”

She storms—well, waddles—toward the sofa without another word. When she settles slowly onto the cushions, her brow pinched with a permanent tension as she glares at him, Javier tilts his head to the side. “You got an attitude problem today, huh, baby?”

“Don’t call me sweet names,” she snaps. “I missed you.”

The vertigo from one statement to the next should be dizzying, but it’s been par for the course over the last few weeks. Javier pouts, sinking to his knees in front of her. “You don’t want me to be sweet?” he grunts, yanking down her panties and popping open all the buttons on the flannel she stole from his closet today. It’s rare he sees her in her own clothes nowadays. It awakens some sort of caveman inside him, prideful and beastly at the sight of his pregnant wife in his shirts.

She’s very, very pregnant. Pregnant and hormonal and so horny that it’s become an impediment in her day-to-day. She wants him all the time, more than he can keep up with, and she knows it no matter how much she pouts. Javier is right: she’s spoiled, but it isn’t her fault he gives her everything she wants.

“You gonna beg me for it, or are you gonna be mean?” Javier blows cool air straight onto her glistening cunt. She’s already wet and writhing; his poor girl must have been waiting for hours to get her fill of him.

“Fuck you,” she gasps.

It sends all his blood rushing to his cock. “Mean, then.” His fingers part her folds and his tongue flattens against her clit. She cries out, hand fisting in her hair. She’s not in the mood for sweet. She’s in pain from bearing the weight of her baby for so long, she’s slow and waddling and swollen, and she doesn’t want to think. She wants to feel, and she wants it rough.

Javier is eager to indulge, because he always is. Her commanding side thrills him, just as her whimpering, needy side does. It’s all her. His tongue wiggles against her clit before flicking at it, two fingers sinking into her hole until they’re knuckle-deep. One of her legs kicks out, so he wraps an arm around her thigh and spreads her open wider. If she wants to be demanding, so will he. He’ll take every drop of wetness he wants from her pussy and she’ll cry his name.

His fingers curl inside her and his mouth plunders her, his tongue lapping up her slick and his nose bumping against her clit. “Fuck,” she groans, “make me come. Please. Please.”

Javier smacks the thigh he’s holding onto and her head falls back against the couch. “Begging,” he says smugly.

“Cocky bastard—” When he takes her clit between his teeth, she does sob, letting her tension snap. “Fuck!”

He keeps suckling on her clit between his lips and his fingers inside her as she writhes under him, coming hard and fast. He doesn’t relent even as she pushes at his head, his tongue delving into her hole next to his fingers and tasting the slick she produces. It's fucking heaven. Sweet and tangy and just as warm as the rest of her. He will die buried inside her body, he decides.

He only allows one kiss to the bump on her belly before he pins her with a stare. “Hands and knees.”

Feeling defiant, she pouts down at him. Javier stands up and wraps his hand around a section of her hair. “You want to get fucked?” he asks.

“If you don't get inside me right now, I will—”

He clicks his tongue. “Kill me and you don't get fucked. Hands and knees, baby.”

She shifts, her swollen belly beneath her as she arches her ass up in the air and presses it back against his clothed cock once he’s positioned behind her. He hastily pulls himself from his jeans and slaps the head against her asscheek. “Gonna beg?”

“Fucking fuck me,” she huffs. “Fuck this baby out of me, Javier. Fuck me, please, just fuck me—”

It's easy to slip inside her with how wet she is. “Nngh, fuck,” she groans.

“You like me balls-deep,” he grunts, pulling out until only the tip throbs inside her, then thrusting hard and sure. It's what she needs: hard, rough, fast. “Don't you?”

“Mmmm.” Her lips part and drool clicks in her throat as he begins a punishing pace, his hips slapping against her ass. “Don't get fucking proud about it—shit, Javi, oh, shit!”

Christ, he likes to hear her get mad only to crumble when he fucks her this good. His hand fists her hair again, pulling her back up, flush against his chest, sitting back on his haunches so he can fuck her without mercy. She screams his name and he's never felt so fucking proud in his life.

“Such a fuckin’ slut for it.” His hand shifts from her belly to her clit. “So mean to the only man who can make you feel better.”

She mewls at the pressure of his fingers against her clit. “Javi… Fuck, it's so good, I—I need your cum. Please,” she whines. “I’ll be nice. I’ll be—”

“Say it.” He's grunting into her ear, unrestrained and wild. “Fucking say it. You want me so bad, then say it.”

“Papi,” she whines, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

He ruts into her harder, baring his teeth against her jaw. “Louder. Mean it, baby. Gotta mean it.”

A devastating thrust prods against her g-spot and she screams. “¡Papi! Fuck! Ohhhhh, my—”

She holds onto his wrist to ground herself as she gushes around him, moaning long and low and collapsing onto the cushions.

He does his best to make sure she doesn't hurt herself as her orgasm positively wrecks her, but it's difficult to see through the haze in eyes when he grinds deep and spills his cum inside her, puffing out her name and keeping her ass flush against his hips. He wants all of him to stay inside her and never drip out. It seems impossible with how much he seems to come whenever he's buried in her, but he makes a valiant effort.

He adjusts their positions so her back is nestled against his chest as they both catch their breath. “Javi,” she says weakly.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I'm sorry I’m so… pregnant.”

She sniffles, and it breaks his heart into halves. He hopes she can feel him give her the other piece when he shushes her, nudging her cheek with his nose. “Never,” he murmurs. “Never say that. Think I don’t like you mad as much as I like you happy? Mala.”

He can see the edges of a growing smile, and it makes him grin into her cheek. “I want another baby,” she tells him, toying with the ring on his left hand.

“Let's get this one out of you,” he says, “and I’ll give you all the babies you want.”

Her eyes flutter shut. “Okay.”

That's that.

“Javier.”

Her voice is a whisper in his ear, awakening him from a deep sleep, the kind he can only get when she's this close to him. It's a voice that's too soft, too restrained, to be anything but an attempt to keep him calm.

It doesn't work. The moment he hears, “My water just broke,” nothing will ease the terror, the excitement, the tremor in his fingers as he helps her out of bed.

From this moment, his life cleaves in two. Everything after this will change him.

He doesn't remember what he says to her. She doesn't remember her reply.

The nurses begin to urge her to push, push, push, and it occurs to them both that this eclipses any words language can give them.

Love like this isn't tangible. It flees from explanation and cowers behind the wall of reason. It's a love that erupts screaming and writhing into the world, unrestrained, beautiful.

It's all he can think when he takes her into his arms for the first time. She's beautiful.

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#kiwisbell's fics #siempre series #javier peña x you #javier peña fluff #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #narcos #narcos fic

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decayedgloria · 9 months

Text

a bouquet for your troubles

ft. Freminet

Freminet collects a trove of treasures every time he dives, but Romaritime flowers are new.

Tags: Freminet x gn!reader, fluff, no spoilers

Word Count: 777 words (yes like actually), not proofread

“You know what’s really amazing?” Your soft voice echoed through the empty shop, making Freminet turn his head towards you, uttering a soft ‘Hm?’

“Romaritime flowers. Y’know, I never see them but the pictures always look so pretty.” Stocking the last items of the shelf, you carefully hop down the makeshift stool you were using to reach the top shelf, placing a hand on your hip and admiring your work. “Whew, that should be the last of it on my end. Do you still need help, Freminet?”

The blond only lowered his head, almost as if he were thinking, before responding to you quietly. “Uh, no. I’m fine. Is that all you needed me to do?” Rather nervously, he began making his way closer to you, but not too close- if he were a few feet closer, maybe you’d catch the growing blush on his face. Not that it would matter, as you jovially skipped towards anyways.

“That’s all for today. Thank you so much for the help, Freminet. I really appreciate it!” You clasped his hands gently, smiling brightly at him. Freminet thanked the Archons that your eyes were shut in doing so, because it felt as if his face turned into a hot spring at that point.

“I-It’s no problem…” He stuttered, becoming shy as you beamed at him. He couldn’t help but notice how pretty your face was, especially with how softly the early morning rays hit your face, making you akin to something divine in his eyes.

“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, will you come and help me with my shop again sometime? I have a feeling it won’t be the last time I’ll have to do this all over again.” Despite your laughter, sheepishness was still present in your voice- and who was Freminet to deny you? Of all he’d met so far, Freminet felt comfortable around you; you were the first not to ask him about his sibling’s magic, but instead his diving. You made him your friend the second you met him, with no ulterior motives at all.

So was it really a question that he always said yes to you?

A few days later, you operated your shop as usual- humming behind the counter and entertaining customers every so often. Focusing on sweeping the floor, you barely noticed the bell of your shop’s door chime, accompanied by heavy footsteps entering the shop.

So you were a little startled when Freminet placed a bag on your counter a little too hard, making you jump in surprise. The bashful boy muttered an apology upon seeing your face, violet eyes lowering to the floor in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He shrunk into himself, preparing for you to scold him. But that never came, and instead you only grinned at how adorable he was.

“It’s okay. I suppose I should be more aware of my surroundings.” You chuckled. Taking a closer look at Freminet, you could tell that he just came back from one of his diving expeditions- his gear was still partially on, and you could smell the salty ocean scent coming from the bag. “How was diving today? Find anything new?”

Freminet finally glanced at you, albeit shyly, and opened the bag- revealing beautiful, glowing flowers. The blue and pink hues shined brightly in his hands, which were now extended to you. You gasped, realizing what exactly he had in his hands.

“These… are for you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get them.” He mumbled, almost inaudible as he held the Romaritime flowers in his hands. Excitedly, you took them, examining them with a careful eye and gentle hands. You were so immersed in them that you hadn’t noticed Freminet’s face go beet red from your fingertips brushing against his palm, awkwardly standing there while his heart pounded against his chest.

“Oh my archons, thank you so much! I have the perfect vase for these.” In your enthusiasm, you leaned over the counter and placed a chaste kiss on Freminet’s cheek, causing him to freeze. Though you didn’t pay any mind as you procured a vase from the back of your shop, leaving behind a stunned and overheating Freminet by his lonesome.

It was… foreign. Your lips were extremely soft, and even if it was for a second, the area you kissed still burned with warmth. His thoughts were scrambled as he came to terms with what just happened, and how he felt about it. When he asked Lynette about it later, he came to a similar conclusion:

He’d just have to give you more flowers so you could give him more kisses.

this was a palate cleanser bc i have the most devious, filthy, sinful smut for wriosthesly and disheartening, depressing, downright atrocious angst for neuvillette coming up hehehehe 😈

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #freminet #genshin freminet #freminet x reader #gn reader

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wroteclassicaly · 10 months

Text

Steve over your bratty and moody attitude, so he buys a dildo that’s representative of his size, then has it waiting for you when you get home.

“Whatever, King Steve —“

“Funny how you keep using that as a dig when you’re pissed at me, yet I know you were fingering your pathetic little pussy to the thought of me when I was him, weren’t you? No matter how much of an asshole I was to you, you still rode your hand thinking about me. Kept that wrist warm all through the night.”

You pause, keys falling onto the counter and out of your grasp. He smirks, arms crossed, tan and toned biceps flexing beneath the crisp navy blue t-shirt he wears. You can smell his apple and cedar-wood body wash as he finds a space behind you, hands piling onto your waist, chin on your humidity-slick skin. His mouth is hot by your ear, breath causing the sway of your dangly earring. He sways with you a little, spouting off an order mere seconds later.

“Get your pleasant ass upstairs, take off your clothes, and wait for me.”

You don’t argue this time.

~*~

You weren’t confused upon seeing where he’d suctioned the toy. Directly on the floor, no cushioning for your knees, a discarded bottle of lubricant beside the faux shaft. You swallow harshly, tugging your embarrassingly soaked underwear off, just as your boyfriend enters the room. He’s got a rolled Camel dangling from between his lips, cherry burning bright at his sharp exhale. He waves his hand at you, filter pinched into his grip.

Moving towards him, you watch as he settles down in a perfectly placed chair, using the massive palm of his freehand to nudge your thighs apart. “I know that you always need my help getting ready to take my cock, honey. But you’ve pissed me off so much this week, that I wanna watch you struggle a bit.”

You whimper in response, but don’t argue. He continues on. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to put on a show for me, ride that.. Well, it’s not really-little-number over there, and if you can manage not to smart off, then we’ll see about letting you cum, yeah?”

“Okay, Steve.” He cups your cunt with an abrupt stroke, grazing you until it aches, until you’re bowed over into the fabric of his cotton clad chest. He’s groaning at your arousal.

“Steve is the guy who isn’t your favorite douchebag. You don’t get to call me that right now, baby. So, let’s try that again.”

His eyes are blown when your irises meet his. You swallow as his thumb-pad pushes your swollen folds open and seeks out your clit. Your words are punched from your esophagus and ping pong themselves into your throat, electricity prickling your fingertips and making you fist your grip into his hair to tug. He groans, a smoke cloud billowing up from his mouth, tendons in his neck bared. You can’t resist when you lean down and lick the salty, cologne stained skin. Your own voice hot as the words knick the underside of his jaw. “King Steve.”

To say that he enjoys stroking himself to you struggling to take the girth of the toy, hissing and shifting, unable to find solid leverage — is the understatement of the century. You don’t, however, talk back for a solid two weeks.

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chqnverse · 5 months

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telling pillow princess hannie to top you, and so he sits there dumbfounded, unsure of where to even start. as he’s desperately fucking into you, he’s whining and begging you to take the lead again, because it’s just soooo difficult and tiring for him to do all the work </3

PLZ MAKE THIS A DRABBLE / MINI FIC

𖥻 Pillow Princess

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Han Jisung x fem!reader

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: you tell your pretty boyfriend to top you but he doesn’t know how

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut ( 18+ ), sub!jisung, dom!reader, teasing, pillow princess Han Jisung is a warning on its own, desperate!jisung, begging, Jisung calls you mommy

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: thank you for this amazing ask precious anon sorry it took me so long to answer but I was recovering from child birth and adjusting to mom life ✨ I made it a bit different cuz I just went with it Hope you like it tho darling 🫶🏻

Jisung was trying hard to even keep his eyes open with how much pleasure he was feeling at the moment, the sounds that leave his pretty lips were filthy and whiny. He couldn’t even make a full sentence up because his mind was clouded by pleasure. Your hand was wrapped around his pretty dick, stroking him at a fast pace “please don’t stop mommy” you chuckle and press a kiss on his heart shaped lips “I won’t stop my pretty boy” Jisung thinks you’re trying to kill him with your sweet voice he was hanging on every single word that you said, he could feel his high nearing “oh…gonna cum…can’t hold it” Jisung whines out throwing his head back exposing his neck. You couldn’t hold yourself back and started to suck on his neck making Jisung curse. You look down when you feel Jisung cover your hand in his high, there was so much cum that it was dripping down on the bed. While your boyfriend was still coming down from his orgasm you brought your hand up to his mouth “come on princess clean your mess” jisungs eyes fly open at the new nickname without second thoughts he opened his mouth for you sucking on your fingers tasting the salty flavour of his high. Jisung didn’t know when you got rid of your clothes but the sight of your bare body so close to his made his length harden again.

You smirk when you notice your boyfriend’s eyes wandering over you “was a look at my breast enough to get you hard again princess?” Jisung nods and his hand wander to your hips pulling you tighter against him “please baby lemme make you feel good” he whines beside your ear. Who are you to deny your sweet boyfriend his fun? Not even 5 minutes later you’re on your back Jisung between your legs desperately fucking into you with no rhythm “poor sungie can’t even please me” you’re tone made him whine louder combined with the way your hot walls were clenching around his length basically pulling him back every time he pulls out. The way you seem to be completely unaffected by his fucking was doing things to his brain that he couldn’t describe.

Suddenly Jisung feels your hands on his hips and you started controlling the pace and your legs wrapped tighter around him, pushing him deeper into your heat making him hit your sweet spot. “Can’t even please me right” you mock him while moaning at the way he was finally hitting the spot you needed. Jisung couldn’t even answer you with his face hidden in your neck, cheeks red with embarrassment. He couldn’t help but feel another high creep up again but he didn’t need to tell you from the way he was twitching inside you and his moans rising in volume or the way his hands were tightening on your thighs trying to ground himself. Jisung really tried to hold back longer but the way you where moaning his name combined with your hands controlling his movement and the way your heat was wrapped tightly around his dick topped with the wet sound your cunt made every time your hips met yet again. Jisung feels another high wash over him filling you up to the brim while moaning in your ear. You’re no where near finished so you just enjoy the feeling of his cum filling you until he is done. Jisung breathing was heavy trying to calm down his heartbeat while enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his but when he tried to pull out you pull him back towards you.

“Oh no princess where do you think you’re going I’m not done yet?”

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gayaristocrat · 1 year

Note

This is just me being a slut, like my name 🌚, but wearing a skirt for Eddie for the first time 🤭

Like he’s just rambling and rambling then he notices that you’ve changed from pants to the skirt and then he starts being absolutely feral

Then he spreads your leg and starts kissing his way up your thighs and you’re just leaking like crazy underneath, leaving a wet spot on the front

And he makes you keep it on as he rails the fuck out of you

Tw: (m/n) wearing skirt and panties, biting, Mechanic Eddie

A/n: thank you @luns-world world and @marilynmonroefanfics for proofreading this for me

Eddie would lose his mind over (m/n) wearing a skirt. He’s always begged him to wear one and (m/n)’s response was always “maybe one day”. Well today was finally that day. Knowing how Eddie easily gets stressed at the mechanic shop, he decided to wait till Eddie left for work to go out and buy everything.

Once Eddie got home he started rambling about how busy the shop was and dealing with impatient customers when you quietly excused yourself to go change. Since you wore everything underneath you were easily able to just drop your pants and go back to the kitchen, leaning on the doorway waiting for him to turn around and notice.

“then I spilled oil all over my shirt and- woah…weren’t you just wearing pants earlier how did you….fuck that’s hot”

Eddie paused for a second to look at you in a pretty blue skirt, knowing damn well that skirt was too short and left little to the imagination. Your beautiful thighs exposed for him to see, unable to decide if he should grab them, bruise them, spank them, or suffocate between them. He feels heat rise to his face and his pants tighten and his dick twitch before rushing and picking up, taking you both to the bedroom sitting you down on the edge of the bed. Eddie starts kissing up (m/n)’s legs, slowly spreading them only to find him wearing a matching set of blue panties.

“Shit babe, you went all out just for me” Eddie says with a smirk playing with your clothed cock, hungrily watching as your leaky cock stains the pretty lace blue pantie. He then hikes your legs on his shoulders kissing your thighs leaving hickies and an occasional bite mark on each one. He finally makes it to your hard cock, and you feel his breath engulf it causing you to shudder from the warmth. Getting impatient Eddie gently bites the pantie before pulling it down with his teeth exposing your hard cock. He licks his lips before using his tongue to draw a long stripe from your balls to your tip licking off the escaping precum. Eddie hums to himself tasting the sweetness yet salty pre.

“thank you baby, I really needed this.”

Eddie totally makes you wear the skirt as you ride his cock. Each movement causes the skirt to flutter up letting him see his cock go in and out of your ass, making him go absolutely feral. He grabs your cheeks and slap them every time you slow down, causing you to keep up speed. “yeah, ride it baby. don’t stop for me”

Eddie’s thing for skirts only worsens because of this, so he definitely buys (m/n) more skirts. He may even buy fishnets too (he totally does).

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mlm-writer · 6 months

Text

Tears of Lust pt. 2 (Dick Grayson x M!Reader)

Pairing: Dick Grayson (YJ ver.) x Demon!Cis Male!Reader Rating: Explicit Words: 1113 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 16 - Dacryphilia Note: The writer juices really ain't flowing lately. Part one here. Tags: reader is in a rut, established relationships, nipple play, monsterfucker territory, cereal, spanking and so much consent we love it

You figured out what the cereal was for. It was your human lover who wolfed half a box down. Something about ‘fibres’. When your knot had deflated enough to pull out, you had made him a bowl and when he finished that, he just started eating out of the box like they were crisps. You tried to be patient, but Dick was naked on your bed and your eyes fixated on the crumbs on his chest. With each breath, you watched those crumbs go up and down. “Are you finished?” You eventually snapped. Your body was thrumming and there was only so much self-restrained in your demon blood. Dick nodded and put the box aside. As soon as his mouth was empty, you had your tongue on him, licking the crumbs away and very intentionally swiping over his nipples. Dick gasped and squeezed your arm.

“I need more,” you growled, voice laced with a hellish overtone, “but if you can’t, I need you to leave now.” You looked up into your man’s eyes. He was clearly a little fearful if he could handle another round so soon. You understood, but for the sake of your sanity, you needed him to leave you alone if he needed rest.

“Hurt me instead,” he suggested out of the blue, voice hoarse and breathy. You cocked up a brow, unsure of what he was implying exactly. “Bite me, spank me, get a whip from the closet. I need a break, but there are other ways to make me cry and enjoy it.” Your concerned expression morphed into a smirk at his filthy words. You went back to licking his chest, digging the tips of your claws into his soft pecs as your sharp teeth played with a nipple. When Dick started squirming too much, you took his arms and pinned him down onto the bed with one hand. With your free one you started pulling and pinching the nipple that wasn’t occupied by your mouth.

Dick mewled in pain and pleasure. You could smell precum dripping from his soft cock. It didn’t take long for his nipples to turn a bright red, every touch to them aching in the most exquisite of ways. The scent of his salty tears was like gasoline on a fire. You only momentarily stopped to lick them off his face, your hand and teeth switching places every time you stopped to feed on his tears. When the flavour changed, you knew he couldn’t handle much more, the pain in his nipples too much. The sore buds had gone through enough.

You let go of Dick’s hands. They immediately flew up to grab you by the back of your neck. Dick kissed you feverishly, needing your lips on his to retain his sanity. His skin was hot against yours, the heat radiating off him reminding you of home. He whispered pleas against your lips. “Hurt me more, please. I need you to spank my ass red and feed on my tears,” he urged you in hushed words. How could you deny him, when he begged so intimately?

Your bulging arms lifted him up and manhandled him across your lap as you sat on the side of the bed. “Comfortable?” You inquired as you groped his round rear. When you pulled a cheek aside, you could see his hole was still red and puffy from your previous romp. The sight made you salivate.

“Very,” Dick sighed as he put his hands behind his back, relaxing with deep breaths. His voice drew your attention away from his glistening hole. The first smack barely got a reaction out of him, except for a small hitch in his breath, followed by a small sigh of content. It was not unexpected that Dick had a high pain tolerance, but after a few smacks, you got impatient, your force increasing, the intervals decreasing.

Dick got louder when your methods changed. “Take it for me, baby, you’re my human toy. You’re being so good for me. I can’t wait until I can fuck you again.” The praise made Dick only louder. One of his hands left his back to reach out to one of yours. “What is it? Too much already?” He shook his hands and led your hand down. He wrapped your claw around his neck and then returned his own hand to his back. “Oh,” you mused in surprise. You were gonna go insane. He was nonverbal on pleasure and still asking you to choke him.

Your digits dug in right where he loved it as you continued to spank his bottom. Dick sang a symphony of pleasure from every contact between you. When you tilted his head up and bent sideways to look at his face, you saw he had his eyes rolled back, red-bitten lips fallen open. It was like he was possessed by pleasure, the forceful slaps pulling the tears right out of his eyes. The angle was no longer in your favour. You needed a better view of his face. You lifted Dick up and scooted back a little. You put him on his knees, his thighs straddling yours. One hand found its way back to his throat, keeping a tight grip as you forced his face to stay right in front of yours.

Your textured tongue ran over his face as your free hand spanked the tears out of him. His cock was oozing precum over your thighs, but you ignored it. You knew Dick’s hips would signal when he was ready to be touched there again. You were impressed by Dick’s constitution. In spite of trembling the moment he was on his knees, he took his like a good boy. He endured your exquisite torture for longer than you had thought he would, but eventually he whispered a soft ‘please stop’ as he wrapped his arms around you. His whole body was aflame, scorching to the touch and twitching in the aftershocks of pleasure. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him down as you lowered your upper body onto the bed. When your back hit the mattress, Dick collapsed on top of you, wincing when his cock got trapped between your heated bodies.

Your hand rubbed over his sweaty back, avoiding the reddening skin lower on his body. “You’re doing so well,” you cooed with your eyes trained on the ceiling. If you avoided looking at your special human, maybe you could keep yourself a little longer from spreading his ass and fucking the tears and cum out of him.

Dick only replied with a long, exhausted moan and some mumbled words against your hellish flesh. “I need more cereal.”

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

#male reader #kinktober #dc #young justice #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson smut #dick grayson x male reader #dc x male reader #dc x reader #young justice x you #young justice x reader #young justice x male reader #demon reader

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sissylittlefeather · 7 days

Note

Hii!! I don't know if people are sending you photo prompts or you're finding them yourself but I've got one here🫠

🤭🤭🤭

Hi @jhoneybees! Yes, you did it right! Also, I really hope you wanted smut for this one because it got dirty QUICK. This picture is just so hot. I couldn't help it! Anyway, I hope you love it!

Welcome Home, Baby

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

-----------------------------------------------------

You're unpacking some of your clothes in the bedroom at Graceland when Elvis brings in the last of your boxes and plops them on the bed.

"Honey, these say 'bathroom', right?"

"You can't read it?" You walk over to him where he's standing next to the boxes.

"It's not my fault I can't read your toddler scrawl."

"Hey! I was in a hurry. Like your handwriting is perfect!" You nudge him with your elbow and he throws his arm around your shoulders.

"Yeah, but you're a girl." He turns and kisses your temple. "My girl. In my house now."

"I still can't believe my mother let me move in here with you. If you were anyone else, she'd die before letting me live with you before marriage. You're lucky she loves you so much." You turn to face him and wrap your arms around his waist. He's sticky with sweat from moving all day, his sweatshirt marked with wet splotches, hair uncharacteristically messy.

"What can I say? I'm a lovable guy."

"That you are." You turn your face up and he lowers his lips to yours, pressing them against you softly.

"I just couldn't live without you here another second. Now we can finally be together in our own space. Just you and me." He leans in again and kisses you a little more deeply, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You can tell he's eager to christen the place as yours. It's not the first time you've been here, by far, but it's different now that you've moved in. There's a hint of future plans that has you both giddy with excitement. He kisses down your neck to your collarbone and rolls his hips into yours. You moan softly and run your hands down the front of his chest to the top of his pants.

"Mmm, baby, I need a shower first."

"You know I don't care. I like you salty." You whisper, nibbling on his earlobe. He chuckles and leans away, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and off. Now he's half naked and you want to wait for him to shower even less than you did before. The soft patch of hair on his chest drives you insane and you reach out to touch him. He grabs your hand with a devilish look on his face.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"To the shower." A smile spreads across your face and his eyes light up. "C'mon."

His fingers go to the buttons on your dress and he has you naked in less than two minutes, dropping his pants and pulling you toward the bathroom. He starts the shower and lets his mouth and hands explore your body while he waits for it to warm up. His dick was mostly hard already, but now it's standing at full attention, pressing into your lower stomach. You climb into the shower together with you behind him as he rinses himself. You press your body into his back and reach around to take his cock in one hand. As you begin to stroke him, sliding his foreskin back and forth, he leans his head back and groans. Your other hand massages his balls and his hips buck forward into your hold. After a few seconds, he turns in your arms and takes your face in his hands, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. He runs his fingers down your front, grasping your hip with one hand and your breast with the other. As his thumb grazes your nipple, a shiver runs down your spine. He leans down and pulls it into his mouth, flicking his tongue against you gently. Pushing you back to the wall, he gets down on his knees and presses his lips to your center. He thrusts his tongue into you a few times and then starts making bold circles on your clit.

"Oh, god, Elvis." You moan, wrapping your fingers in his hair. He slides a finger into you and pumps it in and out as he moves his tongue quickly on you. Your walls flutter around him and he knows you're getting close. He sucks your clit gently and then flicks it with the tip of his tongue. You dance on the edge of your release, your heart pounding as he dives in fully, licking your clit like his life depends on it.

"Come on, baby, cum for me." He says, his voice deep and husky with lust. You moan loudly as your climax slams into you, bursting out from your center to the edges of your fingertips. You shudder and pulse around his finger and feel him smile into you as his tongue makes its final sweeps over your clit.

He stands up, a smug look on his face. There's nothing he loves more than ruining you with his mouth and then watching as you try to compose yourself after. But this time, you don't even try. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him and take his cock in your mouth as deep as it'll go.

"Oh, fuck, baby." He stumbles backwards and slams his hand against the wall to regain his balance. This is the first time you've reciprocated with your mouth. Honestly, you have no idea what you're doing, but you figure you'll just lick and suck and move on him as long as you can, mimicking what you do with your hand. "Goddamnit..."

His teeth are clenched and his eyes roll back as you open your throat and press your nose into the patch of hair at the base of him. You gag a little, but his reaction is worth the discomfort. Pulling back, you pump him with your hand and lick a circle around his exposed tip.

"Baby, if you don't stop, I'm gonna cum in your mouth. My God." He still has himself braced on the wall, trembling slightly. You're trying to decide if you're okay with that when he pulls away from you quickly, standing you up and turning you to face the wall. He bends his knees and pushes into you from behind, pounding you relentlessly and holding your hips with his long fingers. You cry out with each thrust of his hips as he fills you over and over again passionately. He grunts and slams into you, balls slapping against your ass. You love when he gets like this, almost feral with need for you. Knowing that you've driven him this wild makes you throb with desire and his aggressive thrusting is exactly what you need. Your breasts bounce as he pounds into you and you feel his body tense as he groans.

"Fuck, yes, baby!" He cries out as he fills you one last time, shooting his release deep inside you. His legs shake as he slides out of you, stumbling backwards again to lean against the shower wall. You turn to face him and lean against the wall behind you too. You're both panting and sweating and the water is still running in between you. He starts to chuckle and you giggle a little and before you know it, you're both laughing, the sound echoing through the bathroom. He turns the faucet to make it run from the tap and begins to fill the bathtub. You both slide down the wall until you're sitting in the tub. He reaches out and gestures for you to come over to him. You do and then lean your back against his chest as the water rises around you. He turns the tap off and nuzzles your ear with his nose, whispering.

"I figured we needed to relax and recover."

"Ha! You were right!" He laughs his big booming laugh again and wraps you in his arms. You lay together in the tub, both of you still shaking from the feverish heat of your lovemaking. After a few minutes of silence, you start to relax. He kisses your cheek and sighs.

"Welcome home, baby."

******

The End

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x you

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redlittlefoxari · 4 months

Text

An Adventure in making life Chapter 7: Let the water wash you clean

Relationship: Astarion x Tav

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, blood, violence, sex, blood drinking, pregnancy. *This chapter contains smut*

Summary: With Hormones are ragging through Tav’s body and morning sickness becoming a regular thing tempers clash, questions are raised and Tav is at her limit.

Master list

Tag list: @lunaredgrave

If you would also like to be added to the tag list just let me know.

Weeks pregnant Ten

It had been three weeks since the ruins, and you and Astarion hadn’t let your guard down for a second. There had been nothing since the ruins other than a few merchant carts making their way to Baldur’s Gate. They had all reported that their trip from Waterdeep had been going swimmingly and that the rest of their journey would probably go much the same. Still, the two of you decided to play it safe and stay on high alert for the remainder of your journey.

It was at this point that Jaheira advised you to start taking the herbs she gave you for the development of your unborn child. They didn’t taste great, but you had been dealing with drinking blood for the last ten weeks, so their grassy flavor didn’t bother you much. Astarion had gotten up before you to find the two of you something to eat, meaning a deer or whatever he could find. You told him you didn’t want to know what it was from just in case it was from an animal that was less than desirable.

While you waited, you chewed on a piece of dried meat that you had bought in the last town you passed through. It was sweet and salty and had been marinated in hot peppers before being dried. It was delicious, which was odd because you never really liked spicy food before the pregnancy, but now it became something you craved alongside sweet treats. You hoped that this didn’t mean your child would have a fiery personality. That was the last thing you needed. A hard-to-tame half-vampire child.

The thought crossed your mind suddenly. Would your child be able to go out in the sun? Or would the sun's fiery rays burn them like they did Astarion? The idea of your child being born unable to walk in the sun made your heart hurt. The child wouldn’t understand and what would happen if they crawled into the sunlight? Would you have to shut all the doors and curtains, never allowing them out during the day?

You shook the thought from your mind. There was still plenty of time to do some research and figure this out. There was no need to worry yourself thinking about something that may not even be a possibility. There was just as high of a chance that they would inherit your ability to walk in the sun.

You finished the dried meat and cleaned your hands of the grease that was left over. It was time to get dressed and get this day of your journey started. You grabbed your pants and put them on each of your legs without any problems. It was when you tried to button them together that you hit your first hurdle. They wouldn’t button.

You began to fight with the pants, trying with all your might to get them to close to no avail. You looked down to see that your stomach, which was once inconspicuous, now had a noticeable bump that was making it impossible to button your armor closed.

You cursed and suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you as you barely had time to make it out the tent flaps and turn left into the bushes before you were emptying your stomach contents into the shrubbery. It was a long while until your stomach felt satisfied that it had given up all that it needed to, and by that time, the others in the camp had already started to come out and see what was going on.

“Went a little heavy with the wine again, I see.” Shadowheart had a touch of superiority in her voice that usually didn’t bother you, but for some reason, today, it just rubbed you the wrong way.

“I don’t think that's any of your concern.” You straightened your back and sucked in your stomach the best you could to hide your bump.

She looked down at your unbuttoned pants in confusion. “Are you still so drunk that you can’t even button your own pants?”

“Come on, you two, it's too early for this.” Wyll tried to chime in to stop the fight that was surely about to break out, but his efforts were in vain.

“I’m not drunk. I just suddenly got sick in the middle of my changing and needed to run outside, so I didn’t paint the walls of my tent! I don’t appreciate being interrogated every time something happens to me that you disagree with.” You turned your back to her and grabbed your bag of soaps. “I’m going to the river to clean myself. Can I go, or do you need to question me about that, too?”

You didn’t give her the chance to answer as you stormed off in the direction of the river that was just south of your camp. It was about when you were halfway to the shore that you realized you had no idea what the hells just happened or why you just got so mad at your friend.

“You're doing this to me.” You looked down and pointed to your bump. “You're making me do crazy things… I knew I shouldn’t eat spicy food.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Well, there was no sense in worrying about it now. You would just have to make amends when you got back to camp. Say something about how waking up and vomiting your guts out made you less than hospitable in the mornings.

Or maybe it was time to come clean about what was going on with you. You wanted to wait so that your news wouldn’t outshine Gale’s, but it was growing increasingly difficult to keep this hidden from everyone. You couldn’t hide the fact that your armor didn’t fit anymore. You needed to wear it for your own protection. You supposed that you could just say that you thought it was unnecessary because all the merchants you passed over the last three weeks said that their travels were fine. But what if that was just their good fortune and the rest of your travel would spell disaster? There was just no way to tell. If only you were a divination wizard.

You finally made it to the bank of the river and decided that since you were already here, you would do what you told everyone you were going to do. You slowly stripped off your pants and kicked them away for good measure; they were part of the damn problem. Then you took off your undershirt that went between you and your armor, throwing it over to where the pants ended up.

You looked down and saw a body you did not recognize. Breasts almost double the size of what they were before. Hips wider and fuller are also part of the problem as to why the pants didn’t fit and a small round belly protruding out where your baby rested safe and warm in your belly. You cradled that part of you and smiled, the only thing you liked about yourself at the moment.

You walked into the water with your bag of soap and took it out, getting it wet and starting to lather your skin with it. The soap smelled of lilac and blackberries. After you were done washing your arms, legs, and torso, you walked further into the water to wet your hair. The water was cold and caused you to shiver as you submerged yourself in it fully sinking under the water. You stayed under the water for a few seconds, enjoying the calmness you felt. The lack of sound in a world full of it.

When you finally came up for air you heard your name being called out. The voice sounded frantic and scared. You recognized the voice as belonging to Astraion in your haste to get away from the others at camp; you forgot that he wasn’t there. He had no idea where you were or what had happened; he probably showed up to camp, and you simply weren’t there.

“I’m okay! I’m just in the water.” You started to make your way back to the shore. The look of worry on his face was still ever present.

“What were you thinking, leaving without saying a word? You don’t even have any of your weapons; what if someone was out here and attacked you.” He shouted at you, but his voice broke at the end of his words.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just…” You fully step out of the water. Your body is on full display. “I Just needed some air… I needed to get clean.”

Your voice shook as you spoke. Embarrassment filled your every pore as you felt Astarion’s eyes on your body. “I got sick, and my pants don’t fit anymore, and I…” You felt yourself start to cry.

Astarion’s face melted from anger to worry the second your tears sprung free of your eyes. “You’re feeling self-conscious? You?”

“Of course I am! Look at me!” You gestured to your whole self. “My hips are huge, my clothes don’t fit, and I’m picking fights for no reason I can’t stop throwing up, and I’m….”

“Beautiful.” Astarion cut you off.

“Excuse you?”

“The fertility goddess herself couldn’t compare to you, my love.” He moved closer to you and hesitated. “May I touch you?”

You shook your head no, wrapping your arms around your body. Despite his words, you didn’t feel like they were true. Hallow words meant to flatter you and make you feel better. But deep down, you didn’t want to feel better. You wanted to wallow in self-pity and believe that all your fears were genuine. It was easier to believe in yourself than to trust others. Your own body was betraying you; why wouldn’t everyone else?

“Then I won’t touch you. Do you want me to leave?” Astarion stood still, almost as if he was in front of a wild deer, and he didn’t want to scare it away.

“No…”

“Do you want to sit down and talk?”

“Yes.” You walked to a patch of grass, picking up your shirt on the way and covering yourself with it.

Astarion sat next to you but allowed for some distance between the two of you. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me why my strong, beautiful, caring partner suddenly thinks she’s as ugly as a hag when she is far from it.”

“I don’t know…. I feel like a stranger in my own skin. Every time I wake up, something new about me has changed. I guess I’m just tired.” You hugged your knees to your chest.

“Darling, there is nothing wrong with change. Every day I wake up next to you, I thank the gods that I have you because you helped me change into the man I am today.” Astarion looked off into the distance. “When we first met, I was broken… I trusted no one and only strived for power so that no one could ever take advantage of me, and then there you were. You were everything that I wished I could be; you oozed self-confidence. Everyone listened to you when you spoke and did as you said. That's part of the reason why I seduced you.”

You remember back to his love confession when he confessed to having been using you the whole time for protection. That was until he started to feel the same feelings for you that you did for him. Through you, he had opened up and learned to trust again. Learned to love someone and get back his bodily autonomy.

“I remember. You fell so hard for me.” You smiled.

“Yes, I did. I felt like an idiot that even though I was manipulating you somehow without even trying, I did what I was trying to do, but even better. Truly, you are amazing.” You unwrapped one of your arms from your legs and reached for his hand. He wove his fingers into yours.

“I’m sorry. I just…. I listen to these words in my head, and they make me feel like there’s something wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you. Your body is changing; for god's sake, you are growing a new person inside of you. And I mean it when I say you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and have become ten times more beautiful since you’re carrying my child inside you.”

Your cheeks felt hot. “Do you really mean that?”

“Every word.” Astarion paused and then continued. “May I show you?”

This time, you nodded your head yes.

Astarion moved so that he was kneeling before you, pausing to check if you were really okay. You nodded again, confirming you wanted to see what he was going to do.

“Lay down on your back if you would be so kind.” You did as he asked, placing your hands over your stomach. “Hands at your side, please.” You hesitated. “I want to show you just how beautiful I think you are.”

You slowly moved your hands off of your stomach and to your sides. “I’m not sure how this will…”

Astarion placed a light kiss on your tiny baby bump. “This is the best gift you could have given me.” He kissed the same area but in a different spot again. “For so long, I felt alone. I had no family but for the one Cazador made, but that was never truly a family.” He kissed a third time. “You have given me a chance at family again, something that I thought was lost the moment I became a vampire.”

Your eyes met the red of his, and you felt the gravity of his words. “I really am stupid….”

“Not stupid, just hormonal. pregnancy brain is a real thing, darling.” Astarion moved so that he was level with your face. “But it gives me a great excuse to tell you everything I truly feel and wow you with romanticism.”

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” You threw your head back. “And I want my damn pants to fit.”

“We can work something out. It’s just two more weeks till we’re in Waterdeep, and we can buy you a whole new wardrobe.” He scrunched his brows together. “This will pass; you are still the strongest person I know and the most beautiful behind me, of course.”

You sat up abruptly and jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

“I don’t think this is going to get the reaction you want. I’m liking the view all too much, and I’m into this kind of thing.” He shot you a devilish smile.

“How do you know that I don’t want what you're thinking? And I know you like this.”

You leaned down and bit him hard on the left side of his neck, puncturing his skin and drawing blood. You sucked greedily at the holes you made in his neck until you heard a moan escape his lips. You pulled your lips away from his neck, where a large purple bruise started to form where you sucked.

“What do you think, Astarion? Is there anywhere else you want me to suck?” Your mouth was close to his ear as you spoke. And it dawned on you that pregnancy really was crazy. Just a few moments ago, you didn’t want anything to do with him, and now here you are craving the feel of him.

“I have some ideas, but for now, let me taste myself on your tongue.” Astarion pulled you to his lips. The taste of his blood was heavy on your tongue. He pushed through your lips quickly, and your tongues danced together.

You broke the kiss, wanting to tease him. It was only fair for all the times he teased you throughout the years. “Only a taste, Astarion, for I am not done tasting you.”

“Fuck.” He had a haze of lust as he watched you plant light kisses down his body, untucking his shirt to touch your lips to his skin.

You made your way to the waistband of his pants, barely looking up at him to meet his eyes. “Take these off.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” Astarion pulled his waistband down just enough so that his length sprung free.

You grasped it gently at the base, placing your lips so that they just hovered above the head. Astarion waited with bated breath, his anticipation of what you were going to do. There was a question in his gaze.

You licked the tip of him lazily, causing a shudder to go through him that you felt at the base. You continued to lick lazy circles around his head. Every so often, a moan would escape deep in his throat. You did this for a few minutes, never going beyond the tip, teasing him with every stroke of your tongue.

“Are you going to tease me the whole time, or am I going to feel release?” Astarion’s voice shook his arousal plane to see in your hands.

You stopped and appeared to think for a moment. Playing out like you were contemplating something. “Maybe if you beg.”

Astarion let out a huff of air. “Please.”

“You can do better than that.” You accented every word so that a puff of air hit his tip.

“Please, I want to feel myself at the back of your throat.”

You nodded your approval and took him into your mouth, giving into his requests and taking him as far as you dared. His head lulled back as his fingers grasped the grass for some stability. You moved your lips back up his length, stopping just before leaving him entirely before going back down. You picked up the pace, throwing in intermittent twirls of your tongue around his tip to stroke and get him closer to his release.

He wove his fingers through your hair, and along with the gasps of pleasure that existed, his lip let you know that he was close to release. You sucked harder but kept the same pace as you felt Astarion's whole body tense, and as you felt his muscles release, you felt his warm seed hit the back of your throat. You swallowed it all and cleaned his tip before looking up at his face through the stray hairs that now covered your face.

“Gods, you look even more beautiful with me in you.” His voice was laced with pleasure, his eyes looking as if he wished to devour you.

“I know.” You moved from between his legs, grabbing your shirt from where you last placed it. “We should probably get back to the others… I need to apologize to Shadowheart.” You pulled your shirt over your head.

“Not until I return the favor.”

“I don’t think we have time for you to return the favor, but tonight, seek out my bedroll. I might let you in.” You placed a kiss on his lips.

“So I’m to just go about my day thinking about what you just did to me and stew about it?” Astarion pouted.

“Not stew plan. You’ll have all day to think of a way to get back at me.” You reached for your pants and frowned.

“You’re right.” He looked at you, holding your pants. “We can fix them so that they fit. Put them on.”

You did as he said, putting on the pants and trying to button them closed again and failed to do so. “Does the breastplate still fit?” He asked once he saw you try and fail to fasten your pants.

“Barley, but I think it will.” You tree up your hands.

“Let’s go back to camp, and we’ll attach the breastplate to the pants, which should keep them up for today, and then we’ll buy you some new armor at the next town we stop in.”

You nodded your agreement. “That’s the only thing we can do.”

“It will all work out just a few more weeks, and we can tell everyone our dirty little secret, and we won’t have to hide anything anymore.” He grabbed your hand to reassure you. “Everything will be alright. And no one cares that you yelled at Shadowheart; she is far too nosy.”

“I’m still going to apologize.”

You walked back to camp with Astarion to find that the others were waiting at the fire that was now just embers. They had already packed up their tents and seemed to be waiting for you and Astarion to come back and do the same. Shadowheart stood and walked towards the two of you with a look of relief on her face.

“I hope everything is alright…. I shouldn’t have just assumed that you drank too much last night; you've been sick this whole journey, it seems.” She didn’t meet your eyes.

“Yes, we'll, I shouldn't have gotten so angry with you… it’s not like I told you about my… sickness.” You decided to grasp onto the fact that she thought you had something wrong with you that was making you so sick.

“Is it something I can heal?” She asked, finally looking at you.

“No, I don’t think so… it will pass; I just need time.” You gave her a small smile.

“Alright, next time, I’ll hold your hair back so you don’t have to go to the river next time and make us all late to start today.” You knew her words were meant to be playful, not harmful.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to cool off. But I’ll go get ready now.” She gave you a curt nod.

You and Astarion went into the two of your tents and proceeded to fix your pants to your breastplate. With Astarion’s skills with a needle and thread, it looked as if nothing was a miss. Satisfied with his stitch job, the two of you then set to cleaning up and putting away your tent. In twenty minutes, you were packed up and ready to hit the road, no one mentioning the argument from earlier or the purple bruise that had already begun to fade on Astarion’s neck.

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thewulf · 1 year

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Accidentally in Love || JJ Maybank

Summary: Request - Hey! I see you write for Outer Banks. Have you seen season 3? Can you write a JJ Maybank x Routledge Reader where he finds her hurt at the chateau on a friday night after you didn't show up to the weekly kegger at the boneyard?? John B is too hung up on Sarah to notice your absence. Maybe she got hurt by her bf/ex-bf?? Surfing accident? Your choice! Love your writing!

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Y/N

Word Count: 4,900+

Friday evening out on the water. There was nowhere else you’d rather be. You took a long-drawn-out breath smelling the salty ocean air letting your arms stretch over your head. The rays from the sun were still hot, it wasn’t setting for another few hours or so. God, you loved it here.

This was your favorite pre-kegger ritual. Just you, the open ocean, and your surfboard. JJ taught you when you were both relatively young. You fell in love with it the same way you fell in love with your best friend. Slowly and surly over time with lots of dedication, love, and many tears.

A relatively calm night brought small waves throughout the entire evening. You tried to stand up on a few of them but didn’t seem to have the speed. It was getting darker out signaling that you needed to start getting ready to go to the Bone Yard.

Sighing softly, you were just going to have to call it a night. It was already getting too late. But just as you were heading in the waves started coming. You smiled knowing you can hit one before you go in. You deserved it, you’d been out for hours without have any such luck.

You let out a gleeful laugh as you caught a wave a bit closer to the shoreline than you really should have. You knew better. But you felt truly invincible out there. That feeling was short lived as the wave swallowed you whole. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. But you were too close. The wave was breaking far too close. Panic rose in your chest when you realized just where the wave had taken you under.

You’d be okay. You just couldn’t freak out too hard. Panicking was the worst thing you could do in this situation. You were a pogue. You’d be just fine. You just had to keep swimming and try and find your way up. No big deal.

Thinking you were in the free and clear when you bobbed to the surface you attempted to stand before a second wave knocked your feet out from underneath you. The first wave must have pushed you further down the beach than you realized.

You left side made painful contact with a jagged rock near the shoreline. The wave took and drug you across the sharp edges of the rock like you wore nothing, eliciting a cry in agony as the rock dug into your side, breaking through the surface of your skin. Mother nature didn’t seem to have your back as the force of the same wave knocked your head right into another rock.

You inhaled a lungful of salty ocean water sending shivers through your entirety. You knew this was a very bad situation to be in. Your head was hazy. Your side was screaming in agony from the open wound being immersed in salty water. You felt like you were drowning with a lungful of water.

Thankfully, fate had other plans for you as you resurfaced coughing up whatever you could your lungs. Your body felt like it was being stabbed from sixteen different directions. Your head was throbbing, and your legs were shaking wanting to give out on you. But you knew it was now or never, you had to make it to the shoreline, or you might not make it at all.

Somehow you managed to crawl your way back to beach. The adrenaline of the accident started wearing off as you got closer to safety. Hauling your body onto the rocky beach you continued to cough out the remaining ocean water that seemed stuck in your lungs.

After letting yourself lay there for a few minutes you decided it was probably best to get home before it got too dark out. Struggling to stand you winced seeing just how bad your injuries were. The blood from your head wound ran down your arm and chest. The blood from your side injury was dripping down your left leg.

“Fuck.” You whispered trying to find your towel. You thanked whatever lucky stars had your back when you found it. Quickly you pressed to the back of your head praying you had enough stamina to make it back to the chateau you shared with your older brother.

You made an audible groan when you realized just how pissed John B was going to be with you. He always hated that you went out alone. This injury certainly wasn’t going to help your case. He’d certainly not let you out of his sight for the next few months too. Great.

You thanked your previously lazy self for picking the beach closest to your home. A short walk home you knew you could make it. You took short quick steps preferring not to place much weight on your left side. The open wound was really making it a bitch to get back home.

It took your four times longer than normal and five breaks too many, but you finally made it home. Crawling up the stairs you scooted yourself through the front door. You’d never been so thankful to see the dirty hardwood of the chateau.

Who would’ve known practically drowning in the ocean would have taken so much of your energy? Finding any remaining strength, you slapped a big bandage on your side hoping it’d work. Your vision was getting too hazy for you to keep standing. Finding the closest piece of furniture, you mustered whatever you had left, making your way towards it.

You laid yourself down slowly on the couch taking shallow breaths. Drawing anything deeper drew a rather sharp pain from your side that you’d like to avoid. Glancing down you cringed at the haphazardly applied wrap on your side. You sighed but were thankful you didn’t see any blood leaking from the bandage.

Glancing at the clock on the wall you cursed yourself for being out so late on the water. The kegger had already been raging on by the time you laid down on the couch. It was a blessing you were able to drag yourself home. You really needed to remember to bring your phone with you when you were planning to do something solo. You had a bad habit of leaving it at home when you just wanted to be left alone.

Realistically you knew there was no way you’d be making it to the kegger tonight. It was probably the first one you’d missed in years. They were usually your favorite thing in the world. You’d never dream of missing one. But without having the ability to even stand at the moment you’d have to forgo your first one in a while.

Grasping the remote you clicked the power button. Settling on the channel was previously on. You weren’t really in the mood to watch tv but certainly did not have the energy to get up to try and find your phone. You were sure nobody even noticed your absence anyway. You often found yourself alone at keggers flirting with whatever cute clueless touron caught your eye for the night.

John B and Sarah were all over each other always. Kie seemed to disappear with whatever hippie group rolled around. JJ went to go collect whatever piece of ass he caught for the night and Pope did whatever Pope did. You loved them but the group certainly did their own thing at keggers.

Making yourself comfortable you knew this is where you’d end up sleeping for the night. You prayed that JJ would just go home with a girl tonight. All too often he’d end up passed out in your bed cuddling with you in your sleep. Something you usually prayed would happen. But not tonight. His arms wrapping around you would hurt more than it’d help.

Closing your eyes, you just hoped sleep would take over. Either that or the edible you popped in your mouth thirty minutes prior would. You couldn’t have been asleep for long before you heard the screen door creeping opening and shut. Inevitably a pogue was coming back for the night. Glancing back up at the clock you frowned seeing it was only just past midnight. It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to be back so early. The group usually always stayed out until at least two in the morning on kegger nights.

“Y/N?” You heard that all too familiar voice call out your name softly. The overhead lights clicked on earning a soft groan from your sensitive head. Your suspicions of a concussion were likely correct with the way the lights made your head throb. JJ must have heard you as he quickly shut them off before hurrying over to the source of the soft cry. You must have looked pathetic curled up underneath a few blankets failing to get warm after the painful crash.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” JJ crouched down to your eye level. Gently, he pushed your hair away from your face studying your expression intently, way too intently. If you hadn’t felt so dreadful you were sure your face would be as bright as tomato. Unfortunately, you looked as pale as a ghost sending alarm bells through JJ’s head. He’d seen you eight hours ago, and you were completely fine. A far cry from your current state.

You nodded you head into his hand shamelessly craving his touch. JJ’s touch always made you feel better. His hand accidentally grazed over where your head had hit the rock a few hours prior forcing a small wince to your face.

You just didn’t understand. You’d gone out hundreds, if not thousands of times alone and had been completely fine. Sure, you’ve taken a few tumbles, but you were usually so much more careful. You hadn’t even realized you had gotten so close to the rocky side of the shoreline. You could’ve sworn you were in your usual spot.

“Y/N Routledge.” He frowned scanning your head for anything visible. His frown visibly deepened as he turned your head to the side spotting fresh red cut across the back of your head, “What the fuck happened?” He spoke lowly, a little too harshly for you in your state.

You felt stupid tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, threatening to water over. Why were you getting so emotional suddenly? You’d never dare dreamed of crying in front of JJ yet here you were getting ready to bawl like a baby in front of your best friend. Pogues were tougher than this. You had to be tougher than this.

“Hey, hey, hey.” His tone changed to one of softness as he wiped away a tear that had managed to escape, “It’s okay Y/N. It’s just me. JJ. What happened? Are you okay?” He leaned forward not letting your head escape his grasp. Something was really wrong. You weren’t using your words which never seemed to fail you, until now. You were usually so free and open with your words.

JJ noticed immediately that you were missing from the kegger failing to show up with any pogue. You usually showed up with John B or Kie, yet you never came. He tried to find a girl to distract himself from his thoughts of you. Ironically enough that was his usual routine even if you were there. He usually found a dumb blonde to distract himself from you. He couldn’t stand it after another few hours, so he called it a night hurrying back to the chateau to see if you were there.

He really only panicked hearing your soft cry when he turned the lights on. That wasn’t like you. You were hard as a rock, tough as steel, sharp as a blade. He can’t recall a time he’s seen you cry. Not even when your dad disappeared. At least you didn’t cry in front of him.

You took another shallow breath in wincing from the fresh wound on your side. JJ noticed. Of course, he noticed. He noticed everything about you. How could he not notice how small you looked. How unlike yourself you must have felt.

Taking another ragged breath, you finally found your words, “I wiped out pretty bad surfing earlier. Hit my head and scratched my side up.” Taking a shallow breath, you continued feeling like you were exerting far too much energy just speaking a few words, “I think I patched my side up okay and I got my head to stop bleeding quickly.”

“Y/N.” He nearly growled pulling off the covers on top of you.

“JJ! It’s cold.” You complained to him, unsure of what he was planning. Whatever it was you would allow him to do. You trusted him with your entire being. You grew up around the boy and grew to fall in love with his every action. Slowly you fell entirely in love with your best friend. You couldn’t pinpoint a day that you really could say that you were really in love with him but now? Oh yeah, you loved him deeply. Far more deeply than a best friend should.

“Shh, you’ll be fine for a moment. I’m just checking your side.” If there was one thing JJ was an absolute pro at it was bandaging injuries. Years of dealing with his father and growing up with injury prone pogues resulted in him being nearly flawless at first aid.

He frowned seeing your red blood soaking through the attempted bandage. He audibly sighed before continuing, “Y/N. Sweetheart. You’re still bleeding. I need to get this stopped and bandaged. Can you follow me to your room? It’ll be easier to clean you up on your bed.”

Did he just call you sweetheart? Was he being a nice new JJ because you looked so bad? If so, you could get used to the terms of endearment from him. It felt normal. Too normal even. Like it just rolled right off his tongue. Like you wanted to hear it every second of every day from him.

Nodding quickly, you attempted to swing your legs out from your sleeping position. What you hadn’t anticipated was how completely zapped of energy you had become in the hour or so you spent on the couch before JJ found you. Any energy you did have was gone and vanished. Setting your feet on the ground you only felt yourself wobbling as you tried to stand.

“Nope, no. Stop Y/N.” JJ frowned placing a gentle hand on your shoulder stopping you from getting up.

“I can do it J.” You groaned frustrated at his overprotectiveness. It was so like him to not even give you a chance to try. You knew it came from a place of love it was just hard sometimes.

“No, Y/N you can’t.” He paused making sure you weren’t planning on anything. It was like you to try and get the best of him. But you listened only sitting back down on the couch. You really must’ve been hurting if you weren’t even trying to mess with him, “I’m carrying you to your room. Come on.” Before you could protest, he picked you up effortlessly. Holding you as if you would shatter right there in his arms if he squeezed too hard.

“Why didn’t you call?” He asked as he set you down on your good side. He patted your pillow telling you to lay down so he could work on cleaning you up properly.

Listening to him, you laid yourself down slowly, “Can’t remember where I left my phone.” You admitted truthfully. He smiled softly at that comment. That was very much like you. You seemed to lose your phone on almost a daily basis. You weren’t attached at the hip with it like many of your friends and classmates. Often going days in between checking it making sure to let whoever was trying to reach you that you were okay, just busy with life.

He made a face as he removed the haphazardly placed wrap you had managed to get on, “Damn Routledge. This one’s bad.”

Your breath caught when you felt the cool air hit the still wound, “I know J. This one hurt.” You sighed while closing your eyes just wishing this would be over.

“Sorry sweetheart.” There it was again. A cute pet name that made your heart race just a little faster, “This is going to hurt. A lot. But I’ve gotta make sure it’s clean alright?”

You nodded keeping your eyes closed.

“You can squeeze my hand.” JJ hovered his left hand over your grip. Feeling his hand there you gripped his hand softly in yours. Beyond thankful you had JJ as your best friend you gave his hand a gentle squeeze letting him know you were good. That you were ready.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the hydrogen peroxide-soaked cloth contacted your wound. The feeling was about ten thousand times worse than you could’ve imagined. Squeezing JJ’s hand tightly you bit your lip attempting to stop the instant tears that formed under your closed lids. It was a failed attempt as the tears escaped down your cheeks eliciting soft sobs from your throat.

JJ paused placing a hand on your head, “I know baby, I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon I promise, okay? Can you look at me Y/N? Please?”

Slowly opening your eyes, you looked up to your best friend who gave you a look you’ve never seen before on his face, deep concern. You must’ve been in worse shape than you thought. JJ didn’t let his guard down often and here he was showing you his every thought written right across his face.

He smiled softly seeing your bright eyes even though they were stained by the tears. You sure were pretty. Beautiful even. Even through the tears you were one of the prettiest girls JJ has laid his eyes upon, “There she is.” Gently, he took his thumb cleaning up the tear trails running down your face.

“I’m sorry JJ.” You whispered in an utterly defeated tone. You felt beat the hell down by life at the moment. More than thankful for the best friend who cared to do this for you though, life did give you one perfect thing.

“Shhh.” He shook his head placing a finger on your lips, “I’d do this for you a thousand times over just like you’d do the same. Got it? No more apologies.”

You nodded in his hand for the second time that night feeling an immense comfort with the pressure he was applying to it, “Okay JJ.”

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead focusing back on the task at hand, “I’m so sorry sweetheart, this is going to hurt.”

Again, you failed to stop the waterworks that sprung from your eyes. You were normally so strong and composed. But you’d never gone through anything quite this painful before. You gave yourself a pass for letting yourself really feel it.

JJ whispered his sweet nothings that seemed to come out of nowhere. Not that you were complaining. You were finding a little too much comfort in his sweet terms of endearment. You were able to get through it by focusing on his words instead of the pain from the peroxide.

“And we’re done.” JJ nodded seeing his handiwork, “How are you feeling?” He crouched down again so you wouldn’t have to look up. Softly, he placed his hand on the side of your head.

“Better.” You hummed thankful that the dull ache was back and not the active stinging from just moments ago.

He gave you a curious look, almost as if he didn’t believe you, “Here.” He handed you a few pills and some gummies.

“Some pills to help with the pain and natures cure.”

Smiling at him you really should’ve expected it from him, “I’ve already had a gummy tonight.”

You tried to refuse him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, “What’s a few more? Let yourself sleep. Your body heal. I’ll be here in the morning.” He kissed your cheek making you take the gummies and pills from him.

“Okay J.” You popped them in your mouth without hesitation hoping the edibles would knock you right on out. You set the pills down on the nightstand.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Call if you need anything okay?” He went to go turn off the light before you called out stopping him.

“Wait J!” He paused turning to look at you snuggled underneath the covers.

“Yeah?”

“Can you sleep with me please?”

Grinning he flicked the light off hopping in right next to you, “I thought you’d never ask.”

You giggled scooting yourself close to him feeling comforted by the smell of his familiar cologne. You’d definitely have to address the terms of endearment later. Not having any sort of energy in you to bring that up right now. Quickly, you drifted off into a dreamless sleep with JJ right at your side.

You woke to the voices of you brother and best friend throwing shouted whispers at each other. You knew they were trying, and failing, to keep from waking you up. It wasn’t their fault you were such a light sleeper though. It was a miracle JJ was able to sneak out without you waking up. You only had to giggle at their attempts to be quiet. You sure did love them.

“What happened JJ?”

“She said it was a surfboarding accident. It’s not good John B. I haven’t seen her like that before. Ever.” JJ was emphasizing every word.

You rolled your eyes at JJ’s dramatics. You don’t think you were really in that bad of shape. The dull ache from your side reared its ugly head reminding you just how painful that crash really was. Sure, you cried, a lot, but who wouldn’t of? It felt like the hydrogen peroxide was stabbing you over and over again.

You heard the boys pause. John B must have been thinking, “What do you mean?” He questioned his best friend.

“Crying. Lots of crying. It was terrifying John B,” JJ admitted recollecting his thoughts. Seeing you in that state really tore him up. He cared for you deeply. Way more deeply than even he wanted to admit to himself. Seeing you that hurt made him realize maybe he did care for you in a different way. Way more than a friendly way. JJ’s heart actually might have shattered when he found you crying. He decided right then and there that you were his girl. He vowed to never see you like that ever again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her shed a tear man.” JJ continued. You heard a can crack open. Hoping it was a can of soda and not an early morning beer. Often you would lecture them for the bad habit. They returned by flipping you off and telling you to shut it. It shouldn’t have surprised you though that they both ignored you.

You heard your brother audibly sigh, “Well, what do we do?” He questioned JJ, unsure of what his next steps really were. He truly was at a loss. Your father usually took care of this kind of stuff, not John B. He needed help and he needed it fast. For your sake anyway. You just knew he was probably pacing the kitchen. A nervous habit he had picked up from your father growing up. Big John always paced the house when something wasn’t going right. It drove you absolutely mad wishing he could just relax. But that was something Big John never did.

You were right. John B was pacing the narrow kitchen not knowing what the hell to do next. Watching JJ, he kept his eyes trained on him hoping he’d have a better answer than he did, “I don’t know! Let her rest and shit. Don’t bother her.” JJ threw his hands up in the air feeling himself panic at not knowing what to really do.

He thought about taking you to the hospital last night, but he couldn’t figure out a way to get you there safely. Instead, he stayed up the entire night making sure you were fine. That you were still breathing. JJ knew he was being dramatic about the whole thing, but this was you. Y/N. His Y/N. He was pretty sure the worst he’s seen you prior to last night was after some stupid fight with some kook boys leaving you with a black eye and a busted lip. You were proud of yourself and smiling the entire night. Proud that you were able to knock the taller boy down. You never dreamed of shedding a tear.

John B paused again. The sudden realization of JJ liking you hitting him like a freight train. He’d had his suspicions before, but this nearly confirmed it for him. John B knew he had to play it off cool. He actually kind of liked the thought of the two of you dating. Big John always said the pair of you would end up together anyway. He got used to the thought over time.

“Oh, you’re down bad for my sister! Real bad.” John B smirked raising his eyebrows as if to challenge JJ.

“Shh JB! She can totally hear us right now.” JJ tried shutting his best friend up throwing him a nasty glare only earning a louder laugh from the brown-haired boy.

“Shit, you didn’t deny it this time JJ.” John B’s laughs died down as JJ gave him a serious look. Did JJ Maybank actually have real feelings for you? John B had always teased JJ about you, but he always made sure to deny it. He didn’t this time.

“Just let her rest, okay? Don’t be too hard on her? It was an accident. You can be hard on her when she’s feeling better.”

John B’s suspicions were confirmed as JJ redirected the conversation right on back to you. He really did like you. John B leaned back into the counter giving JJ a smug look like he figured him out, “Yeah, yeah lover boy.”

Rolling his eyes JJ flipped him off ready to go and check in on you. He promised he’d be there when you woke, and he didn’t want to break that promise already. You heard the soft footsteps of JJ coming your way. Quickly closing your eyes, you tried your best to pretend to be asleep.

Evening out your breaths you heard your bedroom door open and shut. Curiously though you didn’t hear JJ move. Was he just standing there?

JJ stopped after he saw your pretty face outlined by the orange morning light coming through your bedroom window. He felt his pulse speed up as he reveled in the way you looked in your sleep. Way too pretty for your own good.

JJ knew he liked you he just didn’t realize how much he really did. The thought of losing you made his heart ache. Your accident may have just started something in his head he knew he had to admit to you. He loved you. Loved you dearly. He was in love with you.

As quietly as he could he slid back into bed. You knew it was your only chance, so you pretended to wake up. Stretching your arms and all.

“Good morning beautiful.” JJ grinned seeing your eyes open up.

So, he wasn’t going to stop? He was just going to keep calling you sweet things as if it was nothing? He was trying to kill you, you were convinced anyway, “Morning J.” You yawned still feeling a bit tired from everything.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

His expression was one of disbelief, “You don’t have to lie to me Y/N.”

“Well, I am okay. It still hurts. But I’m okay.”

“You know I love you right?”

“What?” You nearly gasped taken aback by the change of conversation out of nowhere.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, are you okay?” You returned his question this time.

“No,” He groaned a little frustrated by his lack of being able to form a sentence. To fully be able to explain what he means, “I’m in love with you Y/N.”

“You… what?” Your eyes scanned every inch of his face trying to understand what the hell was going on.

“I’m in love with you and I have been for a while. Last night just made me realize how stupid of me it is to not tell you. I love you.”

“Oh, wow. Did I hit my head that hard?” Surly you were dreaming right? How many times have you dreamed of those words coming out of his mouth. And he said it so casually. Like it was nothing. Like you weren’t dying to hear those words.

He laughed. A full belly laugh. Just one reason as to why he loved you so deeply, “Maybe.” He bopped your nose with his finger, careful not to touch your body. Too scared he’d hurt you, “Doesn’t change that I love you. That I’m in love with you Y/N Routledge.”

“Really?” You asked in disbelief.

“Really, really.”

“Wow.” You grinned, “That’s good.”

“Yeah?” He smiled seeing you look him over intently.

You nodded smiling to him, “Very good.”

“Why’s that Y/N?” He wanted to hear it from you too. Just a confirmation of what he felt also.

“I love you too JJ. I’m in love with you.”

1K notes · View notes

bradshawsbaby · 1 year

Text

No Words

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST. Miscarriage in the second trimester, intense grief, marital struggles, brief reference to a D&E procedure, mentions of blood, a hopeful ending.

Author’s Note: This was not an easy story for me to write, but it was one I really wanted to tell. Though I have not personally experienced a miscarriage, it’s something that has deeply affected my family, and an experience that many women I know, love, and care about have been impacted by. I don’t think it’s talked about nearly as much as it should be, which is what leads so many people to grieve and suffer in silence. This story is a tribute to the experiences that many people I know have gone through. Please know that if you or someone you know has experienced a miscarriage, you are allowed to grieve and mourn in the ways that you need to. My heart is truly with you.

This story was written for @cherrycola27’s #top gun taylors version challenge. It was inspired by the song Bigger Than the Whole Sky, particularly these lyrics:

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye You were bigger than the whole sky You were more than just a short time And I've got a lot to pine about I've got a lot to live without I'm never gonna meet What could've been, would've been What should've been you

There were no words.

As the days faded into weeks, and the weeks melted into months, you tried and failed more times than you could count to find the words to make those around you understand the devastation and grief that you were grappling with.

But there were no words.

How could there be?

How could there be words sufficient enough to explain the way you cried yourself to sleep every night, salty tears soaking your pillow until your body finally took pity on you and allowed you to fall into a restless, miserable slumber?

What could you say to make people understand that the throbbing ache in your body, the pain that still robbed you of breath when you were least expecting it, was surpassed only by the unbearable agony in your heart?

How could mere words convey the thousands of ways your world had fallen apart, the way your dreams had shattered, the way your soul would never be whole again?

They couldn’t. They wouldn’t.

And so you had stopped trying.

You had stopped responding to texts from friends. You no longer picked up the phone when your family called. You had groceries delivered to the house.

The kitchen counters, which had once been covered with home-cooked meals and baking supplies, were now littered with restaurant menus and take-out containers.

On the days when you did manage to drag yourself out of bed, you usually made it only as far as the couch, where you’d curl up under your favorite blanket and stare blankly at the walls surrounding you, walls that had been home for well over a year, but which now felt as foreign as the mysterious, far-flung kingdoms you’d read about in the fairytales you’d loved so much when you were a little girl.

But you were no longer a little girl. And this wasn’t a fairytale.

He was worried about you. You knew he was.

You could see it in his blue eyes every time he looked at you, his gaze brimming with the tenderness and deep love that had always made you confident he was going to be yours forever.

“Sweetheart,” he would whisper every night when he came home from work, kneeling beside you where you lay on the couch and gently stroking your cheek with his calloused fingertips.

His name, so precious and beloved to you, always sat right on the edge of your tongue, but you weren’t able to get it out past the lump that seemed determined to remain permanently embedded in your throat. So you’d just look up at him, the sadness in your eyes mirrored in his as he brushed your hot tears away.

And every night, he’d carry you to the bath where he would wash your body clean with gentle hands. If only he could do the same for your heart.

Tucking you into bed, he’d lay beside you and hold you close as you sobbed, “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.” Over and over and over again, his name falling from your lips like a litany, your voice raw with desperation.

“I know,” he whispered, rubbing your back with his strong, sure hands and pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. “I know, sweetheart.”

But did he know? He was the only one who could understand what you were going through, but did he really know?

You weren’t sure that he did, and that knowledge cut you deeper than words could express.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You and Bob were supposed to be happy. You were supposed to be glowing and bursting with anticipation, waiting any day now for the newest member of your family, your sweet little bundle of joy, to arrive.

But instead, your womb and your arms were empty, and your husband came home every night to a wife who could barely make it through the day without falling apart, a wife who turned away from him when he reached for you, determined to hide from him the tears that still choked you every night, even four months later.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Everything had been going so well. The joy you’d felt when you first saw that little positive sign on your pregnancy test had been exceeded only by the look of pure awe on Bob’s face when you told him the news that he was going to be a father.

You’d had so many grand plans for how you were going to tell him, so many sweet ideas swirling in your brain for how you were going to make this life-changing announcement. But in the end, your excitement had gotten the better of you and you’d found yourself flinging your arms around your husband as soon as he walked through the door, sobbing and laughing in tandem as you shouted, “We’re having a baby!”

You’d done everything right. You took all your prenatal vitamins, went to all your appointments, took care not to put too much strain on your body. Every time you and Bob walked out of your doctor’s office, hand in hand with a new ultrasound picture of your growing babe, you felt like you were floating on air. Was it possible to be so happy?

Turns out, it wasn’t.

Because despite doing everything right, despite taking all your vitamins and eating all the right foods and following all the prenatal exercise plans, despite every appointment going perfectly, despite making it to your second trimester and telling all your family and friends, you were still met with the most devastating words you’d ever been on the receiving end of:

Your baby no longer has a heartbeat.

You had known something was wrong the second you saw the ultrasound technician’s smile falter, her brow furrowing as she gazed intensely at the black screen. The smile she quickly pasted on as she turned to you was tight, though not nearly as tight as Bobby’s grip on your hand as she rose from her stool with a murmured “Please excuse me for a moment” and hurried out of the examination room without a backwards glance.

Your mind knew what your heart refused to accept as the technician returned several painfully long minutes later with your doctor, who took the stool she’d vacated and lifted the ultrasound wand once more, pressing it firmly to your rounded belly. You felt the sob catch in your throat, saw Bobby lower his head as your doctor turned to face you with a sorrowful look in his kind eyes.

“Mr. and Mrs. Floyd, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I’m afraid your baby no longer has a heartbeat.”

It was all a blur after that. You were aware that your doctor was talking, but he suddenly sounded so far away. You could feel your husband’s eyes on you, his large hands gently squeezing and caressing, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the ceiling of the examination room. Had you ever noticed that it was painted light blue before?

The words came to you in fragmented pieces, none of them seeming to make sense.

Late miscarriage.

Often caused by chromosomal abnormalities or congenital defects.

Never detected in any of your scans.

Sometimes these things just happened, and no one could explain why.

Sometimes these things just happened.

Being so far along…it would have to be a D&E…could be performed right here in the office…recovery could take up to a couple weeks…

Sometimes these things just happened.

No one could explain why.

Sometimes these things just happened.

Why?

That was the only question, the only thought at all, that kept echoing in your mind after it was all said and done and Bobby finally brought you home, your body feeling battered beyond repair.

You didn’t cry at all those first couple days, when the anesthesia and the grogginess were still working their way out of your system. You saw the silent tears that streamed down Bob’s face as he held you—he’d taken off two weeks from work to take care of you in the aftermath of the procedure—but you just couldn’t understand. It was like your mind was trying to shield you from the awful reality, from the truth that your baby was gone, by blocking out any consciousness of it.

But that fragile illusion could only last so long.

When you woke one morning to painful cramps, tears glistening on your lashes before you had even opened your eyes, you sat up with a gasp and pushed the covers back, only to find your inner thighs and sheets soaked with blood.

You didn’t even realize you were screaming until Bob came frantically running into the room, his eyes quickly taking in the sight before him as he rushed to your side, cradling your face in his hands until you met his gaze.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he assured you, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “I’m here.”

“The blood, Bobby, the bl—”

“The doctor said it was normal. That it might happen for a couple weeks after the—after the—”

He couldn’t say it, but you knew. With sudden, sickening clarity, the pieces fell into place inside your brain and you could no longer hide from the truth of it.

Your baby was gone.

Once the tears came, they couldn’t stop.

Bob tried everything in his power to give you the comfort that you needed. He held you tightly as you sobbed for hours on end. He patiently accepted how you pushed him away whenever your paralyzing grief turned to raging anger, and he was quick to offer words of forgiveness when you tearfully apologized afterwards. He made sure you ate, made sure you took your medication, made sure you bathed each day, even when the thought of getting out of bed seemed an insurmountable task.

He was so good to you. He loved you so much. Through the haze of your own grief, you knew he was grieving, too. And yet, as the weeks passed into months, you found it harder and harder to talk to him.

There were just no words. Not even for the man who shared the burden of a grief as heavy and desperate as your own.

You had tried so hard in the beginning to make everyone see. To help them understand how you felt. But how could they? Your friends and family were so supportive, constantly checking in and asking what they could do to help, but the answer was nothing. They could do nothing to help. They couldn’t bring your baby back, and that was all you wanted.

Your grief was all-encompassing. You felt like you were drowning in it, and you couldn’t figure out how to make them understand that. You couldn’t make them see that you didn’t know how you were supposed to go on, living with this giant hole in your heart. It felt impossible that someone could still be able to breathe and walk and talk and go through life when their heart had been destroyed so completely.

But still, you tried. For weeks, you tried. You saw the sympathy, the sadness, the desire to help in your loved ones’ eyes. But you never saw that flicker of understanding.

No one understood.

A month after your miscarriage, you decided to try going back to work.

“Are you sure?” Bob asked, worry furrowing his brow after you told him of your intentions. “Mr. Buchanan said you could take as much time as you needed,” he reminded you. Your boss had always been a kind man, and that had proven to be even more the case in the wake of your unimaginable loss.

“I know, but I think it might be good to try getting out of the house. Maybe it will help start to take my mind off things,” you told him, trying to offer him a smile, though you had a feeling it came out more like a grimace.

“Okay, sweetheart. But only if you’re sure,” Bob nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He drove you to work the next day, squeezing your hand encouragingly before you could climb out of the car. “I’m going to keep my phone on me at work today. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

As it turned out, you needed him much more quickly than you could have anticipated.

After only being back in the office for a few hours, you locked yourself in the bathroom, the tears streaming down your face as you pulled out your cell phone with trembling hands and called your husband.

“Sweetheart?” Bob’s voice sounded anxious over the line as he picked up after only one ring. “What’s wrong?”

“Bobby, please,” you sniffled, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand. “I need you to come get me.”

Your husband didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Bob was the one who spoke to Mr. Buchanan, wrapping his arm around you and shielding you from the curious glances of co-workers as he led you out of the office building where you’d been working for the past few years.

Neither of you spoke on the drive home. Bob kept his gaze firmly on the road ahead, and you stared out the window, tears streaming down your cheeks.

It wasn’t until the two of you were finally back inside your house and seated on the couch in the living room that Bob slowly asked, “Sweetie, what happened?”

That was when you broke down completely.

“They didn’t even care!” you sobbed, your voice breaking as your shoulders slumped forward and you buried your face in your hands. “They didn’t even—they didn’t—” You could barely catch your breath, you were crying so hard.

“Hey, hey,” Bob murmured soothingly, moving closer to you and wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders, tucking you against his chest and resting his chin atop your head. “Slow down, sweetheart. You’re going to make yourself sick,” he told you in a gentle voice, rubbing slow circles on your back until you calmed down somewhat, small hiccups escaping your lips. “They didn’t what?” he prompted carefully, once he thought you had regained some of your composure.

You looked up at him then, your face streaked with tears and your eyes brimming with a pain he would have given anything in the world to take away from you.

“I—I wanted to t-talk about the—the baby,” you explained in a shaky voice, laying your head on his shoulder as he continued to rub your back. “I just—I wanted to talk. But—but no one would let me. Every time I tried, they just told me how sorry they were and then changed the subject. One w-woman even told me that it would be okay because soon I’d have another b-baby and then I’d forget all about this.” When you looked up at your husband, you saw the pained expression on his face at your words. “Forget about it? How could I ever forget about it? How?” you wailed.

Bob’s jaw clenched as he held you closer, brushing your hair away from your face and pressing kisses to your temple and the top of your head. “People try to be nice, but sometimes they don’t understand how ignorant their words are—how hurtful they can be, whether they mean them to be or not,” he said, his voice pinched as he tried to remain calm and steady for you.

“No one cared, Bobby! They didn’t even want to know his name! It’s like he didn’t matter, like he didn’t even exist. But he did!” you cried, wrapping your arms around your husband’s neck and clinging to him as you fell apart.

“Yes, he did, sweetheart. He did. He was our son,” Bob whispered, leaning back on the couch and pulling you onto his chest as you continued to weep.

You and Bob had known you were having a baby boy. You’d found out just a few weeks before you’d lost him.

“A boy! Oh my goodness, Bobby, a boy!” you’d exclaimed happily when you’d opened the envelope from your doctor’s office. “Are you happy, honey?” you asked, wrapping your arms around your husband and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Bob beamed proudly, turning slightly so that he could capture your lips with his own in a sweet kiss. “So happy, sweetheart. I love you so much,” he whispered, resting a hand on your small bump. “You and our little guy.”

The two of you had even picked out a name—Oliver Robert Floyd.

“We could call him Ollie,” you giggled one night as you and Bob were lying together in bed, fingers intertwined as you dreamed together of who your baby would be.

“I like that,” Bob nodded, his face splitting into a wide grin as he gazed at you. “And who knows? Maybe he’ll end up with a call sign of his own one day,” he teased.

“Oh, would you like that? To be an aviator like Daddy?” you asked, glancing down at your belly and poking gently. You felt a tiny flutter in response, which made your heart sing. “He says he’d like that,” you told Bob, laughing brightly as your husband lowered his head to kiss you.

But Ollie would never get to be an aviator like his daddy. He would never get to be a little boy with big dreams. He would never get to be a man who carried on all the things you and Bob had taught him. He would never get to be anything.

Your son was gone.

But he had been here once. He had been real. You had felt him.

You couldn’t just forget him. You would never forget him.

And yet your co-workers and colleagues didn’t even care to know that he had a name.

After that disastrous first day back to work, everything started to go downhill. Mr. Buchanan said you could take as much time off as you needed, and you did. You didn’t want to go anywhere. You didn’t want to do anything. You didn’t want to see anyone. You just wanted to be left alone.

No one understood. No one knew what it was like to have to say goodbye to the child you had never even gotten to meet, never gotten to hold in your arms or give gentle kisses to. No one knew what it was to wake up every day and wonder who your child could have been, would have been, should have been.

It was a pain, a grief, an agony that you carried alone.

As time continued to pass, and the hurt only seemed to get worse and not better, you found it too difficult even to talk to your husband about it. And that hurt, because you loved your Bobby more than anything in the world. But as the weeks continued to slip by, it felt like he was able to move forward, to continue with his life, while you were caught in this intangible place of mourning. He was moving on, and you were stuck here, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do much of anything.

Bob could feel the distance growing between the two of you. You knew he could. He’d reach for you, and you’d stiffen or pull away. He’d try to talk, and you’d tell him you were tired and needed to lay down.

The hurt that flashed across his face each time you pulled away was like a constant knife in your heart, but you didn’t know what to do. The chasm just kept widening every day, and you no longer knew how to cross it.

“I stopped by Dr. Morales’ office today on my lunch break and picked this up,” Bob told you one night when he returned home from work. You were sitting on the couch and just blinked at him blankly. He set the glossy pamphlet down in front of you. “It’s for a support group at the hospital. For women who have miscarried or lost their babies. Dr. Morales highly recommended it. He thinks it would be good for you.”

You just stared down at the pamphlet, but didn’t make a move to grab it. You didn’t say anything either, just continued to sit in silence.

“Sweetheart, I really think that we should—”

“I’m tired,” you said flatly, rising off the couch slowly and turning in the direction of your bedroom.

“Sweetie, please.” Bob begged, reaching for your hand, which you swiftly pulled out of his grasp.

“I just want to be alone,” you snapped, more harshly than you intended. Swallowing, you tried to look away from the pain that bloomed across your husband’s face.

“Of course, I’m sorry. I just…” Bob sighed, hanging his head. “Go get some rest.”

Turning away and fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over once more, you wrapped your arms around yourself and stumbled on unsteady feet towards your room. You resolutely refused to look at the door on your right as you passed by it, the door that had remained firmly shut since the day you had been given the news that your baby had no heartbeat.

All you wanted to do was sleep. At least when you were asleep, you could escape the pain that had been your constant companion these past four months. Not to mention, you could also escape the reality of the constant pain you’d been inflicting on your husband lately.

He was so good, so full of gentleness and love and compassion, and you just felt so broken.

Crawling under the covers, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to think about how perfect things had seemed just a few months ago.

When you woke with a start a few hours later, your bedroom swathed in darkness, you were startled to realize your husband wasn’t beside you. It felt as though he’d never come to bed at all. Trying to swallow back the nausea you sensed rising up your throat, you pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed slowly, padding across the room on quiet feet.

When you opened your bedroom door, you were met with darkness in the rest of the house.

Where was he?

Taking a tentative step into the hallway, you began moving slowly in the direction of the living room and that was when you saw the light up ahead. It was faint, as it was spilling from behind a door that was only partially ajar.

The door you hadn’t opened in four months.

You felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, but you forced your feet to keep moving, one in front of the other Your pulse quickened in your veins and your breathing grew more shallow the closer you came, until you were standing right outside the room.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you carefully pushed on the door to your son’s nursery, widening the opening without stepping inside.

You had thought your heart was already broken beyond repair, but what you saw in that moment proved that that must not have been true, because you surely felt your heart break all over again.

There, kneeling on the floor beside the crib that he had proudly spent hours putting together with his own two hands, was your sweet husband, cradling the little teddy bear that the two of you had bought not long after you first discovered you were pregnant. The first gift you’d purchased for your baby boy.

Bob had his face buried in the bear’s fuzzy belly, his back turned so that he didn’t see you standing in the doorway. You were fairly certain he wouldn’t have been able to see you anyway, not through the tears.

Your husband was weeping, a heart wrenching sound that immediately cut through the fog that had been blanketing your heart and mind for weeks.

Letting out a soft cry, you immediately raced into the room that you had sworn you would never look at again—the nursery that you and Bob had spent so many happy weeks designing and decorating and organizing before all your big dreams had come to a crashing halt. Collapsing on the floor beside your husband, you wrapped your arms around him and held him close as he cried.

“Why?” Bob rasped, the tears streaming down his face as he lifted his head slightly, still clutching the teddy bear tightly to his chest. “Why?”

You felt the tears running down your own face as you shook your head, cradling his head against your chest and running your fingers through his honeyed hair. “I don’t know. I keep asking myself that same thing, but I don’t know. I don’t have any answers,” you admitted, resting your cheek against his soft hair.

Bob clung to you desperately, like a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. You held him just as tightly, the two of you weeping together in the center of the nursery your son would never get to see.

“I miss him,” Bob confessed quietly, his voice laced with such agony that it pierced you straight through. “He should be here with us, and he isn’t, and it isn’t right. It isn’t right,” he sniffed, his tears soaking the front of your shirt. “I miss him so much.”

“Oh, honey, I miss him, too. More than words can describe,” you cried, stroking his hair. “Every day, I wake up and for a second I think I’m going to feel him still inside me, or hear him crying in the nursery, and then reality hits me and I—I just can’t do it. I can’t even get out of bed some days.”

“I don’t want to either most days,” Bob told you, looking up to meet your gaze with his watery blue eyes. He’d never told you that before. “I wake up in the morning and I go through the motions and I get in the car and drive to work and I cry the whole way there.”

“You do?” you asked in surprise, eyes widening slightly. “You never—you never told me that.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Bob admitted, suddenly looking ashamed. “I wanted to be strong for you. I wanted to be your rock.”

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, reaching to cup your husband’s face in your hands.

“You’ve been through so much, and you’ve been suffering, and I didn’t want to add to any of your pain or make it harder for you in any way. I wanted to take it all away. And I knew I couldn’t do that if you were worrying about me on top of everything else,” he explained, a few stray tears trickling down his cheeks, which you brushed away with your thumbs.

“We’ve both been through so much,” you insisted, caressing his cheek lightly. “And you shouldn’t have to carry your grief alone. We’re supposed to carry it together,” you told him, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath before opening them again and continuing, “I thought—I thought maybe you were moving on.”

“What? No! Never,” Bob shook his head adamantly, cupping the back of your head and holding you close to him. “Did you think—oh, God, you didn’t think that I was just getting over it, did you?”

Your breath suddenly caught in your throat as you choked back a sob. “I didn’t know what to think. It felt like—I knew you were grieving, but our grieving looked so different and I didn’t understand yours and it felt like you were moving forward and I was just stuck here and I was going to be left behind because you were learning how to live with it and how to move on and I couldn’t and I—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bob gasped, the teddy bear still clutched in one of his hands as he wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his nose against yours, seeking an intimate, close contact with you. “Oh, my love. No, no, no. I would never leave you behind. Never,” he promised, his lips brushing warmly against your forehead. “I was struggling because I didn’t know how to help you. It felt like everything I said was the wrong thing and every time I tried to get closer, you kept pulling back, and I was so scared to see you withdrawing like that, and I just didn’t want to push you too far. But I should have been honest with you. I should have let you see that I’ve been struggling, too. So much.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry,” you apologized tearfully, burying your face in his neck. “It’s been so hard trying to make people understand how I’m feeling. But I realize now that, as much as they may love me and want to help, they’ll never really be able to understand. But you do. You lost him, the same way that I did. You’re the only person I can share this grief with. And I’m so sorry that I pushed you away instead.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Bob murmured softly, wiping your tears away with gentle fingers. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry. Grief is messy, and right now we’re in the middle of the mess. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Maybe a part of us will be here forever. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone but you. And I want us to get through this together,” he said, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tenderly.

“I want that, too,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word.

Bob pulled you into his lap and the two of you sat for a while in silence, your husband rocking you slowly back and forth as you sat on the floor of the nursery. You looked around at the walls, which you and Bob had painted a light blue—“Like the sky,” Bob had smiled when you’d chosen the color.

“I thought I’d never be able to come in here again,” you confessed, biting down on your lower lip. “I thought—I thought it would hurt too much.”

“I know,” Bob nodded, kissing the tip of your nose. “I know you never wanted this door open. But tonight, I just felt like I had to come in here. And when I did—well, it felt like a moment frozen in time, y’know? I looked at the crib and the rocking chair and the toys and the clothes and I just…” He let out a heavy sigh. “I just broke down. I just kept thinking about what could have been. What should have been. And who he would have been,” he murmured, running his fingers through the ends of your hair. “Sometimes I feel so broken, and other times I feel so angry.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” you told him, curling up against his chest. “I feel the same way.” You paused for a moment, turning something over in your mind before you went on. “I think part of me is afraid to let go of all this grief and anger because—well, because it’s all I have left. And if I let it go, I feel like it means I’m letting him go,” you admitted, your voice breaking as you started to cry again. “And I don’t want to let him go. I don’t.”

“Oh, honey,” Bob whispered comfortingly, squeezing you close to his chest. “I don’t want to let him go either. But you know what?”

“What?” you sniffled, wiping at your nose and looking up at your husband.

“We don’t have to,” he told you, grasping your chin in his hand and gazing deeply into your eyes. “He will always be our son. Always. No matter what some lady at work or anybody else says. He wasn’t just some moment, here one minute and gone the next. We’ll always have him.”

You nodded at that, your tears trickling down your cheeks and soaking his hand, which was still holding onto your chin firmly.

“But I don’t think that means we have to hold onto the pain forever,” Bob continued, kissing away your tears with gentle lips. “The grief will always be with us. We’ll carry it in our hearts forever. But I do believe that we’re going to be happy again. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But soon. We’re going to be okay, sweetheart. I know we are.”

And for the first time in four months, you really believed that. For the first time since your life had come to a standstill, you had hope that tomorrow would be a brighter day. Like Bob said, the grief would always be there, a pain that you would have to learn to live with over time. And you would learn to live with it, so long as you had this man by your side.

Shifting in Bob’s arms so that you were facing him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, a bit shyly at first and then with more confidence. “I love you so much, Robert Floyd. I always will. Forever.”

Bob smiled, a genuine smile, and cupped your cheek in his hand as he pressed another kiss to your lips. “I love you with all my heart. Forever and always.”

The two of you sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a while longer until Bob finally rose, lifting you up as well. “Do you mind if I bring this with us to our room?” he asked, holding up the teddy bear he’d been holding tightly to all this time.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you told him with a small smile, leaning against his side as he led you out of the nursery. Once the both of you were out in the hallway, he reached back to shut the lights off and was going to close the door, when you suddenly said, “Leave it open.”

“Are you sure?” he asked gently, eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked down at you.

You were quiet for a moment, but then you nodded. “I’m sure.”

Gazing at you proudly, Bob slipped his arm around your waist and led you down the hallway to your bedroom, where the two of you slipped under the covers and found your way back into one another’s arms.

And as you slowly fell asleep, resting safely atop your husband’s chest, you realized the ache in your chest had lessened for the very first time.

You and Bob would survive this grief, together.

You would be okay.

Your husband had finally given you the words you had been searching for.

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