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f1byjessie · 4 months

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SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fa14 #lance stroll

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violetrainbow412-blog · 9 months

Text

Birthday wishes [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: everyone seems to forget Spencer's 30th birthday, but he only cares that you remember it.

second part here!

contents: childhood best friends, idiots who-don't-know-they're-in-love, surprise parties, pure fluff honestly

If you like my work leave a comment or reblog, that would make me very happy!

The first thing Spencer did when he got home was get rid of his converse and even though it had been a relatively calm day he was exhausted, so he went straight to the bedroom to throw himself on the bed. He lay back for a while, just enjoying the calm, and then he fumbled for the cell phone in his briefcase. He hit the call button on the contact he'd wanted to talk to all day and then he waited patiently.

“L/N family residence, who do you want me to contact you with?”

"Hello, is Miss Y/N by any chance?"

"Who's looking for her?" you continued and a smile escaped from his lips. It was usual for you to respond in a silly way when he called you, so he was used to it by now.

"Her best friend, Dr. Spencer Reid"

“Spencer Reid? Spencer Reid, I don't think that sounds familiar…” you teased, hearing him snort from the other end of the line “Ah! Wait, I remember you."

“After knowing each other for like 20 years, I hope so” he laughed, and then you too.

Sure enough, the man and you were friends from a very early age. You were his neighbor when he lived in Las Vegas and your parents had always been quite nice to the family, knowing the delicate situation they faced, so it wasn’t difficult for you to become friends. You were the first friend he ever had, a real one, so there was a special fondness between you, even when he had gone off to college at such a young age and distance had subsequently separated the two of you.

You always called each other and every time he visited his mother it was a law that you also received a visit, even if the time was only enough for you to greet each other with a hug. You also traveled to DC a few times because of your work and you even had your own key to his apartment, so if he was busy with a case, you could stay there instead of paying for a hotel. Your relationship was like that of a brother and sister, although as this familiarity grew, it was slightly intervened by loving feelings that you didn’t want to face yet but were definitely there.

You knew a lot about his life from those long-distance calls that happened at least once a week, and right now he was excited about something in particular. He was exactly one week away from his thirty-year birthday, and he hoped that, like every year, you would fly from Las Vegas to see him. It was a tradition, whether it was thunder or lightning, you two hadn't missed a single birthday from the other since he had to move out of state. So Spencer was hoping that this call was for you guys to plan what you were going to do; regularly your birthdays were in restaurants or nice places and his were at home, with food delivery and classic movies, or when you felt very adventurous you could go to a museum or just walk through the streets.

"How are you, Reid? How is everything?"

"Not so good, but not so bad either" he laughed "And you?"

"Everything has been terrible, it's like a curse is on my head, I swear" you complained. Spencer got up from his comfortable position to sit on the bed and although he knew that most of the time you said things like that you were just exaggerating, this time he had a bad feeling.

"Why?”

You started to tell him about the financial problems you were going through and he, with his mind still focused on your visit, thought about offering to pay for your flight to DC, but his spirits fell completely when you told him that you were being put under too much pressure at work.

“We're going to have a meeting next Friday with HR to discuss responsibilities and so on, but honestly I don't think things will get better. Right now I'm working from home because there are pending issues that have to be resolved as soon as possible and I barely have time to think during the day, you seriously can't imagine how busy I've been.”

When you finished the story, he remained silent, feeling his chest squeezed by the direction that things were now taking. With that scenario, your visit was too complicated and he was debating internally about whether he should tell you something about it or not. As he had thought before, the money to have you with him wasn’t a problem, but dealing with the issue of your shortened times was totally different. He didn't want to make you feel guilty for not being able to go, let alone disrupt activities that he knew were important to you, like that meeting you just mentioned. So what should he do? He wanted you to be there, but he wasn't going to make you.

“Crash? You still there?" you asked. Only you and his mother called him that, since his nickname had arisen when he was just a child due to his clumsiness, a trait that, in your opinion, he still retained. It wasn't offensive coming from you, even he was glad to know that this was something that belonged to the two women he loved the most.

"Yes, I'm here. I just was thinking"

"You always do, I don't think there's a single second when that mind of yours rests," you said amused "Anyway, what's new?"

Spencer hoped that you would at least apologize to him for your future absence or ask him what he intended to do today. But you seemed not even aware of it.

“Nothing, really. Today we're done with a case and if I'm lucky I'll be able to rest this weekend” he murmured. Sometimes he would tell you things about the cases, omitting bloody and dangerous details, so he leaned back and started recounting all the events into the speaker of his phone.

You two continued to talk for almost an hour, but the topic of the birthday didn't come up once and Spencer didn't try to bring it up. After all, there were still a few days to go and in the worst case, you could at least call him that day to congratulate him, right?

But as the days went by, the anxiety ate him more and he even called you a few days after that, but he only received a response from your mailbox and after a few minutes a short text message where you explained that you were a little busy with work, but that you would call him as soon as you could. The fact that during those days he found out that the entire team already had something to do on Friday didn’t help his mood too much.

Hotch and JJ discussed a sleepover for Henry and Jack after work, he overheard Garcia and Morgan agreeing to visit a new bar for the night, Rossi said he was going to visit one of his ex-wives and when he thought he could still invite Emily to hang out, she went over to talk to him about the therapist appointment that she clearly didn't want to go to, but had to. There was no remedy, everyone had plans for his birthday and he didn’t want to interfere with them. Resignation was the only thing the doctor had left during the remaining days, and when he least expected it, the entire week had already passed.

He used to wake up to your off-key version of the birthday song and a cupcake with a candle stuck in it, then you'd make breakfast and you'd eat it together; so not having any of that when he got out of bed, he felt his heart break a little. This year he thought he would get your call first thing in the morning, but when he checked his phone he didn't even find a message announcing that there was a case. He didn't want to go to the office to do paperwork on his birthday, but the thought of at least getting a hug from his coworkers cheered him up slightly.

He put on his favorite shirt, a new pair of pants, and the converse that you had given him and he only wore on special occasions, before leaving the apartment. For some reason Spencer enjoyed taking the subway, perhaps more than anyone he knew, and this time he stopped at a coffee shop that was just before arriving to buy something to drink, since he didn't feel like eating anything.

He undertook the entire trip lost in his thoughts and when he least expected it, he was already at the headquarters. He checked his phone, again, but he still didn't get any notifications or missed calls. Many times you had insisted that he get a more modern model and he had refused, but now he was wondering if the advances in technology would have allowed him to communicate with you through a video call. It would be embarrassing to ask Garcia for a favor, so he concluded that he would just wait, after all if he hadn't communicated it must have been for something important.

Upon entering, he greeted everyone with a huge smile and he felt somewhat disconcerted when the others greeted him normally, without hugs or cake on the table. He sat down at his desk to start going through the documents he already had and the others continued on their own business. It was common for Emily or Morgan to come up to him for a chat, but on this particular day it was as if they were avoiding him. Even Penelope, who he swore would congratulate him, seemed to have completely forgotten when he came to her place with the excuse of needing a piece of information from the previous case. When Hotch called him to his office, the man's eyes lit up, believing that his boss had remembered the celebration of the date.

"Can you do me a favor?" he had asked, without taking his eyes off whatever he was writing "Donovan needs to sort some files and honestly he has no idea how to do it and I'm too busy to explain, could you do it?"

Donovan was in charge of the physical file inside the building and it was not usual for him to request this kind of support, but Reid still said yes, and the rest of the day passed with him locked in a cellar full of filing cabinets. He had made sure to take his phone with him and every time he turned it on to check it and he realized that there was no sign of you his disappointment increased. He came to wonder if his mind hadn't been playing tricks on him and, for some incredible reason, he had gotten the day wrong and it wasn't really October 12; but when he saw the calendar, he verified that this wasn’t possible.

“Are you out of punishment yet?” Emily taunted, when after many hours she saw him again by the bullpen. At another time Spencer would have laughed, but right now his mood wasn't quite right for it and he just looked at her, more hostile than he intended. “Hotch left you some documents on your desk, he asked if you could review them before you go. It's urgent,” she informed him.

It was obvious that this would take time and he felt like crying at the thought of having to stay longer than the regular time. It was almost an hour after everyone else had gone home that he finished, feeling somewhat annoyed to find out that even Aaron had already left.

He doubted whether to go home or go to dinner somewhere, because he knew that if he returned to the apartment he would sink into sadness. His birthdays didn't mean anything special on their own, what he liked was to feel loved, to enjoy the company, but above all to see you.

While he was leaving the building, and as if you were reading his mind, a call vibrated on his cell phone. Seeing that it was you, Spencer didn't take more than two seconds to answer, thinking that maybe after the whole day he could improve.

"You won't believe what happened to me!" you said, without even greeting him. It wasn't the kind of sentence he was expecting, but he still decided to listen.

"What happened?"

“There is a boy, at my work, his name is Brandon. Well, Brandon and I have talked a few times now and he seems like a nice person, plus he's pretty handsome and he finally asked me out on a date with him, can you believe it?" you murmured excitedly, and a lump formed in Spencer's throat "We're going out today, the meeting was canceled and we decided to take advantage of the time, but I can't decide whether to wear the red dress or the black and gold outfit that my mom gave me and I need the help of an expert. You have seen both, which one do you think suits me better?

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing the situation she was going through, and it wasn't until you said his name that he reacted.

"I like your red dress," he murmured, with a sad smile that you clearly couldn't see. He couldn't believe you were going out with a man you'd never mentioned and it affected him more than he expected you to be asking for advice because a pang of jealousy shot through his chest.

You were telling him that you were going to have a date on his birthday.

“I thought the same! I guess that will be the best option."

"I guess…"

"Where are you now? At home?" you kindly asked. Your tone almost made him angry.

“I just got off work. I'm on my way to take the subway"

"Oh, excellent. Today there were no cases?"

"Not fortunately. I'm glad to know that the criminals at least respected my birthday."

With that said, there was a deathly silence between you, to the point where he wondered if you were still on the other end of the line or if you understood what he was implying.

“Spencer, my God, I…”

"It's okay if you forgot," he said, trying to play the matter down, but the tears that were beginning to accumulate in his eyes indicated otherwise. The guilty tone with which you had spoken was more than enough to know that, probably, if he hadn’t mentioned it, you wouldn’t have done it either "Nobody remembered it"

"I'm so sorry" you practically sobbed "Between all the work and stuff I... I don't even know why I forgot, forgive me”

"It’s okay" he replied. But it wasn't okay.

“Can I do something to fix it? Whatever, you just… ask me what you want and I'll do it. I swear," you mumbled, sounding desperate.

He tried to convince you that there was no problem with it and you continued to pour out apologies, which Spencer knew were worthless now but he wasn't selfish enough to ignore them. He wanted to scream, cry, or do anything to get that weight off his chest and even though he loved the sound of your voice right now it was the last thing he needed.

“Anyway, I'm about to enter the subway and uh, I have almost no signal there. I'll call you later, okay?" the question didn’t wait for an answer, because he immediately added: "Good luck on your date, bye"

If he had considered going out to celebrate, he knew that now what he urgently needed was to go home or he would break down in tears in the middle of the street. The ride on the subway lasted longer than he would have liked, as he longed to go to sleep and find out if it would allow him to forget a bit about the shitty day he had just had. When he was finally in front of the door with the number 23 in gold letters, he struggled enormously to put the key into the lock, because the tears in his eyes were already clouding his vision, and he believed that the heaviness on his shoulders wouldn’t allow him to advance.

The key turned one turn, then another, and then Spencer was allowed inside the house.

One week before…

The team was meeting in the conference room at the request of Penelope, who had asked everyone to stay after the scheduled time, waiting to receive the news of what they thought would surely be a new case.

"And Reid?" Morgan asked, noticing the empty chair next to him, because they had seen him leave and that was reason enough to have questions about his absence.

"I'm glad you asked because this meeting is related to him," Garcia replied. With the push of a button, a face appeared on the main screen and almost everyone present was surprised to see who it was "She is Y/N Y/L/N, do you remember her?"

"You were at Prentiss's funeral, right?"

"That's right" you replied with a smile, looking directly at the aforementioned "I still have a little trouble understanding, uh... that whole thing, to be honest" you joked.

"Y/N asked us for this space to discuss something related to Spencer's birthday, which will be next Friday" explained Hotch, who was the other member who was already aware of the matter "The microphone is all yours"

"Okay, so where do I start? It's great to see all of you and I hope you're doing well. Every year I visit Spencer on his birthday and we spend the day together, but since this year is his 30th birthday I wanted to do something special and I want to know if you would be willing to help me”

"Tell us your plan, precious"

“I don't intend to take up a lot of your time, it's simple. I will call him today to insinuate that this year I can’t go and all I want you to do is pretend that day that you don’t remember that it’s his birthday”

"Wait, why do you want us to ignore it?" JJ muttered with a frown.

"I want to throw him a surprise party in his apartment" you explained with a smile and then the request you were making to them didn't sound so farfetched "You can tell him you have plans that day and if he mentions something you just say you can't go. I bought my flight for that day and I will be in the city starting in the morning, so I can prepare everything”

"And how will we do if he invites us somewhere?"

Morgan suggested using a decoy for him and pretending they were taking him somewhere else, but you balked at the idea.

“I have all my hopes that he doesn’t mention anything. If so, we'll manage somehow. And I know that asking for that is difficult because we are all his friends, but if necessary, avoid him completely that day. We need him to know under no circumstances that we have a surprise for him."

“He is very smart and he will figure it out. If we make him believe that we forgot he will concentrate on that” you argued. Although the others didn't want to admit it, they knew that you had a point there "I just hope you don't have some unforeseen case or something like that, because I would hate for that lie to be for nothing"

You discussed some more until you concluded that your plan was the most viable. The girls would help you with ideas for decorations and David even offered to buy all the drinks. Although the others weren’t surprised by his generosity, you were slightly upset, but this didn’t prevent you from accepting the offer and thanking him in advance.

“It really means a lot to me that you guys help me, thanks” you murmured happily, once everything was settled, and then your phone started ringing in the background “It's Spencer! I have to answer him. If something happens, you guys will tell me, right?"

"Take it for granted" smiled Garcia, who was the one who had lived with you the most, but everyone supported her from the bottom.

"Fine, thanks everyone, thanks Agent Hotch, I'll see you later!" you said goodbye, hanging up the video call and simultaneously answering the phone.

Everyone got up from the conference room and Rossi was the first to speak, a smile on his face.

"Call me crazy..." he started to say "but something tells me that girl and Spencer are going to end up together"

"The pretty boy loves her, but he still doesn't notice it," Morgan laughed, as they all walked out. "Whenever we go to Vegas, his eyes shine when he sees her."

“And she's setting this up for him! It's so sweet" Penelope sighed, who had already taken Derek's arm "But the part about being mean to Spencer doesn't convince me much… he's going to be so sad"

"Look at it this way, babygirl: if he's sad he'll be happier than usual with the surprise."

"Nobody's going to screw it up," Emily threatened them, pointing her index finger at them, and the rest of the team promised they wouldn't.

Meanwhile, your first part of the plan was in the works, with the late-night call he had made to you. You had to admit that lying to your best friend was something you hated, but with any luck it would all be worth it when you could hug him and give him that gift that you had carefully kept on one of the shelves, that you hoped could be enough for such an important event like the first thirty years of life.

What happened during the week is history, which was consolidated at the moment he turned the handle without even imagining what awaited him.

When Spencer walked through the door the first thing he did was turn on the light and he felt like he was going to have a heart attack when he heard the screams coming from inside. There were purple balloons scattered all over the floor, a congratulations banner, a table full of presents, and everyone was there.

The shock was such that he couldn't even manage to say a word and some of the tears that he had been holding back were finally able to come out, but this time for different reasons.

They hadn’t forgotten.

"How…? What are you doing here?"

“We came to celebrate your birthday, genius,” Morgan laughed, as he reached over to hug his friend and ruffled his hair brotherly.

A wave of hugs preceded that and even he received a couple of kisses on each cheek from Rossi, which finally made him laugh. He seemed like a child, completely fascinated with everything around him and still processing the situation.

In the midst of it all, he couldn't help wondering how his friends had been able to enter the apartment, since none of them had a copy of the key and the landlady was too suspicious to have let them in just like that, but he felt happy for the direction the day had taken.

“First of all, we have another surprise for you,” said JJ, obviously excited. The rest shared complicit glances and García began to record with his cell phone, which made him a little nervous "But you have to close your eyes."

Spencer looked at everyone else as if waiting for a confirmation of that, and seeing a couple of nods he did what his friend was asking. Just to make sure Jennifer covered his eyelids with her hands and in this way she turned him around, while he wondered what this surprise could be about.

"Are you ready?" she asked and the man answered yes with a hum. There was silence for a second, as if they were checking something, and then she withdrew her hand. "Open them."

Many possibilities went through the man's mind for whatever he would see at that moment, but when he did, he felt his heart stop for a moment. There you were, looking at him with a sweet smile and wearing that red dress.

The rest of those present were waiting for who would make the first move, because the two of you had froze looking at each other, and García was only pointing the camera carefully as you had requested.

"Surprise?" you said shyly, noticing that Spencer hadn't said anything.

You were afraid that after the call you had he was upset with you in some way, but a second after he recovered from the shock he was already on top of you, holding you by the waist to spin you through the air while you laughed heartily.

"You came," he said, his voice cracking, but completely brimming with happiness.

"Of course I would, Spencer, do you think I'd miss your birthday?"

"But you... your work"

"All a vile lie"

"And that boy?"

“There was never such a thing,” you laughed, freeing yourself from the weight of guilt “You're my only boy,” you added affectionately, palms planted squarely on your friend's cheeks. He still had you in his arms and was grinning from ear to ear at your answers "I'm so sorry I told you all that, I just didn't want you to suspect anything, can you forgive me?"

"No!" he practically squealed and you widened your eyes in amazement “Today was the most terrible day because I thought you didn't care about me anymore, you made me suffer! All of you!" your friend complained, looking away from you briefly to look at those present.

"In our defense, she asked us to," Emily laughed, holding up both hands in surrender.

"You're so mean," he murmured, turning his attention back to you. "But I love you so much.”

A group sigh filled the room as he engulfed you in a hug and from your position you could see the teasing or tender smiles they all had. It wasn't very common to see the youngest of the team in that position, much less saying those things, plus we had to add the collective opinion that you were madly in love.

"Seriously, forgive me"

"It’s okay…" he whispered close to your ear "You're here, that's what matters"

His body felt so soft and safe that you didn't want to stop hugging him, but you knew that if you took too long it would create an uncomfortable environment for the rest, so you had no choice but to gently pull him away from you. The woman asked your friend, just to annoy him, if he liked his surprise and although he didn't say anything, the giant smile and flushed cheeks were enough of an answer.

"Come, you won't escape my melodious voice" you murmured after a few seconds, when the commotion calmed down a bit.

Taking him by the hand, you led him to the table where you had the chocolate cake with a couple of candles that formed the number 30. Everyone sang the song while the wick burned down and the boy looked anywhere, with that certain shyness characteristic of him. When he blew out the candle to make his wish, you all applauded and that started the celebration.

There were some appetizers on the table and Rossi had stocked all the drinks quite well, as he had promised. As the minutes passed you hovered here and there to check that things were in order, arranging everything as if it were your own apartment, and Spencer could only smile at how well you seemed to get along with everyone. The last time you'd seen the team was, sure enough, during Emily's funeral, but that didn't mean there wasn't some history between you.

He still remembered the feeling of shame when in the early years he had asked Gideon for permission to summon someone to the hotel during a case in Las Vegas. It wasn't that he was ashamed of you, but that he was ashamed of having to reveal something so important in his life to his FBI colleagues. The agent didn't object at all, but that didn't spare the man from being grilled by Derek and Elle about which mysterious lady their younger coworker was talking to. Over the years, people left the unit, and others joined, but the constant was always you. Even now, if a replacement happened, Spencer knew that the rest of the team would take it upon themselves to introduce you to said person.

At some point he felt a tremendous nostalgia for that time and in a chain of thoughts he came to ask himself if working where he did was the right thing to do. Turning thirty was cause for celebration, but for him it was also tantamount to thinking how well he had lived up to the expectations of what he expected to have achieved at this age: How much progress should he have made in the world by now? Was it any use having that brilliant mind that everyone raved about if he was working in a government office? And what about his personal life? He wanted to get married at some point and wondered if he should be looking for love instead of criminals. Even while he was through all this, he wished he could focus on how happy his friends had made him instead of worrying about other things.

"Up to here I can see the gears of your brain" laughed someone next to him. It was Emily "What's wrong?"

"Nothing" he murmured, shaking his head softly "I was thinking about some things, it's just that"

"You should drink some more, that wine that Dave brought tastes delicious" she smiled, inviting him to come closer to the others to chat.

It was a bit ironic, but completely understandable, that even at his own birthday party he would remain a bit oblivious to the situation. Following Emily's advice, he poured himself another drink and joined the other attendees to enjoy the moment. For hours you laughed and chatted, until the drinks were running out and your drunkenness rising.

The parents of the group were the first to leave and the last was a drunk Penelope who threatened to stay there to sleep, but Derek took it upon himself to guide her to his car to take her home. It was late at night when only you and Spencer were left, amidst all the decorations in the room.

"Peace and tranquility"

"It was too much?" you laughed, knowing that your friend could become overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle.

"No, no. Just kidding"

“And was it okay for you? You had fun?" you asked, referring to the party, as the two of you sat down on the leather couch. The dress you were wearing rose to the top of your thighs and his attention strayed there for a second, so he looked up guiltily; He didn't help the blush on his cheeks that there was your cleavage.

"Everything was wonderful"

"Are you seriously not mad at me?" you insisted

"No, honey, I'm not," he laughed. You tried to ignore the fact that he had said that to you, since it wasn't something he was used to, and just smiled sheepishly, "I mean, at first I was a little, but now that I understand why you did it, I'm not anymore."

“You are already thirty… you are so old!”

"You are older than me!" he squealed, completely offended, and you responded with a laugh. Although that was true, you looked more jovial than the man, something that a variety of people had taken it upon themselves to verify.

"Now that I remember, do you want to see your gift?"

"Isn't this supposed to be my gift?" The confusion was evident in his voice and you refrained from answering, as you bolted into the room. You came back from there with a box in your hands, which you later placed on your lap with evident emotion.

“I wrapped it myself” you confessed, rather proud of yourself. You had found a piece of paper to cover with drawings of equations and small microscopes that you thought captured the essence of your friend and, of course, now that he had seen it, he had liked it a lot.

The man's fingers drummed the surface under your expectant gaze, and then he winced slightly.

"What's up?"

"I don't know, I think maybe I should open it later…"

"Spencer Reid!" you yelled. It was obvious that he was only joking with you and you knew that by the laugh that escaped his lips.

Your friend opened the box almost ceremonially and then removed the tissue paper that covered the contents: above all there were two hardcover books, one about the world of fungi and the other about poetry, next to it an hourglass, then three boxes with jigsaw puzzles, a pocket chess game, packets of Reid's favorite sweets, and last but not least, a picture of the two of you in a pretty chocolate-colored frame and a little paper envelope to go with it. One by one he was taking out the gifts and his smile only grew with each object, while he felt his heart grow with love.

"I remember this day" he murmured, referring to the photograph you had chosen. The sky was blue behind you and you were kissing Spencer's cheek, who was smiling at how spontaneous it had been “We were in a park after going to an art exhibition."

“And we bought the most delicious ice cream in the world”

"I differ, I've had better," he murmured, shrugging. The truth is that you thought that the ice cream had been delicious because of the whole panorama of that day, not so much because of the taste itself.

Spencer knew that photo would have to go on his desk in the bullpen, although the taunts he was sure the others would throw at him. Perhaps having you there would serve as a reminder that there was good in the world, despite everything he could see on the job every day.

“Oh, and I read somewhere that hourglasses help people with anxiety because it's relaxing to watch the sand fall so they can focus on it. I thought you might like it, I bought it at an antique store."

"It's very nice" he agreed, turning the object over and checking that it actually worked "I'll open the note, okay?"

Spencer always preferred that you read his letters in private because if he saw your face and knew you were reading those words he would just cringe, but you didn't seem to share that trait so you agreed to his request. As with the box, he carefully opened the envelope and then pulled out a handwritten note.

I hope you like these little gifts that try to express a huge love.

Never doubt that you are making a change in the world and that you are surrounded by people who love you, including your old neighbor who now ironically lives too far from you.

Happy 30th birthday to my favorite person in the entire world. I am confident that many more years will come for both of us.

Always yours, Y/N.

"Don't cry, Reid" you asked gently, feeling your own tears at the edge of your eyes. Spencer smiled and leaned in your direction to wrap you in a hug so hopefully you wouldn't notice if he got emotional.

"Thank you" was the only thing he managed to say.

He wanted to thank you not only for that day but for years of friendship, years of feeling like he wasn't so alone in the world if he had you by his side and even thank you for treating him like a normal kid when no one else did. And as always, you perfectly understood what he was referring to.

You stayed like that for a few minutes; Spencer tucked into the crook of your neck and cooing at the throbbing on your pulse line, and you basking in the warmth of the contact.

“Did you like the puzzles?”

"Yeah! They are great” he replied, as he moved away from you so that he could observe you “Do you want us to put one together?”

“Sure” you smiled “Just let me put on my pajamas and I'll be right back, okay?”

"Good. You look very beautiful in that dress, by the way. I don't know if I forgot to tell you” he flattered you, making you smile sincerely.

"You chose it, remember?"

Before getting up you kindly squeezed his cheek and after changing your clothes you returned to where you were. He had chosen the puzzle with the design of a Monet painting and spread it out on the floor, where the two of you settled comfortably.

Your friend took a bunch of pieces and you took another and you guys worked in silence until little by little things started to come together. He was very good at the task and very soon he already had a considerable part assembled; although you were going a little slower you followed a constant rhythm.

"Hey, Spencer"

"Yeah?" he asked, too intent on finding a place for the piece in his fingers to watch you.

“What was your birthday wish? When blowing out the candles”

"Oh, I didn't wish for anything"

"Why?" you asked confused.

Spencer looked up from the puzzle and smiled at you.

"Because my birthday wish was already right here"

It seemed obvious to him, but it took you a second to understand exactly what he meant and when you finally did, your eyes gave him the sweetest look of all.

You and your friend stayed up all night until the play was over and after that you both stumbled to bed, where you fell fast asleep in each other's arms.

At some point Spencer half-opened his eyes, prisoner of a bad dream, and when he was aware of the situation he felt the peace he needed. After that it didn't take him long to get back to sleep, with a smile on his face and his whole world held in his arms.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you

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wheresarizona · 4 months

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Learning to Live Part 30

summary: Sunday—it’s Javier’s 40th birthday, and you have some sexy surprises planned for when you get home from dinner. Monday—you’re back at work after your lovely vacation, and it’s time to bite the bullet and tell your disapproving family that you’re getting married. You can probably guess how well that goes over…

rating: E (18+! A good chunk of this is about birthday sex. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (around ten years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (m & f receiving), 69, face sitting, butt plugs (f), anal play (f receiving), double penetration, breeding kink, lingerie, nude photos, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, spit mention, waxing poetic about Javier’s dick, getting KO’d from orgasms, banter, domestic fluff, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, death of a parent/grief, dysfunctional family, arguing, period typical sexism, spoiling Javier for his birthday, nurse stories (humorous), Javier being the little spoon, discussion about eating habits, Javier making you post-sex food, a special guest makes an appearance)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (reader is a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 16.8k (Why am I like this?)

a/n: This chapter was supposed to be solely about birthday sex, but something happened, I’m not sure what, and somehow there’s a lot of plot in it now? I apologize. I am at the mercy of the characters. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul, for betaing! You’re incredible.

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

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There was a game Javier liked to play when you went out to eat with people and were seated next to one another. It was kind of like Chicken, where two cars drive toward each other, and one of them has to swerve, or else they’ll crash—basically, it was a test to see how ballsy you were and how much of a risk you were willing to take to come out as the victor. In Javi’s version, it involved his hand under the table on your knee that would slowly creep up your thigh and under your dress, if you were wearing one, or along your pant-covered leg to try and make it to his goal nestled between your thighs—it was up to you to determine how far he’d get. Were you going to chicken out and stop his movements? Or were you going to be ballsy and let him get to the finish line? Honestly, it depended on how you were feeling and who you were with because it was really distracting when he rubbed your pussy in the middle of trying to have a conversation with someone. Still, the game was a lot of fun, and sometimes you liked to mess with him by letting him get almost all the way to his prize before you denied him, just to keep him on his toes.

Another thing was that there wasn’t always one round. Sometimes, he’d wait a bit and try his luck, again and again, to see how many attempts it’d take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of your Tootsie Pop—unless you told him to stop, then his hand would make itself at home, holding your thigh.

Tonight was Javi's 40th birthday, and you'd gone out to dinner with his father. Usually, on such a special day—and the fact you were always horny for him—you'd allow his palm to reach its destination. This evening, however, you had stopped all of his attempts and wouldn't let him get very far since you didn't want to ruin the surprise that was hiding under your dress—and your fiancé was very, very curious about what your undergarment situation was, getting to the point you kept his hand still between your closed thighs until it was time to leave.

The meal and catching up with Chucho had been wonderful—hanging out with your soon-to-be father-in-law was always a great time.

On the morning that you called the older man to tell him about your engagement, you laughed when he said he'd have something put in writing about his promises that he'd love you both living with him and wouldn't mind if there was a newborn there, too. You were well aware of his eagerness to have grandchildren and bet Javi twenty dollars his dad was going to show up today with legal documents on the matter, and you'd been right—he had a large manila envelope with an agreement he had his lawyer put together inside for you. Once dinner was done, you found out that wasn't all he brought; Chucho presented Javi with a Tupperware container filled with a big slice of tres leches cake his tía María made from his mother’s recipe. As he ate, his dad quietly serenaded him with a song called “Las Mañanitas,” much to his chagrin, the first part being:

“Estas son las mañanitas, que cantaba el Rey David, (This is the morning song that King David sang), Hoy por ser día de tu santo, te las cantamos a ti, (Because today is your saint’s day, we’re singing it for you), Despierta, mi Javi, despierta, mira que ya amaneció, (Wake up, mi Javi, wake up, look it is already dawn), Ya los pajarillos cantan, la luna ya se metió, (The birds are already singing, and the moon has set).”

There was a promise between the three of you that the restaurant staff wouldn’t be alerted that it was Javier’s birthday in order to avoid the employees bringing attention to him and singing; he didn’t, however, put any restrictions on his father or you singing to him, and Chucho was happily exploiting that loophole while his son grumpily devoured his cake he shared with you.

Javi wasn’t actually annoyed with his dad—he had the Tupperware practically licked clean by the time you were ready to go, and before you left, he gave his dad a big hug and whispered his thanks for having the cake made since it was something his mother always baked for their birthdays.

The big 4-0 was a milestone that usually involved a celebration, but your fiancé had declined his father and three tías offers to throw him a party and told everyone he didn’t want any gifts—he was determined not to make it a big deal, and only desired to have dinner with you and Chucho; the tres leches cake was a wonderful surprise, and definitely appreciated, though.

All of that brings you to where you were currently—sitting beside Javi on the bench seat of his truck as he drove you home. He’d pulled up your dress to bare your knee, resting his hand on it, and you were wondering when he would give his game another go; you knew him and that there was no way he’d be able to resist trying again, now that you were alone.

"Did you enjoy your birthday?" you asked, doing your best to keep your squirming to a minimum as you tried to find a comfortable position.

"Yeah," he answered, glancing at you with a smile. "I loved spending the day with you, seeing my mom—" You stopped by the cemetery on your way to dinner to tell her about your engagement. "—and going to dinner with Pop. Today was nice."

You hugged his arm. "I'm happy you had a good day, even though a certain someone—" Lorraine. "—tried to ruin it. Do you think she'll listen and leave us alone?" There'd been an altercation with her on your walk to the restaurant, and Javi finally had his chance to give her a piece of his mind and threaten her and her family with restraining orders if they didn't stop bothering you.

His eyes were back on the road, a frown replacing his smile.

"Maybe? She's been dead set on making my life difficult since I left her, and I don't know if she'll be able to give up."

"Guess we'll just have to see." A change in subject was needed. "Sooo, do you have any requests for tonight?"

His fingers stroked the inside of your knee.

"What do you mean?"

He started slowly moving his hand along your thigh, your palm resting on his jean-covered leg.

"You know exactly what I mean. It's your birthday, so you get anything you want."

He turned his head your way for a few seconds.

“I thought you had tonight planned.”

"I do." You nodded. "But you're the birthday boy, and I wanna make sure to include any specific desires you may have for this evening."

His focus went to what was in front of him, his fingers skating up your inner thigh and under your dress.

"Hmmm," he hummed. "I know you don't want to spoil tonight, but will I get to eat your pussy?"

"If you want to, sure."

"Are you gonna suck my dick?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Will I get to come inside you?"

There was a pause for a moment as you figured out how to respond. "...yes?"

He looked over at you with a curious expression. "That's... interesting. With how you answered, I'll be coming inside you, but not where I imagined…"

You frowned. "Javier, it is your birthday, and I won't have you ruining my surprises by you going all Detective Peña on me." To end the sentence, you squeezed your thighs shut to trap his hand and keep it from moving any further.

Your reaction made him pout and turn his attention back to the road.

"Fine," he said. "I won't think about it." He sighed. "I know you're not wearing panties. I won't be ruining any surprises if you let me touch you."

"Sure, but I want you to wait until we get home so you can undress me."

"Okay."

You rubbed his arm with your free hand. "Patience, baby—you're gonna have a great time."

His eyes met yours, and he smiled. "I know, mi amor (my love), and I'm fucking excited." He moved his hand out from between your legs to grab your smaller one on his thigh, pressing your palm against where he was half-hard beneath his jeans.

"You are excited,” you purred, rubbing him over his pants. “Better get you nice and hard before we get home.”

“With what I’m hoping will happen tonight? That won’t be an issue, Cielito.”

Once you arrived at your shared apartment, you hung up the jean jacket you were wearing, setting your purse onto the console table near the front door, Javi emptying his pockets into the large bowl on top of it. Both of you kicked off your shoes, and your fiancé laid his folded sports coat over the back of the couch before he was on you, his lips hungrily colliding with yours in a searing kiss—one of his arms went around you to pull you flush against him, his other hand cradling the back of your head, making you moan when he eagerly licked into your mouth.

His kisses were sweet from the cake, tasting it on his tongue, arousal burning hot in your abdomen. He had your toes curling and skin vibrating, wanting him so bad, and he seemed to want you just as much when he turned and walked you toward your room with your lips fused together.

Anticipation was swelling inside you, butterflies going wild in your tummy at hoping Javi really did enjoy what you had in store for him.

As your feet moved, your hands worked open the buttons on his shirt, rubbing your palms up the warm skin of his torso once it was bared, feeling the soft give of his belly to his muscular chest—moving higher along his neck, cupping his cheeks, then pressing your fingers into his soft hair.

The moment you stepped into your room, he unzipped the back of your dress and moved you a little further inside to have you at the end of your big, king-sized bed. Javi broke the kiss, shrugging off his shirt that fell to the floor, his hungry gaze focusing on your chest—he was careful when he took the red, satiny shoulder straps into his hands, and pulled the dress down and off your arms, revealing your bosom, and letting gravity take the rest of it to the ground, where it pooled around your feet.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Javi was unable to stop himself; it was as if there was some kind of magnetic pull that had his hand reaching to palm your lace-covered breast. His eyes had darkened, the front of his jeans bulging where he was straining against the zipper. "This is what you've been hiding all night?" he asked, his free palm massaging your other tit.

His reaction made you feel good about your choice of lingerie.

The red teddy covered most of your breasts and down your ribs in sheer lace with laces crisscrossing from one side to the other on the front and back to keep the pieces together; the best part about it, and what you knew was Javi’s favorite part, was the fact nothing was covering your crotch or ass—it was put on like a one-piece swimsuit, your legs going through two thin straps, with the rest of the bottom completely bare.

There was a similar teddy you owned in a pretty plum color that covered more of your skin in lace.

"Yes," you answered. "Do you like it?"

His gaze met yours, and he stepped into your space, his big hands going around to grab your bare backside.

He was smirking with his eyebrow raised. "Do I like it?" he rasped. Javi squeezed your ass. "You know I fucking love it, mi amor (my love)." His lips met yours, kissing you quickly before he ended it with a playful nip to your bottom lip, pulling his head back to look at you. "You're so fucking sexy—Christ, I want you so fucking bad."

Your hands slid up his chest to caress his cheeks, smiling at him.

"I have another surprise for you..." you said.

His eyes rounded. "There's more?" he asked.

You booped him on the nose with your finger. "Yep," you answered. "You're getting spoiled tonight."

"You don't need to spoil me."

"Um, yes, I do. It's your special day. Plus, you spoiled me on my birthday by letting me tie you up and edge you—this is me making sure your night is just as wonderful." You poked him over his pec.

He grabbed your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles as he smiled. "Happy fucking birthday to me."

"Yes, now, pants off, mister,” you ordered. “I don't want you coming in them." The sentence was punctuated with a wink.

What you said made him chuckle. "Yes, ma'am."

Stepping back from him, his hands went to the front of his jeans to quickly get them off. His belt clinked as he worked it open, hearing the teeth separate when he undid his zipper, the pants getting shoved down his legs, Javi having to do the awkward dance of lifting each foot to tug them off, along with his socks.

Once he was completely naked, he closed the distance between you, his big palms holding your face when he crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you hard. You snaked your hand down into the tight space your bodies had created to grab his throbbing cock, the skin velvety soft and hot to the touch, making him moan into the kiss. His hips bucked forward in your grip while you slowly pumped him. His hand massaged your breast and tweaked your nipple through the lace, his other palm tracing along your jawbone, the shell of your ear, and down to your neck, he gently held as you kissed, leaving a trail of fire under your skin.

"Let me show you your surprise," you murmured against his lips.

"'Mmkay," he said and didn't stop kissing you.

It was up to you to break away from him, Javi chasing your mouth when you did, making you grin and press your hand to his chest to softly push him back—his eyes were closed, his lips turned up in a smile, looking so unbelievably happy.

"Adorable," you whispered.

His chest was slightly heaving from his heavy breaths, his lips red and shining from saliva.

"Open those pretty brown eyes, babe,” you told him. “It’s time for your surprise." They blinked open, and he grabbed your waist.

"What is it?" he asked, his head dipping to kiss along the column of your throat. You took one of his hands and slid it behind you over your ass to between your cheeks.

His breath caught in his throat, his face popping up to meet your eyes with a look of surprise.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “Is that…?”

His reaction made you grin even bigger. “A very cute butt plug? Yes, it is.”

The plug was made out of smooth pink-colored glass with a tapered tip and bulbous body, the slender neck making it easy for your tight muscles to wrap around it and hold it in place, the flared base covering your hole shaped into a daisy flower.

As you said, it was very cute and filled you nicely—any time you moved, it had a tingle dancing up your spine, fueling the arousal sparking in your tummy.

His fingers were mapping out the flower, gliding over the petals, his gaze locking onto yours, seeing his cheeks had a lovely pink tint.

"Does this mean what I think it means…?" he asked with hope gleaming in those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his.

"That you can fuck my ass? Yes." You nodded. "I figured the toy would save us some time stretching me out."

He looked beyond delighted. "I am so fucking hard right now—how long have you been wearing it?"

"Since I excused myself at dinner to use the ladies' room—spoiler, I was in there getting this inside me; I brought lube and everything."

He was smiling. "My dirty fucking girl." His hand, not on your ass, came up to cup your cheek. "You kept adjusting in your seat when you got back, I thought you were horny—it's why I kept trying to touch your pussy—confused the fuck out of me that you wouldn't let me."

"I didn't want you to discover the lingerie or accidentally feel the plug."

"I get that now—can I see it?"

"Of course." You kissed him quickly and took a few steps to crawl up onto the bed, your hands and knees sinking into the mattress as you got onto all fours to present your ass to him. Seconds later, his warm palms were grabbing your asscheeks, spreading them.

You looked over your shoulder, and his eyes were glued to your backside.

"It’s so fucking pretty," he mused, rubbing a thumb over the base. “Can I take a picture?”

“Need it for your spank bank collection?”

In his bedside table was a stack of your nude Polaroids he liked to jack off to when the need very rarely arose.

His gaze lifted to yours with a smile. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then go for it.”

He walked away from you to grab the Polaroid camera off his dresser, returning seconds later. One of his hands pushed aside a plump cheek to give him a better visual.

“I fucking love this,” he murmured. The camera flashed, then whirred as it ejected the photo, Javi setting both out of the way on the bed. He was back behind you, staring at what he’d just photographed. “Am I allowed to touch it?” he asked.

"It's your birthday—you get to do whatever the fuck you want to me; mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo (my body is your body)."

He looked you in the eyes.

"I love you so much. I don't know how I got so fucking lucky—you're perfect."

"You're perfect."

His thumb circled around the edges of the glass flower, making you moan when he experimented by pulling it out a little and pushing it back in, loving the stretch—he did it again and again, and, again, Javi leaning his head down to spit on your pussy, the fingers of his other hand spreading it through your slit to rub your clit.

There was no way to stop your gasping moans as the toy was fucking in and out of your tight hole at the same time his hand strummed your bundle of sensitive nerves like a virtuoso—the sensations had your eyes rolling back in your head, the muscles in your abdomen starting to tighten as he built you up, higher and higher.

You had to face forward, your arms giving out, and crossing in front of you to rest your head on them—this was going to end quickly with how fucking good it felt, and you weren’t surprised when your orgasm hit, pleasure washing over you with a loud cry of his name.

Your breaths were ragged, sweat beginning to form on your skin.

“My good girl,” Javi purred. Both of his hands suddenly stopped, and a palm smacked the side of your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp.

"I need to eat your pussy," his voice was deeper and huskier.

Your entire body flattened onto the bed, and you turned on your side to look at him. The words came out hoarse, "How do you want me?"

"We can do anything I want...?" he asked. "Is there, uh, anything you're not in the mood for?"

Your eyebrow lifted. "Aside from my regular things I'm not into, nope—I'm down for whatever you want. What do you have in mind?"

He smirked. "You sitting on my face?"

You smiled. "Of course, you'd wanna drown in my pussy on your birthday."

"Yeah, and, uh—" He scratched at the back of his neck. "—would you wanna suck me off while I did it...?"

With how much you guys fucked, you were pretty sure Javi had put you in every position imaginable, but this request was new. Sitting on his face was something you’d done many times, but adding in having you blow him at the same time had your cunt clenching hard around nothing.

"Um, yes," you answered, nodding your head. "That is definitely something I want to do. Get your cute little ass on this bed and get comfy." You patted the bedding beside you. "I wanna take that perfect mustache for a ride."

Javi chuckled as he got onto the mattress and moved up it to flop over on his back, resting his head on a pillow he fluffed to get cozy. His hard dick was lying against his belly, the tip glossy with precum and dripping into the happy trail of hair on his stomach.

It took him a second to get settled before he tapped his chest, his eyes heavy-lidded and crookedly smiling.

“Get up here, baby—this mustache isn’t gonna ride itself.”

You snorted and started to crawl his way.

"Dork," you said.

"One you love."

"That I do.”

When you got to his side, you swung yourself around to face his feet, getting your leg over his torso to straddle him. Javi gripped your thighs and pulled you back to have your wet pussy hovering over his face, two of his fingers spreading open the lips of your sex.

"So fucking pretty," he murmured. He inhaled deeply. "You smell so good, too."

His cock was in front of you, and you held yourself up with one arm to wrap the fingers of your other hand around his length.

"In case I haven't said it lately," you started, languidly stroking him, "you literally have the prettiest dick I've ever seen.”

It was true.

He did have the prettiest dick you've ever laid your eyes on—at full mast, he was just shy of eight inches, cut, not too thin, but not too girthy, either; it was just the right size that when he was inside you, there was a nice stretch and perfect fullness. On the underside of his shaft, two throbbing veins were crawling up the sides and another along the top you liked to trace with your tongue; licking around the velvety soft ridge at the tip and over his frenulum was a surefire way to drive him crazy and get him to make absolutely delicious noises, and when he was coming, you could feel him get bigger and jerk in your mouth, hand, or cunt. If you were looking, you could see his balls draw up and his cock pulse as he unloaded spurts and spurts of his come.

It was truly a work of art.

“And being in a medical profession,” you continued, “I’ve seen a lot of dicks—95% I wish I hadn't seen."

He snorted. "Thank you—you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of pussy."

"The prettiest pussy?" You didn't mean to sound so surprised. "Really?"

"Oh yeah, the prettiest and the fucking tastiest."

It was evident Javi was done with the conversation by how he tugged your hips down onto his face and began feasting—which was an apt descriptor for how he eagerly dove in and the groans he made that sounded like he was eating the best meal of his entire life.

He licked through your wetness and over the lips of your cunt to get every last drop of your arousal he could find on his tongue; it felt so amazing you forgot for a minute you were supposed to be sucking him off. Gripping him at the base, you took him into your mouth, your head bobbing as you sucked down more and more of him until he was hitting the back of your throat.

His lips wrapped around your perky little clit, and when he sucked, it was like having lightning shock through you from the pleasure, your loud moan muffled by his cock in your mouth—it was hard to concentrate, and you put what little attention you had on the tip of him, licking along the sensitive ridge, pumping the rest of his spit-slick shaft with your palm that twitched, and loving how it made Javi whine.

He tasted salty from the steady leak of precum and clean, the scent of his skin smelling like the body wash he used in the shower. The lingering note coming through was Eucalyptus—woodsy, fresh, minty.

It was embarrassing that you were struggling to give him a basic blow job, doing your best not to get overwhelmed by his determined mouth trying to take you apart piece by piece as he licked, sucked, and tongue fucked you with abandon.

Fire was burning in your tummy and getting hotter with every second that passed. His dick was sliding along your palate to kiss the back of your throat, and you almost choked when he pulled and pushed on the toy in your ass.

It was skating the line of too much, how the plug was moving a little out to stretch your hole and being shoved back in to fill you again—thinking was hard, and you had to come off of him, unable to keep from moaning or stop your limbs from trembling.

“Oh, god,” you whined. “Oh, fuck.”

With how intense it felt, there was no way you could focus on sucking him off. What you could do was continue stroking his length, your hand gliding easily up and down while you were rocketing toward your end from him fucking you with the toy and sucking your clit. Your hips were moving of their own accord, rocking back to help fuck yourself and grind against his mouth.

Sixty-nining sounded fun in theory. The problem you ran into was your fiancé was relentless in wanting to make you come as hard as humanly possible, which made it practically impossible for you to do your part—it was too distracting. The pleasure had consumed all of your thoughts, and you could barely function.

The coil was winding inside you, getting tighter and tighter until it snapped, and euphoria was exploding from your center with a cry of his name, feeling your orgasm throughout your entire body from the tips of your fingers to your toes. Immediately, he shoved his tongue inside your fluttering hole to lick up your release, refusing to let a single drop of your come go to waste, and you could feel and hear his moans as you experienced the aftershocks of your climax.

With how hard you came, your hand paused on him, your upper body dropping, resting your head on his thigh to catch your breath and ride out your high.

Javi stopped behind you, lifting you from his face and inhaling deeply, taking big gasps of air.

"You okay?" his voice was rough.

"Mhmm," you hummed, speaking seeming too hard.

"You need a minute?"

"Mhmm."

"Let go of my dick."

You did as he asked and squeaked in surprise when he pushed you over to fall to the bed on your side.

"Sorry," he said. The mattress jostled, and pained grunts sounded from him, finding yourself seconds later getting wrapped up in his arms with your head on his chest.

“Did it feel good?” he asked and kissed your hair.

“Mhmm.”

“You come so quick with stuff in your ass.”

You smiled, finally finding your words. “You also come quick with stuff in your ass.”

“Yeah, I do—do you want me to fuck you while you’re wearing it?”

“Do you want to fuck me while I’m wearing it?”

“I wanna see how tight it makes you.”

“Uh-huh, and you wanna come in my pussy because you are on a mission to knock me up, and you would hate missing a chance.”

“That’s not all—it helps me last when I fuck your ass.”

“That’s true. It’s basically a medicinal cream pie. You know, earlier this year, they came out with a pill to help men keep it up, and we had a guy come into the ER who’d taken one—which, just so you’re aware,” you sidetracked, “if you have an erection lasting more than four hours, you need to seek medical help, and this dude was at almost six hours with a raging boner.”

He was frowning. “Did it go down on its own…?”

“Nope. A doctor had to use a syringe to remove some of the blood.”

"Jesus Christ, just thinking about that makes my dick hurt."

"Sorry." You rubbed your hand over his pec. "Let's talk about something else."

"Where'd you get the toy?"

A reasonable question, seeing as the closest sex shop was hours away in the big city.

"Okay, remember last month when you, me, Robyn, and Seb—" Sebastián, or Seb, was Robyn's boyfriend and Javi's cousin. "—spent that weekend in San Antonio, and you guys let us have our girls-only spa day while you and Seb went to see that movie about corrupt NSA agents that annoyed the fuck out of you because they got a lot of the government shit wrong, which you explained in excruciating detail to Seb at a bar afterward? Well, after the spa, she took me to a sex shop, and we bought some stuff."

"If you’re gonna make a movie about a government agency, you should do the fucking research,” he grumbled. His tone changed to intrigue, “What else did you buy…?"

"Some flavored lube and fluffy handcuffs. I was super picky about the kind of plug I wanted because you’d be surprised how many people come into the hospital with things stuck in their asses.” A memory made you snort. “Oh my god, so one time, this man came in with probably twenty or so of those bigger marbles? You know, the ones that are about double the size of a regular one? Lodged up his butt. When he was asked how they got stuck in there, he told everyone he was at home, standing on a step ladder, cleaning the cobwebs from the ceiling when he accidentally fell off and onto a container of them—this man stood by his story that instead of the marbles scattering everywhere when he fell on them, they magically made their way inside him.”

“What the fuck?” Javi said in disbelief. “He really thought people would believe he was cleaning without pants on, fell, and marbles just went up his ass? That makes zero fucking sense.”

“People come up with the stupidest lies when they’re embarrassed.”

“Like when you told the hotel staff we were checking out early because my nephew was viciously attacked by a duck?”

“You’re a jerk.” You pinched his nipple, making him flinch and laugh. “You’re just never going to let me live that down, huh?”

He grabbed your hand to kiss your palm. “No—you’re a terrible liar.”

“Rude.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kissed each of your fingers. “Did you buy anything else at the shop?”

“No, because I wanna go there with you to pick out things we’d enjoy."

He perked up, immediately responding, "We could go next weekend?"

"Shopping the weekend before Christmas? That would be a special kind of hell. Sorry, babe, we'll have to wait till next month." You got your hand free of him and patted his chest.

He let out a long, disappointed sigh. "Fine."

Things needed to get back to being horny, so you threw your leg over his waist and moved to sit on top of him with your knees bracketing his hips. His cock was wet from saliva and hard beneath you, and you leaned forward to kiss him, holding yourself up with your arms on either side of his head—this wasn't a peck on the lips or something chaste; this was a kiss that told him you wanted him. The kind of kiss that had his big hands grabbing onto your behind and groaning into your mouth. A kiss where things quickly heated up, and he was helping you grind your wet cunt over his dick, coating it in your slick. A kiss that turned into desperation for him to be inside you.

“Mmm, need lube,” you said into his lips. Sitting up, you leaned to get under the large, folded, black towel near the edge of the bed to grab the small bottle. You popped the cap, pouring a little bit into your palm before closing it and letting it fall onto the mattress beside you.

“With how huge your dick is,” you started as you lifted your hips up. “There’s no way in hell you’re gonna fit without some help.” Javi’s mouth fell open when you grabbed his cock under you, getting it nice and slick with the strokes of your hand.

His throat bobbed, swallowing. “Good call.” With how his eyes widened for a split second, you knew an idea had come to him. He grabbed your thighs. “Wait,” he said.

Your hand paused. “What’s up?”

“I wanna change positions.”

That had your eyebrows lifting in interest. “Oh?”

He was crookedly smiling. “Hands and knees, baby,” he replied, with a light slap to your hip.

“Oh, hell yeah.” You’d finished lubing him up and quickly moved onto the bed next to him, getting into the position he requested, your hands and slightly spread knees sinking into the mattress. Javi groaned when he flipped over and rose up onto his knees, the bedsprings complaining as he shuffled around to get behind you.

The smartest decision you made when you moved in together was upgrading to a king-sized bed—there was so much room for sexy activities.

Bending forward, he reached to grab the camera and set it in a place where it was easily accessible but not in the way.

He slid his dick through your drenched folds, notching himself at your entrance, his other hand holding your hip.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said. “Okay?”

Looking over your shoulder, you met his eyes that were more black than brown. “Yes,” you answered.

He smiled. “Good girl—ready?”

“Yes, Papí.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment. He looked at you again. “Me vas a matar (You’re going to kill me).”

“If by kill, you mean la petite mort, then yeah, handsome, I’m gonna make you come so hard.” You winked. “Now, stick it in.” You pressed back the tiniest bit to have the tip of him starting to enter you.

“And you call me bossy when I’m horny,” he mumbled.

There wasn’t a chance to respond since moans sounded from the both of you as he slowly started sinking into you, taking his time to let your body adjust to being stuffed with each glorious inch of him until he was buried all the way to the root inside of you.

Full didn’t accurately describe how you felt with the plug in your ass pressing against his thick cock—you were beyond full. You honestly couldn’t believe he was able to fit; you couldn’t believe you were able to take him. It was so overwhelming, it had you whimpering, squeezing your eyes shut.

Javi’s voice came out strained, “Are you okay?”

There was no way you could hold yourself up on your arms with it requiring too much concentration, so you let your upper body fall to the bed, cradling your head with your limbs.

“Yes,” the word was said on a breath.

All of the nerves in your body were aflame, feeling like static was thrumming under your skin. You were okay—you just needed a minute to get used to having both of your holes filled at the same time.

“Okay, baby.” He rubbed a comforting hand along the line of your spine. “Tell me when you want me to move.”

He picked up the Polaroid camera.

“Definitely gonna jerk off to this,” he murmured, and you heard the camera snap the picture and the gears whir to spit it out—he’d taken a photo of himself inside of you while you wore the plug.

The camera and picture were set aside.

There was a question you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “Am I tighter?”

He huffed out a breath. “Feels like you’re choking my dick with that toy in your ass—so, yeah, you’re tighter. You’ll probably cut off the circulation when I make you come, and you squeeze around me.”

Even though it was a struggle to think of anything other than the fullness, he made you worry. “Are you uncomfortable?” you asked. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable…”

“Mi amor.” He bent over your back to kiss the hair behind your ear, speaking softly, “I’m okay—I like how it feels. I’m really fucking worried I’m gonna come too fast.”

That made you feel better.

After an ample amount of time had passed for you to get used to everything, you said, “Move.”

He nipped at the shell of your ear, grunting as he straightened. He gripped your asscheeks and slowly dragged his cock halfway out of your sopping cunt before thrusting back in, stealing your breath. His pace started out languid to allow you to adapt to the feeling of him moving inside you, rough sounds rumbling from his chest, his fingers tightening on your flesh.

The plug made it easier for him to rub against all those spots that made fireworks dance behind your eyelids. Sweat glistened on your skin, the pleasure making you dizzy, and even though it had only just begun, you were already on the cusp of falling over the edge—intense was an understatement for how you felt. The heat was growing deep inside you, deeper than it usually did, the muscles in your tummy constricting.

His hips were slowly fucking into you, Javi grunting, and it was like nothing you had felt before—feeling so full and falling apart with every thrust.

“Oh, god, Javi,” you whined. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come.”

With how he spoke through clenched teeth, you knew he was fighting for his life not to finish so soon, “Come for me, baby.” He smacked your ass, the pleasurable sting making you clench and his rhythm stutter. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re so fucking tight—it feels so good.”

It was wet and sticky where you were joined, Javi coaxing wave after wave of arousal from your pussy that soaked his cock and dripped down to coat his balls—his thrusts were loud, squelching sounding every time he pushed in. Moans were escaping your lips while deeper noises ripped from his chest.

Javier wasn’t a tiny guy—just his cock made you feel full, and now you had it pressing into your sensitive walls against a rigid toy that turned up the sense of fullness to a ten and felt so fucking incredible that when he sped up his strokes, you were done for; pleasure erupted from deep in your depths that had your mouth opening in a silent scream and every muscle in your body pulling taut, hearing the man behind you let out a strangled groan as he suddenly stopped moving.

No thoughts could form in your brain, your chest rising and falling hard, your pussy pulsing as you rode out the high. Your ears rang, and you were too out of it to make out what Javi was saying, him sounding like the adults in a Peanuts film; a muted trombone going, ”Wah wah wah.”

A body pressed against your back, feeling hot breaths on your ear.

“Cielito?” he whispered.

“Mhmm?” you hummed.

“You okay, mi amor?”

“Mhmm,” you answered and gave him a thumbs up.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

The words slurred from your mouth, “Yes, please. I want you to come.”

“Okay. If it gets to be too much, tell me.” He kissed your hair, a pained sound leaving him as he moved up on his knees again.

Each time you’d done anal in the past, he’d made you come so many times you ended up passing out afterward. This time, though, the orgasms had been much stronger, and it was already hard to keep your eyes open—there was a chance if you had another, it was going to put you to sleep, and you knew Javi wouldn’t care, but you felt bad about possibly needing a little nap before he had a chance to fuck your ass.

“Javi?” you said.

“Yes, baby?” His palms slid along your sides from your waist to just below your ribs.

“I’m sorry if I fall asleep…”

He sounded confused. “Why are you apologizing for that…?”

“Because I know you’re super excited my ass is up for grabs tonight, and I feel bad I might have to make you wait while I take a little snooze.”

“Cielito, mi amor, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry, baby. I’m gonna tell you something that might surprise you.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting to fuck your pussy like this is better than fucking your ass.”

That surprised you so much that your eyes popped open, and you almost couldn’t believe him, except you knew he wasn’t lying since he was always truthful with you. Your knees were still under you with your butt up in the air, and Javi nestled all of the way inside you, your chest pressed to the mattress. You twisted your upper body to look back at him.

His forehead was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking wetly to it, a beautiful flush rising from his chest up to his cheeks, his darkened eyes meeting yours.

“Are you serious?” you asked.

His eyebrow arched. “Yeah? Why would I lie? Think about it—the plug makes your pussy so fucking tight, and I get to come in it.” He put it into plainer terms, “You’re tighter than hell, and I could knock you up.”

“Oh, you’re having the best time.”

He smiled. “I’m having the best fucking time.”

“You like the plug?”

“I love the plug. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, makes me come harder.”

“Then stop feeling bad.” He slapped your ass, and it made you tense, his mouth going slack and eyes closing at you clenching around his dick. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It’s okay if you pass out,” he said. “I might pass out, too.”

He pulled himself almost all of the way out of your cunt, and pushed back in, the fullness making your head spin and pleasure simmer in your belly. He was definitely going to get you off again, and you no longer worried about what would happen when you did.

He was going to come, and it'd only been—he looked over at the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table—eight fucking minutes since he first put his dick inside her, or more accurately, worked his dick inside her.

Javier knew it was going to be a tight fit, but what he hadn't expected was it feeling like when he pressed into her ass: the ring of muscle squeezing him hard as he fed himself into her. With the addition of the plug, there was the same tightness, yet it wasn't only at the opening; it extended further into her, massaging his cock with her hot, tight, velvety walls. He was balancing on a razor's edge to not blow his load, and her coming didn't help with how it made her pussy strangle his dick to the point it was toeing the line of being painful.

He was in heaven.

And when he made her come again, he knew she was going to take him with her.

He was rock hard, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest, and skin coated in a thin layer of sweat—Javier was wound up so tight, a ball of tension had formed in his gut that was threatening to burst; she said the toy made her come harder, and it looked like it was going to be the same for him.

His fingers dug into the soft skin on her hips, sliding himself in and out of her wet heat and having to take a big, calming breath, slowly letting it out to get himself under control and focus on not finishing so quickly.

Shifting his gaze down, he could see his cock covered in her juices, glimmering under the lights of the room before sheathing it back inside of her, and the pretty, pink glass flower covering her asshole. He was so sensitive from being close to losing it, the pressure from the toy's solid body and the warmth of her were driving him crazy and making him throb.

He increased the speed of his movements, gritting his teeth, her sounds spurring him on. He wanted to make her come once more, but he didn't have much time with the pleasure welling up in him and growing with every passing second.

His hand gripped her asscheek, his strokes not waning as the fingers of his other hand got ahold of the plug's flared base, pulling on it to stretch her hole until only the tip remained, and slipping it back in, doing that over and over again, and out of sync to his own thrusts.

The way she loudly moaned his name and stretched her arms out in front of her to clutch the bedding with her cheek to the mattress had him twitching inside of her, electricity shocking through his body. Her pussy was pulsating around him, her arousal seeping down his shaft to catch on his sack, and he knew she was close.

"You gonna give me one more, Cielito?" he grunted, continuing to fuck her with his dick and the toy. "Does it feel good getting both of your holes fucked?"

"Yes," she gasped. "Oh my fucking god, it feels so good, Javi." Her hands clenched the sheets, her body shaking. "You’re fucking me so good—marry me; put a baby in me." His rhythm faltered for a second at the stab of pleasure in his belly, and he groaned.

The muscles in his groin started contracting, his orgasm imminent, and he tried to hold it off. His hips moved faster, beads of perspiration dripping down his face and the small of his back.

"I will," he panted. "I'll marry you; I'll fuck a baby into you. I'll do anything you ask me to." His eyes were cinched tight, and he was so lost in her that his thoughts were flowing freely from his mouth. "Dime cuándo, y te haré mi esposa (Tell me when, and I'll make you my wife). En cualquier momento, soy tuyo (Any time, I'm yours). Siempre seré tuyo (I'll always be yours). Puedes tener mi apellido (You can have my last name). Seguiré intentándolo hasta que estés embarazada con nuestro bebé (I'll keep trying until you're pregnant with our baby). Serás la madre de mis hijos (You will be the mother of my children). I can't fucking wait—come for me," he ordered. "Give me one more, and my come is yours. I'll pump you full of it. I'll put a baby in you. Come for me," he all but begged.

That was it.

She gasped his name, her body going stiff, and cunt spasming, wringing out his own orgasm—his hips went flush to her ass, burying himself as deep as possible in her depths, the tightly wound ball in his belly snapping hard enough, he fell forward, blanketing her back. The sounds he made were guttural as pleasure seared through his entire being, his cock pulsing and pumping so many spurts of his come he thought it might never end.

His brain went blissfully blank, his body completely lax, his soul possibly leaving him for some seconds since everything went dark, and he couldn't think of a single thought.

When he came to, he was bone tired and on the verge of falling asleep. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to bring her with him as he moved to lie on his side, her limbs trembling, and he knew she was sleeping when there was no reaction to him removing the toy from inside her; it was tossed onto the bed near them, and then he tugged on the duvet behind him to pull it over their bodies and hugged her close with one arm, pressing his nose into her hair to breathe in her comforting scent, the ring on the hand he was holding causing him to pass out while happily thinking about how pretty soon she’d be his wife.

Time passed as they slumbered, minutes turning into hours. They shifted in their sleep and he woke when the warmth of her front pressed along the line of his spine disappeared, the springs in the mattress softly squeaking as she moved to get off it with a whispered, "Sorry." He heard her walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

He threw the blanket off of him and got out of bed, not caring at all that he was naked as his bare feet took him to the kitchen, where he got two large cups of cold water.

When Cielito came back into the bedroom, she found him standing by the bed chugging one of the glasses, and she joined him to drink her own. He finished before her, setting his empty cup on the nearby bedside table and taking some steps to end up behind her, wrapping his arms around her lingerie-covered middle. His lips met the side of her neck, kissing up it to nibble on her ear.

She hummed in appreciation, resting her free hand on one of his arms. She swallowed her drink of water. "Did you have a good time, baby?" she asked.

He spoke softly in her ear, "Yes."

Her fingers slid along his arm.

"Good. Are you up for another round, or do you wanna shower, and we can cuddle on the couch and watch something?"

Truth be told, he was exhausted from how eventful the last four days had been, and he didn't think he had the energy to go again—he was drained, and his dick was starting to ache from using it so much in Miami.

"Shower and couch," he answered, kissing a spot behind her ear. Her hand came up to press her fingers into his hair, and it made him shiver.

"Sounds good. Let me finish my water, and then we can go get clean."

"Thank you for today." He was peppering kisses along her shoulder now.

"You're welcome, babe. I'm happy you enjoyed it."

"I loved it."

"I love you."

"I know. I love you, too—I love you so fucking much."

"Same."

Forty-five minutes later, they were clean and changed—Javier was wearing his grey sweatpants, and his future wife was in a faded, thinned, oversized purple t-shirt and her underwear. She was sitting on the kitchen counter beside him eating a grilled cheese while he made his own sandwich on the stove.

At dinner, he noticed she didn’t eat much, and when he quietly asked if she was feeling okay, she told him she was fine and just not very hungry, which turned out to be a dirty fucking lie with how her stomach loudly grumbled on their way to take a shower. So, the first thing he did after they were dressed was feed her; she tried to fight him that it was his birthday and she should be cooking for him, and he responded by telling her it was his birthday and he wanted to make her something to eat. She agreed to grilled cheese sandwiches, and he had to sit her ass on the counter and tell her not to move in order to keep her from trying to help him.

“This is the best grilled cheese I have ever had in my entire life,” she said around the food in her mouth.

He huffed out a breath, flipping the sandwich in the pan with a black plastic spatula. “You’re only saying that because you’re fucking starving,” he replied.

She swallowed. “Lies—it’s the world’s best. You could win awards for how good this is.” Half of her sandwich was already eaten, and she took another bite.

Javier set the plastic utensil onto the counter on his other side and stepped to have himself standing between her legs. He rubbed his palms up her bare thighs, kissing her forehead. “I’m glad you like the sandwich, Cielito,” he said, looking at her. “Do you want me to make you another?”

She was chewing and shook her head, swallowing. “No, thank you. One is enough.”

“I can cut up some fruit? We got enough today at the grocery store for me to make you a fruit salad?”

Her hand pressed to his cheek, her gaze turning soft, and he leaned into her palm. “I’m okay, Javi,” she said. “This one sandwich is enough.”

He frowned. “You told me you were fine at the restaurant and not very hungry, but that wasn’t true, mi amor. I know it was because of the sex tonight—”

“Birthday sex,” she interrupted. “Birthday sex is special and worth going a little hungry for.” “I disagree with that…” His sandwich was finished, and he moved back to the stove, sliding it directly from the pan and onto a waiting plate next to the spatula.

“What do you mean you disagree with that?” she asked.

He put the pan on one of the cold back burners and switched off the stove, returning to his spot in front of her. His eyes were on hers, smoothing his hands along her thighs and under her shirt to hold her hips. “I mean that we’re trying to have a baby, and I don’t like the idea of you not eating enough for yourself and our child just so we can fuck.”

“Oh.” Her attention went to her lap.

“In the future, eat as much as you need—do something light if you’re really worried.” He lifted her chin with his finger to look at him. “Can you promise me that, Cielito? Can you do that for me so I won’t worry?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Thank you.” He slotted his lips against hers, kissing her tenderly. When they separated, he asked, “Another sandwich or fruit?”

“Fruit, please,” she answered. “Can you do it with Tajín and chamoy like the fruit cart?”

She was talking about the fruit cart on the side of one of the busier streets downtown where you could get freshly cut fruits like mango, jícama, papaya, and watermelon, and they did vasos de frutas (fruit cups) similar to the street vendors in Mexico; cups filled with a variety of cubed fruits and topped with Tajín (a powder made of chile, lime, and salt), and chamoy (a thick sauce made out of pickled fruit like mango, plums, and apricot that was mixed with spicy chiles, and a salty brine—it’s a tasty mixture that was sweet, spicy, salty, and sour).

The combined ingredients created a refreshing snack that perfectly balanced the sweet, tangy, and spicy flavors.

He smiled. “Of course, mi amor.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips before making his way to the fridge to start getting out the fruits.

She hopped off the counter after she finished her sandwich to stand next to him, holding up his grilled cheese for him to take bites of while he chopped the fruit and chatting with him about random things on her mind.

They were sitting on the couch, her legs on his lap, and had just finished their vasos de frutas (fruit cups), which ended up being tazones de frutas (fruit bowls) while they watched the first Jurassic Park movie. His empty bowl was on the coffee table in front of them, his hands busy gliding over her legs and thighs. She leaned forward to set her dish down beside his as Dr. Malcolm discussed the moral implications of the island's scientists only caring about what they could and couldn't do and not if they should. Cielito moved to get up, and his face lifted toward hers.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Her eyes met his. "First, I'm gonna go put the bowls in the sink." She bent to pick up one in each hand and straightened. "Then I need to go grab something."

"What do you need, and I'll get it?" He started to stand, wanting to help so they could get back to cuddling quicker.

"Nope,” she said, and he stopped. "I'll get it. You just sit there and keep looking pretty." She smiled.

He frowned. "Okay."

She left the room, and he couldn't pay attention to what was on the television, instead listening to her rinsing the bowls out in the kitchen sink, followed by her footsteps as she made her way back through the living room, his head turning to watch her on her journey into the bedroom where she disappeared from view.

He wondered what she needed—maybe she wanted to paint her nails and had to choose a color of nail polish. Or she was going to get the stuff for face masks, which was something he enjoyed; his skin hadn't looked this good since he was in his early twenties.

"I'll be out in a minute, babe," she called from the other room. "I need to check the message on the answering machine."

"Take your time," he replied, hoping she didn't.

The fingers of his right hand were tapping absentmindedly on his knee.

His gaze went up to the clock on the wall, seeing it was a little after eleven, his eyes following the big hand as it ticked away each second.

Tick, tick, tick.

A whole minute passed before she returned to him, his eyebrows pulling together at her frowning face.

"Who called?" he asked.

"My mother."

That explained it.

"What did she want?"

"She said she had some exciting news and needed to talk to me about something important."

"Any idea what either could be...?"

A long, drawn-out sigh left her. "Yeah, most likely it's to tell me my brother's wife is pregnant again—they've been trying for months."

She found out they started trying the night he first told her he loved her. His face relaxed, understanding now that she was upset by the possible news.

He rose from the sofa and went to her in three steps, wrapping her in his arms to hold her close. He kissed her cheek and whispered, "It'll be us telling people the same news soon—they just had a head start. Don't let it get you down, okay? Everything is okay. We're okay. We’re happy, and that’s all that fucking matters."

He felt her relax in his hold.

"You're right—they've had more time."

He pulled back to look at her, smiling softly.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure I can knock you up in the same amount of months. Hell, maybe I'll be so fucking good at it that I’ll get you pregnant with twins."

That made her giggle, and her mouth turned up in his favorite smile.

"You're ridiculous," she said. "It's not a competition."

"It is now—we're gonna beat their time."

She playfully rolled her eyes.

"I love you, you goober." She kissed him, and when she broke away, there was a serious look on her face. "Let's stick to one baby for my first pregnancy, please."

"That's not how it works..." he said slowly. "It's a gamble, Cielito."

"Yes, I know that Javier, but let's not put the idea out into the universe."

"Okay—un bebé (one baby). That's all I'll wish for or whatever the fuck."

"Even though I know you're being a lying liar who lies because you'd be beyond happy if there was more than one baby—“ That was true; he’d love getting two babies for the price of one. “—I appreciate the thought. Now, enough about me. You need to open your birthday present."

His face scrunched in confusion. "Didn't I do that when I took off your clothes…?"

"That was only the sexy birthday present. I also got you an actual present."

He was so worried about her that he hadn’t realized she was holding something. She held up a rectangular gift wrapped in solid, bright red wrapping paper.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said. “Today was perfect.”

“Sure, but as I told you when you were undressing me, you’re getting spoiled tonight. Please open this. I’m nervous about it.”

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, taking it from her.

“Because I put a lot of time into it, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to love it, but there’s a chance it’ll make you sad.”

That had him curious. He stepped away and grabbed her hand to lead her to the couch, pulling her down to sit beside him.

It wasn’t too heavy or light, and when he felt it, it was firm. He thought it might be a book. Tearing open the wrapping paper, he discovered it was actually a maroon-colored leather-bound photo album.

He glanced over at her.

“We have our photo album of us we put together. What’s this one?”

He asked the question even though he had an idea of what it could be.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Open it, and you’ll see.”

He did as he was instructed, and his breath caught in his throat—the first picture was of him as a newborn being held by his mother in a hospital bed. His birth hadn’t been the easiest, and the exhaustion was clear on her face, yet she was grinning. The next photo was in the same spot, but this time, she was gazing at him in her arms with a look that showed she was in love and unbelievably happy. His eyes started watering, turning to the next page to find more pictures of newborn him and his mom now taken at home. All the pages after that featured the same thing: it was always just him and his mom. Some of the photos he’d seen in other albums his father had, there were many, though, that this was the first time he’d come across them.

He lost count of how many were of them in the kitchen, seeing them both age through the years and him doing more to help her as he grew.

There was one where he was maybe three, standing on a dining room chair with his mother beside him as he used a tortilladora (tortilla press) on the table to flatten tortillas, one perfectly done on the plate. His face was turned up toward her with a toothy grin, and she was gazing upon him fondly and clearly proud—it was the first time he had made a tortilla.

He was maybe six in another, using a stool in order to reach the stove with her watching from behind him as he stirred a giant pot he knew had the sauce for her tamales—it was the first time she walked him step by step on how to make them, and it reminded him of something she said that day: “Un día, tu esposa hará esta receta y necesitas poder ayudarla, así que presta atención, Javiercito (One day, your wife will make this recipe and you need to be able to help her, so pay attention, Javier).” And she was right. He had used what she taught him to help his wif-fiancée make her tamales. He even showed Cielito some of the techniques his mother used to make the process easier.

His father had captured a lot of wonderful moments, including one when he had to be about ten with how he’d shot up in height and was almost as tall as his mother—they had matching grins and were mid-dance in the kitchen, her left hand held in his right and their arms around each other’s backs.

So many memories came back to him of times they spent together, and there was even a picture of the last time they made a tres leches cake for his birthday, both laughing about something he couldn’t remember, and it made him smile at how happy they looked.

The final photo was of him in his senior year of college after a swim meet. He’d changed back into his clothes—some jeans and a baby blue button-up shirt, his hair still wet, and a gold medal around his neck. His mother was embracing him from the side, her head barely reaching his shoulders, Javier hugging her back; big smiles were on their faces, and happiness was shining in their matching chocolate-colored eyes as they looked at the camera.

Seeing all of the sweet moments they shared already had him on the verge of tears, and this one broke him, knowing it was his last competition before he met Lorraine—his shoulders shook with sobs as he let himself cry.

The album only contained the memories of before his life went to shit—when he was on track to make his dream of swimming in the Olympics come true, his mother was still alive, he hadn’t hurt his parents with his bad choices, and life was good and still made sense.

“Oh, Javi,” Cielito’s voice was soft, and he welcomed her arms that enveloped him. “I’m so sorry—I worried it’d upset you. I shouldn’t have made this. I’ll take the pictures back to Pop’s.” She reached for the album, and he held it away.

“No,” he said through the tears, his words coming out gravelly. “It’s perfect—I love it.” Closing the book, he set it on the coffee table in front of them before he twisted his body to pull her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. Her hands were rubbing soothingly over his back. “Thank you,” his muffled voice said, tears wetting her skin. “Thank you for making it—it brought back so much happy shit I’d forgotten.”

“You really love the album?” she asked.

He pulled back to look her in the eyes and nodded with a little smile. “Yeah, it really is perfect. You wanna know something?”

“What?”

“I can’t wait to show it to our kids one day.” Her face brightened. “I know you’ll probably cook with them, and they’ll love seeing photos of their abuela (grandma) and papá (dad) doing the same.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely cooking with our kids,” she said, and it had warmth spread through his veins. “Your dad let me go through the boxes, plural, of loose photos he has—side note, I have never seen so many, and I’m pretty sure he’s single-handedly keeping the one-hour photo kiosk in business.”

“Probably,” he chuckled.

Growing up, whenever his father wasn’t working out on the ranch, he was spending time with Javier and his mom, and it was pretty typical for Chucho to get out his camera or video camera to snap pictures or record whatever they were doing—his dad was a sentimental guy. With Javier being his only child, he wanted to ensure they documented as much as possible to look back on fondly.

“Anyways,” she continued. “I went through hundreds, maybe even thousands of photos, and in every single one of you with your mom in the kitchen, you both look so fucking happy, and then add in that some of your favorite memories are cooking with her, and I want that for our babies, too. I want them to have happy memories of learning to cook with their mom and dad.”

His vision was blurring with unshed tears, feeling so unbelievably happy he might combust.

“You want me there, too?”

“Um, yes, Javi. As your mother would say, ‘Eres mi buena suerte (You’re my good luck).’ You gotta be there to at least take a ton of pictures.”

He was smiling. “I’d love that.”

“Good.” She kissed him, just a press of her lips to his, and it wasn’t enough; he deepened it with a swipe of his tongue along her bottom lip, and when she granted him access by opening her mouth a little, he was delving inside to tangle their tongues.

He didn’t know how he got so lucky finding her—she was perfect. Somehow, she made him fall more in love with her with each passing day.

Hearing her say she wanted their children to experience the same happiness he did with his mother had him feeling over the moon and even more excited about them starting their family—she was going to be an incredible mom to their kids, and it filled him with joy knowing, without a doubt, they’ll get to grow up like him with parents who will not only love them more than anything but each other to the point their children will be disgusted by their open affection. Their kids were going to have happy childhoods where they knew they were loved and cherished and got nothing but encouragement for their dreams. It would be drastically different than how Cielito was raised, and that was what she wanted; she couldn’t fathom treating her children the same way her parents treated her. There wouldn’t be one kid who was loved more than another, and they definitely were going to be proud of their babies no matter what. She was breaking a cycle of neglect and impossible standards to ensure their children only knew love and acceptance.

Their breaths were coming out heavier when their mouths detached.

She smiled, the sentence coming out breathy, “Happy birthday, Javi.”

He shared her look. “Thank you for making it amazing—made me almost forget I’m old now.”

She huffed in exasperation. “You turned forty, Javi. You’re not old. If it makes you feel any better, I’m happy to report you’ve still got a bangin’ bod and continue being a sex god.”

“You’re calling me a sex god again?” His eyebrow rose.

“I never stopped calling you a sex god, and let’s look at the facts:” She held up one finger. “Stamina of someone in their twenties.” The next digit went up. “The experience of a forty-year-old that’s spent a lot of time fucking.” Another finger rose. “Makes his partner come every time.” The next digit extended. “Actually knows how to use his mouth and fingers.” The final finger went up. “Has the biggest and prettiest dick known to man—face it, babe, you’re a bonafide sex god; I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a statue of you in some sex temple somewhere.”

His chest had puffed out a little from her praise, and what she said made him snort, Javier, smiling. “What is it with you and statues of me?”

She pushed his bangs off of his forehead. “Um, did you not hear the part where I said you have a bangin’ bod and the biggest and prettiest dick known to man? You’d make a sexy statue—hotter than Prince Eric’s, and that’s saying something.” Both of her hands came up to hold his face as she stared him in the eyes. “What you should get from this is I find you exceptionally attractive and want to have your babies, and I’ll still find you exceptionally attractive and want to have your babies next year, and the year after that and the year after that; you get the picture. Basically, I do not give a single fuck about how old you are because you are aging like the finest wine, sweetcheeks, and I am so unbelievably horny for you.”

From the way she was looking at him, he knew she was telling the truth, and it made him feel some relief. He’d been dreading this day, and he was starting to realize there was no reason to—he was older and wiser, engaged to marry the most amazing woman on the planet, in the process of starting his family, working a job he didn’t hate, and he was back home, where he belonged (even if some of the townspeople thought otherwise). He was happy, truly happy, and yeah, it wasn’t an easy journey, and it took him a while to get to this point, but he made it, and that was all that fucking mattered.

Mondays were the worst.

Mondays after a lovely vacation were the worst of the worst.

Honestly, it should be illegal having to go back to work on a Monday after being away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t, so here you were sitting at the nurse's station desk, a bit past ten in the morning, notating a chart, and nervously waiting for your first break that was in—you glanced at the watch on your wrist—five minutes.

"Still nervous?" Came the Texas twang of your coworker/best friend, Robyn, who pulled out the rolly chair beside you and sat down.

Her long, chestnut curls were pulled back into a ponytail, and she looked ready to model with how perfectly she’d done her makeup; firetruck-red lipstick was coating her full lips, her big blue eyes accentuated with an outline of black mascara and eyeliner, her cheeks rosy, and face blemish free without being caked in foundation and concealer—she could be on the cover of the American Journal of Nursing magazine with her being in her blue scrubs.

Your head turned her way, frowning. "Yes, because I know, in my bones, it's not gonna go well."

She gave you a reassuring smile and put her hand on your arm. "And that's why you're doin’ it on your fifteen-minute break. It gives you a time limit, and havin’ to get back to work is a great excuse to end things."

You weren't convinced. "I guess..."

"I'm sorry, girl, but this is somethin’ you have to do and it'll be better to just rip off the bandaid."

"Maybe I'd prefer to keep the bandaid on and continue living in my perfect little bubble with the love of my life."

"Because the bubble is goin’ to burst one way or another, and at least this way, you're in control."

"I really don't want to do this…" you said truthfully. It had you feeling a little sick.

"I know, girl." She patted your forearm. "I can't promise it'll go well, but just remember you've got Javi and me for support, and you know as well as I do that man will up and leave work without a word to come here for you."

"That's true. He, uh, doesn't know..."

The other woman's eyebrows dipped. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"It's Javi—he'd worry too much and wouldn't be able to work. Now that we're doing this whole baby thing and getting married soon, it's like his caveman instincts have turned up to the max, and he's in protection mode 24/7. So, he's not going to find out about what's going on until after it happens."

"If you think that's best." Her eyes went to her wristwatch. "Looks like it's time." She met your gaze. "Go do it in the on-call room so you'll have some privacy."

You took a deep breath, ignoring the fluttering nerves in your belly. "Okay," you said as you pushed back in your chair to get up. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, you better come to get me."

She smiled. "That was the plan."

"You're the best."

The closest on-call room wasn't anything more than a small windowless room with a twin-size bed and a desk with a lamp and telephone atop it. The overhead light was on, and you'd locked the door upon entering, taking a seat at the desk. Picking up the phone's receiver, you pressed it to your ear, your other hand punching in the string of numbers from muscle memory, and hardly any thought.

Ring.

"Hello?" the familiar voice answered.

This was it. "Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Oh, good, you got my message. I was expecting your call yesterday."

"Sorry, it was Javi's birthday, and we went out to dinner to celebrate."

Her voice went tight. "I see... Remind me again how old he turned?"

"Forty."

"Forty years old, and he doesn't own a house or have a career? When your father turned forty, he was already the chief of surgery and had invented a procedure, but I guess they're two different men from two different backgrounds."

Your jaw clenched. "I don't appreciate you belittling the man I love, who had a very successful career in the DEA and helped take down Pablo fucking Escobar and the Cali Cartel before he was forty—but please, go on about his ‘lack of career,’ and how he doesn’t measure up to Dad in your eyes; I’d be more than happy to end this call right now.”

The older woman sighed. “I’m just looking out for your best interests, but since it’s a sore subject, I won’t talk about him at all.”

The ‘best interests’ excuse made you roll your eyes so hard they were at risk of getting stuck in the back of your head.

"Fine—what's the exciting news you have?"

"Oh, yes," her tone shifted, hearing her excitement. "Your brother is having another baby, and it's a boy!" You fucking knew that was why she called, and you didn’t have it in you to be excited, not when the same news from you would have a vastly different reaction. "Your father and I are so excited to have another grandson," she continued. "I can't believe how blessed we are to have three grandchildren, a fourth on the way, and they’re all boys!"

"God forbid they had a girl," you mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said, wow, that's great," you spoke normally. "Well, give them my congratulations, and if that was all you wanted to tell me, I'm going to get back to work—I'm on break."

Yes, you were chickening out on telling her about your engagement.

"That isn't the only exciting news!"

"Yay, there's more," you deadpanned.

“If your father was home, he could give you more information, but his hospital is going through some staffing changes, and he got you a job to be the director of nursing—you can finally move back home!"

Um, what?

He got you a job you never even asked for or wanted?

The audacity of them doing this behind your back in an attempt to lure you home had stunned you into silence, anger threading through your chest and tummy.

"Are you still there?" she asked.

"I don't want a new job," you said calmly.

"You don't know what you're saying, sweetie. This would make you the head of the nursing program at his hospital and is much better than whatever it is you’re currently doing. You’d make substantially more than what you are right now, and it brings you closer to us, your family—it’s about time you come home, anyway. You’ve been away long enough and haven’t been making the best decisions.”

Tears were burning in your eyes at the blatant disregard for your feelings.

"I'm not leaving Laredo."

She sighed again. "What does that backwater town have to offer you? That hospital you're working for can't compete with what your father’s hospital is willing to pay, and there isn’t anything there worth staying for or tying you down—thank god you've been smart and haven't done anything stupid like get pregnant."

She managed to insult Javi and the life you built without outright saying the words, and it pissed you off how fucking rude she was in regards to your future husband—she could say whatever she wanted about you and the way you were living, but you wouldn’t stand for such vitriol toward your fiancé.

"I'm getting married,” you blurted.

Her line went completely silent, and you thought she might’ve hung up until she said, “I’m sorry. I think I misheard you. What did you say?”

“Javi proposed—we’re getting married, and that isn’t the only exciting news; we’ve started trying for a baby.” Informing people that you were getting fucked raw and filled like a Boston cream donut on the regular made you wish the earth would completely swallow you up so you didn’t have to feel such embarrassment; it being socially acceptable to openly discuss your sex life when it had to do with procreation would never make any sense to you.

“I know Javier doesn’t meet your standards,” you continued, “however, he more than meets mine, and I wish you could see how incredible he is and how happy he makes me, but the only things you care about is the amount of money in his bank account and career choice; which, again, people all over are aware of who The Javier Peña is because of the work he did with the DEA. He was a hot commodity when he returned to the States, and agencies all over the country were trying to bag him.

“Just because he’s not in the same tax bracket as you,” you kept speaking, “and he can’t buy me a big mansion we don’t even need, doesn’t make him any less of a person. Honestly, he’s better than you—he’s better than you. He’s better than Dad, and he’s definitely better than that golden child you worship, who couldn’t even make it into his Ivy League school without you buying his way in. Javi got a full-ride scholarship to his dream university because of how talented he was at swimming,” you said proudly.

“My fiancé is an amazing man who treats me like a queen and will be the best father to our children. Now, let’s circle back to your question about what Laredo has to offer me—the answer is everything. Laredo has everything I could ever need or want. The man I’m marrying and the future father of my kids is here. I have a family here—a real family that loves me. I have friends and a great job here. This is the place where I’ll raise my children and grow old with my soulmate. This is my home and where I’ve always belonged. So, thank you, but no, thank you for such an amazing job offer I didn’t ask for. I’m not leaving Laredo—you’re just gonna have to get used to the fact that Javier and I are a package deal and that he’ll be your son-in-law one day and the father of your grandchildren. If you can’t stomach that, then don’t ever call me again because Javi means more to me than anyone else in the entire universe.”

Silence.

Many seconds passed before she spoke.

“You’re sure he’s the one…?” she asked slowly.

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“You don’t care about how much money he has because he makes you… happy…?”

She made it sound like a foreign concept, and you huffed in amusement.

“I know, it’s crazy to fall in love with someone for them and not their money.”

“This is what I get for allowing you to watch those cartoon fairytale movies when you were a child. Your ideas of what’s important in life have been skewed by fictional nonsense, and you failed to notice at the end of those films, the girls become princesses—rich—when they meet their princes and finally get their—what was it?—happily… happily…” She was struggling.

“Their happily ever afters?” you said.

“Yes, that’s it! They only got their happily ever afters once they became princesses, and you should strive to want that kind of status or meet a man who will give it to you.”

“Weird take, but to me, they get their happily ever afters when they meet their one true loves, and the fancy titles are just bonuses.” You shrugged even though she couldn’t see you.

She let out a sigh. “You need to understand that real life isn’t like those whimsical cartoons. You might think you’re in love right now, but you haven’t even known this man for a year. How do you know if you will feel this way about him a year from now? Or two years? There’s no guarantee that your relationship will last, and you’re throwing away a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to advance your career and make a name for yourself because you’re infatuated and living in some dream world.”

“I am in love, and it’s the real thing. What you’re not understanding is my career is secondary to my happiness. I care more about being happy than making money, and I’ve made my choice that I’m going to marry Javi because he makes me happy—get it through your head that he isn’t going anywhere.”

“Very well, if that’s your decision, then so be it.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you answer a question about Javier?”

“Uh, depends on what you’re going to ask...”

“He helped take down Pablo Escobar and that other cartel, which wouldn’t have been small feats. I’m assuming a lot of opportunities would’ve opened up to him within his agency, and he was probably on track for promotions. Why did he quit when he was at the height of his career?”

You smiled. “Because he decided his career was secondary to his happiness, and he cared more about being happy than advancing in a job he’d grown to hate.”

“Oh.”

“You know, he only went to work for the Sheriff here, so I wasn’t the sole provider in our relationship—he makes decent money, too, and tries to pay more than his fair share. He took the job to be able to take care of me, and if I couldn’t work, we’d be more than okay on just his salary.”

“Really?” She didn’t attempt to hide her surprise.

“Yes—someone with Javi’s expertise is paid handsomely to consult. He’s gotten a ton of offers to do paid talks at universities and conferences. He’s actually kind of a big deal in that community.” It was lovely getting to brag about him.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“Because from the moment you found out I was dating him, you were convinced he wasn’t good enough for me, and it seemed like nothing I could say would change your mind.”

“I guess I might have rushed to conclusions…”

“You did.”

“Well, congratulations, honey,” She sounded genuinely happy, not as jazzed as the imminent arrival of another grandson, but happy enough it had you taken aback. “This is exciting! I hadn’t realized things had gotten so serious between you two. Have you picked out a date for the wedding?”

To say you felt thrown off kilter from the complete one-eighty she just made on her views of your relationship would be putting it mildly; you thought there was a chance you were in the Twilight Zone with how bizarre this reaction was.

Did you actually convince her of Javi’s worthiness?

That didn’t seem right…

“Um, no?” you answered.

“I’ll call the wedding planner who helped plan your brother’s, and don’t worry about the cost, we’ll take care of it, along with the wedding itself—we’ll have to look at venues in your town that can hold at least, I think, one hundred and fifty guests, maybe? I’ll also have Jerry—” The family lawyer. “—get a prenup together—I’ll bring him with me.” Uh, what was happening? “Let me look at the calendar.” Pages flipping could be heard over the phone, and you knew she was going through her daily planner. “Your father and I have prior engagements over the next month and a half, but I could visit in February with the wedding planner and Jerry to get started on everything.”

The thought of her visiting had you feeling sick to your stomach, the anxiety hitting you like a bucket of cold water over your head.

“Woah, woah, hold on a second,” you said. “We’re not having a big wedding, so there’s no need for a wedding planner. We’re not doing a prenup, either, so Jerry doesn’t need to be bothered, and we want to get married sometime next month.”

“I won’t sour our conversation with legal talk, so I’ll discuss it with you later—you want to get married that soon?” There was a frown in her voice. "I told you we’re booked next month... We wouldn’t be able to make it…”

“We’re not doing much of a traditional wedding anyway, so you won’t miss much. We can send you a copy of the video—” Javi was planning on buying a camcorder to record your nuptials and other erotic things. “—and maybe in February we could visit you.” That was something you didn’t particularly want to do, but her change in attitude and desire to help seemed like she was extending an olive branch for all of the hurtful things she had said about your future husband.

“That would be fine. We’re dying to meet this man you’re in love with.”

Your eyes narrowed. “The one you didn’t approve of five minutes ago…?”

“You gave me a lot to think about in those five minutes, and I’m doing as you said and accepting that he’s going to be my son-in-law. Am I not allowed to change my opinion of someone?”

“Sure, you can change your opinion. You’re really okay with me marrying him?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

A knock sounded on the on-call room’s door, Robyn’s voice coming from the other side, “Hey, I need you out here.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, but my break’s over, and I need to get back. I’ll talk to you later.”

“No problem. Have a great day, and tell Javier hi from me.”

That will freak him out.

You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone, getting up to walk over and open the door.

Robyn was standing there. “How’d it go?” she asked.

“That’s the thing, Robyn, I think it went well, and I’m so fucking confused—I think my mom might even like Javi a little bit now.”

Shock appeared on her face. “Um, what…?”

“Makes zero sense, right?”

“Yeah… You need to call Javi?”

She was the best.

“Would you mind?”

“Nope! I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you!”

This time, when you sat down to use the hospital-provided telephone, you dialed your fiancé’s desk phone from memory.

Ring.

“Peña,” he answered.

“Has hell frozen over?” you asked.

“Cielito?” He was clearly confused.

“Yes, it’s me—let’s focus. Has hell frozen over?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?”

“Are pigs flying?” You heard him roll back in his chair and the rustle of him looking through his office window’s blinds.

“I don’t see any pigs with wings, but that Sheriff’s deputy whose wife won’t let him have red meat so he can lower his cholesterol is in his car eating a burger with the same enthusiasm I have when I eat your pussy.”

“Guy is truly eating it like a man starved—respect. ¿Están volando las vacas (Are the cows flying)?”

“No veo a Daphne ni a Velma en el cielo (I don’t see Daphne or Velma in the sky).” He rolled back to his desk. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor (What’s going on, my love)?”

“I talked to my mom…”

“…are you okay?”

“Um, sure.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He was starting to hang up the phone, and you quickly said, “Javi, no, no! Don’t leave!”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s really okay—I’m gonna see you at lunch.”

The plan was to eat the lunches you made together in his truck.

“Okay.” His tone went serious. “Tell me what happened.”

“I called her like she asked, and she confirmed my sister-in-law is with child and talk about the excitement over a fetus having male genitals.”

“Of course, they’re fucking excited it’s a boy, the misogynistic assholes,” he seethed.

“I am so unbelievably in love with you—I know you’d love having a baby girl and getting to dress her up in pretty dresses.”

“God, yeah.” You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling. “And giving her cute hairdos and I could paint her nails to match her dresses—wait, we’re getting distracted. Did the news upset you? I really feel like I should come down there...”

“I promise I’m fine, babe.”

“I don’t like that I’m not there for you in person…” He sighed. “Was that all your mother wanted to talk to you about?”

“This next part is really gonna piss you off, so please take a big breath for me, my love.”

You heard him inhale deeply.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“My parents, or father specifically, offered me a job that a person would be insane to turn down to get me to move back home—I didn’t even contemplate for a second about taking it and proceeded to inform her about us getting married and starting our family, then went off about how amazing you are and that this is my home and I wouldn’t be leaving it. I made it very clear that you are the most important person to me, and if they couldn’t accept you as my husband, then I wanted nothing to do with them.”

“…If you want the job, we can move there,” he said carefully.

You smiled. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I can’t fathom moving away from our family here, especially your dad. This is our home, and I’m happy with the life we have. So, I don’t care about some fancy schmancy job.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

He let out a relieved sigh before he started speaking again, his words soaked in anger, “They hate me so fucking much they tried to give you an offer you couldn’t refuse, so you’d leave me? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t fucking stand these people you share blood with—they don’t even fucking deserve to be called your family with how they disrespect you and don’t give a flying fuck about your happiness.” He had to take another big breath to try to calm his rage. “I might sound like an asshole, but I don’t want them around our kids, and this isn’t me putting my foot down or saying that’s how it has to be; I’m saying that our children’s well-being is my first priority, and these assholes are nothing but poison,” he spat. “I’ll support you if you decide to cut ties with them—hell, I’d love it since it makes me so fucking angry how they’ve treated you and continue to treat you. We’ve got our family here, anyway; Pop and all our tías, tíos, and primos, so you don’t even need those fuckers.” His tone shifted to something softer, hearing in it how much he cared for you. “Cielito, mi amor, all I want is for you to be happy and to feel loved, and I will do everything in my power to make that happen—please, for me, when you decide what to do, you choose what makes you happiest; not what would make me happy and definitely don’t even think about their feelings because they’ve never done the same for you. I’ll stand by you no matter what.”

What he said had your eyes getting misty. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

And you knew that was the truth.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story,” you said, “and this is where I get confused about the entire interaction.”

“What happened…?”

“So, I kinda bragged about how much of a hot shot you are in the drug enforcement community and that you make decent money, and I think I somehow made my mom like you? I know it sounds fake, but Javi, she wanted to hire us a wedding planner and pay for the whole event that she was going to invite a hundred and fifty people to…”

You left out the lawyer bit because you were going to nip that in the bud when she got around to talking to you about it.

“Uh, what…?”

“It was fucking weird, babe! She even told me to tell you hi when we were getting off the phone!”

“Me? Are you sure…?”

“Yeah! It makes zero fucking sense. Our conversation started with her basically telling me my life decisions were trash and that there’s nothing in Laredo worth staying for—she actually said she was happy I hadn’t accidentally gotten pregnant. Like, that’s so fucking rude. Then her tone had completely changed by the end of the call, and she was pro-you and pro-us getting married.”

“Interesting…” You could picture him sitting at his desk, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip while we pieced together the information you’d given him and analyzed it for any indication of more going on.

“Are your Detective Peña senses tingling?” you asked. “Do you think they’re up to something?”

“I’m not sure… But I could just be paranoid about people trying to fuck with our relationship.”

“Oh god, what if we are being paranoid and overthinking this entire thing? We might be looking a gift horse in the mouth, and my family really has warmed up to you.”

He scoffed, “Tal vez cuando las vacas vuelen (Maybe when cows fly),” he muttered. “It seems too good to be true,” he said. “But, there’s a chance hell did freeze over, and Daphne and Velma grew wings.” He sighed. “My hopes aren’t very high, though; at this point, all we can do is see what happens.” He suddenly sounded panicked, “Cariño, ¿los invitaste a nuestra boda (Honey, did you invite them to our wedding)? ¿Tendré que conocerlos en persona (Will I have to meet them in person)?”

Javier Peña had a cute face, a cute face that naturally looked pissed off when it was resting and showed everything he was feeling. There was no doubt that in the presence of your family, his glares would be murderous, and he wouldn’t be able to hide his anger—which, honestly, delighted you. But you hated the idea of them coming to the place you called home and was your haven away from them, so you were never going to invite them to visit; if you had to, you’d go to them.

“Cálmate, mi amor (Calm down, my love),” you said. “No te preocupes (Don’t worry). I didn’t invite them, and I don’t even want them coming here. I did have to say we might visit them in a couple of months to keep them happy—I’m also gonna send my parents that blender my mother wants but refuses to buy because the one they have still works for Christmas. Hopefully, all that will tide them over for a while so we can figure out if their new attitude is legit or not.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, I better get back to work. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yes, you will. If you need me to get your mind off all this shit, just let me know. It’d take us about the same amount of time to meet at home…”

His offer made you smile. “Javier, is this your way of saying you’d like a nooner?”

“Maybe… I’m on edge and need to calm my nerves, and the best ways to do that is either having a cigarette or fucking—I’m sure you can guess my preference, but it wouldn’t be a big deal if I bummed a smoke off someone.”

“You’re in need of a medicinal cream pie,” you said in understanding, nodding your head. “I am also on edge and could use a medicinal orgasm or two. I’ll see you at the apartment, handsome, and the suit stays on—I’m riding Detective Peña into the sunset.”

You could hear his smile when he spoke. “Is that so?”

“Yep—you’ve been staring at my tits a lot lately, and I thought you’d enjoy them bouncing in your face.”

His groan confirmed your suspicion. “Minimum of two orgasms, keep the suit on, and you’re riding me on the couch—anything I’m missing?”

“Yeah, you coming inside me so I can go back to work all nice and stuffed.”

“Marry me.”

“I am,” you giggled. “We need to figure out a date.”

“January 11. Under the big oak tree on Pop’s land at sunset—that’s when we should do it.”

“Why the eleventh?” you asked, curious about why that date specifically.

“You agreed to be my girlfriend on the eleventh. You agreed to be my fiancée on the eleventh. It only seems right that I vow to love you forever on the eleventh of the New Year and hope you agree to be my wife then—Cielito, mi amor, mi vida mi media naranja, mi todo, (Cielito, my love, my life, my soulmate, my everything), will you marry me in twenty-eight days on January 11?”

Tears brimmed your eyes. “Yes, Javi! Absolutely, yes—it’s perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you,” he smoothly replied.

“You’re a sap.”

“—and your perfect tits.”

“A horny sap,” you laughed.

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

Text

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 5

A smile from you is all he needs to feel recharged.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst , emotional kook, suggestive messages, poor Maria pt.1 [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

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This is not going to plan at all.

Not only is he behind schedule wise, he's also not thought about the possibility of what this all might look like to you at all. Because why would you even think that in the first place? He'd be absolutely stupid to cheat on you, let alone with a 64 year old married woman of all people!

But then again, you don't know that part- and he also can't really properly explain it as he would surely blow his own cover, and he's just too close to the finish line to give up now. He already almost cried at deleting your face ID and fingerprint from his phone, feeling like he deleted the memory of setting those things up too, but he swore himself it's for a good cause down the line. You'll make so many more memories together for sure, and they'll top those more than by just a little. He'll make sure that they will.

[Alright, I'm so excited! Next time let's do it this way right from the start- no need to make it so complicated!] Maria had wrote him in full, and he reads over it with a bit of worry. Does she really understand what he meant by his worries?

[I'm not sure you understand. I'm planning something big, and I'm also behind when it comes to physical intimacy these days, you know?] He writes the woman, who he's asked prior about the rules and such regarding.. well, sex in the home he's renting out for the upcoming special occasion he's planned. He doesn't want to get locked up for not following some Airbnb laws he overlooked after all. That would just be embarrassing. [And we're very intimate people. I'm taking her pleasure and happiness seriously, if you get the hint.] He texts her as he boils some water on the stove for his absolute accurately made ramyeon.

[Oh trust me, I've been young too! No need to be shy, I can only imagine that emotions will run high most likely!] She responds, and Jungkook pursed his lips for a second, before he starts to play with his piercings deep in thought.

[No, Maria, I don't think you get it-] he begins to type. [-it's been almost two full weeks at this point, that's the longest we've ever gone without any sex, we're talking at least three orgasms a day times fourteen, I've got some major catching up to do..] jungkook sends her, before he puts his phone down for a second as to prepare the instant noodles properly.

[It's fine, really. No need to worry!] The woman responds. But jungkook wants to make sure.

[She's a squirter- you know what that is right? Either way it's gonna get messy so I'm just making sure you REALLY know what you're getting into if you say it's alright because the carpet looked really nice and I'm not sure how to get cum stains out of that] he rambles, not noticing you emerge from the bedroom now as you put your bag on one of the kitchen chairs. [I can replace it too if that happens no problem, you know how my girlfriend gets haha. Well you don't but you will know after we're done with the place-] he taps and accidentally sends out as you call his name, causing him to almost drop his phone into the soup pot on the stove, only barely catching it in time before he can practically throw it into the pocket of his sweatpants. "Yeah?" He asks towards you, and you look at him still way too hostile in his opinion.

He knows you can be a bit of a hot head. It's what he loves about you- how fierce you can get and how you'll always stand your ground. But he also knows that you're a bit of an aklebiter with some serious anger issues sometimes- once you see red, you don't see anything else anymore. So he's got to be careful not to fuck it up any further, because once he loses you, he loses for good.

Because you're stubborn if you've made up your mind.

"The water's boiling over." You mumble, avoiding his gaze as you sit at the kitchen table, arms crossed in defense. He jumps at your words and turns off the stove at that, somewhat awkwardly playing up some food into bowl for the both of you, watching you eat silently across from him with an almost needy gaze.

You're gonna probably try and kick his balls if he asks you to sit on his lap right now, so he swallows down the request to keep them intact.

He's gonna seriously crunch some hours while you're sleeping over at a friend's house so he can still make the deadline, able to pass up on sleep with you not actually home to scold him for it. He hates the fact that the app on his phone constantly reminds him of the lack of intimacy between you two- taunting him with notifications about his streak being broken, his record being topped, his spot up top on the scoreboard being taken. He hates it. He created this app, he should be the one who's best at it too!

God he can't wait to get his hands on you again. He feels like his dick is going to fall off in the next few days.

And it's not just that, either. He doesn't sleep well when you're not with him, he misses all the interactions you usually have during the day, the love, the intimacy of just being close, he misses it so bad. And he kind of doesn't want you to leave right now- he'd love to just call it quits and just cave in, but he's come too far now, and you're also a strong independent woman. You deserve to choose where you want to go or stay, he's got no say in that- or at least he shouldn't try to have it.

"I.. You'll text me when you wanna come back home, right?" He asks as he finishes his bowl, and you shrug.

"Whatever." You mumble. "S' not like you want me home for more than the chores anyways." You huff into your food, and he can't help but feel his eyes tear up. No, stupid Jungkook, don't fucking cry right now. You're gonna ruin it all with your dumb tears and weak heart just like always-

"I do want you home.." he mumbles quietly, blinking harder to avoid you spotting anything off- but you notice. Of course you do.

"...I'll text you." You say, and that at least soothes his mind for the moment as his phone falls out of his pocket, screen cracking and making him cringe.

Fuck. That's the what.. 20th time this year?

But it's all worth it, if it means he can at least see the hint of a smile pull at your lips for once.

The sight alone motivation enough to make him work even harder now.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader smut

557 notes · View notes

dfortrafalgar · 2 months

Text

Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader- Offscreen)

Sanji reaches out to Zeff for the first time in years.

I wrote this many, many months ago now, and it was the first fic i posted anonymously on AO3. I got a few requests after it was originally posted to write a second part, which I eventually did!

You can read Part 2 here! Original AO3 link

(I figured I should let my blog breathe a little in between the really heavy and emotional Law fic im writing, and what better way to cool down than some sanji fluff <3)

A sharp squawk awoke Red-Leg Zeff from his daze. With a grumpy expression and a low grunt, he peered towards the direction of the sound.

A messenger coo was seated on the railing of the Baratie's upper deck next to where Zeff stood slouched over with his forearms leaning against the wooden support. It cocked its head to the side as if it was deconstructing Zeff's appearance before reaching into its pouch and procuring a parchment envelope. Zeff found it strange. Messenger coos only usually delivered the newspapers or the latest bounty reports, very rarely were they put in charge of personalized letters. It must have been paid off by whoever wanted this delivered.

The gruff man took the parchment from the beak of the bird and watched as it took back off into the air, leaving a few molted white feathers behind in its wake. He looked at the envelope.

All it said on the front, in very elegant handwriting, was "Captain Zeff." He flipped the paper around, revealing a wax stamp holding the opening down, which he peeled off with a calloused thumb.

Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a white piece of paper, tri-folded over itself. Zeff slipped the paper out, unfolding it to reveal the written contents of the letter. The penmanship was impeccable, and the ink was very sleek. He knew immediately it was from Sanji, not many other pirates had handwriting as good as his. He had completely lost track of how many years it had been since the curly-browed boy left with that ragtag group of pirates to sail to the Grand Line, but Zeff had every single one of his bounty posters. He'd never admit it, but they were tacked up on the wall of his sleeping quarters. Every time Sanji's bounty increased, Zeff felt pride swell in his heart.

"How are you doing, you old geezer. It's been a little too long since we've had any contact, so I thought I'd write to you just to see how you've been. You're no slouch, I'm sure you've been keeping up with the world's events over the past however-many years. Do the Marines even bother to keep sending our bounty posters to the Baratie anymore? Well, regardless, I'm sure you can read right through me. I can't deny it, I miss you, old man. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and such a huge part of that is thanks to you and the guys back on that old cruiser. Every recipe I try to make, I imagine you screaming in my ear and telling me that it tastes like shit. Some days I really wish I could be back there, but most of the time I'm joyful. Life has been really, really good. A few years ago, I met someone. Last year, we got married, and soon after our lives changed so drastically. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and she's as sweet as an angel. I mean it, too. I know you'd probably think something along the lines of me playing up my affections again just because she's a pretty woman, but I mean it. You'd love her, Zeff. Living as a pirate is the most stressful thing anyone could ever do, but she makes every day worth it. The crew was discussing the possibility of returning to the East Blue a bit ago, and when we do, I'm going to introduce you to her. I've spent the last years talking all about you, how you taught me everything I know about cooking, and I can tell she's just as excited as I am to finally see you. This letter's gone on long enough and I don't want to use up all of Nami's paper.

-- Sanji"

Zeff felt a lump in the back of his throat. Sanji had grown into such a fine young man, eloquent with his words and his feelings. He knew how big of a deal it was for the boy to be so honest and open. But one thing in the letter caught him off guard. What did he mean by, "Soon after our lives changed drastically."?

Zeff peered into the envelope, where another, smaller envelope was tucked inside. He almost didn't see it. Pulling it out, he held the letter and original envelope in between his fingers while he opened the second. Sanji was thorough with his packaging, that's for sure.

Inside, there were three photographs printed on thin, matted paper. The first was of Sanji and you, the wife he wrote about in his letter, taken by someone else holding the camera. Sanji had his arm around you, holding you against him, and you had your face nuzzled into his neck. His other hand held a cigarette away from the two of you, like he was in the middle of telling a story. The two of you were smiling brighter than the sun, Sanji's eyes completely closed with the motion of laughter, and yours creased, your irises looking up towards him.

The second photo made Zeff's eyes water. A photo of you and Sanji on the deck of the Sunny, exchanging rings. Sanji was wearing a sleek navy blue tuxedo, while you were wearing a gorgeous white ballgown. For pirates, you cleaned up phenomenally. He could just make out tears in Sanji's eyes as the photo displayed you sliding a band onto his finger. A skeleton with poofy hair stood between the two of you, which Zeff found a little odd, but he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

Zeff flipped to the last photo.

The tears that were welling in his eyes from the previous image finally slid down his cheeks in heavy, salty droplets. His lip quivered.

Sanji sat in a chair, beaming down at a bundle of cloth held gently in his arm. He was crying in this photo as well, and was reaching a finger over the top of the bundle, where a smaller hand was reaching outwards to grab onto it. A small glimpse of blonde hair could be made out from under the cloth securing the baby tightly. On the back of the film, Sanji wrote the birth date and the name of the baby.

Zeff used a sleeve to wipe his blubbering eyes. His lips quivered, but he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

Was he allowed to call himself a grandfather now? He figured it was only appropriate.

#fem reader #reader insert #x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #special delivery

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Note

Requests: Steve adopting an abandoned child post earthquake in Hawkins after the spring break from hell. And him realizing all the ways he was hurt as a child due to his parents neglect. And how he overcomes it and raises his baby-child with gentleness, warmth, patience and love

OKAY GENUINELY I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS PROMPT AND IT STILL WASN'T AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO DO. FAIR WARNING: this is an emotional roller coaster. It ends HAPPY. But there are a lot of sad and bittersweet moments and feelings leading up to that moment. There is the mention of child neglect, and that can be difficult for some people to read, even with a happy ending, so please keep that in mind before starting this. Also, this is not how the law or CPS works at all, and it wasn't in the 80s either, but this is fiction and I do what I want. I hope someone can continue this idea somewhere because it is so special to me now. This is 6200 words of me not knowing how to wrap it up with a bow. I hope you love this my darling, thank you for this one. - Mickala ❤️

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

Steve spent the last 12 hours pacing the waiting room floor at the hospital. He’d promised the kids he would stay until there was an update on Eddie and Max, and their parents had insisted they go home after they’d been quickly attended to for their minor injuries.

Max was stable, but not awake. They weren’t sure if she ever would be again. Steve passed that on to Nancy so she could call everyone.

Eddie finally made it out of surgery, alive, but barely.

He’d lost a lot of blood and they weren’t able to give him a transfusion until Wayne got there to donate.

It was touch and go for another few hours in recovery.

But things calmed down a bit, his heart rate settling at a normal rate, his oxygen maintaining where it should be with the mask on, the bleeding stopped and his blood regenerating on its own.

He wasn’t awake, but he was alive.

That was enough for Wayne and Hopper to kick him out of the hospital and make him go home.

“Shower. Eat. Sleep. In that order, Harrington,” Hopper said, the gruffness in his voice overruled by the concern.

He was up to speed on everything he missed, and he wasn’t thrilled about how much Steve had put on the line for everyone.

So Steve left, even though he wanted to stay, needed to have eyes on Eddie, on Max.

He had to trust that they were being taken care of.

He made it home, did two of the three things Hopper told him to. His shower was long and hot, finally able to wash away the blood and dirt and Upside Down particles that clung to his skin for the last couple of days. His dinner was quick and unfulfilling, but frozen meals usually are.

And then he did try to sleep. He tried on the couch first, his usual go-to spot after crises. Then he tried to go to his bed, hoping the weight of his comforter would help lull him to sleep.

But two hours later, he was still wide awake.

So he got up, put on jeans and a sweater, and made his way to the school, where emergency services had been set up.

It was chaotic, still very little organization amongst groups. The firefighters had been dispatched all over town, and most medical professionals had been called into the hospital or to help EMTs on calls. A handful of teachers had been put in charge of the check-in process here, making sure anyone who came through was on a list of survivors first, then sent to help where they were needed if they were able.

Steve was able, so he put his name on the list and was told to stand with a group at the far corner of the gym. Everyone in this group was waiting for a dispatch crew of firefighters to come get them to help locate survivors.

They were given vests, gloves, and helmets to wear, and given quick safety briefings. They were told not to move any rubble, that if they suspected someone was under some, to call for the professionals. They were just extra eyes and ears because everyone was stretched too thin for a disaster of this magnitude and help from local towns was slow to arrive.

Steve figured this would help him, if he stayed busy and managed to help people, he wouldn’t think about how helpless he was when it came to Max and Eddie.

The first location they were dropped at was a small neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Most of the homes had been completely demolished, cracks in the ground swallowing pieces of them. If there were any survivors here, they would be in desperate need of medical attention.

But after nearly four hours of searching, only one person was found, their leg trapped under a large wooden beam. The leg was broken, but they were fine other than that.

Steve felt relief that nothing more serious had happened there.

But the second area was worse.

It wasn’t a neighborhood, just a small wooded area surrounding two homes a good distance apart. Surprisingly, the homes were still standing, but everything around them was destroyed. Fires had been only recently extinguished, downed trees and power lines blocking most of the driveway and road in front of them.

“This should be relatively quick, both homes are empty and cars are gone, so we think everyone managed to get out safely, but we do need to be sure,” the firefighter in charge of this group said before leading them forward.

The smaller of the two houses was empty, though a mess, like the occupants had rushed to pack necessities and threw anything else on the ground as they rushed to get out.

The other home, though, was surprisingly clean. Kept up in a way Steve wouldn’t have expected for the panic most people showed while escaping town.

Everyone assumed maybe the occupants hadn’t even been home when the quake hit.

But Steve decided to go upstairs anyway.

Something was telling him this wasn’t normal.

It felt familiar in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge yet.

No one else followed him, all of the volunteers congregating in the living room area to discuss their next location before heading back to the school for a break.

Steve followed his gut, and his gut told him to check the bedroom at the end of the hall.

He opened the door, not surprised to see that nothing seemed strange at first glance.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, under the bed.

He would’ve checked there anyway, that’s where he would have hidden in this kind of situation, too.

“I guess this place is all clear,” Steve said, quiet enough not to be heard by anyone downstairs yet, but loud enough to be heard by the person under the bed.

“Wait!”

It was a kid, Steve figured as much based on the items on the desk in the corner and the poster on the wall.

The small boy crawled out from under the bed, panic on his face.

“Are you gonna take me to my parents?” The boy asked, lips wobbling.

“I’m gonna try. I’m Steve, what’s your name?”

“Elliott.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliott. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

Jesus Christ. Where had his parents even been? Why weren’t they looking for him?

He hoped they were on their way back and just stuck trying to get into town.

But a part of him had already known that wasn’t true. A part of him knew the moment they pulled into the area that he’d find someone left here, someone who shouldn’t have ever been alone.

“Alright, Elliott, let’s get you back to the school. We can put your name on the list so your parents can find you easier, okay? I can stay with you until they get here.”

“I don’t know if they will.”

Steve’s heart stopped for a moment.

Sure, his parents never came back after the Upside Down bullshit, but he’d been a teenager and adult. They probably assumed he wasn’t involved in any of it and was fine.

But Elliott was nine. Even his parents would have come back for him at that age.

They never should have left him alone to begin with, but even they knew the trouble they’d be in for leaving him at that age after a fucking earthquake.

“Of course they will, buddy. It’s just hard getting into Hawkins right now, you’ll see on our way back.”

He placed his hand on Elliott’s shoulder, not surprised when he tensed up under him for a moment before he relaxed.

Steve hadn’t been used to casual touch until he met Nancy.

But Elliott deserved to feel cared for right now, so he kept his hand there, let him get used to it for a moment, and then guided him out the door and down the stairs.

Most of the group had moved back outside, but a few people remained.

One of the few women in the group looked over at his entrance, her jaw dropping when she saw he had a child with him.

“Oh my God!”

Steve held his hand up, knowing Elliott probably didn’t want to draw a lot of attention to himself.

“He’s okay. He managed to find a safe place to hide. His parents might be looking for him though so we should get him back,” Steve said calmly.

No one crowded him, but the firefighter waiting by the van that was transporting everyone checked his heart and lungs, made sure he didn’t have any visible wounds or injuries.

Elliott didn’t let go of Steve the entire time, his hand gripping his forearm like he was terrified to lose him among the group.

Steve didn’t try to pull away, not once.

He knew Elliott needed someone. He could be that someone for him.

—-------------

When they arrived back at the school, they put his name on the list, and since he was a minor, they had him go to one of the classrooms that was being watched over by security while they tried to contact his parents.

He told them they left for a business trip over a week ago, he didn’t know when they would be back, and his aunt checked on him every morning, but he hadn’t seen her since the quake.

Steve stood by as he spoke to the responsible adults, not letting Elliott out of his sight.

Elliott begged for Steve to come with him to wait while they tried to locate his parents, so he did.

He realized pretty quickly that Elliott must not have slept last night; He curled against Steve’s side on the floor almost immediately and fell asleep, light snores making Steve smile to himself.

The floor was hard, the wall behind him was somehow harder, but he wouldn’t move short of another emergency.

They stayed like that for hours, kids coming and going as more were found and reunited with their families.

Elliott was the youngest one left in the room, all the other kids high school age.

When one of the men from the group he was in earlier came in the room to get another kid, he asked if there was any update on Elliott.

“Nah, they’re still trying to find them. The aunt um…” The guy looked nervously down at the sleeping Elliott. “She didn’t make it. Was on her way to try to get him when another crack hit the road she was driving on, car crashed. They contacted the dad’s business and were told he’s out of the country and won’t be returning calls until next week.”

“How long are they gonna make him stay here while they figure it out?”

“No clue, man. I’ll ask someone.”

But he didn’t come back and Elliott deserved something better than the floor to sleep on.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, gently nudging his shoulder to wake him up. “Sorry, just gotta run and ask someone something real quick.”

Elliott grabbed his shirt, holding it in his fist tightly.

“Don’t go! Please,” he begged, tears welling in his eyes.

Steve’s heart broke.

He’d been this kid for so much of his childhood, practically begging people to stick around so he didn’t have to be drenched in loneliness again.

He knew he would be right back, but to Elliott, especially after the quake, he probably felt like anyone who left would be gone forever.

“Come with me. We’ll find you some dinner while I find out how things are going.”

He stood up, his legs numb from sitting on the floor so long, and helped Elliott find his balance after waking up so abruptly.

They left the room, the security nodding them on when he saw Steve was with him, and walked down the hall to the cafeteria area.

They were serving ham and cheese sandwiches, bags of chips, and water for everyone. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

If he could find a phone, maybe he could get Robin to bring him and Elliott more food.

Elliott shyly thanked the person handing out the meals, and Steve slowly guided him to an empty table while his eyes searched for anyone he recognized.

He almost did a happy dance when he saw Dustin and Claudia across the room.

“Hey, that’s actually my friend and his mom. Can you wait here while I grab them?”

Elliott nodded nervously, clearly only letting him walk away because he would be within his sight the entire time.

Steve ran over to them, wincing slightly when the bite on his stomach started pulsing. Probably should take it easier while that healed.

“Dustin!” Steve exclaimed as he got closer.

Dustin’s head shot around, smile lighting up his face as he realized it was Steve.

“Dude! Everyone’s been trying to find you for hours. Have you been here all day?”

“Kinda. I came to help with searching and I found a kid earlier. They’re trying to find his parents, but he’s been kind of attached to me.”

“Damn, I hope they find them soon. Phone lines keep going down. You seen Hopper come by yet?”

“No, has he gotten any sleep yet?”

“Doubt it. Ma, do you have any cookies left for Steve?”

Claudia came bustling over, digging through her purse as she walked.

“Oh, I’m sure I do! Hi, Steve, dear. Hope you’re doing okay in all this madness.”

“I’m doing alright,” Steve gave her a small smile as she managed to find the cookies and hand them over. “Hey, do you know the parents of Elliott Devers?”

“Oh, I know of them, sure. Only met them once, they never seem to be in town. He’s a sweet boy, his aunt seems to take care of him most of the time.”

Steve filled her in on what he knew so far, that Elliott’s aunt had died, that no one could reach his parents, that he’d been alone in the house for at least a full day before Steve found him.

That Elliott didn’t seem to want to be separated from Steve.

Dustin was watching him talk, eyebrows furrowing like he was trying to think of something.

“Wait, his dad’s the guy who was under investigation for tax evasion, fraud, and identity theft, isn’t he?”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His brain made connections that only children of rich parents can in a matter of seconds.

His parents ran to another country on “business” because that was the only way they were allowed to leave while he was under investigation. No one could reach them because they gave fake information so they could go into hiding. Because he was guilty of all of the things he was under investigation for and didn’t want to lose everything and end up in prison.

Fuck.

Claudia must have realized the same thing, a deep frown settling on her face.

“Elliott is the boy sitting at that table?” She asked as she pointed towards him.

He was watching them as he ate, eyes wide as he kept glancing around the room.

Steve nodded.

“If they ran, and they aren’t coming back, where will he go?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure he’ll be placed with a family who can take him until they can figure out a more permanent place, but that may be hard right now with so many people leaving Hawkins. He may have to leave town,” Claudia said, though Steve could tell she was trying to figure out how to take him in, even if only for a few days.

“What would I have to do to keep him while they keep looking?”

“Oh, that’s a question for Hopper, sweetie. I’m not sure you’d fit the requirements, even though I think he’d be very lucky to get to stay with you,” Claudia touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze in comfort.

“Is he coming by?”

“Hopper? Yes, he just got done at the hospital handling some things for Edward,” Claudia said.

“Eddie, Ma, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“The tone! Watch it!” Steve said before Claudia could respond.

She smirked at Steve, then gave Dustin a look that said she wasn’t going to listen to him and walked away.

“I gotta go with her, she’s bringing dinner to Wayne at the hospital.”

“Is Eddie awake?”

“Not yet, but they think it could be anytime. They said the drugs in his system are heavy enough to keep him out for a while.”

“But he seems okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Max?”

He almost didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“No news.”

Steve nodded once, acknowledging that Dustin didn’t want to talk about it right now, that it was tough to even think about how she was probably not gonna wake up anytime soon if ever.

“Hey, come by my house tomorrow, okay? We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Sure.”

Steve gave Dustin a quick hug before making his way back to Elliott, who looked like he might start crying any moment.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry that took longer than I thought, but…” Steve pulled the bag of cookies from behind his back with a smile. “I got cookies! Claudia makes the best chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. You’ll love them.”

Elliott relaxed a little, smiling up at Steve as he reached for the bag of cookies.

“Is she nice? She looks nice.”

“She’s awesome. She always brings me soup if I’m sick.”

“Is that what moms do? My aunt sometimes does, but she doesn’t know how to make the kind I like.”

Steve bit his lip.

“What kind do you like?”

“My favorite is tomato and noodles. She can only make chicken noodle. It’s okay, but sometimes it has a funny taste.”

Steve smiled at him, glad he was at least talking, even if what he was saying was heartbreaking.

“I’m sure Claudia can make you some tomato and noodles. I’ll call and ask.”

“But not now, right?”

Elliott’s voice filled with panic, his eyes widening.

“No, I’m staying with you right now. The chief should be here soon and we can figure out what’s going on, okay?”

“Like, the chief of police? You know him?”

“Yeah, Hopper’s nice. Don’t let his mean face scare you. He’s kind of a teddy bear.”

“Excuse you, I’m not a teddy bear. I’m a grizzly bear,” Hopper said behind Steve.

Elliott laughed, and Hopper tried to hide a small smile. Teddy bear.

“Are you Elliott?” Elliott nodded. “Can we go talk for a few minutes just us? I promise Steve can wait right outside the door.”

Hopper gave Steve a look that said he was about to ruin this kid’s day as if it didn’t already suck enough.

“Um, can Steve come in the room too?”

“If you want him to, sure.”

“I want him to.”

“Okay then, let’s go.”

Steve grabbed everything off the tables, throwing the trash away on the walk towards the teacher’s lounge area that had been set up for the cops to conduct phone calls and interviews as needed.

It was empty now, probably thanks to Hopper taking control quickly.

They sat down around a table, Elliott’s hand finding Steve’s quickly.

“Alright, Elliott, so I have a few questions and then I have some news,” Hopper started, his voice maintaining no emotion the way he’d been taught.

“Okay.”

“How long have your parents been gone this time?”

“I dunno. A week, maybe a little longer.”

“And you were alone that whole time?”

Elliott looked to Steve, like he needed help to answer, but Steve just smiled at him and mouthed ‘just be honest, you’re not in trouble.’

“Most of the time. My aunt came to check on me in the mornings and bring me food for the day.”

“Aunt Janice?”

“Yeah.”

“Bud, I’m sorry to tell ya this, but your Aunt Janice was in a really bad accident and didn’t make it,” Hopper’s voice started to show some emotion, but Steve squeezed Elliott’s hand so he wouldn’t focus on that.

“She died?”

“Yeah, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But who will bring me food in the morning?”

Steve couldn’t do this. Holy shit, he could not do this. How was Hopper able to do this?

“Well, we still haven’t been able to call your parents. Do you know exactly where they might be?”

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me where they go.”

Steve and Hopper looked at each other.

Hopper knew Steve had been in a similar position when he was younger, but no one checked on him. Hopper had often been the one to show up at his door during his early teens to make sure he had food and wasn’t hurt.

“What if he stayed with me until you find them?” Steve asked Hopper.

Elliott turned to him.

“I can stay with you?” He asked excitedly.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. There’s a process for this kinda thing,” Hopper began.

“Then start the process. He’s staying with me,” Steve said firmly, not caring if he sounded rude, not caring if Hopper hated him for it, just wanting Elliott safe and in a house instead of a school converted to a disaster relief zone.

Hopper eyed him up and down, and the way Elliott was holding his hand and bouncing excitedly in his chair.

“Alright, fine. But it’s a week by week basis until we can get ahold of his parents,” Hopper said directly to Steve.

“Steve, do you have a microwave? I make popcorn so good, like so good. I can make it tonight even!”

Steve smiled at him, and then at Hopper, who was watching with a fond smile.

“I’m sure I have what you need to make some popcorn, buddy.”

“You wait here, I have to get the release from CPS. They’re in the front office.”

Elliott went on and on about all the things they could do while he stayed with him, and when he found out Steve had a pool, he didn’t even stop for breath as he explained that he was the best swimmer when they took a field trip last year to the pool and that he could probably even beat Steve in a race.

Steve just smiled and agreed.

—-----------------------

A week with Elliott went by, and it was easy.

Steve was terrified how quickly he just fit in.

He fit in at his house, making it feel like a home, with his rambunctious energy and nightly popcorn making.

He fit in with the kids, showing interest in D&D even though he’d never heard of it before.

He even fit with Robin, who kind of hated kids, but thought Elliott was probably the cutest kid she’d ever met.

One night, while Dustin and Mike were showing Elliott how to build a character, Robin asked him the question he’d been dreading.

“What happens if he can’t stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming they’ll find his parents soon, and when they do, he’ll have to go live with them again. Or at least his mom since his dad will be in prison for life at this rate. How are you gonna handle that?”

He had no clue. He wanted Elliott to have parents who stuck around, and who loved him, and let him pop popcorn every night.

But realistically, even if they did come back, that wasn’t what his life would look like.

His life would be a lot like Steve’s was, sad and lonely, and he didn’t deserve that.

“I’m gonna fight for him. I don’t know what that means yet, but I know that whatever is best for him is what I’m gonna make sure happens.”

Robin wrapped him up in a hug, her arms squeezing him to her.

“You’re gonna be a great dad someday.”

No one had ever said that to him before.

But maybe he could believe it.

—-------------------------------------

Steve was the first person to come to the hospital when Eddie woke up, Elliott excitedly chattering from the backseat of his car the whole way.

It was helping Steve’s nerves, but he knew he wasn’t giving Elliott the attention he needed.

“Sorry, buddy. What was that?”

Elliott was quiet for a moment.

“Are you worried?”

Steve smiled at him in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel tight.

“A little. You remember how everyone told you about Eddie? How he saved us all and almost died?”

“Yeah, he’s a hero!”

“He is. But he’s still healing and I’m just worried about how hurt he is.”

“Oh. So we can’t hug him or hold his hand to help him feel better?” Elliott groaned. “Oh man, I was gonna bring him popcorn!”

Steve laughed quietly to himself.

“I think he’s on a pretty strict diet right now, buddy. Maybe when he’s out of the hospital we can have him over for a movie and you can make him some.”

“When will he be out?”

“I dunno yet. I think it might still be a little while.”

“Will I still live with you then?”

Steve gulped.

“I hope so.”

“Me too,” Elliott said quietly, staring out the window as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

His mood was a bit somber as they walked through the halls of the bustling hospital, going to the fifth floor in the elevator where Eddie’s room was.

When he got to the right room, he knocked on the door even though it was open, smiling in at Wayne.

“Hey, come in, Steve. Eddie, Steve’s here,” Wayne said as he turned to Eddie, who was awake, but mostly horizontal still in bed.

“Steve?” Eddie’s rough voice asked.

“Hey, Eds. Hope it’s okay I brought my buddy, Elliott, to say hi. He’s heard a lot about you and Dustin and Mike and Will have been teaching him D&D for when you get out of here.”

Steve walked close to the bed, holding Elliott’s hand. He seemed shy suddenly, which wasn’t like him, not since he was living with Steve.

“Hey, Elliott. You keepin’ Steve company?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne snorted.

“Oh, son, you don’t have to be formal with Eddie. He’s barely older than you in his head.”

Eddie glared at Wayne, but smiled at Elliott.

“Seriously, bud, just Eddie is fine. So you ready for a campaign?”

“I dunno. Dustin said maybe I can play with you guys?”

“‘Course you can. I have so many ideas when I get outta here.”

Eddie turned to Steve and gave him a smirk.

“As long as we can host at your place?”

Steve blushed, remembering the last time he had Eddie’s full attention on him, back when his words “make him pay” sounded a lot like “I love you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. When do you get out of here?”

Elliott was loosening his anxious grip on Steve’s hand as the nerves wore off.

“They said not for a couple weeks, but I’m gonna walk right out of here the moment I can feel my legs again.”

Elliott let out a giggle and Eddie smiled.

“You can help me, right? I may need some support to run for it.”

“No! You have to stay until you’re all better, goofball.”

“That’s exactly what I told him, Elliott. You’re much wiser than he is,” Wayne said with a roll of his eyes.

Elliott moved closer to the side of the bed, his hands folded in front of him.

“Um. Could I hold your hand? So you feel better?”

Steve was going to cry.

Eddie kind of looked like he might, too.

“Yeah, I could use a hand to hold, bud. Thanks for offering. Wayne’s hand gets sweaty, but don’t tell him I said that,” he whispered the last part to Elliott, but loud enough so everyone could still hear.

Elliott held his hand, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

He told Eddie all about the character Dustin and Mike helped him build, about how they might run a practice campaign with him soon. He told him about the popcorn he would make for the first time he came over.

Steve watched fondly, realizing quickly that this wasn’t something he could lose.

Not Elliott, and not Eddie either.

—-----------------------------

Elliott’s parents were still missing.

It’s been almost a month, Eddie was released from the hospital a day ago, and Elliott was still living with Steve.

The longer he stayed, the more it would hurt if he left.

They got into a routine.

School had been canceled for the rest of the year, so they mostly just made breakfast together, went in the pool, hung out with the kids, visited Eddie, played basketball, and had popcorn every night.

Steve knew Elliott was happy, he knew he was happy.

He was terrified it would end.

They were hosting Eddie for a movie night, and Elliott was more excited than ever.

Steve was a nervous wreck.

He was in charge of making sure Eddie didn’t overdo it, making sure he took his nighttime medications, and getting him to bed at a reasonable hour. According to Wayne, his pills made him tired and he would fight sleep if you didn’t force him into a bed.

Steve spent the day cleaning, baking, and preparing.

By dinner time, when Eddie would be arriving, Elliott was starting to question it.

“What’s wrong? Do you not want Eddie to come over?”

“No! Of course I want him to come over.”

“So…why are you being like this?”

“I’m…”

“Is it because you love Eddie?”

Steve choked on air.

“What?”

“Or do you think Eddie doesn’t love you?”

“Elliott, gonna say a big kid word right now. What the hell do you mean?”

Elliott rolled his eyes.

“You want to make Eddie feel happy and safe here, and you always get this stupid look on your face when we visit him, and then when I asked Wayne if you two were boyfriends he laughed and said ‘probably soon.’ So you love him, right?”

Steve’s mouth was working open and shut, open and shut, no noise coming out.

“Two boys can be together, you know. Robin told me.”

“She what? When?”

“When she told me two girls can be together.”

Steve put his face in his hands and couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief he let out as Elliott touched his back to comfort him.

“Did you not know you loved Eddie?”

“Uh. I guess I didn’t know that other people thought I loved Eddie.”

“Oh. So are you gonna be boyfriends?”

“I…I don’t know, buddy. Maybe.”

“I think you should be. Then it might be like I have two dads.”

What?

What.

“What?”

Elliott pulled his hand away and suddenly seemed nervous.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Steve couldn’t handle the look on Elliott’s face.

“Elliott, look at me, buddy.” He waited for Elliott to look at him. “Is that what you think of me as? Like your dad?”

Elliott nodded.

“Come here,” Steve said, pulling Elliott into a hug. “You’re the best kid, you know that?”

Elliott nodded, and Steve let out a wet laugh.

“Uh, everything okay in here?” Eddie said from the doorway.

“Eddie!” Elliott let out, and despite the mood of the previous conversation, he was smiling from ear to ear.

Eddie smiled at him and pulled him into the least hurt side of him for a hug.

He looked at Steve with a questioning look. Steve just shook his head quickly, wiping the tears from his eyes quickly.

“Can I make popcorn now, pleeeeease?” Elliott asked, bouncing on his heels.

“Yes, fine. But only one bowl right now. You can make more after dinner.”

“Okay, dad!” he yelled as he ran to the popcorn maker.

Eddie’s brows raised to his forehead as he looked at Steve, who was crying buckets at this point.

“What’s that about, Stevie?” Eddie whispered as he came up to him.

“I um, I guess he just feels like I’m his dad,” Steve shrugged.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I just don’t want him to go.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pulling Steve into a crushing hug that had to hurt him. Steve sniffled against his shoulder, letting himself cry for a minute. “Did Hopper say he may have to go soon?”

“No, but I mean, if they find his parents or if CPS decides he has to go to a real family, then he’ll have to.”

“Stevie, they wouldn’t just take him. Not when he’s safe here and wants to be here. I promise.”

“But what if he goes somewhere far away or to people who won’t let me see him?”

Eddie held the back of his head against his shoulder, placing a kiss to the top of his head.

“He won’t. We’ll fight for him to stay here, okay? He’s got a family here, with us. Right?”

“Us?” Steve asked as he pulled away.

“Yeah. Us. Sound okay to you?”

Steve could only nod as he wiped his running nose.

How attractive.

“Hopper still doesn’t have any idea where they are, right?”

“Nope.”

“They’ll give up eventually. I hate to say it, but they won’t put more effort into a kid who has a safe place to go when they have bigger problems. Like how half the town is still homeless because of a fucking earthquake.”

“That’s a big kid word!” Elliott yelled from his spot at the counter.

“I’m a big kid!” Eddie yelled back, smirking at Steve.

“But I’m not!” Elliott yelled as they heard the popcorn machine starting up.

“Fine!”

Eddie placed a kiss on Steve’s forehead, then one against his lips.

It was soft, chaste, barely a kiss at all.

But it was a perfect first kiss for them.

—----------------------------

Another month passed with no news.

Eddie was at Steve’s house almost every day, spending time with Elliott, spending time with the party, with Steve.

Steve had converted the main guest room into Elliott’s permanent bedroom, but was scared to think of it that way still.

Eddie tried to reassure him, but even he was nervous that no final decisions had been made and the case remained open.

Until Hopper came by one night, well after Elliott went to bed. Eddie was doing the dishes while Steve was prepping some fruit for Elliott’s breakfast before his first day of summer camp the next day.

“Hop.”

Steve felt his stomach sink.

They were going to take Elliott.

“Steve. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Steve let him in, his face forced into casual calm, but on the inside he was already screaming and crying about what was about to happen.

Hopper sat down on the chair, gesturing for Steve and Eddie to sit on the couch.

“So.”

“You’re taking him aren’t you? He can’t stay.”

“What? No.” Hopper frowned. “No, Steve. The opposite actually. We’re closing the case. CPS said after interviews with him, even if his parents did get found or come back on their own, he wouldn’t be put back in their care.”

“But what about putting him with another family?”

Hopper sighed. He watched Eddie place a hand on Steve’s knee to calm him down.

“They’ve spoken in detail with him about his current situation. They believe that you’re the person he wants to live with and they aren’t going to disrupt his life any more than it already has been. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Steve felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

“He can stay? With me?”

“He can stay with you.”

Steve let out a sob and fell against Eddie’s side. Eddie was crying too, but trying to keep more control so he could comfort Steve.

“CPS has to do a home visit to finalize everything, but if you’re good with it, you can officially adopt him. He’s been considered abandoned by his parents, and since it’s been 60 days, they relinquish all rights automatically.”

“How quickly can we do that?”

“We? Both of you?”

“I mean, can we both even do that?”

Hopper shrugged.

“Don’t know. But they’re probably expecting just Steve for now. They’ll call tomorrow to schedule everything and give you a chance to talk to Elliott.”

Steve and Eddie both nodded.

“I’m gonna leave you two to it, but call me if you need me. Congrats, Steve. I know you wanted this. I know he wanted this.”

“Thanks.”

Hopper saw himself out, closing the door quietly so it wouldn’t wake Elliott up.

“Eddie, did that really happen? Am I dreaming?”

“No, sweetheart, you aren’t dreaming.”

“I get to be his dad.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want to be his other dad?”

“I would love to, baby. Let’s ask him tomorrow, though. It’s up to him.”

Steve nodded.

It was up to Elliott, but he knew what Elliott wanted.

He knew what he wanted.

They were gonna be a family. A real family. No more worrying about someone deciding to take Elliott away from him.

He could finally use this house that had been left to him by his parents for something other than being miserable. He could keep it filled with love and laughter and happiness and maybe the occasional stupid argument.

Maybe Elliott would make friends at school in the fall and want to have hangouts here. Maybe they could both save up some money and take him on a vacation somewhere. Maybe someday they could get married and Elliott could be the best man.

Anything could happen.

Steve couldn’t wait.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #requests #ficlet #wayne munson #jim hopper #the party #steve finds and bonds and adopts a whole child #and eddie comes in like hello im dad number 2 #it's giving so many emotions #good luck #hurt/comfort

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thepenultimateword · 5 months

Text

Not That Special

"Good evening."

Detective cursed loudly, tea splattering the wall as they whipped around to face the thief lounging, ankle crossed over the knee, on their sofa. "What are you-- How did you get in?"

"Key."

"What key? There is no other key, I have the only set."

"Ah, the only set you knew of. I asked your landlord for the spares when you moved in. He thinks we're married."

Detective let that sink in a moment before forcing their mouth shut and running an exasperated hand down their face. "Alright. Ignoring that for now. Why are you here? I could have you arrested with one phone call."

"Oh, please don't do that. I'd have to make run for it, and I'm really trying to stay off the streets right now." Detective raised their eyebrows inquiringly, and they continued, "I'm on the downlow. A recent target really did not like being robbed. Two of my places are being watched, and I would not like to risk the third. You see I'm rather attached to my skin."

They slid the back of their hand down their cheek, turning their head haughtily to the side, almost like an invitation to admire them.

"So you decided you'd put me in danger?" Detective said.

Thief scoffed. "Nobody even knows who you are, let alone that I crash here in my off afternoons."

"You what?"

"Landlord thinks we're married, remember? You think that was a one-lie assumption? Keep up."

Detective had to sit down. Everything sort of felt like it was spinning out of control. Before they could think better of it they'd sunk down to the cushion on Thief's left and ducked their head between their knees with a long groan.

"I'm going to have to inform them I'm very much single. Then I'll have to change the locks. Probably change all my passwords--who knows where you've been snooping. Then there's the police."

Thief reached over their back and began massaging their neck. "Why. go through the stress? It's just a few measly days. I'll even return my set of the keys. As for the police, why is any of their business?"

Detective didn't have the energy to swat them away. The day had been exhausting enough all on it's own, and now all this...

Villain hit a knot, and they practically puddled at its gentle unraveling.

"Maybe because they're paying me to catch you? Besides, they already think I treat you specially. If it got out you were in my house and I didn't report it--"

"Like you said, if it got out I was in your house. Many times at that. With an eye witness. You really think they're going to believe I got in on my own?" Thief leaned against their shoulder, breath hot in Detective's ear. "After all. I am special."

Detective jerked out of their grip, their stomach dropping to their toes as they wheeled on Thief's pouted lips and innocent-seeming dark eyes. "Are you blackmailing me?"

Thief surged forward, wrapping their arms around Detective's neck. The scent of rosemary and mint wafted up from their hair. "Only a little. And only if you call someone."

Detective moved to shove them off, but Thief clung tight.

"I would like you to leave," Detective said, squeezing hard on Thief's wrists. "Now."

Thief still did not unlock. "I told you, I'm in trouble!"

"So? That's your thing! You love danger. Your court it so often your practically a suitor."

"But I went too far." Thief shifted a little. Detective didn't notice they'd climbed into their lap until their legs were wrapped as tightly around their waist as their arms were around their neck. "I robbed Corvina Sedero."

Just the name made Detective shiver. Dragging hidden criminals into the light was one thing. But the ones that stood in plain sight were quite another. Detective had been young when they realized that mere knowledge of wrongdoing was not enough. Evidence was one manacle and decent law enforcement the other, and Corvina Sedero with all her reputation remained chain-free. The rumor was that she skinned the people who crossed her. Detective had never taken it as hyperbole.

"If she catches me..." Thief drew out a hairbreadth from Detective's face, dark eyes shining. "I'm scared."

Detective probably would have taken it for a lie if they couldn't feel the rapid pound of Thief's heart against their chest. For a moment, they considered making the call anyway, telling Thief that the safest place for them was behind bars. But even if Thief didn't run for it, Detective doubted any prison was truly outside the reach of Corvina's claws.

"A few days," they sighed.

"Really?"

"But we come up with another solution in the meantime."

"Of course, it's not as if I planned on moving in." Thief snuggled against Detective's chest, limbs loosening into less of a death grip and into more of a real embrace. "I knew I could trust you."

Detective jolted a little. That was not a good thing. A Thief should not feel comfortable with the person actively trying to jail them. Yet they couldn't stop the warmth flooding their chest cavity. "Don't get used to it. I'm still telling my landlord I'm not married."

Thief did not argue.

"You're not going to say no? Tell me what a mistake I'd be making?"

Their only reply was soft breathing.

Detective flicked their gaze to Thief's face, eyes closed and tucked snuggly against their shoulder. They must have been as exhausted as Detective, holding on for confirmation before finally letting themselves drift off. Detective couldn't imagine how much running they must have done, how many dead ends they faced, before they got here.

Their arms hovered awkwardly over the criminal's thin back, stuck between ideas of guiding their wiry figure to the couch cushions and holding them back. They'd once read that hugging made the body release the oxytocin hormone to combat anxiety, and Thief probably could use as little anxiety as possible. But that didn't mean Detective needed to be the one to do it. The weighted blanket on their bed probably would do just as well.

Detective braced one palm against the couch back and gingerly rose to their feet. They turned off lights as they went, brain growing drowsier out of habit with the dark hall and spattering of wall lights ahead. They'd tuck Thief in and then collapse on the sofa.

It was just one night.

It wasn't wrong if they weren't in the same room.

And these were extenuating circumstances.

Anyone would be swayed.

Thief was not special.

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat@ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindonessy @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @kurai-hono-blog

#thief x detective #detective x criminal #detective #writblr #writeblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #fiction #creative writing #enemies to lovers #writing snippet #this was going to be a prompt #but then the story just kept unfurling #hero x villan

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altsvu · 5 months

Note

Congrats on the followers!

🧞Barba + 53 from the smut prompt list (re: tattoo) please & thanks! 💜

tattoo ridden

pairing: rafael barba x fem!reader

prompt used: “Is that a tattoo?” from the 100 smut prompt list!

wc: 700

summary: your first time having sex with rafael is a magical one, and when he notices a fairly interesting tattoo on your body, it’s almost like he went feral.

cw: dirty talk, smut (oral, teasing)

a/n: anything smutty with rafael is like the best, so thank you so much for sending this in lovely, i’m so sorry it took so long for me to write it! 🥲

law and order svu masterlist! ✯ taglist!

✯✯✯✯

Rafael wasted no time getting intimate with you. It was literally out the car, out the clothes, and in the bed.

A year back, you and Rafael got together, but you wanted to take things slow, and he agreed.

But now, you felt ready.

It was another long day at the precinct, for you at least. It had gotten to the point where Liv even told you to go home. You liked to get ahead of things because you knew you would dread drowning in paperwork after the fact.

This particular night, however, was a different story for Rafael. He wanted to surprise you. It was you and his’s 1 year anniversary and he wanted to make the day special as can be.

You didn’t forget about your anniversary, you had gotten him a gift, you just didn’t have the time to go drop it off at his office.

So there you were sitting at your desk filling out paperwork when a very familiar figure appeared in your sight. You quickly found out that it was Rafael.

“Rafa.” You smiled, getting up from your desk.

“Hi baby.” Rafael smiled back, pulling you into a hug. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.”

Rafael planted kisses on your lips. You then went back to your desk, and Rafael followed suit, pulling up a chair to sit next to you.

“Paperwork again?”

You nodded. “You know how I am Rafa.”

“I’m staying here until you finish. I wanna take you home tonight.” Rafael said, reaching over to stroke your thigh.

You smirked, knowing what he meant.

“Duly noted, Counselor.”

✯✯✯✯

Rafael finally got you home. Beforehand, you gave him your gift, which was a watch he’d been eyeing for months. He was ecstatic when he opened the box. After, he pulled out his gift, which was a matching gold necklace and bracelet set. He took the liberty of putting them on you.

Out the car.

Out the clothes.

In the bed.

“I know we talked about it, but are you sure about this? About everything?”

“Yes, Rafa.” You responded, helping him out of his suit. The only suit you wanted him in was his birthday suit.

“Okay.” He smiled.

With that, the two of you wasted no more time getting in the bed and each other naked. Clearly the second step was ignored.

Rafael loved your body and he wanted to admire it all night long. When he touched your naked body for the first time ever, you felt chills running throughout your body and you didn’t want him to stop. His hands felt so nice against your skin. In this moment, his hands were creeping up to your boobs and something special resided in that region.

Your infamous side boob tattoo.

To be quite honest, it was a simple flower, but it was your favorite tattoo.

Rafael’s hand reached it and the chills stopped for a moment.

“Is that a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

The room light was on, so Rafael was able to take a peek under the covers to look at it.

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered, starting to suck on your nipples. He kissed all around the area, as well as the tattoo, and that made you so much more aroused.

He was good with his mouth. So when he finished with your boobs and went to your pussy without a warning, you knew you were going to fold instantly. He made you feel good, and that’s all that mattered in this moment. His lips touched your clit and he sucked on it softly to get you started. He started using his tongue in all the right places, and pushed a finger inside. His intentions were to get you to come for him.

Hard.

“Rafa” escaped your lips numerous times while he was doing this.

“I love when you say my name like that, Y/N. It’s so hot.” Rafael mumbled against your thighs. He got up and leveled with you, and pushed his fingers inside you again, all while he planted kisses on your lips and chest.

The next thing you knew, he was inside you, and it felt amazing. He felt amazing.

It was a good thing the two of you waited.

✯✯✯✯

taglist: @storiesofsvu @averyhotchner @ssaic-jareau @detective-giggles @lapaquerette @itsjustmyfantasyroom

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mchlgayser · 1 year

Note

heeey could u write about mason’s family finding out he has a girlfriend because she shows up at his door (when he answers she kisses him and everyone is shocked) thank u

OH MY GOD: : mason mount x female!reader

author's note: this is, by far one of my cutest fiction I think?! but lemme know what you think anon!! luv xx

contents warning: none // not proofread

'You got me a dress? ...In my closet room? ...Mason when did you even get here?!' He chuckles through the phone 'I'll tell you about that later alright? Just get dolled up for me angel!' He hung up the phone and you sigh, exasperatedly.

Mason told you today he wanted to bring you to a dinner date at his house, and you as a person who could't said no, you agreed to. What could possibly go wrong anyway?

Everything

You jog upstairs to your room and the linked closet room to see a black box with gold ribbon laid before you on the accessories drawer. You carefully pull open the box to see a long and elegant pink maxi dress neatly tucked

You present the dress in front of you feeling giddy and bubbly to wear it for today's special occasion.

You did your make up not too long after, putting on the dress and get your 'M' initial necklace and a pair of eggshell white pearl dangling earrings. After that you put your hair on a neat low bun and strands of hair at the front curling it a bit.

Satisfied with the look, you grab a purse along with a few of your necessities and then left the house.

Mason on the other hand started to grow more anxious, his polo-collared shirt is beads with sweats, his hands is shaking, too scared for your reaction and his family but he knows none of it won't be too negative but he'll get nagged from both parties.

His family are still preparing the dishes while his father and his brother in law on the hall talking business, him on the other hand has been quite nonstop looking out the window to see if your car had parked outside his residence.

'Guys, dinner's ready!' His sister, Chloe announced 'Mason come on--'

'I invited--'

The front door bell chiming, the whole family turns up to Mason 'Friends coming over?' He gulps, his mom head shake at the weird behavior of his son and gets up 'Let me get the door!'

'I'll do it, mom,' He rush to the door, his whole family is still eyeing him, he could see it from the corner of his views

He opens the door welcoming you, you squealed giving him a long chaste kiss on the lip and his cheeks. A series of 'What?' and a shrieking 'Oh' comes after that, you peep from his shoulder seeing his whole family looking at you both, well partially you...

You gapped in surprise, eyes going back and forth between Mason and his family. The mother came up to you first 'Gosh dear, you must be Mason's girlfriend,' She laugh immediately easing the tension, you gulp eyes burning holes into Mason as she drags you over the table and strike an immediate convos. His father joined in and soon his sister

'So how long you to've known each other?' She questioned you, you awkwardly chuckle 'It was't long, eight months I think? We met during an award show, I was the host and we had short interview together..' You blurted out, Mason beside you smile along and confirming it.

It was like that for the next past hours, his family opening up to you, especially his mom, she's very supportive, very reliable and caring too, easy for a timid person like you to even talk to her.

The day went by fast, and soon they left, you rolled your eyes at Mason and went back inside the house 'Wait babe--'

'What?! You got me meeting your family while I'm like this..' You pouted at him and he laugh, clasping one hand over your waist 'Like what..? You look decent.'

'Am not, I would've put more effort if I know it would be a dinner date with your family... I know I said that I'm ready to meet them whenever but not surprising me like Mase!' You complained, hand crossing over your chest getting sulky

He crooks a small smile and kiss your hand 'Well it went well innit?'

You suck your teeth and dismissed the topic 'Whatever but next time you gotta tell me first so I can prepare gifts or something...' He hums and followed after you inside the house

'You could say that all my family are fond of you, especially mom..' He admitted with a toothy grin, you mirror his expression and nods 'I think so, not too bad am I? Do you think they'll approve me to be part of the Mount family?' You joked sending a giggle his way, he froze for a second before he wraps both arms around you 'Yeah, they won't mind that, I think mom will definitely say this "the sooner the better" don't you think?' You flush down to your neck as Mason laughs at your unexpected reaction 'So cute!' He cooed scooping you up and bringing you to his bedroom

'Stay for the night, yeah love?'

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analogwriting · 4 months

Text

Star-Crossed

Chapter 8: Hart

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader word count: 3.2k next

A month went by. Things were returning to normal at the hospital. It was business as normal, no pop up visits from your father. Corazon stopped coming by, which you expected. He did threaten you with a gun, after all. He also seemed to have zero trust in you now just because of who your father is - which is exactly why you had taken a different last name in the first place. To avoid natural distrust just because of your namesake.

You also found yourself missing his little visits. It was always a breath of fresh air to see him standing in your lobby or doing something stupid. It always put a smile on your face and he just made you feel so at ease. Hell, you didn’t even see him outside of work. It seemed whatever game Fate had been playing, she was finished with it.

Even the receptionists seemed to miss him. Not only were they unable to see their real life soap opera playing out in front of their very eyes, but they did enjoy his company. He was always so kind and polite to them. You heard that he had also brought them some flowers once.

You even overheard Law talking about it with Shachi, Bepo, and Penguin. “I just don’t know what happened,” you had heard Law say, feeling your entire body freezing. He was just around the corner from you and you knew that you shouldn’t be listening, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were almost holding your breath to make sure that you didn’t make any noise.

“Really fumbled that one, honestly,” Penguin said, folding his arms and shaking his head.

“He was so into them. Now he won’t even talk about them. I tried to ask and he just shut me out.” You could hear the concern in Law’s voice. “It’s all so irritating.” He clicked his tongue.

“You don’t think the doctor rejected him do you?” Shachi asked, gasping and covering his mouth.

“No, I don’t think so. I would’ve had a moping Cora to deal with. Not…whatever the hell this is.” Law sighed. “He honestly hasn’t acted like this in a long time.”

“Maybe a new factor came in we didn’t know about?” Bepo suggested. “Something that could be a deal breaker?”

“I don’t know. There didn’t seem to be anything that happened that could’ve done that. I mean, all that happened was that y/n’s dad showed up and-”

Bepo gasped, covering his mouth in shock with whatever revelation he had. “Do you think their father threatened Cora?”

Law scoffed, shaking his head. “Definitely not. Even if he tried, nothing scares him. At least not like that.”

The four of them shared a collective sigh and you took that as your cue. You rounded the corner. “Hey, boys.” They all jumped, looking at you with wild eyes. They were in such a state of panic that you had to keep yourself from laughing.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “What? Did something happen?”

“No, doctor!” They all chimed, scattering in different directions. Well, Shachi and Penguin ran right into each other before scittering off. You watched with amusement, but couldn’t help but think about what Law said.

Had Corazon really been that into you? You didn’t understand it. You didn’t see it, but you supposed they saw more from the outside looking in. Pain settled into your heart and you just sighed. This was no time to be sad about it. You had a hospital to run. Besides, you didn’t have time for frivolous things like romance. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself to keep the disappointment at bay.

“Code Magenta.” A voice boomed over the speakers. Your eyes widened and you immediately began to run through the hospital as panic set in. You heard a couple of people ask what that meant as it’s a code not often used and especially not on this side of the hospital. You heard a few people just brushed it off, saying it’s just a special code for you - which wasn’t completely wrong.

Code Magenta meant that there was a life threatening emergency involving a child on the underground side of things. You only had this code one other time in the years that you’ve been in this hospital. The child had been involved with a domestic situation. You were able to save her and provide safe passage for her and her father out of that lifestyle. You occasionally received letters from them, updating you on things.

The last time you were barely able to save the child, you just hoped you’d be able to this time as well. You also knew that you wouldn’t have to worry about your hospital because Marco would step in while you were away. You could have your full attention on whatever the situation was.

And it was terrible.

A child was caught in the middle of a crossfire. A deal gone wrong and for some reason, they had brought their child. This is why you hated the fact that this lifestyle included their children or indoctrinated them at such a young age. There were plenty of ways to prepare a child for such a lifestyle without putting them in danger. You hated the lifestyle and wish children weren’t involved in any way, but such was life.

You immediately went into surgery. You spent hours just trying to keep this kid alive; removing bullets, sewing them up, mending broken bones, everything. You did everything in your power to help this kid.

But it wasn’t enough.

The wounds were too great, the child too small. Most doctors would’ve declared him a lost cause the moment they laid eyes on him, but not you. You didn’t care how little of a chance he had of surviving, you were going to do everything in your power to try. After all, if you had that kind of thought process, you wouldn’t have been able to save Law all those years ago or the other small child that ended up coming through here.

Because of that mentality, your hospital mortality rate was incredibly low - you’ve only lost a few patients over the years. However, that mentality was also a double edged sword. Due to the fact that you cared so much and were so determined to defy odds, it also completely destroyed you every time you failed. You blamed yourself for not being good enough and that it was your fault they died. Which wasn’t the case, it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could, but it always took you a minute to see that.

Marco also knew this. When he was trying to come up with some excuse for Robin and Law as they asked questions to what Code Magenta was and being too good at seeing through his lies, a voice boomed over the intercom once more. “Code Azure.” Now Marco was the one running across the hospital. Law and Robin called after him, but he was too quick and lost them almost immediately. Again, people were whispering and asking what it meant. Again, those who knew brushed it off saying it was a special code for Marco, which was true.

Code Azure was everything he needed to know. It was similar to Code Cyan, where you were emotional and needed him to keep you from losing it. This one was on a greater scale. That meant that no, you didn’t succeed and you were about to actually lose it. He just hoped it made it in time.

You had a certain habit when this happened. A habit he had down. Typically, you’d start spiraling almost immediately. You’d grow numb and become a robot. Then you’d disappear. Never for very long and typically you ended up at a bar. The only tricky part was that you never went to the same bar, so he always had to hunt you down. Also you tended to be more rambunctious and squirmy when you drank, so just dealing with you in that kind of state was something he was trying to avoid.

When he arrived on the other side, one of the nurses sighed before shaking their head. “They’re already gone.”

Marco groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Why didn’t you stop them?” He glared at the nurse who licked her teeth and grimaced at him.

“It’s not like they exactly leave in the most conspicuous manner, you know this. One moment they’re there, the next they’re not.” With that, they left Marco to his own devices. He couldn’t just leave right now. There were still some things to take care of before he could leave. He also knew Law and Robin were probably waiting for an explanation.

He pulled out his phone, texting his father to let him know the current situation. Pops could start looking while he finished things up here. It shouldn’t take him too long.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got here. One moment the single toned beep was ringing in your ears and now you were trying to figure out how the hell you were going to get home. You weren’t sure how much you drank, you never did when this happened. It was like you clocked out of your body for some hours and when you came back, someone else had taken the wheel and crashed.

You slowly slid from your seat, the world around you spinning. You held on to the edge of the bar, blinking hard as you tried to gather yourself. Fuck, you hated drinking. This is why you never did it, but this was just what you did every time. As if you were punishing yourself for something that was out of your control. Actually, that’s exactly what it was. You knew it was bad, you knew it was unhealthy, but you just felt like you couldn’t control it.

You took another deep breath, your world still spinning but you were able to handle it now. “You sure you don’t want me to call you a cab?” the bartender asked, looking at the state of you. You shook your head. “I’m gonna just walk it off. Some fresh air might do me good.”

The man just looked at you rather skeptically.

“And I don’t want to end up vomiting in someone’s car,” you mumbled. The bartender snorted, nodding. “There’s the truth I was looking for. At least you’re considerate. Just be careful on your way, okay?”

You nodded, offering a very drunken salute before stumbling out the door.

The cold air hit you like a slap in the face. You immediately felt everything coming up and rushed over to the bushes, unleashing whatever you had been putting into your stomach for the last couple of hours. Man, how did you do so much damage in so little time? What time even was it right now? Did you even have your phone?

Once you were done with that, you felt a whole lot better. The world was still tilted and moving slightly but you were able to stand up straight for the most part. Marco was going to kill you. You groaned, double checking yourself. You had your phone - which was dead, keys, and wallet. You manage to not upchuck all over yourself. Things were okay for now. You assumed your car was at the hospital. At least you had enough sense in your dazed state to walk instead of drive.

You started walking - well, stumbling - down the sidewalk. You moved slowly as if you were learning how to walk again. It didn’t take long before you were somewhat able to walk for the most part.

At least, that’s what you thought before you tripped over yourself. There was no saving yourself. You braced yourself for impact only for it to never come. You opened your eyes, staring at the ground not far from your face. What the hell? That’s when you realized someone had you by the collar of your shirt.

You felt yourself being picked up and tossed over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. There’s only one person who it could be. Everything hit you all at once and Marco was the only person you really could unleash everything on. “Marco, I’m so sorry,” you grumbled, feeling the tears well up. “I tried everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.” You felt the tears start to fall. “Everything is just going wrong. I thought it was fine. Things would be fine, but it isn’t. I don’t know what’s going on.” You kept your face covered, laying limply over his shoulder as you sobbed.

“He was so small, Marco.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “So small. His wounds were too great. They were for an adult, not a child. I went into this to save children, but I wasn’t able to. I couldn’t help him. God, why do they have to involve kids with their stupid lives. They don’t want this. They never do. I never wanted it. I just- What’s the point of being a doctor if I can’t save lives?” You were just blubbering at this point, no real structure to your sentences.

After another moment of crying, you calmed down a little bit. Then you realized something. Marco hadn’t said anything. He was usually scolding you by now. That, and he would never pick you up like this. He knew how squirmy you sometimes got and he usually opted for dragging you. “Marco?” you asked, sniffling and wiping your eyes.

Hold on. Why were you this high off the ground? Marco wasn’t this tall. It couldn’t be Pops either, he was way taller. You tried to move, but felt the arm around your middle tighten. “Uh?” Panic was setting in. Were you being kidnapped, right now? You started squirming but to no avail. Unlike Marco, whoever was holding on to you seemed to have no trouble keeping you in place.

“Fucki-”

“Y/n.” You stopped as you heard a voice you hadn’t heard in a while. “Corazon?” Your eyes widened and you felt your face warm up. Of course he’s the one who found you like this. Of course. Of all people. Of all times. “Where…are you taking me?” Oh fuck, was he going to kill you? Had he actually been working with Doflamingo this whole time? A whole new wave of panic set in.

“To the hospital.” Oh. Well, that made sense. Leave it to your drunk state of mind to come up with insane scenarios. Besides, if he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done it already. It’s not like it was exactly hard to do when you were like this.

“Seems like the roles are reversed now, huh?” It seemed he was trying to lighten the mood. You blinked at his words, confused. “What do you mean?” Corazon chuckled softly. “Well, you’re usually the one stopping me from falling. Not the other way around. I’ve never seen you in such a state.” You felt your face set ablaze and you sputtered for a moment.

“Well, it doesn’t happen often,” you mumbled, yawning. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you. “So, don’t get used to it.” You thought for a moment. “Huh, I guess the roles really are reversed.” You yawned again, feeling your body going slack. “You saved me from falling,” your voice slowly became softer as you were drifting off. “You pointed the gun at me just like I did to you when we met.”

You felt Corazon stop. “What?” You covered your mouth, tiredly giggling. “Oops.” Now delirium was setting in. With the lack of sleep and the alcohol coursing through your veins, you were reaching a point in which you were honestly surprised you were still awake.

Corazon gently set you down on the ground and looked at you. “What did you mean by that?” You blinked, looking at him with half lidded eyes. You were barely able to stay awake. You felt yourself sway a bit and he put his hands on your shoulders to hold you steady. “When the hell did you point a gun at me, y/n?”

You yawned, shaking your head. “A long time ago, you don’t remember.” Corazon studied your face as he tried to figure out what you were telling him. Honestly, you weren’t even processing what you were saying right now. You just looked at him through droopy eyes and watched as his face slowly came to the realization.

“You’re-”

“Y/N!” A voice cut through the cold night air. Your ears perked up and you turned around, almost toppling over as you did so had Corazon not been holding on to you.

“MARCO!” You threw your hands in the air and grinned widely. “There you are! I was wondering when you’d find me.” You giggled as he ran over to you.

Marco was panting, glaring at you. He stopped, putting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. You were doctors not athletes. “It’s okay. I was safe. Corazon was watching over.” You patted his hand that was still on your arm to keep you steady. “Good guy.” The next word that came out of your mouth was something you didn't even realize you were saying and you didn't even process. "Handsome too, huh, Marco?"

You turned back to Marco, who was fully standing up now that he recovered for the most part. He opened his mouth and you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re going to scold me later.” You were not a fan of his scoldings, but at least it wasn’t as if you had to hear them often.

“Let’s go, then,” he said. “Pops is on the way with the truck.”

As if on cue, a large truck pulled up next to the three of you. “Y/n!” A voice boomed out of the window. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” You frowned, feeling bad for having worried the two of them. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

It wasn’t long before you were safely secured in the truck and you rolled down the window. “Thanks for helping me out there, Corazon,” you said with a sleepy smile, leaning against the side of the window.

He’d been silent since Marco showed up, not really knowing what to say. “What did you mean when you said you pointed a gun at me earlier?” You blinked at him slowly, trying to process his words.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” You were slowly starting to drift off now. “‘T all happened the night I met you…” You yawned one more time. “When I saved Law.” You stuck your arm out the window for him to see, pointing at the bullet wound scar. “Got this too when ‘Mingo’s guys jumped me. Which was unfair, we were trying to be all nice n’ stuff. Dad sent me in as an olive branch and I almost came out as swiss cheese.” You laughed as you rambled, pulling your arm back in and leaning against the side again.

“Time to go. Thanks, Corazon,” Marco said out his window before the truck took off, leaving the other man frozen in disbelief.

#now to be dead the next three days bc of work lmfao #i also rewrote this like four times oof #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #donquixote rosinante x reader #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #rosinante corazon #corazon x reader #corazon #rosinante x reader #rosinante #am fics #sc

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hiskillingjar · 4 months

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hiihi just wanted to make a request for maybe like headcanons or drabbles or rlly whatevr medium you prefer abt lawrence strade or ren w/ dollification. i just think that some of the boys r wayyy better at taking care of their dolls than others LOL. strade would probably just use it as an excuse to totally manhandle n beat up an MC more but... i think ren would take care of a "doll" better imo

hrghhhhh i hate you people, you can't keep using this kink against me

since i already wrote a headcanon post very similar to this, i thought i'd just. write some drabbles because i'm insane and i hate working on actual writing lmao

cw for some gory descriptions in law's and strade's parts. as expected. also i posted this on ao3 because why not :P

🥀

"Law…Law~"

Your voice was as quiet as the coo of a dove from where you were sitting, settled down at Lawrence's feet while they attended to potting a new plant, the haze of marijuana smoke streaming from their lips like a slumbering dragon as the humidifier steamed up the wide windows of the apartment, as if they were trying to conceal you (what you had become, what they made you) from the rest of the world, keep you to themselves.

Your brain was as hazy as theirs with similarly strong drugs, administered through poisoned tea in a floral teacup, which left you doped up and thoughtless, vulnerable to any cruel intentions that they had with you.

Not like you cared about their intentions anymore though. You didn't have the brain to.

"Shhh…"

Lawrence didn't look directly at you, but they still smiled as they shushed you, the corners of their pretty mouth curling up into a serene smile, as peaceful and detached as an angel, a benevolent Goddess looking at a lamb left behind for the slaughter by a sadistic master.

Adequately silenced, you let out a sleepy moan in place of any more words, pressing your heavy head against their leg (you barely reached their knee now) and nuzzling it the best you could, what little remained of your brain seeking comfort from them, no matter what the cost might have been (and it could be steep, when Lawrence was the one administering the toll).

Tonight, though, they seemed to be in a good mood. Perhaps it was the stream of smoke from their lips or the still burning joint in the ashtray at the side, but whatever the cause, they couldn't help but laugh quietly as you kept nuzzling up against their leg.

"Oh, there you are." They said kindly. "That's my good doll. My special, little doll…"

They continued to work on their plants, though they were kind enough to reward you with a few head scritches, to let you know they were paying attention to you, and appreciating your sweet, docile form at their feet.

You instinctively raised your head to press against their palm, letting them stroke through your hair even more, chasing after each touch with trilled moans and high whimpering whines.

Lawrence had to smile again, finally looking down on you (their smile never touching their eyes, the stiff grin of a corpse, a girl in the water, a bride in a freezer) as you rose on your injured knees to lean into their hand, admiring the way your hair (a little greasy and matted, they hadn't been taking care of you too well as of late) fell around your bruised face, and the pinpricks of blood that were dotted on your lips made you look made up and pretty, like a figure or a toy.

This was the way you were meant to be, and you knew that. You were meant to be a sweet little thing for them to care for, a doll who'd had their joint popped out by a child who played too roughly with their toys, so docile and so trusting that you would obey whatever order came from them.

Or, at the very least, not put up too much of a fight against it.

"Law…" You whined softly, trying to sit forward on your knees, the infected cuts (you probably had sepsis of some kind, the hack job through your limbs had been done so sloppily, though not like you had the mind to be worried about that of all things) bound with blood-dotted bandages, pain cutting through the haze of pleasurable cotton padding in your head. "Mm, please…"

Lawrence looked at you curiously as you asked for something, the gentle strokes of their fingers pausing.

"Do you want something, love?"

"Mmm…"

They glanced at you, those beautiful, dead eyes dull with a familiar calmness and serenity that deadened their senses and made them all the more irresistible.

In your drugged state, it was easy to fall into a contented and submissive silence despite the searing pain that haunted you whenever you were sober enough to feel it, content to just be in Lawrence's presence and enjoy your life, or rather the remnants of it, as their doll.

You hummed again as they continued to stroke your hair, letting yourself settle at their feet, subdued into quiet submission at their touch.

"Can I have some more tea?" You finally asked after a few moments of quiet, distracted by a sudden searing sensation in what used to be your right leg. "Please…"

Lawrence chuckled softly at your question, shaking their head slightly without even looking at you.

"Oh…doll, I don't think that'd be a good idea…"

There was a subtle edge to their voice now, a lowness and authority that you weren't completely used to, as if they were trying to make a point.

"Remember the last time you had a second serving? Your mouth went numb and you couldn't keep your thoughts in line. I could barely understand you all night, had to shut you up just to stop you from babbling and babbling…" They looked at you again, with a quirk of their head, barely a light in those dead eyes. "Remember that, dolly? Or did you forget?"

"Mm…please?" You pouted all the same as you continued to plead, your blood-pricked lips trembling, watching as they sighed and set their tools down, stooping down to your level and scraping back a lock of blonde hair behind their ear with dirty hands. "It's hurting again, Law…hurting awful."

"Shh…it's okay, little doll…"

Lawrence kept the tone of their voice as gentle as they could, trying to soothe you as they reached forward to stroke over each stump of what used to be your limbs. Your wounds were still bad, made worse by the dirt constantly clinging to their fingers when they attended to them as best they could, but you were, at least, always too drugged to feel the severity of the pain, too drugged from the chemicals in their brew and too drugged from the sleepy calmness in their voice, to notice how bad they'd gotten in the weeks since they'd first done it.

"Okay, petal…okay." They nodded, their long (lovely) fingers stilling. "I'll give you some more tea, but you better not take too much this time, you hear me?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded with a grateful smile, following behind them on all fours, like an innocent, little lamb (being led to the slaughter) as they stood back to their feet and paced to the small kitchen connected to the rest of the apartment. "Thank you, thank you~"

"Of course, darling…of course."

They kept their back to you as they went ahead to the kitchen for your next serving of drugs, clicking the kettle on and spooning teaspoons of herbs into your special teacup.

"I have to do everything I can to keep my doll quiet and sweet on me…isn't that right?"

🦊

"Okay, baby, what does this say?"

Ren asked the question sweetly, the tone of his voice similar to that of a kind teacher speaking to a particularly challenging student as he held the book to your eyes, his golden gaze encouraging and warm.

You screwed up your expression thoughtfully, your bound hands curling into fists in the fluffy tulle of your skirt as you focused intently on the book, trying to put the letters together and make the word he was teaching you in your muddled-up brain.

Ren didn't mind that you were muddled up now, though, especially since he had gone through such an effort to do it in the first place.

In fact, he liked the opportunity to teach you new things, teach you not to resist him when he forced you into girly, fetish outfits, and teach you to be exactly the type of pet he wanted.

One who was just as eager about his teaching as he was.

"Fuh…uh," You sounded out, crossing your socked feet (white and frilly around the ankles) under you as he nodded eagerly at your words. "Ex. Fu-uh-ex."

"Yes, yes, you're almost there!" He said with a bright grin, his fangs shiny and wet as he nodded again. "Fuh, that's an F." He pointed at each bold letter with a claw, sounding it out just as you did so you'd have a better understanding of him. "Uh, that's an O. And ex, that's an X." He looked to you again before pointing at the cartoonish illustration at the top of the page. "And what's this? What does that spell out?"

"That's Ren!" You said excitedly, grinning at the cartoon fox on the thick boarded book before looking back to him, waiting for praise.

"Good doll!" He said with a yipping giggle, covering his mouth with his jacket sleeve to stop it from growing louder. "Heh, that's very good, but not quite. What does it spell, dolly? Use your brain to work it out."

You didn’t need to remind him that you didn’t have much of a brain left.

"Mmmm…" You looked thoughtful again, following each time his claw moved with your bright, and yet utterly empty eyes again. "Fuh…uh…ex. Oh, it's fox!" You smiled victoriously, looking into his eyes. "Fox, it's a fox, just like Ren!"

"Wow, good job!" He praised encouragingly (condescendingly), setting down the book and clapping his hands. "So smart, dolly, you did so, so well!~"

You beamed proudly as he leaned forward, a familiar sticker sheet of golden star stickers in hand, and peeled two off to lay flat on each of your cheeks, a reward for being so smart. Your skin was powdery and matte with concealer and blush to hide your bruises, so the stickers almost instantly tried to peel away, but neither of you minded.

It was the thought that counted, after all.

"You're doing such a good job with your reading today, dolly, I think we should give you an even bigger reward." Ren sat back on his knees with a familiar grin on his face. "What do you think?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded obediently, your empty eyes lighting up as he slid off the bed (your bed, not his, but he slept in it with you so often that it might have well have been) and fetched your favourite wand from the bedside table drawer, full of similarly well-used toys in varying colours and sizes.

Ren chuckled at your eager expression and slid the wheel of the wand up, watching intently as it buzzed to life in his hands before his eyes went back to yours and narrowed, a new air of quiet authority taking over his expression.

"Raise your skirts, doll." He ordered, and you did so almost instantly.

The jangling chain of your wrist cuffs (loose and comfortable, almost exclusively there for show) was light and delicate as you pulled the cotton skirt of your dress and scratchy tulle petticoat up your soft thighs to reveal your panties, already slightly damp, desire soaking into the cheesy pink and heart-adorned graphic, reading 'Princess'.

"Good girl," He praised, his voice a soft purr, lowering the rumbling head of the vibrator to the front of your panties (just over the graphic) and watching with a salacious smile as you instantly started to moan and whine at the sensation. "Good doll. Happy to see your best friend, huh?”

“Mmm…” You groaned with a little nod, doing your best to rock your hips forward and chase after the pleasurable vibrations, biting your pink and pouty lips as your eyelids fluttered from the sharp shocks from the wand. “Yeah, yeah…so happy.”

“Mm, it seems like kind of a waste of time to be teaching you, though,” Ren started, sitting up on his knees to cup your chin with his free hand, sliding the vibrator into your panties and positioning it against your already erect clit, eyes sparkling at your instant desperate and high pitched moan. “You know, when I can make you all cute and stupid again just by using this thing, right?”

“Nnhhh…hah…” You groaned, burying your fists into your skirts, your expression screwing up again as he sloooowly turned the speed and intensity of the vibrator up a few more notches, the sensations sharp and quasi-painful…or at least they would be painful, had you not been trained to receive pain as mind melting pleasure. “OHHH! Ah, ah, mm!”

“Ah, there it is.” Ren said airily, giggling as he looked deeply into your fluttering eyes, his own shining with malice. “All those thoughts leaking out of you. My, my, dolly, whatever am I going to do with you if you stay this fucking stupid, huh?~”

“Rennnn…” You whined, trying to shy away from the wand as he slid it up another notch, each jolt of brutal pleasure enough to make your mind wipe and your vision go spotty. “Nghhh, god…”

“I suppose I’m just going to have to take care of you forever, aren’t I?” Ren continued, answering his own question as he leaned closer, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your jaw, scenting you, the soft whisps of his hair tickling your made-up cheek. “I’m going to have to dress you, and feed you, and teach you everything you’ve forgotten, hm?”

“Yesss,” You whined with a deliriously happy smile, pressing closer to him, bound hands reaching up to grab the front of his jacket and pull him in close. “Yes, yes, please take care of me, please…”

“Oh, dolly,” He moaned softly, suddenly straddling your soft thigh and pressing his own groin down against it, giving away instantly that he was rock hard. “Oh, sweet thing, of course, I’ll take care of you…it would be my pleasure to.”

You let out a trembling little giggle, girlish and sweet, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, rutting up against the vibrator as he rutted down against your thigh, breathing heavily as he listened to each of your own ragged breaths.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” He mumbled, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as his free hand drifted away from your face and groped at your chest through the bodice of the lolita-style dress he had wrangled you into that morning. “You’re going to feel so good that you’re never going to want to leave, even if I ever let you have your old brain back…”

“And don’t count on me doing that any time soon, dolly. You’re too fun like this~”

🔨

"Gooood morning, fraulein!~"

Strade's voice was a sickeningly enthusiastic drawl as he switched on the lights, his steps heavy on the wooden stairs, each one groaning beneath his weight as he sank into the depths of the basement, like a demon sinking back into the warming flames of Hell, tired out after pretending to be a human for a little too long.

Not like you were all that clued into his demonic intentions. You were that out of it, your brain slurred and muddled into dumbed-down subservience from his pain and torture.

Maybe there was a mercy to that, a mercy to ignorance so that you would not go (more) insane due to his abuse, his characteristic recklessness from treating his ‘toys’ a little too roughly.

Were demons known for their merciful nature? You didn't remember.

You didn't remember anything.

"Good morning," You slurred through a mouthful of dry, coppery blood, attempting a bright smile as he pushed a hand into your hair and forced your eyes up towards his so that he could inspect you, and get a good look at you in the morning light.

Well, the basement light, anyway. You hadn’t seen morning in days at this point.

"Ah, just look at you." He commented in a voice purring with approval, running a thick finger over your black eye and down the growing bruise on your cheek, dark purple and blue painting your skin like a painting of brutality and pain. "Pretty as a picture, as always. I missed you last night, you know!"

"You did?" You tilted your head dopily and smiled a little bigger, flashing a broken molar at the back of your grin, a reminder of his brutal love (or, more appropriately, lust the previous night. "That's so nice of you to say. I missed you too."

"Mm, it is nice of me, isn't it?" He repeated with a good-natured chuckle, shaking his head fondly. "I'm in a nice kind of mood today." He continued, idly scratching at your scalp with his grimy fingernails, petting you like an animal at his feet. You were all too eager to keen up to his touch as he pleased, be the animal that he wanted. "So nice, I might not beat up that pretty face all too much today. You took an awful lot yesterday, after all." He let go of your hair to tap your broken nose, smiling a little broader at your moan of pain. “Isn’t that right, doll? I think you managed to bruise my knuckles back, actually!”

"Mmmm…" You hummed a low affirmative moan, shivering as the tip of his boot grazed over your purpling knees, marred with bloody cuts and grazes left over from days and nights crawling back and forth the rough cement ground. "That would be lovely..."

"Lovely, eh? Hah, don't think you're going to get off easily though, dummkopf," He let out another laugh, not a smooth chuckle, though, more like the barking cackle of a hyena, his thick brows furrowing in dark amusement as he spoke a language you couldn't understand (though you barely understood him when he spoke English, at times). "I still need to make use of you somehow, ja? So you don't prove too useless to keep around..."

Before you even had the chance to consider the threat behind his words, he reached down with his free hand to unzip his trousers and urged your head forward with another firm grip on your hair. As your bruised cheek pressed against his soft thigh, you couldn’t help but purr in pleasure, just feeling his all-encompassing warmth against you, stifling and boiling hot just like a creature from Hell should be.

"No, no, I have a better idea of what to do with you," He continued, his voice low as you rubbed your cheek against his thigh. "What do you think, doll?" He drawled, a foreign and unfamiliar name (even to him) thick on his poisonous tongue. "Want me to sink my dick down your throat and scramble your brain up even more?"

“Mm,” You moaned in approval, opening your mouth obediently as he tucked his boxers down around his thick cock and pressed into your open, bloody mouth, taking in a low hiss through his teeth at the feeling of your wet tongue, in spite of everything.

Barely moments into your task, as you bobbed your head up and down, your sore jaw manuvered like a puppet on his cock, you found your legs spreading obediently (unconciously, automatically, like it had been trained into you) as he slid the tip of his boot to your cunt (the only place not battered or bruised just yet) and slowly rubbed at it, up and down, growling his approval when your slit left behind a despicably thick smear of pre-cum on the dark leather.

“God,” He mumbled hotly with a rasped chuckle, tipping his head back, his eyes on the single lightbulb hanging from the basement ceiling. “You’re fucking depraved, doll. I’d feel bad for treating you so rough, you know, if I didn’t know you got off on it. Quite the nasty, little toy you are, huh?”

Your eyes fluttered uselessly, like the glass eyes of a baby doll, as he forced your mouth to take his entire length, the lack of oxygen enough to make them roll back into your empty skull as tears ran down your cheeks, glossing the canvas of bruises that he had left behind.

“Mm, nah, actually, I wouldn’t feel bad about it at all.” He mumbled, before looking down at you again, untangling his fingers from your hair and planting a firm smack on your bruised cheek. “You’re just too pretty when I beat you up a little. I can’t resist!”

You yelped when he slapped you again, trying to pull back from the aphyxiating warmth of his cock, but that only encouraged him to force himself deeper, burying your broken nose into the dark hairs at the base and matting them together with your blood.

“Plus, it makes you fight back a little. I like that.” He said again with a heavy sigh, his golden eyes narrowing hungrily. “It’s like there’s a little part of you still trying to resist me, but aw,” He clicked his tongue, giving your cheek another (albeit slightly lighter) slap. “You’re too stupid to let that side of you win now, aren’t you, fraulein?”

“Mmmph,” You groaned, doing your best to nod and squeezing your eyes shut, a new stream of tears running down your cheeks, smearing blood, painting bruises.

“You can’t fight me,” He then said, going back to a pattern of brutal thrusts, bruising your throat and forcing obscene ‘GHK-GHK!’ noises from your throat, all the while rubbing his boot against your cunt. “And you don’t want to. You get off on being treated like a fuck toy too much to fight, don’t you?”

“Mmm~” You moaned, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes as you reached down with bruised and broken fingers, wrists marred with rope burn and the imprints of chains and shakles, to touch yourself.

“Scheußlich,” He chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he watched you. “Nasty, nasty little girl…mmph, you should be careful, you know?” He bit his lip with a sudden dark look in his eyes, puppeteering your mouth up and down his cock a little faster, a little more erratically, his full hips slamming against your cheeks, your chin.

“I might just fall in love with you, if you keep behaving like this~”

#ren hana #ren btd #ren x mc #ren x reader #lawrence oleander #lawrence btd #lawrence x mc #lawrence x reader #strade btd #strade x reader #strade x mc #drabbles #qs #roman roy voice: YEAH WHATEVER FUCK OFF

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agent-cupcake · 2 years

Text

cry foul

I said I needed a new mouse and @dogveins came through, thank you! They had a very fun prompt and it got away from me a bit.

Pairing: Sylvain Jose Gautier x f!Reader

Synopsis: Your mother recently married Margrave Gautier, dragging you to Gautier territory to live with your new family. Sylvain is much happier about the arrangement than you.

Warnings: explicit smut, noncon, scumbag Sylvain, mind games, nonconsensual sibling pseudo incest

Tags: shy/inexperienced reader, teasing, first time

Word Count: 20.9k

Notes: I would like to credit a local genius who fed me the line, "The way I see it, our parents had a marriage of convenience, so our being siblings is also a matter of convenience." Although I couldn't find a way to use it, it still should be known.

there’s a bad moon rising

Lurking deep within your brain, there existed a memory-mangled quote—something about how bust measurements and makeup did not a woman make, it was the acceptance of harsh realities and knowledge of the rules that governed the adult world which aged a girl out of her childish naivety. The words, found in some etiquette guidebook you read years ago, resurfaced from the depths after your mother sat you down to tell you of her plans.

Harsh reality, put into purely practical, factual terms, was that your mother’s second wedding amounted to little more than a legal document. Its lack of sentimentality and pomp was due in no small part to the lingering scandal that enshrouded the whole ordeal, but also because the widows had no need for any flashy celebration of their loveless union. It was, as your mother explained with cutting efficiency in the same practical, factual terms, a business deal. Her inheritance and trade connections for the safety and prestige of a noble title. Money for power. So, on the seventeenth day of Great Tree Moon, Margrave Matthias Raoul Gautier—twice widowed—married your mother under the watchful eye of the goddess and the binding shackles of law. You wore periwinkle and held very tightly to your bouquet of white lilies, watching a man you had met only a single time before the ceremony become your stepfather.

Margrave Gautier’s son—the second, the heir, the one who hadn’t been disinherited and cast away as a blight on the family’s name—made no such effort. He didn’t even show up. Nobody mentioned his absence. That was one of the rules that governed the adult world, one of the confusingly paradoxical games of pretend they all participated in. Do not point out unsavory truths, ignore harsh realities and then ignore ignorance itself.

Before the ink of their signatures could have a chance to dry, preparations were completed to make the trip north. Quickly, as the relatively mild weather could turn at any moment. With all due haste, an antique set of cloth wrapped silver candlesticks, two artisan-carved mahogany side tables, no less than three trunks of fine linens, a collection of leatherbound original books penned by a famed philosopher and scholar you couldn’t name, an ivory keyed piano, and one bleary eyed daughter were all packed up to be transported to Castle Gautier where they would be kept for the foreseeable future.

“We’ll come back to visit, right?” you asked your mother as the carriage trundled past the border of Rowe territory, having grown bored drawing shapes on the breath-fogged glass window over the wooded scenery.

“It’s a long journey to make just for a visit,” she said, looking up from the document she was studying intently.

“But maybe for special occasions?” you asked. “The Goddess’ Ball is coming up.” You didn’t mention that you had promised your friends in advance that you would attend with them, going as a group rather than endure the embarrassment of searching for a gentleman suitor. That was before harsh reality reared its head.

“I am not entirely sure Count Rowe will host us,” your mother told you bluntly. “He and Matthias aren’t on the best of terms.”

You slumped down in your seat, sighing. Politics, then. Before the past month, you hadn’t been very aware of Faerghus’s political situation, let alone how fractured it was. The conflict between various lords had something to do with what happened after the Tragedy of Duscur that took the life of King Lambert, although you knew very little beyond that. While your mother’s passion lay firmly in the world of political intrigue, you had very little interest in something so dismal and divisive.

“You will make new friends,” she told you, a gentle note in her voice. “There will be balls and feasts in the north as well. And you’ll have your stepbrother Sylvain. He’s only a year your senior and Matthias tells me he greatly enjoys art and music. I’m sure you’ll find much to talk about.”

The mention of your absentee stepbrother who you knew, so far, only through reputation didn’t do much to ease your concerns. There were hundreds of rumors about Sylvain and the way he behaved around women, although you knew better than to bring up unsubstantiated hearsay with your matter-of-fact mother. And maybe it really was just lies, you were well aware that people weren’t above lying. Dishonesty was as much a rule of polite society as proper footwear.

“It will be difficult to adjust, I know,” she said when you didn’t respond, caught up in your own distracted thoughts. “We will be judged harshly, and there will be many people who will reject us for nothing more than from where we came. All we can do is show them that the grace and steadfast dignity of a lady is not a product of lineage. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you said with another heavy sigh, that half-remembered quote spinning mercilessly in your head. Harsh realities, and the rules of adults. Same games, new rules.

With the matter settled, your mother returned to her reading and you returned to the window, trying not to think about the new anxieties she had introduced but unable to think of anything else.

ii.

through thick and thin

Traveling to Gautier territory with a decently sized caravan took nearly an entire fortnight, slowed by a patch of particularly bad roads across the Itha Plains. You got a breath of fear when one of the hulking monsters that prowled the area was spotted, and then a jump of panic when a rippling murmur about bandit activity spread throughout the camp. But nothing came of either, and your journey continued.

Spring’s slow going snowmelt was nearly as bad as the wintry storms themselves. Ground that had spent the long season frozen began to thaw out into a nasty brownish slush, softening enough for wheels to form dangerous ruts along the road and splattering mud onto your boots. As the new year continued, the days had gotten longer, but with the sun hiding behind the omnipresent angry smear of gray blanketing the skies, it was impossible to enjoy them. People claimed that it was better near the Sreng border because the climate was drier. You doubted it could be too much worse.

Arrival didn’t help, as evidence that you now lived in a fortress surrounded you, completely unlike the city you called home for most of your life. Fortifications surrounded all sides, and military guards were ready for any movement from Sreng forces. Even if it weren’t so cold, the place had a frigid, unapproachable air. The intimidating stonework was very clear in its messaging. You did not belong here.

From the minute you first arrived in Gautier territory, cold became a permanent fact of life.

iii.

baa, baa, black sheep

Sleeping here was difficult, howling wind rattled windows and sang frightening songs in the night. Morose, chilled, and tired, you stared with glazed eyes at the unappetizing porridge meant to be your breakfast as it got even colder. The only reason you had yet to get up was a lack of motivation. What else would you be doing? You had asked your mother if she would spend the day with you, but she was busy. Unlike you, she thrived in this environment. While she had always had the inherent power of money and strong mercantile contracts, she had never had the intrinsic political power of a lord. The graceful response would be to feel content to see her taking to the new situation, glad that it gave her a platform to get along with her new husband in an otherwise loveless marriage.

Mostly you just felt the tragic pulse of self pity. And cold.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or has the goddess finally answered my prayers?” someone asked, surprising you. Looking up, you locked eyes with a man you didn’t recognize. He stood in the doorway with an attractive smile, his red hair a mess and cheeks and nose blushed pink from being outside in the cold, slightly clouded with the steam rising from the bowl he held. “If I had known I had an angel here to greet me, I wouldn’t have kept you waiting so long.”

The line, cheesy as it was, brought an immediate flush to your face, your brain scrambling as it tried to make sense of what was happening. You looked around the empty dining room, sure that you would see the other girl he was talking to. But there was none.

“I’m not…” you stammered out, lost as to how to respond. It was flirtatious, wasn’t it? You couldn’t think of how else you would interpret what he said, although the idea of being flirted with was equally as incomprehensible. Worse, the red hair was a dead giveaway for the fact that you were finally face to face with the missing Gautier heir, Sylvain. Your stepbrother. “I think you’re, um, mis-mistaking me for someone else.”

“That’s impossible,” he said, undeterred by your awkward response. “You’re unmistakably beautiful… and unmistakably divine.” He stepped out of the doorway to get closer, allowing you to see him more clearly. If it really was Sylvain, he looked nothing like his father other than the red hair and brown eyes. He was too, for want of a better word, pretty. “What do you think, can you spare some time for a sinner like me?” he asked, taking the seat beside you. “We can talk about love—the goddess’ and otherwise.”

“I, um, don’t know much about that,” you muttered, buying time by eating a spoonful of the porridge. If it tasted bad while it was hot, it was worse while cold, but it was better than addressing the man sitting next to you.

“There’s no need to be so shy. I don’t bite,” he said warmly. “Well, unless you want me to. Some girls really like that sort of thing.” That made you choke, glad you had already swallowed the mouthful of gooey sludge pretending to be food as your cheeks blazed and you stared hard at the neatly smoothed tablecloth. He laughed. “Well, well, maybe you’re not as angelic as you look.”

“N-no, that’s not…” You shook your head, desperate to shut down this line of conversation.

“Hey, no judgment here,” he told you, raising his hands placatingly.

“You’re Sylvain, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, unable to look at him as hot embarrassment raged within you. In your periphery, you could see his sparkling smile.

“Yep. And you’re the daughter of my father’s new wife,” Sylvain said, no question in his voice. “Which makes you my new little sister.”

You peeked up at him, shocked and unsettled by the happiness in his voice when he said that. “You-you knew?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly difficult to deduce. You’re a lot prettier than I thought you’d be though,” Sylvain said. He gave you another once over, some of that smug amusement returning to dance in his eyes. “I was kind of nervous, to be honest. Miklan and I never got along very well, I wasn’t looking forward to this. But I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve got a sensitive, kind heart. I’m the same way, really. I think we might just be kindred spirits.”

“I. um, don’t really…”

Undeterred by your awkward bumbling, Sylvain picked up from where your sentence dropped. “You’re new to this area, right? I can’t imagine how tough that must be for you. I’d be more than happy to show you around. Maybe we could go for a horseback ride when the weather clears up. I know a few private spots around here where we could really get to know each other better.”

“You don’t have to,” you said awkwardly.

“No, I want to. Besides, your mother did ask me to keep a close eye on you, make sure you settle in well. I guess that’s kinda a part of the big brother gig.” He grinned. “I think I could get used to that. It’s an honor to have such a cute little sister.”

A sick lump formed in your throat at the way he twisted your supposed familial ties with that overly friendly tone of voice. You couldn’t tell if he meant anything by it, you didn’t want to believe that he did, but the entire interaction had been so horrifically uncomfortable you didn’t know.

“I’m not…” Goddess, you couldn’t even say it, choking on your embarrassment. “It’s not like you-you’re actually my… my brother.”

“Yeah, just legally and technically,” he said dryly.

“Yea—yeah,” you agreed. Just legally and technically.

Sylvain laughed. Oh. He had been making fun of you.

Picking up your half empty bowl, you stood up. The chair’s legs complained noisily. “I’m, um, I’m done,” you announced. “So, I’m… going.”

“But I just got here,” Sylvain said, frowning. “Won’t you stay a little longer? The joy of your company is the only thing that’ll make this edible. Besides, I’d love to get to know my baby sister.”

The term of endearment nearly caused you to drop the bowl, your cheeks hot enough to sizzle. “I-I don’t…”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed how lonely things get around here, it’s downright depressing sometimes,” Sylvain pushed. “And we’re going to be living together from now on, don’t you want to know a little more about me? Think of it as sibling bonding.”

Your shoulders wilted. An urgent voice in your head demanded you leave, but you also felt guilty. Maybe you were being too squirrely, especially when he hadn’t actually done anything. Besides, he was the only person in the past week who seemed actually interested in spending time with you, and you couldn’t deny that it was at least a little flattering.

“Alright,” you mumbled, sitting down. “Just for a bit.”

Sylvain smiled, and it was sharp. Like he’d won a game you had no idea you were playing.

iv.

curiosity killed the cat

Traveling to the nearest town took, in fair weather, a half hour on horseback. Longer if you took a coach, and even longer in poor weather. Despite the time it took to get there, you very quickly determined that you liked the town near Castle Gautier. The weather becoming less severe meant that merchants were finally able to make the journey north, so the market was lively enough. It was not nearly as festival-like as the markets you had frequented in the past, but you took what you could get.

Almost immediately, Sylvain left with a comment about having an important matter to tend to, promising to come find you when he was done and that you should stay in the market area. He’d been told to stay close to you, but considering how awkward you felt around him still, you were more than happy to allow him to do whatever he wanted.

Feeling a measure of excitement, you fluttered around different shops, searching out clothes that could better withstand the abrasive northern air. It came as a shock to realize that you already had a reputation. Throughout your life, you had been treated well because you had money, but now you had status, and that made your custom infinitely more valuable. Given your mother’s trade, you could hold your own while haggling prices, but the shop owners barely tried to overcharge. You came away with a handsome new green cloak made of thick wool with fur trim, new lace up boots big enough to fit extra insulation, and several thick woolen socks. A good haul, all things considered.

But then you were left with a problem. With your business done and all the shops in the main market explored, you had nothing to do other than wait for Sylvain to return. Since the sky was the same murky steely color it had been since the sun rose, you couldn’t tell exactly, but you were sure it was getting into the late afternoon. Your toes were ice, and you wanted to be home in time to dine with your mother.

And still, no Sylvain.

With no small amount of clear distaste, one of the shopkeepers gave you a tip as to his usual haunts. A bar, restaurant, a gated area that was prepared for planting at the first sign of true spring weather. At first, it was fun to explore the new sights, but the longer you wandered, the harder it became not to notice the rampant poverty. Impoverishment looked different in the north than it did in Rowe territory. Cold, hungry. Most of northern Faerghus’ money followed the trades of military and mining, harsh professions in harsh conditions that created harsh people, readily leaving behind those with dust blackened lungs or crippled limbs. More so than any of your mother’s explanations, it made you understand why Margrave Gautier would opt for a wealthy wife over one with pedigree.

With no luck at the first few places you looked for him, you were directed to an establishment which had no name, just a depiction of a four leaf clover for a sign. It was a bit unfriendly looking, if you were honest, but you were shivering from the cold and more than a little anxious to find Sylvain.

Inside proved to be no more welcoming than out, the only difference was that it didn’t reek as aggressively of urine. Nobody greeted you when you entered. In fact, you drew more than a few stares. You had the distinct and sinking feeling that you did not belong. Keeping your head high, you hurried to who you assumed was the proprietor and asked if he’d seen Sylvain. He said nothing until you produced a few coins, and then he nodded to the back. The boards creaked beneath your boots. Everything smelled musty and even with a fire burning, you could practically taste the cold in the air. The back had a short hall with doors, maybe to rent out rooms? Although that was unimportant in comparison to the sight of two people at the very end of it.

As soon as you realized that it was Sylvain and that he wasn’t alone, you ducked away, heart racing. All of your panic seemed to be for nothing though, they were too busy to notice you. It was any wonder you hadn’t noticed the loud, messy sound of kissing before you rounded the corner. Although, if you hadn’t seen a quick flash of them in the act, you might have been confused as to what was causing all of the breathing and moaning and sucking noises. Certainly no kissing you’d ever observed sounded like that. Understanding what, exactly, you had stumbled upon made you cringe and flush hotly, the notion that you should give them privacy conflicting with your desire to go home.

Suddenly, Sylvain groaned, a low noise that you felt as much as you heard. It made your breath catch, the muscles of your thighs clenching unintentionally.

“Not here,” he admonished breathlessly.

“We can get a room,” you heard the woman say, her voice husky.

“I’d love to, gorgeous,” he said. “But I’ve gotta take my sister home before it gets too late.” That startled you, feeling a flash of worry that he’d seen you. But if had, there was no way he’d keep going with this.

“Aren’t I more important? Fuck your sister,” the woman responded.

Sylvain laughed.

“What?” she demanded. That clearly wasn’t the response she wanted.

“No, nothing,” Sylvain said awkwardly, clearing his throat. “I really do have to go. Next time though, I promise.”

“You always say next time,” the woman told him, pouty.

“I mean it,” Sylvain said, his voice lowered to convey its sincerity. “Do you really think I’d lie to you, baby? You know you’re the only girl for me.”

At first you thought they might be done, but then you heard her muffled moan and realized they were kissing again. Fabric shuffled. Something thunked dully against the wall. You knew you shouldn’t have been listening like this, that it was wrong and disgusting and disturbing and terrible, but you couldn’t move. A darkly curious part of you wanted to know what they were doing that would make sounds like that, although the thought of knowing profoundly disgusted you.

When they finally stopped, muttering something you couldn’t make out, you only had a few moments to think of what to do before you heard footsteps. And, really, in all of your flustered embarrassment, you had even less time.

The woman emerged first, smoothing her blond hair with a passive expression that didn’t give any hint to what you just heard. She didn’t see you, sauntering out the door with a farewell to the proprietor you had given money to. While you didn’t get a good look at her face, you got more than enough time to see her curvaceous figure.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to spy on people?” Sylvain asked, surprising you into jumping, letting out a little squeak. And then you looked at him, and the embarrassment returned in full force. He ran a hand through his messy hair, doing nothing to tame it, and licked his red, slightly swollen lips. You very pointedly did not watch either movement, your breathing too fast as you tried to come up with a valid excuse.

“I was… I didn’t mean… I came to find you, ah-and…”

“Just out of curiosity, how much did you hear?�� he asked.

“Nothing!” you said quickly, eyebrows shooting up.

“Right, I bet you’re going to tell me you only just got here,” he said, obviously toying with you. He knew you were lying, but if you admitted it now, that’d only make it worse.

“I did,” you agreed, choosing what you hoped was the lesser of two evils. “I, um, I’m done shopping so I wanted to let you know I’m ready to leave.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you to stay there and wait for me to come back,” Sylvain said. He looked around the bar, surveying the unfriendly faces that were pointedly not staring at you. “This side of town isn’t exactly welcoming.”

Had he told you that? You couldn’t remember. “I’m… sorry.”

“If something happened to you, it’d be my fault, you know,” Sylvain said, looking down at you. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne as well as the woman’s perfume. An overwhelming scent. “I’m sure you’re used to just doing whatever you want, right? But now that it’s my responsibility to look out for you, I expect you to listen to me.”

He spoke down to you like an adult to a child which, although irritating in its own way, only worsened the embarrassment of being chastised. “I’m sorry,” you said again, staring hard at his chest to avoid his gaze. “But you don’t, um… I can look out for myself. We’re basically the same age.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvain said. “I’m your big brother, so it’s up to me to keep you safe.”

None of this would have been an issue if he hadn’t left to spend time with his girlfriend, but you didn’t want to point that out and risk dragging out this uncomfortable conversation. “Okay,” you agreed, hoping that’d be the end of it.

You flinched when Sylvain tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Promise that you’ll listen to me from now on,” he said.

You breathed out shakily, too overwhelmed to do anything other than obediently agree. “I pr-promise.”

“If you don’t,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward slightly, “I’ll definitely be forced to punish you.”

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t say anything. How were you supposed to respond when you couldn't even figure out what he meant by that? Your insides twisted into a riotous state, but your head was pretty solidly empty of any coherent thought.

Suddenly, just as quickly as it came, Sylvain’s darker mood disappeared into a big grin and let your chin drop. “Hah, you totally fell for that! I got worried it was too corny, but I guess not,” he said with a laugh, ruffling your hair affectionately. “That face was priceless. You’re way too gullible.”

“What?” you asked, beyond being confused and still trying to piece together a rational thought.

“I was just messing with you,” Sylvain said. “I mean, who would actually say something like that?”

“Oh… yeah,” you said, trying desperately to laugh with him.

“Come on,” Sylvain said, fixing his clothes as he turned towards the door, “let’s go home.”

You followed his lead out into the cold towards the coach, chewing on your lip in a state between embarrassment and a sickened sense of conflict. With each crunching step, the silence grew ever more daunting. He said it was a joke, so you shouldn’t have cared. You didn’t care. You weren’t even sure why you reacted the way you did, your stomach dropping out helplessly. Sylvain helped you into the carriage in the most gentlemanly fashion, following behind and shutting the door. It was entirely quiet in the cab save for muffled noises from outside. You had no idea what to say, and you couldn’t figure out what Sylvain was thinking.

All you could think about was the word punish and the sound of him groaning that first time. Such an honest, guttural response to pleasure. In some ways, it would have been less intimate to catch him in a state of undress. Of course, that only invited the idea of shirtless Sylvain into your head and you knew your cheeks were burning but you couldn’t think of anything else to distract yourself. He was your stepbrother. It didn’t matter that you weren’t related and that he was a man and around your age and attractive, to even slightly entertain these thoughts was condemnable.

“Your girlfriend is very beautiful,” you told him, latching onto the first safe thought you could manage.

“My… what?” Sylvain asked.

“The—that girl,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing with nervous confusion.

“Oh! Yeah, right,” he said, nodding in comprehension. “I wouldn’t say she’s my girlfriend or anything. We’ve been out a few times. You know how it is. I just wanted a good time, but she wants more.”

If that was the case, he had done a very poor job of expressing that to her. But saying so would only reveal that you had been listening, so you just nodded like you understood. “Yeah. That’s, um, frustrating.”

“Speaking of which, is there a mark on my neck?” Sylvain asked, pulling down his collar enough to reveal the ivory pale column of skin marked halfway down with an angry red splotch.

“There’s a red spot,” you said, frowning. “Does it hurt?”

“What? No. I asked her not to leave a mark, but some girls get possessive like that.” He sighed, clearly disgusted with the idea, rubbing his neck.

You didn’t know what he meant, but you figured it was probably better not to ask if it had to do with the girl who was not his girlfriend that you were still pretending you hadn’t heard him kissing. You didn’t want to know.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you,” Sylvain said knowingly, smiling again. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unable to look at him.

“No, I-I do,” you lied.

“Uh-huh,” he agreed doubtfully. “And a sweet girl like you would never lie to her big brother, would she?”

You exhaled harshly, bowing your head even more in the hopes he couldn’t see your expression as shame and guilt and disgust swirled through you in quick succession. Knowing filthy things wasn’t becoming of a lady, let alone one who had spent so little time around men. It was far outside the scope of what was appropriate, or even what you wanted to know. But it didn’t help the terrible feeling that you were less than compared to him, childishly ignorant. At least he didn’t push it.

“By the by, that cloak looks lovely on you,” Sylvain said after a moment.

“Thank you,” you said on a reactive impulse, caught off guard by the sudden praise but happy to change subjects. And it was very pretty, even if more muted in comparison to what you usually wore.

“I bet you were really popular with all the guys before you came here. I wonder how many hearts you broke when you left.” He paused, grinning. “Then again, their loss is my gain, right?”

And just like that, things were awkward again. “I didn’t… I-I wasn’t… Like that.”

“What?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide with shock. “There’s no way a pretty girl like you didn’t have men throwing themselves at your feet.”

The idea was laughable, but you had no idea how to tell him that you were too awkward, too easily flustered, to really attract or even want that sort of attention. As your interactions with Sylvain had proven, it was too embarrassing to be worthwhile. “I’ve never… never thought too much about that sort of thing.”

Sylvain stared you down for a second as if trying to see if you’d crack, but you were telling the truth this time. “Hah. You’re pretty lucky, you know that?” he asked. “Being able to live without that sort of attention and pressure, I guess money doesn’t draw people in the same way as a title or Crest. Or maybe your mother just spoiled you too much.”

“I don’t know,” you responded slowly, unsure of where he was going with this. Once again, it seemed like Sylvain’s ever-shifting mood had taken a darker turn. Or maybe it was another joke?

“I get it, though,” he said, leaning back. “As your doting big brother, I’d like to spoil you too, you know?”

No, you didn’t. And you were fairly confident that it was another one of the things you didn’t want to know. But you had already done enough to embarrass yourself, so you ducked your head in an attempt to hide your face and became very interested in the bleak landscape passing outside the window.

rounding the bend

“May I talk to you?” you asked, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of your mother’s desk, practically wringing your hands in an attempt to not seem jittery. You weren’t sure what you meant to tell her, it wasn’t as if you had some massive piece of evidence that you could bring out to say that Sylvain made you uncomfortable. All you wanted was advice, or maybe to have her moderate a bit. Unfortunately, there never seemed to be a good time for the conversation.

You wouldn’t say anything at all if it weren’t for the fact that the teasing was getting to be too overwhelming. Sylvain always seemed to be standing too close, or his hand happened to be in a place to brush your thigh beneath the table, or he leaned in to speak intimately close to your ear—you didn't know what to do. She said to have grace and dignity, but there was no graceful way to blush, and no dignified way to stammar out basic words when he said something that embarrassed you terribly.

“What is it?” she asked, distractedly looking up at you. Always distracted. For most of your life, she had been a rather unapproachable figure, always consumed with her work, never as sensitive to your feelings as you would wish. But it had gotten worse here, or perhaps you were just more acutely aware of the isolation.

“It’s just… I was wondering if we could talk?”

She shuffled some papers, her attention clearly split. “Talk about what?”

“Talk, um… It’s about Sylvain, I—” you cut yourself off at the sound of footsteps. All the fine hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you jumped, looking over your shoulder even though you knew who it was, could feel it.

“Did somebody say my name?”

Of course, of course, of course. You looked quickly at your mother and back at him, forcing a smile. “Ye-yeah, I was… wondering if she knew where you were.”

“What a coincidence, I was just looking for you,” Sylvain said with a grin. You couldn’t tell from his expression if he had known, somehow, what you were about to say of it really was the world’s most unlucky coincidence. “I was thinking we could go to town for lunch, I know a place that makes food that almost has flavor to it.”

Your mother was paying a little more attention now, looking up at the two of you. “I take it you’re getting along well?”

Sylvain wrapped his arm around you before you could respond, squishing you against him affectionately. All you could smell was cologne, as well as the headier scent of Sylvain himself, a musky, manly smell. “Yep. You raised a truly wonderful daughter, although that’s not surprising for a woman as amazing and beautiful as you. How my father managed to find such perfect girls to bring home is beyond me, I guess the old man still has some taste left.”

“I, um, I’m not feeling very well, actually,” you said softly, ducking out from under Sylvain’s arm. “I think I might go lay down. Sorry."

“Sure, no big deal," Sylvain said with a wink. "Next time, okay? I'll hold you to it."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I'll see you both tonight."

"Ooo, about that, I've got plans tonight," Sylvain said. "If that's okay with the lady of the house, of course."

Your mother smiled wryly. As if she had any say in what he did or didn’t do. Not even his own father could contain the lawless whirlwind that was Sylvain.

"I’ll see you tomorrow then, Sylvain," you said as you made a hasty retreat. His eyes weighed heavily on your back, even when you left his direct line of sight. Sylvain knew what you had been about to say, what you were worried about. It was in the same deft, sneaky way he knew when he could tease you with nobody seeing, or what sort of comment would make your breath hiccup.

But then, a part of your brain whispered, he was such an overt, abrasive flirt. He had no qualms about public trysts or scandals. You could be wrong about everything, wrong that there was some insidious intent behind his actions, and wrong that he would have time or desire to play such twisted mind games. You could be misremembering things, or fooling yourself into finding some deeper meaning out of your own sick perversions. After all, you could still clearly remember the sound of him groaning in pleasure while kissing that woman, your brain refused to let go of it. If it was you who conjured these sick fantasies, if it were your mind that assumed depravity where there was none, what did you do then? How did you overcome such sin?

Goddess save you.

vi.

jumping at shadows

Ghosts weren’t real.

Probably.

But if they were real, they would live in Castle Gautier. The place creaked and groaned constantly, strange noises following you, surrounding you. And it was cold. Being ill had only been an excuse earlier, but there was some truth there. Because it was so cold. Horribly cold, the kind that made you feel sick all the way in your bones, a clammy sort of congestion that resisted even the warmest of fires.

Those two things were the war that kept you up far past your bedtime. Stupidly, you had left your favorite blanket in the library earlier when you had been reading and enjoying Sylvain's absence. Not only your favorite, but the warmest. Sleeping without it had proved impossible, but the idea of leaving your bedroom was nearly unbearable because you feared what you would find should you venture into the creepy, freezing hallways. There was a time, however, when the chill became genuinely unbearable. If you caught a cold or something, it would only make your situation in the eternally freezing Castle Gautier that much more miserable.

Ghosts weren’t real. So you bundled up in your warmest housecoat and set out, holding a candle high and telling yourself you weren’t afraid. You couldn’t be hurt by that which did not exist.

How could a place be so dark? Not an absence of light, but void of it. Wherever your candle’s flickering illumination didn’t touch was eaten by the ravenous shadows. You had just made your way down the steps into the high ceiling atrium connecting the various wings when you heard what sounded like heavy, echoing footsteps. From where, you couldn’t tell. From who, you also couldn’t tell. If the dark had been a problem in the blocky square halls connecting the bedrooms, it was an overt menace here where there was more space to fill. But ghosts weren’t real. Fear froze you all the same, your straining eyes darting from side to side in a vain hope to see past the dark and wondering if you should just turn back now.

But you’d come this far and the things you feared were childish. More than likely, you had heard the footsteps of the guards that remained on constant vigil. Cursing your cowardice, you found the guts to reach the library, focusing only on what was directly in front of you as you retrieved your blanket and returned to the main hall. It was quiet now. Eerily still. But…

But.

Was there a sound? The wind, certainly. It howled right outside the walls, a threatening and mournful wail. Footsteps? You couldn’t tell. Chills covering your body, you looked around in an attempt to see beyond the encroaching darkness, but you still couldn’t see anything, it was impenetrable. If ghosts were real, that’s where they’d hide. You knew that for a fact. But they weren’t real.

“Is someone there?” you called, your voice faint. More scraping. Footsteps, definitely footsteps. You couldn’t even tell where they were coming from, the sound echoed off of the tall ceiling. You weren’t scared. Ghosts weren’t real. “Hello?”

“Boo!”

The single word, spoken from behind you, induced the scream that had been building up in your chest, but a hand clapped over your mouth before the sound made it very far. You dropped your blanket and the candle holder, snuffing out your only source of light. Hot wax splattered your slippered feet. You thrashed, panicking, but your attacker kept you pinned against them, unable to turn around.

Somewhere, emerging from the raw panic of fear, you realized that it couldn’t have been a ghost if you were being held by a fully corporeal figure. And then you realized that the air puffing against your ear was laughter, and the chest rumbling against your back was making a familiar sound.

“I didn’t think you would freak out like that,” Sylvain said, still chuckling. All of the adrenaline pumping terror through your veins dissolved into anger as you made sense of everything, furious tears pricking in your eyes as you tried to wrestle out of his grip. “Hey, calm down. It’s just me,” he told you sweetly, rocking you back and forth. “I didn’t mean to scare you so much, honestly. Please don’t be mad.”

When you stopped struggling so recklessly, Sylvain uncovered your mouth, that arm winding around your waist to hold you against him instead.

“Let me go,” you said, pushing at his arms, still upset enough about being scared to sound angry.

“Can’t a guy have a minute to comfort his sweet baby sister?” Sylvain asked. Despite the soothing tenor of his voice, one of his hands pushed beneath your housecoat to press against your nearly bare chest. It froze you solid, the rest of your fear and anger turning to dread and confusion.

“Wha-what are you doing?” you asked, your voice slightly too high with stress.

“Your heart is really racing,” Sylvain said, his voice slurring a little, rumbling in his chest. Was he drunk? “It reminds me of when we hunt small game. Their little hearts have to work so much harder. Especially when they’re scared. It makes me feel kinda bad, you know?”

At his mentioning it, you could almost feel your heart beating against his large palm. Being compared to small prey didn’t at all help your nerves and embarrassment. While improbable, if anyone were to shine a light on the two of you at that moment, you knew what it would look like. The word was incest, and it didn’t matter that you weren’t actually related because—as Sylvain himself had stated—you were legally and technically family.

“Let me go,” you told him, pushing against his arms with increasing distress. Sylvain didn’t budge, nuzzling against the side of your head. The air of his breath made you shiver. He smelled like pipe smoke and spice, his clothes cold from being outside.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

Yes, of course it did. But you felt as if that would be the wrong answer, or at least the one he was waiting for, the one he would tease you about. “Please, just…” You pushed at him again, trying to squirm away to no avail. Even if you were strong, which you knew you weren’t, Sylvain had the might of a Crest bearer who had been trained to wield weapons since childhood. It was a lost cause. When you whined, trying to worm your way out of his grip, Sylvain’s breath caught, his arms tightening. That really only made it worse, you struggled harder.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, his voice a bit lower. He laughed again, but it was breathless. “To be honest, I didn’t think that you were so shameless. Not that I mind, I wondered if all of this wide-eyed innocence was an act.”

You froze, realizing that you had inadvertently been grinding against him. Even you knew enough to understand the immoral implications of that act. “No, that’s not-”

“Hey, don’t stop on my account,” Sylvain said, pulling you even closer. “I’m glad you’re finally warming up to your big brother like this.”

“Let me go, please,” you whined, pushing pathetically at his arms as your distress mounted. “This is wrong.”

Sylvain sighed, maybe responding to the threat of tears in your voice. “Hey, I was just teasing,” he said, finally releasing. “I don’t think anybody could fake this level of naivety.”

You sniffed, putting a few paces of space between the two of you and fixing your housecoat with jerky movements. He couldn’t possibly see very much of you through the unyielding darkness, but the feeling of exposure pressed insistently against you, a filthy weight.

“I‘m not naïve,” you argued softly, embarrassed that he would think to apply a word with such childish connotations to you. Sure, you didn’t have his experience, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

“That wasn’t an insult,” Sylvain said. “The opposite, actually. I think it’s pretty cute.”

“I…um…”

“Anyway,” Sylvain continued, gracefully saving you from stammering out a response you didn’t have. “Why are you up so late? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

At least now the darkness worked in your favor; he couldn’t see your embarrassment. There wasn’t much of an age difference between the two of you, yet he was talking like you were a child. Again. “I left my blanket down here,” you muttered, stooping over to collect what you had dropped. It was difficult to find the candle in the dark, your fingers trailing over droplets of dried wax before finding what you wanted. You hauled the blanket over your shoulder and set the candle back into the holder, unsure what you could do about the mess.

“You know, if you’re having a hard time staying warm,” Sylvain said, “I’ve got something that might help you in my room.”

“Do you have extra blankets?” you asked doubtfully as you stood up, squinting through the dark as if that would help you see him better.

“No, but I’ve got a better way of staving off the cold,” Sylvain said.

You heard the sound of a match being struck, and he held out the flame. You let Sylvain light the candle, getting a better look at him in its flickering glow and muttering your thanks. He didn’t look drunk. His shadowed eyes looked plenty lucid, that smile making your breath catch. Everything about that look and his low, teasing tone of voice warned you not to ask. After what he’d done, you really should have been running back to your room and locking the door behind you. But you didn’t.

“How?” you asked.

“I’ve been told I make for an excellent source of heat for chilly nights like these,” he said. “If you come into my room, I’d be happy to keep you warm.”

You stared at him in disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. All you got was silence. “Are you… joking?” you finally asked.

Sylvain laughed, a casual, relaxed sound. “Ah, you’re too much,” he told you fondly. Then, sighing, his smile dropped. “You really have no idea what it does to a guy, do you? I swear, I try to restrain myself, but sometimes I can’t help it.”

“I-I wish you wouldn’t,” you said.

“Is that why you lied about being sick today?”

“I wasn’t… I didn’t lie.”

“Really? Maybe next time I’ll cancel my plans so I can stay home and take care of you,” Sylvain said. “That’s what brothers do, right? I’m sure I can make you comfortable.”

“I… um…” you stopped, exhaling slowly. “It’s okay, I’m feeling better now. But I should… I should go to bed, I’m very tired.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sylvain agreed, his little smile not fading. “You better hurry, before the boogeyman catches you out of bed so late. Who knows what he might do to a cute girl like you.”

“Goodnight, Sylvain,” you said softly, watching him warily for a moment before turning around and ascending the stairs, the light wavering with your shaking hand.

Shut into the sanctuary of your room, you put a hand over your heart and felt it beating, pounding against your ribcage and then against your palm. Threatening to burst right out of your chest, to run off like scared prey.

vii.

a wolf in sheep’s clothing

“You were a pretty big hit tonight,” Sylvain said on the way up to your rooms. His was further down the hall, so it couldn’t be avoided that you’d walk together. Your thoughts on the subject of your overly friendly stepbrother were impossible to make sense of, but your discomfort remained. The other night had crossed a line, you thought, but he hadn’t mentioned it. And maybe he had been drunk, and maybe you were tired enough to be misremembering, and maybe—

But you couldn’t help the unease that crawled through you whenever he was around.

"Everyone was really nice," you agreed, looking at the floor to avoid accidentally meeting his eye.

“Especially the guys, right?" Sylvain teased, his voice friendly enough, but not entirely. Or you were reading into it out of nerves. He had been perfectly pleasant all night, after all.

“I don’t know,” you said with a noncommittal shrug.

"Don't tell me you didn't notice,” Sylvain said, feigning surprise. “Viscount Braley’s eyes almost popped out of his head.” His amused tone died off into a sigh. “Not that I blame them, but it feels pretty weird to have other guys looking at your little sister like that. I always thought it was a huge overreaction when the brother of a girl I was dating threatened to fight me, but I’m starting to get it.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you said.

“All I’m saying is that it’s a good thing you have me around to keep them in check. I hate to think what those jerks would do if you didn’t have anyone watching over you… And speaking of that,” he continued, his tone lightening, “did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?”

After everything else he had said, the praise shouldn’t have been so potent. But it was, and your face responded in kind, blood rushing to your cheeks and ears in a blatant signpost of your feelings.

“Thank you. You-you look nice too,” you said, trying to deflect. It wasn’t a lie, either, although you were certain Sylvain knew how good he looked in the red suitcoat. The scarlet hair should have made for an overbearing combination, but the rich velvet’s shade was dark enough to look nothing less than devastatingly handsome.

“You think?” he asked with a cocky smile. “I was the best looking guy there, wasn’t I?”

You blinked, uncertain of how you were meant to answer that. If you were to be transparently honest, Sylvain was the best looking of them all. He had something other men lacked. Despite his friendly features and noble polish, Sylvain’s sparkling brown eyes held a visceral kind of thrill, an excitement playing on the edge of danger. Even the women who scorned him—and there were more than a few of those—couldn’t help but stare enviously when you arrived together. But you couldn’t admit that openly to yourself, let alone to him.

“Um…”

“Wait,” Sylvain said, his smile dropping, “you’re not interested in someone else, are you? There were a lot of eligible noblemen there.”

“It wasn’t… it’s not like that,” you said, balking at the insinuation. It wasn’t true, but it shouldn’t have mattered if it were. He was your stepbrother, not your husband or keeper. Seeing him in that way would be, at best, incredibly weird.

“Sure, sure,” Sylvain allowed with an ironic nonchalance, shrugging.

As it so often happened with him, you didn’t know what to say to that. Explaining would just make it worse. Arriving at your door came with a sigh of relief.

“Um… Goodnight, Sylvain,” you said, twisting the knob.

“Yeah, goodnight,” he said, his expression still unreadably impassive in a way you didn't like.

There was nothing for you to do about that, so you gave him a final nod and opened your door to slip inside, nudging it shut behind you. But it didn’t close.

“Just one more thing,” Sylvain said. The shiny leather toe of a man’s dress boot was wedged between door and frame, quickly followed by the rest of him. You stumbled back, eyeing him warily as he closed the door behind himself with a creak of old wood and the metal click. “Don’t worry, I know it was an exciting night and you’re probably tired,” he told you with a soothing voice, hands raised innocently. “I’ll be quick.”

“Do you need something?” you asked, your heart racing so fast you almost worried he would be able to hear it.

"No, it—hey, calm down, okay?” Sylvain said, clearly trying to placate you. “It’s just something that’s been bothering me for a while, but I didn’t want to bring it up before and embarrass you.”

Your shoulders raised protectively, your hands raising to nervously pull your hair over your shoulders to hide their trembling. “What is it?”

“Come here,” Sylvain said, holding his hand out invitingly.

“Tell me first,” you said, drawing further into yourself.

Sylvain sighed impatiently, stepping forward and grabbing you before you could move away. You yelped as he twisted you around, pushing you back against the door. The impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it knocked your breath away. He crowded in so close that your chests almost touched. When you tried to force him off, to wiggle away, Sylvain entwined your fingers together to pin that hand by your head, his other arm braced against the door to cage you in. And then all of your fighting stilled when he pushed his knee between your legs. It was a position so suggestive you really didn’t think there was any way to mistake its profane meaning.

“What are you doing?” you asked, testing his hold on your hand with a final surge of all your strength. He didn’t falter, not even a little.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sylvain said, so earnestly you could almost believe him. “Do you remember when we went to town and that girl left a mark on my neck?”

“I…. Yeah,” you said, hoping that going along with it would make it release you faster.

“And then you lied, saying you knew what it was. Do you remember that?”

“I wasn’t lying,” you said with a rapid shake of your head.

He snorted. “Yeah, you were, and I think this is pretty important knowledge now that you’re going out with other guys. I can’t let my baby sister get taken advantage of just because she doesn’t know any better.” Sylvain brushed your hair away from your neck, which was exposed in full due to the scooped neckline of your dress. You flinched away from the touch, but there was nowhere to go.

“Stop,” you begged, pushing at him again. He ignored you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you up, adjusting his stance so he could get at your neck.

“I guess you could say that this is how people mark their territory,” Sylvain explained, his breath brushing against your jaw, down the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips close enough that you could feel them move. “It’s a pretty possessive thing to do.” You whimpered when Sylvain licked the spot above your fluttering pulse, shivered at the nervously electrified sensation it caused. “See?” he asked, pleased with your reaction. “It feels kinda good, right?”

“N-no,” you told him, trying desperately to push him away. Sylvain, again, ignored you, his lips ghosting further down to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He kissed the spot there once, his tongue dragging across the flesh. Your breath shuddered, your entire body shaking hard against his. Another kiss, and then his mouth opened enough to suck against the skin. Gently, at first, and then not so gently, teeth joining tongue to add to the sensation. You writhed against him in an attempt to escape the pain, whimpering softly despite your best efforts to endure it in silence. Sylvain groaned, his mouth working harder against the skin, definitely enough to leave a mark.

"Sylvain…” Your whining attempt to stop him only made Sylvain more intent. He pushed you harder against the door, his hand squeezing yours painfully, his knee drawing up to firmly grind you against his muscular thigh. There were layers of fabric separating your sensitive core from the pressure, but it didn’t stop the regretful, sickening pleasure. You mewled, a terrible little noise you couldn't swallow back. Pain shouldn’t have been pleasurable in any way, but the feeling of his mouth on your neck had your body writhing, unintentionally and gracelessly grinding yourself against his thigh.

Finally, his mouth left your skin with a slick pop, a sensation nearly as powerful as the act itself. Release was followed by flare of heat and goosebumps in a liquidy bloom from where he’d marked you. “There,” Sylvain said, leaning back to get a look at his work with a satisfied expression. “And now you know.” His finger traced along the mark, his expression twisting slightly with regret. “Sorry. I may have been a bit too rough, but it’ll fade. Just be sure to keep it covered up until then.” His lips quirked into a teasing smirk, his eyes half lidded. “You wouldn’t want anyone to know that you let your big brother give you a hickey, right?”

You nodded slowly, your bottom lip trembling with the force of despair and disgust the comment inspired within you.

Sylvain’s eyes tracked the motion, the playful expression slipping. Then he exhaled harshly, looking away. “Yeah, okay. I should, uh, I should leave. Now.” With a final squeeze of your hand, he peeled his body away from yours and took a few steps back, letting you clumsily stumble away from him with your hand covering your neck. Sylvain’s cheeks were flushed, another shade of fetching rose to add to the red and white blur that became of him as your eyes filled with tears.

“Goodnight,” he said as he opened your door. “And, hey, if you get cold or can’t sleep, I don’t lock my door.”

You nodded, just wanting Sylvain to leave. With a final once over that made your skin crawl, he did. When you were sure he was an appropriate distance down the hall, you rushed to your door and locked it, bracing yourself against it as if he were going to return and attempt to batter it down. The mark on your neck throbbed in time with your heartbeat. When you traced it with your fingertips, you could feel the intentions of his teeth.

For a moment, you considered telling your mother, begging her to step in. But then Sylvain’s question came to mind—You wouldn’t want anyone to know that you let your big brother give you a hickey, right? No. Absolutely not. And given how little fight you actually put up, certainly not enough to have evidence of your attempt to stop him, you weren’t sure it was believable if you tried to tell her you didn’t want it. Really, you could barely believe it yourself considering the hollow ache that had sparked up between your legs, a needful thrum that begged satisfaction.

Being an adult, shedding childish innocence, meant cynical recognition of the real world. In the real world, you had secrets drenched in shame, a heart beating with the frantic speed of prey, a hickey on your neck from your stepbrother, and a fragile position in a court that barely accepted your presence with a family that could easily ruin you if they learned of this. These were the adult games with their high stakes and rigid rules. Hide that which was unsavory and claim ignorance of your sick secrets. And then, to maintain the game of pretend that people called the status quo, ignore ignorance itself.

viii.

face the music

All dressed up for your first county ball in Gautier territory—a tradition for the young, available ladies and lords with titles or enough wealth—you looked your very best. Being so awkward, you liked to think that clothes would work for you where your clumsy social skills did not. It was harder to dwell on your reflected image now, your eyes kept anxiously returning to the high neck. Stylish, yes, but also necessary. Your skin was still stained with an ugly, healing bruise right where your neck met shoulder, faded from the days that had passed but dark enough to need covering. Remembering that night made you feel sick. Thinking of Sylvain made you feel dirty. What right did you have to play the demure girl wishing only to dance and mingle when you were tainted? Those thoughts, the ones that had kept you mostly hidden away in your room for the past few days, filled you with tumultuous disgust and shame, tears threateningly pricking at the corner of your kohl-lined eyes.

Forcing those emotions down so as to not ruin all of the work you had put into looking nice, you turned away from the mirror, your long skirt flaring as you twirled. It was fine. You looked good. Dancing was fun. The dinner the other night had gone well before he ruined it, the dance would too. It helped that Sylvain had made it clear that he wouldn’t be attending, saying that he was likely to get accosted by unhappy exes if he tried.

After going downstairs, you preened beneath your mother’s hard-won attention and affection. These days, the two of you sometimes felt like strangers, but she had an affinity for clothes much like your own, admiring the gown sent in from Fhirdiad dressmakers and fixing strands of errant hairs. Considering your age and the event, it wasn’t proper for her to be your chaperone as she might have otherwise, but she was worried. There was a sense of dark comedy in the knowledge that you were likely safer at a ball than in your own home, the type of cruel joke that only Sylvain might find actually funny.

Eventually, wrapped in a fashionable capelet that matched your ensemble, you were escorted by the Gautier’s coachman to the carriage, settling in for the ride. You signaled to leave with a few raps on the ceiling, but before it could, the cab jostled, the door opening. You watched with wide-eyed dread as Sylvain climbed in, closing the door behind him and settling in the opposite seat in a whirl of his fluttering cloak and the rich scent of cologne.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“I should be the one asking that, you almost left without me,” Sylvain said, tapping the ceiling to tell the coach to take off. The horses jolted into action, the cab jostling as the wheels were pulled out of their muddy ruts.

“What do you mean?” you asked, holding out half a hope that this was one of his not so funny jokes.

“We’re going to the ball, aren’t we?”

“Bu-but… You said you weren’t.”

“Only because I didn’t realize you wanted to,” Sylvain said. “If you had told me, I wouldn’t have made other plans. Luckily, I was already dressed to go out when I heard you leaving. Your mother was so relieved. She really worries about you, you know that?”

You gaped at him in utter disbelief, all thoughts of having a nice night out torn into tatters. “You didn’t have to-to do that,” you told him.

“I can’t just let some opportunistic creep take advantage of my sweet baby sister’s innocence.”

Hearing Sylvain say that felt like a slap in the face. The bruise on your neck throbbed dully, the memory of his thigh between your legs making them clamp together. “I don’t need a chaperone,” you said in as even of a voice as you could, your hands clenched into fists on your lap. “It’s a dance, I’ll be surrounded by people.”

“And if you’re dancing with a guy and his hand happens to drift a bit too far down your back? Or if he lures you away from the ball with a cheesy line?” Sylvain asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, we both know you don’t have it in you to make him back off.”

Of all the embarrassing reactions to have, tears pricked at your eyes, shame burning your cheeks.

“But,” Sylvain continued, either ignoring your reaction or pretending he didn’t see it. “Nobody’s going to try anything as long as I’m there, so it won’t matter.”

“Nobody would do that anyway,” you muttered, wanting desperately to sound strong but unable to speak any louder for fear of your voice trembling.

“You really think so?” Sylvain asked, raising an eyebrow. “In that case, I’m doing you a favor here. Maybe you haven’t realized it yet, but now that your mother’s married into the Gautier family, you’re one of the most eligible girls in the Kingdom. Not to mention your beauty. It’s a potent combination. If men aren’t looking exploit your money or title, its because they’re too busy wondering what they can say or do to fuck you.”

The vulgarity made you cringe back into your seat, your shoulders curled up as if to protect yourself. You stared at your shoes, trying to will away your blush, to stamp down your embarrassment. “Stop.”

Sylvain laughed. “Don’t be so embarrassed. You’ll have to figure these things out eventually. And as your big brother, it’s kind of my job to teach you stuff, right? Like the other night-”

“Don’t!” you told him, your voice louder in panic, a horribly sick feeling of guilt and revulsion and shame crushing you from the inside out. “Just… just stop.”

“Wait, are you… mad at me?” Sylvain asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“I… I am,” you told him, having to settle for a whisper to hide the tremble in your voice. Speaking was dangerous, you were having a hard time fighting the tears. “The other night… that was too much, I…”

“Oh, come on,” Sylvain said, rolling his eyes. “I know you liked it, you were basically humping my thigh.”

“I wasn’t!”

Sylvain gave you a flat look, his thick eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. “Next you’re going to tell me that it wasn't you who was moaning, right?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you said, your voice even softer, almost inaudible.

“Yeah, because it felt good.”

You shook your head, trying desperately to steady yourself.

“But what I really want to know is if you touched yourself after I left,” Sylvain said, breezing right through your distress, his brown eyes alight in the warm lamp light.

You just stared at him, feeling your dupe heart pound against your ribs, against the structured bodice of your dress, your lungs desperately trying to inflate against its confines.

Sylvain’s head tilted thoughtfully. “Huh. Now that I think of it, you probably don’t even know what I mean,” he said, scooting forward. The cab, while luxurious, lacked space. With his annoyingly long legs, the two of you couldn’t even sit directly across from one another without his knees pressing into yours. So when Sylvain grabbed you by the thighs to pull you towards him, you couldn’t escape; there was nowhere to go.

“Stop!” you protested, trying to squirm away. The way he pulled you forward caused your skirt to ride up over your knees, the layers of fabric getting wedged beneath you.

“Shh, don’t you think you should be a little more quiet?” he asked, wedging his leg between yours to pry them apart. “Unless you want to get caught.” That dreadful threat made him smile.

“Please stop,” you said in a hushed voice, pushing at him. “I don’t—” Sylvain cut you off by flipping your skirt up enough to get his hand beneath, his palm sliding across your knee and inwards, his calloused fingertips skimming your ticklishly sensitive inner thigh right above the garters which held your stockings in place.

“Relax,” Sylvain said in a voice that might have been comforting if his eyes weren’t so dark, if they weren’t so obscenely fixated between your legs. “I’m going to show you something. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Being looked at so intimately was almost the worst of it all, self-conscious embarrassment hitting you in a wave of panicked heat. It was a petty, shameful feeling, but you’d seen several of the girls Sylvain had been intimate with and you hated to compare yourself to others, but it was impossible to not be acutely aware of what you lacked in comparison to them. Desperate to escape his gaze, your back bowed in an attempt to displace his grip, your hands shoving your skirt down to hide.

Sylvain’s solution was to grab your hips and drag you down almost flat onto the seat, sliding forward enough to support your lower half on his lap with your legs spread on either side of his torso. The position was absurdly awkward in the cramped conditions, but it made it harder for you to fight and gave him easier access.

“These are adorable,” Sylvain said, flipping your skirt all the way over your waist in a puff of pettiskirts to look at your panties, his thumb grazing the delicate little bow with a warm smile. “You didn’t wear them for me, did you?”

“N-no. That’s not… I didn’t,” you babbled, your voice tight with distress. Your underwear wasn’t meant to be sexual, nobody was supposed to see it. The garments were nice because you liked the lace and the bows, but now it just felt filthy. Even when you got your arms beneath you, you lacked the leverage to squirm away from him, all it did was spare your neck. “Please ss-stop, Sylvain.”

“I’m going to be gentle, don’t worry. Girls are really delicate,” Sylvain said, twisting his wrist to run his fingers over the seat of your panties, applying the slightest amounts of pressure. Your eyes went wide, your free hand giving up on trying covering yourself to grab his wrist so he couldn’t do that. Not because it hurt, but you almost wished it did. That’d be better than the knee jerk feeling of pleasure that followed his touch. He smiled. “You have to be gentle, you know? Do a little exploration, figure out what she likes.”

His long index finger pushed between the outer lips of your pussy, digging the fabric right against your entrance. Your hips jumped against his hand, your thighs tensing with an attempt to close, obstructed by his torso. And he was watching it all, devouring your reactions with those too-perceptive eyes. Stopping him had proven impossible, you opted to cover your face instead, trying to shut it all out.

“Most guys are way too selfish,” Sylvain continued, his voice increasingly smug as his finger dragged upward, using the fabric as added friction as he drew a lazy circle around your clit. “They don’t want to take the time to know what a girl really needs.”

You whimpered, turning your head away and biting your lip to hide your reaction. Sylvain paused for a moment, spreading your outer lips to give him better access to your swelling clit. All of this through the thin fabric of your fancy underwear, adding a level of removed friction that was driving you wild.

By the point he was rubbing your clit in earnest, adding more pressure and focusing on the spots that made your hips jerk and thighs twitch, you couldn’t hide the noises you were making. Your entire body was pulled painfully tense, writhing in his lap.

“Let me see your face, cutie,” Sylvain said.

“Nn-no,” you whined, your voice muffled through your hand, although you couldn’t say what it was that you were rejecting. You didn’t understand at all why, despite every attempt you made to ignore it, his touch felt so good. There was too much stimulation, and your hips kept jerking forward like you wanted more. Worse, you could feel the way your pussy clenched hungrily around nothing, a strange and empty ache.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Sylvain said, continuing his torment as if it was something casual, something he didn’t even have to think about. “Since this is just a demonstration, I won’t get worked up about it. But when we do this for real, you’re going to do everything I tell you to do, okay?”

A breathless, helpless keen left your mouth. A sound that was meant to be a rejection, although didn’t count for much when your clit was pulsing beneath his fingers as more and more blood rushed between your legs, tension building beneath every drag of his fingers.

“I mean it,” Sylvain said. “I expect my sweet little sister to listen to me while I’m fucking her, otherwise I might just have to take you over my knee or something.”

You made a sound like he’d punched you, almost, your hand dropping to look at Sylvain with some disturbing combination of lust and horror—feelings that had no synergy with your body’s reaction. The twitch of your hips, the anxiously empty tightening of your cunt, the drop of heat and swirling dark lust that only intensified the building pleasure.

Sylvain laughed. “I knew that would turn you on,” he said smugly, his fingers abandoning your needy clit and returning to your entrance, pressing the fabric between the tense muscles so it could absorb more of your wet arousal. The stimulation drew a sharp keen out of your throat and his laughter cut off. “Fuck, that’s…”

You shook your head. “That’s not…” Not true? It was. You knew it was, he knew it was, all of the same and disgust and despair and self-hatred in the world didn’t make it any less true. “Please… stop.”

“Fine, fine,” Sylvain agreed warmly, his hand retreating from between your legs. “I think we’re about to be there anyway.” Considering you had been the one to ask him to stop, it was sickening that you would mourn the loss, loathing the feeling of empty need thudding dully between your legs, an unfulfilled ache that made you squirm. “Ah, we do have a slight problem though. There’s no way you can wear these,” he said regretfully, pulling at the inside seam of your panties. “They’re soaked.”

You quickly pushed your skirt down, awkwardly pulling yourself back into your own seat. Sylvain stopped you, holding your leg in place.

“It’s fine,” you said, unable to meet his eye, pulling hard to free your leg.

“No, it’s not,” Sylvain told you, emphasizing the words like you were too dumb to understand. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto them for you until we get home.”

“But then I won’t have…” you trailed off, flushing as you realized what should have been obvious. Instead you shook your head, unable to look at him directly. “No, I-I won’t.” Sylvain still didn’t release you as the coach pulled alongside the curb, the noise of horses and voices becoming more distinct on the other side, light slanting in through the edges of the drawn curtains. You tugged against him again, desperate to get out of the compromising position.

“Either you give them to me, or I’ll get them myself,” Sylvain said playfully, like this was a game. “I wonder what the footman would think if he saw that.”

“You wouldn’t,” you said with fresh horror. Sylvain’s eyes didn’t falter, daring you to call his bluff. The sickening thing was that you couldn’t tell if he would or wouldn’t, only that he wasn’t the one that would be exposed.

“Fine,” you said, averting your gaze and blinking hard. He released you. Before you could think too hard about it, you pushed your panties down your hips under the cover of your skirt, over your knees and to your ankles. They were, as he said, soaked. Grimacing in disgust, you held them out.

“I don’t get why you’re so mad, you’re the one who got this wet for your big brother,” Sylvain said, waving them towards you.

You winced at the taunt, but otherwise ignored him, quickly arranging your skirts back into place with shaking hands. At least it was a long dress. Shame dyed your cheeks in bright heat and you knew he was looking at you as he sniffed and pocketed your panties, you could feel the phantom weight of his touch lingering between your legs, the wrongness of your skirts inner layer rubbing directly against your bare skin, but acknowledging any of it would certainly tip you over the edge.

The footman opened the door and you hoped to the goddess that you didn’t look as wrecked as you felt, forcing a smile and accepting his help out of the carriage. Sylvain pulled on a pair of gloves as he joined you. In the limelights, his smile shone brilliantly, his hair luminously outlined to a scarlet blaze. Giving no indication of what had just happened, Sylvain held out his arm, his self satisfied umber eyes promising every moral peril you could imagine. And then some.

“Shall we?”

ix.

in for a penny

“Did you have a good time?” Sylvain asked as the coach trundled away from the curb, his tone perfectly normal for such a banal question. That did nothing for the sinking dread. Although you had been able to pretend that nothing had happened for most of the evening, that didn’t make it true. Ignorance was a rule in the game of pretend, but harsh reality would always collect its due acknowledgement.

“Yeah, it was fun,” you told him. Your hands were shaking. The air was cold, and too thin. “I’m really tired though, so I’m gonna rest. If that’s okay with you.”

“Sure, of course,” Sylvain said, no indication of deception on his face as he dimmed the lamps in their fancy sconces. “It’s pretty late.”

You bit your lip, sickened nerves twisting in your stomach. The uncomfortable breeze between your legs had haunted you the entire night, but now that you were alone with him again, it was all you could think about.

“May I… have them back?” you asked quietly, staring at your hands folded in your lap.

“I told you,” he said, “when we get home.”

The idea of arguing occurred to you, but you worried about where that would go. Every thought of yours that included Sylvain was heavy with horror and desire, you didn’t want to try and figure it out beyond those awful, shameful feelings. You just wanted the night to be over, and to never look Sylvain in the eye again. But, for the time being, it was enough to rest your head against the side with your eyes closed and think about anything and everything that wasn’t what he had done earlier.

You must have dozed off in some capacity, or at least fallen into that state between wakefulness and sleep that left you only vaguely aware of the world, because it seemed like very little time had passed when Sylvain was nudging you awake. You blinked, sluggishly accepting his help out of the carriage. The estate was mostly dark, of course. Your mother and Margrave went to sleep at a reasonable hour. However, since you and Sylvain were still expected back, there were enough lights that you didn’t have to navigate upstairs in the dark.

With every step, your anxiety grew. Would he try something again? The mark on your neck thumped dully and you resisted the urge to touch it, knowing he would see. Keeping your breathing evened out was difficult and by the time you reached your door, your entire body was wound tight as a spring.

“Goodnight, Sylvain,” you said, facing your door, your heart racing as you waited for him to continue past you to his own room.

“Sure, goodnight,” Sylvain said, not so much as pausing. You exhaled, watching him go with your hand on the knob, ready to rush inside and close the door before he could break in. He looked curiously over his shoulder. “Didn’t you want these back?” he asked, holding up his hand. Your panties hung from his pointer finger like a little flag, swinging as he walked.

You blushed, compulsively looking either way in fear that someone would stumble upon the scene. At the same time, you hesitated at the idea of engaging with Sylvain anymore for the night, ready to count it as a lost cause. You would never wear them again anyway.

“You’re really not at all concerned about what I might do with them?” Sylvain asked, sounding surprised. He was almost to his door. “That’s pretty kinky of you, baby sis. Not that I mind. Goodnight.”

“Wait,” you called, breaking down at the last minute and trotting down the hall. Sylvain didn’t stop, opening his door and going into his room. The door was heavy enough to shut most of the way, but he didn’t close it behind him. It rested uncertainly against the frame, an obvious invitation. You pushed your way in, but stopped at the threshold, refusing to go any further. “Sylvain, wait, you-you said you would give them back.”

“They’re all yours,” he said, holding them out without looking at you, loosening his cravat to put it on the dresser.

Despite it being only down the hall, you had never seen Sylvain’s room. It was much grander than your own. Warmer, since most of it was arranged around the fireplace which already burned with an inviting little fire. A few chairs, tables, the dresser, and a large bed filled out the rest, as well as layered rugs and furs on the floor. The smell was more inviting than you wanted to admit, a mixture of Sylvain’s cologne and the soap used for laundry and smoke and something deeper, muskier. It was a strange realization that you had never been inside a man’s room. You didn’t really want to make a habit of it now.

“Are you going to come get them or not?” Sylvain asked, giving you a sideways look.

Knowing he was playing with you but unable to see any way around it, you approached him, meaning to snatch them away quickly and retreat. But Sylvain didn’t stop you, letting you take the ruined garment and withdraw.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “I told you I’d give them back.” He paused, setting his cufflinks on the dresser. “But while you’re here, why don’t you sit down? I’d love to do a little more sibling bonding. We could pick up where we left off, there are a few more things I’d love to teach you.”

“I don’t… want…” you said stiltedly, your stomach lurching at the reminder of earlier. You should have said no, and made it clear that you absolutely didn’t want that, but instead you ducked your head. “Um… Goodnight.” Embarrassed and uncomfortable, you turned around and went to the door, catching it from closing all the way.

In a way, it wasn’t a surprise when the doorknob was pulled from your grip, the door slammed shut by a big hand that came from behind you. Surprise made you yelp, stumbling to the side to get away from him and avoid a repeat of last time. Unfortunately, the only ‘away’ was further into his room. Backing up, your foot caught on the rug, sending you stumbling awkwardly against one of the tables.

“Why are you acting so weird?” Sylvain asked, giving you an absurdly innocent sideways frown. “Are you upset or something?”

“No,” you said, righting yourself. “I-I just want to go to bed.”

“It can’t be something I did,” he said, ignoring you. “Right?”

Your only response to that was a little laugh, but it sounded more like you were sobbing because it wasn’t funny and the fact that you couldn’t leave was making it difficult to breathe. There was no way he didn’t know what he was doing. You needed to get control of yourself. Crying in front of Sylvain, on top of everything else, would be too embarrassing.

Staring hard at the rug beneath your feet and blinking fast, you tried to get a full breath. In, and out. “I’d rather ta-talk tomorrow.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine,” Sylvain said. His shiny dancing shoes slowly entered your vision, compelling you to look up at his approach. “I bet you’re pretty worn out from all the dancing, huh? It’s okay. I’m not really in the mood for talking either.” He sounded innocent, but his expression was anything but. You could only guess what he meant.

“I-I just…” you stammered, moving to the side in the hopes he’d let you slip past and leave.

“You just…?” Sylvain repeated with a smile, grabbing you around the waist to pin you between him and the table. “Come on, whatever you want to say, say it.”

“Nn-no, no—do-don’t,” you said, pushing against his chest. You let the panties drop out of your hand, choosing to fight his hold with all the frantic insistence of a trapped animal. At this point, you didn’t care if you hurt him, you just needed to get away.

Surprised by the reaction, Sylvain caught your wrists. “Woah, what is going on with you?” he asked. The table’s edge dug painfully into your back, but you didn’t let that stop you from thrashing around in an attempt to break his grip.

“You know,” you told him, looking everywhere that wasn’t Sylvain’s eyes. “Let me…me go—oh.”

“Is this because of earlier?” he asked. “That was just a joke, you know that, right? I didn’t think it would make you this upset.”

While his words might have made you doubt yourself, at least a little, Sylvain couldn’t contain his look of amusement. That’s what it was. Not concerned, not confused, not playful. For the first time, Sylvain truly looked mean. He knew how upset you were, but it didn’t convince him to let up. He was only doubling down. You whined, intensifying your efforts to break his hold. The way you were thrashing had the table groaning, the clutter on it knocking around, but you didn’t care about the noise, or the pain of its sharp lip biting into your lower back, or anything. All you wanted was to be as far away from him as possible.

And it wasn’t working. Sylvain’s grip on your wrists hadn’t loosened, his body remained flush against yours.

“Le-let me go,” you demanded again, breathing hard enough that your head spun with an awful mixture of panic and exertion.

“No, you almost have it,” he said, not bothering to hide his smile.

Your eyebrows furrowed, heat quickly rising to your face as humiliation washed over you anew. Fighting was futile, you had never been able to so much as break his hold on you before. All it did was tire you out. Sylvain didn’t even have to try to overpower you, it was that easy for him. This whole situation felt so dramatic, so intense, but it was nothing to Sylvain. A diversion at best, a game that you were only making worse by reacting like this.

Going limp, you buried your face against his chest, hoping to hide your blushing cheeks, to hide the way you were still valiantly fighting off tears.

“Is that it?” Sylvain asked.

“You… win,” you said, your voice half muffled and defeated.

“If I won, what’s my prize?” he teased, releasing your wrists. You made a noncommittal sound in response, hoping the pathetic display would be the thing to make him give up. “Actually… nevermind, I know what I want.” When you didn’t play along, Sylvain pulled you away from his chest to look at you. His hand was unnervingly gentle in the way it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing under your bottom lip. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

“What?” you asked trepidatiously, knowing that he’d tell you regardless.

“It’s not that bad,” Sylvain told you, his eyes widening imploringly. “A kiss from my beautiful sister, that’s all.”

Goddess save you.

“I-I can’t,” you told him, shaking your head, your nervous eyes fluttering from his eyes to his lips and back again.

“I’ll be your first, right?” Sylvain asked, glee shining through in his gaze. “Don’t worry, it’s easy, just follow my lead.”

You stammered out a few attempts at rejection as he threaded a hand in your hair, your breathing picking up even more. “I-I don’t…” Sylvain ignored you. “Do-don’t think—” The contact of his lips meeting yours was jarring. You didn’t know what to do, but Sylvain didn’t seem concerned. He was gentle at first, tilting your head to make the fit better, trying to tempt you into moving with him slowly. Feeling his tongue run along the seam of your lips made you turn your face away regardless of the pressure on your scalp, the wet wrongness of it already bordering the obscene.

“We… we can’t,” you got out, fighting your labored breathing. “Sylvain, this isn’t funny. It-it’s incest.”

"Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be into it either,” he said, his chest puffing with a short laugh.

Before you could argue, Sylvain used his grip on your hair to tilt your head again, dragging you back into another kiss. This time, your lips were already parted for him, and he didn’t hesitate before pushing his tongue into your mouth. Your brain shorted out, you had no idea how you were meant to respond. You could barely breathe. The sensation of him exploring your mouth was upsetting and gross in its perversion, but it also wasn’t. The raw, animal intimacy of such an act appealed to the darkest parts of yourself, the part that whimpered and moaned when he threatened to spank you. Sylvain groaned, a low sound deep in his chest, and you melted a little, shivering in his arms.

Still, you weren’t distracted enough by the kiss to ignore Sylvain lifting your skirt and pettiskirts with fistfuls of fabric until he could sneak his hand beneath, but there wasn’t much you could do to stop that either. Tugging on his hair only got a little growl out of him, and trying to pull against his arm directly did nothing. Ultimately, all you could do to protect yourself was tense up, your thighs pressing together so tightly the muscles quivered. Sylvain bit your lip as a diversion, using his foot to widen your stance and then his knee, getting enough space for his hand to land flat between your legs. The light slap wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but the jolt of pressure made you cry out weakly, a sound he eagerly swallowed. When his middle finger curled between your outer lips, dragging lightly right over your entrance, you whined.

Sylvain pulled back from the kiss, his brown eyes glowing. “If I had known you’d get this wet just from a few kisses, I could have saved myself a lot of time.”

You exhaled, the air trembling with the rest of you. “You-you said you wanted just a…a kiss.”

“Did I?” Sylvain asked. Without warning, his middle finger pressed harder, getting past the resistant muscles of your entrance and deeper, all the way into your pussy. There was no resistance, his finger easily slipping in from how wet you were. You gasped harshly, your posture going rigidly straight at the feeling of your inner walls clamping down around the intrusion. “I already left you unsatisfied earlier, what kind of terrible big brother would I be to ignore you in your time of need again?”

“I-I don’t… I’m dizzy,” you said weakly, clutching at him with shaking hands. “I ca-can’t…”

“Hey, don’t worry, I get it,” he told you, saccharinely sweet. “We can take things slow. That’s what you need, right? I’ll take care of you.” Sylvain pulled his hand away, letting your skirt drop. Relief was short lived as he dragged you away from the edge of the table, walking the four or so paces backwards until he could sit on the bed. Even though you stood a head taller than him while he sat, you were no less trapped, kept in place between his legs with his grip on your hips.

“How do you get this off anyway?” Sylvain asked, pinching at the fabric of your dress. Your stomach dropped.

“Nn-”

“Oh, nevermind.” He turned you away from him in an awkward stumble, undoing the clasp at the very top of the dress's high neck and working down. “Got it.”

“Wa-ait,” you complained, trying to twist back around to stop him. Sylvain wasn’t deterred. He was incredibly efficient in getting it undone, likely from experience.

“Girl’s clothes are too restrictive, that’s probably why you’re having problems breathing,” Sylvain told you in a very matter-of-fact tone. Even with your struggling, he had the bodice peeled down in basically no time. The rest of the dress followed suit, pooling at your feet. “Heh. If I left marks on you like this, you’d be mad, but you’re fine when your dress does it,” he said, trailing a finger down one of the lines imprinted into your skin by the dress. You shivered involuntarily.

“It’s not the sa-wait, don’t—” Sylvain ignored your objection, undoing the hooks on your bustier with the same easy efficiency.

“It can’t be comfortable,” he argued, turning you back towards him. Since he’d already taken your panties, the bustier you clutched to your chest was basically all that you had left to keep yourself covered. “Let me see,” Sylvain demanded, grabbing the front of the bustier to pull it away from you. “I’m not going to tease you, I just want to see what my cute little sister’s been hiding under all those pretty dresses.”

“No, please,” you begged, holding fast onto the garment. But Sylvain won, of course, casting it aside. He grabbed your wrists when you tried to cover yourself, his fingers overlapping. Inescapable.

Directly level with your breasts, Sylvain could see exactly how far down your embarrassed flush delved. He could see the way your nipples tightened in response to the temperature difference, and the mark he’d left on your neck, and the way your chest heaved as you fought for air, and the imprinted lines left by your clothes. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to escape the weight of his eyes as they devoured you.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Sylvain said, dragging you a little closer. “I mean it. You’re beautiful.” You could hear the smile in his voice, even with your eyes closed, the praise doing very little to make you feel better. “Aw, that made you blush more. You know, sometimes the whole innocent thing can be a turn off, but it’s part of what I love about you.”

That word made your eyes open in shock, and probably dread.

“What?” Sylvain asked, his head tilting with perfectly knowing innocence. “Isn’t it natural for a brother to love his sister?”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it. Your arms twitched in an attempt to hide your body from him, and then your shoulders curled when you couldn’t. There was no sense to be made in his expression, or understanding of his words. It was just confusion, and disgust, and fear, and the dark, sinking sense that made your thighs clench even tighter. Sylvain watched your reaction for a moment before scooting back, dragging you down against him.

“Hey, wha—”

“No, just trust me,” Sylvain said, pulling more forcefully.

You collapsed against him, half kneeling on the bed and half leaning on him for support. It was awkward, but Sylvain didn’t really seem to care as his lips closed around one of your nipples. An actual cry left your mouth, almost a shout of surprise. And then the sensation struck, even more intense than the feeling of him sucking the bruise onto your neck. Unable to handle the new pleasure, your back arched, trying to get away. Sylvain made a noise in his throat, forcefully pulling you back into place and rewarding your escape attempt with the sharp threat of teeth.

Whimpering and shaking, you didn’t know what to do other than accept it, your hands holding fast to his shoulders for support. You wanted to press your thighs together and relieve some of the needy ache, but that would upset your already precarious balance. It was torturous, both the way his teeth played with your nipple and the way it stoked your desire. Eventually, Sylvain pulled away with a slick sound, leaving your nipple painfully stiff and red.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” he asked, his voice low and soft, his eyes fixed intently on yours from below. Warm brown had become dangerously dark in the low light, framed by those thick lashes. His hand snuck down between your legs, trailing over the top of your garters before the fingers dragged up. You trembled, your breathing picking up further.

“Sylvain, I-I…” You wanted to tell him to stop, to let you go, but it was pointless. This was the culmination of something you had known all along, something you had known for a while now. This was going to happen no matter what you did, an inevitability. These interactions were all, in some twisted way, a game. Just not the kind you thought, and not the kind you had a chance of winning.

“Come on, don’t you love your big brother?” Sylvain asked, his breath brushing against your breast as he moved to your other nipple. Higher still, his fingers traced across your slit, teasing the sensitive flesh as you squirmed and whined. He made an amused sound at that, pushing past your outer lips to find your clit. Even the slight pressure made you twitch, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “You can admit it,” he continued to tease, so unconcerned with the catastrophic build of emotions you were being overwhelmed by. “There’s nothing wrong with loving your family. Believe me, it could be worse.”

You whimpered, shaking your head in rejection. But you couldn’t ignore him. If you thought the pleasure was intense when he rubbed your clit through the fabric of your panties, it was nothing compared to this. And then he took your nipple into his mouth, forgoing the pretense of anything other than the mean biting and harsh sucking that had you tossing your head back, unable to stifle your moans.

He wasn’t taking his time and trying to build you up, he was tossing you directly into the mindless daze of passion. Sylvain’s calloused fingers added an extra edge of friction, the direct contact borderline excessive. You cried out when he bit down, your hips rocking against his hand in an attempt to grind against his fingers. Even when you focused on the motion, you couldn’t stop your body from moving, no more than you make your hands stop shaking. Just like earlier, the dark, insidious ball of tension was forming, your pussy squeezing around nothing.

“You’re still too shy to say it, huh?” Sylvain asked, his breath ghosting over your painfully sensitive nipple. “I guess it is a little embarrassing that you’d be so desperate for your big brother. I’m barely doing anything and you’re this worked up.”

“You’re not… not my…”

Sylvain didn’t argue, he just added more pressure against your clit, wrapping his hot mouth around your nipple. The scrape of his teeth was no longer a threat, but provocation. Dark pleasure shot down to your core with each bite, urging you to madness. You gasped and mewled, lurching against him at the sudden onslaught. You couldn’t help it. Shaking, needy. Desperate. Everything within you ached for release. Breathing had become difficult, it was any wonder you hadn’t either fallen or simply passed out.

It would be nice to say you didn’t know any better, but you did. It just didn’t seem as important as getting off, as embracing the hot rush as you came, your clit pulsing against his fingers and hips jerking in some crude beat, your heart jumping within your chest as you pushed it forward, begging him to use his teeth, to suck harder. And it was good. Better than good, overwhelmingly wonderful, a cascade of raw, perfect sensation. For that little moment of pure insanity, you were convinced you did love Sylvain, filled with pleasure and affection.

But then that thought hiccuped, and you gasped, trying to get away as the moment of perfection faded and your body rejected any more. Sylvain let you go, his wet lips stretching into a smile as he looked up at you.

“You should thank your big brother for letting you come,” he said.

Panting and hot, it took a moment for your brain to catch up with what just happened. What you had done. You made a noise in the back of your throat, hiding your face behind your hand as the shame set in.

“Heh, or not,” he said dryly. That was basically the only warning you got before he grabbed you, pulling you into his lap. It was awkward, not helped by the way you constantly squirmed, muttering a string of ignored objections. Sylvain caught your ankle with his own, your other leg on the bed, leaving your legs wide open. You tried to lean away, but Sylvain pulled you against his chest.

“What’re-”

“I want to see your face, you’re so expressive,” Sylvain said, his fingers making their way back between your legs to tease around your entrance. “You know, it’s like getting a show before the main course… it’s the least you can do to pay me back for being so patient with you.”

“Stop,” you said, unsure if you should have been more concerned with your face or your nudity. Being so close to Sylvain, being able to smell him, to feel his body heat, had quickly become overwhelming. And now that your skin was flushed, sensitive and shiny with sweat, the fabric of his clothes was abrasively stimulating.

“Stop… what?”

“You know-ah—” You cut off with a high-pitched, panicked moan. Sylvain happily watched the way your eyes opened wide with surprise as he pushed two fingers into you, you didn’t think to look away as he drove his fingers as deep as he could. Your pussy immediately clamped down hard around the intrusion. He laughed fondly, you could almost believe the sound was one of adoration.

“Wow, you’re really wet,” Sylvain said. “Listen to this.” He pulled his fingers out slowly, working against the way your inner walls attempted to pull him deeper, only thrusting back in at the last moment with an undeniably filthy squish. Letting out a helpless little noise, you twitched against him like a fly in a spider’s web, well and truly caught. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you want to get fucked by your brother.”

“Don’t… be mean,” you begged, clinging to the front of his shirt.

“What? I’m not being mean,” Sylvain said. A moment later, he hummed thoughtfully. “I could be, if that’s what you want. We both know how much you like it.”

“I don’t!”

“I guess it’s just coincidental that you got tighter just now, huh?”

You didn’t know if that was true, but it hadn’t been intentional. Sylvain was easily turning your body against you, your pussy sucking on his fingers as they pulled out despite every rational part of you that knew it was wrong.

“What do you think would be worse—if I didn’t let you come again for the rest of the night-” Slowly now, he worked his fingers back in, curling and scissoring them in a way that made you moan despite yourself, your free leg kicking pathetically. “Or if I tried to figure out how many times I can make you come before tomorrow morning.” His fingers thrust in harder, faster, filthily dragging across your inner walls. You jerked against him in a desperate spasm, your eyes squeezing shut.

Was he asking you? You couldn’t answer that, you weren’t even sure you understood the question.

“You would think,” Sylvain continued, “that it’s better to have too many than not enough, right? Especially for a spoiled brat like you.” His fingers hadn’t stilled, already picking up pace, eagerly feeding your desire for more, building you back up. “But I’ve heard that it can be really uncomfortable.” Sylvain’s fingers twisted within you, curling up against a spot that made you shake, whimpering and gasping. “I guess we could try them both, you can tell me which one is worse.”

“You ca-can’t,” you said breathlessly, your lower lip wobbling. You weren’t even sure what you were talking about, far more conflicted by the fact that you were going to come again than by the idea of whatever he was proposing. But it was mean, even if you didn’t understand.

“Sure I can,” Sylvain said. “It’s not like you can stop me.”

“Syl-l-vain…”

“Hey, I was just kidding,” he told you. “I’ve already got plans for tonight. Since it’s your first time, it should be special.”

At this point, he was outright fucking you with his fingers, keeping you from trying to squirm away from his hand by holding you against his chest. Each thrust was unbearably sloppy sounding, the clap of skin on skin as lewd as the wet squish. The way his palm ground against your clit only added to the growing tension, the inescapable blaze of pleasure. Since you were trapped in place, there was nothing you could do to stop him from getting rougher.

“It’s too-too much,” you said, unable to escape the assault no matter how you twisted. It just got worse when you moved, when you could feel how hard he was going.

“Nah, you’re fine,” Sylvain said, his chest rumbling against you. As if to prove that, he slowed for a moment, adding in a third finger. Your pussy accepted it eagerly, but you whined, unable to do anything other than cling to him as you adjusted to the added stretch. “You’ll take whatever your big brother gives you, right?” His words were vile, but they drifted up into your head and your inner walls squeezed his fingers as they thrust and twisted and curled. Too rough, but it didn’t matter,

A moan hiccuped out of you, a sound you couldn’t recall having made ever in your life. Sylvain groaned.

“That good, huh?” Sylvain asked indulgently. You buried your face against his neck, holding onto him tight for fear of falling apart.

“I’m… I-I…”

“You… What?” Sylvain teased. “You’re going to come, aren’t you? I can feel how hard you’re squeezing me, how wet you are…. Yeah, go on. Come all over your big brother’s hand.”

And you did. Whimpering and holding onto him as if your life depended on it, recklessly tossed over the edge by his relentless fingers. The pleasure buzzed through you in a feverish frenzy, different than before. Lower, intense. Your shaking stopped as your body seized. Every breath you took smelled like Sylvain, his body firm and hot against yours. And you knew you were mumbling his name, begging him to keep going, to work you through it. Sylvain was either laughing or groaning and you didn’t care, it just sweetened the high.

When you reached down to stop him, he pulled his fingers out, trailing them up to swipe across your clit. That made you whimper, hips twitching. Sylvain did it again, chuckling at your attempt to pull away.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” he asked.

You hid your face against his chest instead. Sweaty and ashamed and disgusted, you didn’t want to be there anymore. Or anywhere, really.

Sylvain grabbed your chin to make you look at him, his fingers smearing evidence of your arousal across your skin. “If you’re too embarrassed to say it, I’ll accept a kiss instead.”

You looked from his bright eyes to his flushed lips, considering your options. Of the two, kissing would probably be less humiliating. Slightly.

You nodded and he released your chin, leaving you to take the initiative. Nervously, not meeting his eyes, you ducked forward, your fingertips grazing his cheek. You meant for it to be quick and chaste, but Sylvain had other plans. He caught you, his fingers digging into your hair to tilt your head and keep you there as he licked your lips apart. He kissed you wetly, almost like he was trying to devour you, to claim you. It didn’t matter that you weren’t meeting it, he seemed satisfied enough to take.

When you whimpered, you felt his hips push upward, the hard press of his erection searing through the layer of clothes. Your whimper became a whine and he groaned, his hands groping your chest, your waist, grinding you against his lap.

At the point you worried you would pass out from the lack of air, Sylvain pulled back, muttering something like “Hold onto me,” directly against your lips. Breathless and confused, you didn’t get what he meant until you were on your back, Sylvain having rolled above you. The shift didn’t seem to faze him, his lips finding yours again. It was a short kiss, distracted.

“Since it’s your first time,” Sylvain said, pulling back to cast his jacket onto the floor. The entire front of his shirt was wrinkled by your hands, bearing a wet spot on his shoulder that was either drool or tears. “I’d like to do things traditionally, you know?” The belt came next, the leather tongue pulled free and discarded noisily. He was undressing.

You squirmed, covering your chest. With the way he was straddling you, it was impossible to get away, but you averted your eyes.

“You’re not going to watch? Usually girls can’t wait to get to this part,” Sylvain said, “Or… oh, I get it, you’re too embarrassed. It’s not that weird, you know. We are family.” His shirt dropped, you could see the pale expanse of his torso out of the corner of your eye. And you couldn’t help it; you looked.

Sylvain’s strength was as aesthetically intimidating as it was physically intimidating, and he was every bit as attractive as you might have feared for it. He knew how appealing he was too, looking down at you with that wolfish grin as he undid the button on his pants. Taking them off gave you a moment that you could have gotten away, but you didn’t. You didn’t even think about it.

There was no denying that Sylvain was one of the most handsome men you’d ever met. You didn’t think anyone could top the perfectly etched lines of muscle, his skin marked here and there with pale scars. Perfect arms to perfect abs to a trail of dark hair that, despite yourself, drew your eyes lower.

Something in your brain clicked off at the sight of his cock. You weren’t sure if you had been in denial or simply not thought that far ahead, but your pussy squeezed tightly around nothing and you understood what he meant by ‘first time’. Sylvain basked beneath your attention, his hand dropping to casually stroke himself, the flushed red head bobbing with the motion.

“When you look at me like that, I have a hard time believing you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.”

“You’re not going to… We’re not… I’ve never b-been with… anyone.”

“That’s pretty obvious.”

“I have to-to wai—” You squealed when he grabbed your ankle, pulling the leg straight until you fell into a splay in front of him. Sylvain’s eyes fixed hungrily between your legs, his tongue peeking out to swipe across his bottom lip as he continued to stroke his cock. You twitched, trying to pull back, your hands dropping to cover yourself. That made his attention shift up to your face.

“I can’t let any other guy have you first,” Sylvain said. “I mean, you’re my little sister.” You whined in distress, trying to wiggle away, but he grabbed your other ankle, sliding between your legs. “Don’t act like you don’t want this as bad as I do.” Two of his fingers slipped into your pussy, the whine you let out easily proving his point. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Sylvain pulled away, leaning down to readjust your torso. You exhaled harshly, shaking as uncertainty returned in full force. This was profane. Disturbingly wrong.

“Don’t cover yourself up, okay?” Sylvain told you, prying your arms away from covering your chest and pinning them to the bed. “Otherwise… I dunno, I’ll leave your nipples so sore you won’t even be able to wear a shirt for a few days, let alone one of those cute dresses.” He was grinning like it was a joke. Just like all of this was a joke. “Then again, you’d probably like that.”

Maybe you answered, maybe you didn’t, Sylvain didn’t seem to care as he adjusted your position, his attention focused on lining himself up. It took a few tries before the blunt tip of his cock caught on your hole, just testing the muscles there before the head popped in. A little sound left your mouth, like you were surprised by the feeling. Part of you marveled at it, in utter disbelief that this was real. That this could possibly happen, that things would descend so far that you would land here.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Sylvain hissed, slowly rolling his hips to ease you into it. You barely recognized his voice. Maybe because of how honest he sounded, the words mean and forceful. He exhaled loudly, pushing the backs of your thighs as he sat up. Your knees were almost touching your chest, and he loomed above you. Without the cover of his body, you were fully exposed to his hungry gaze, and Sylvain did nothing to disguise the ravenous lust in his eyes. Your arms twitched, desperate to cover your chest or hide your face.

“Sylvain?” You meant to be asking for comfort or help or for him to stop or for this to all be revealed as some massive joke played on you, you wanted to beg him to make this make sense. But your voice sounded too high, too breathy. It sounded like a plea for more.

Sylvain groaned as he selfishly thrust all the way in, pulling your hips down at the same time. The unexpected violence hurt, you could feel how deep he was going, how your pussy had to stretch around him. But your body, the traitorous thing that it was, just took it. With how wet he’d made you, how ready you were in the first place, your doubt now didn’t matter. Even the pain wasn’t enough for you to ignore the indescribably hot weight. His cock filled you entirely, reaching places his fingers hadn’t.

“Look how well you take your big brother’s cock,” Sylvain said, taking your legs to put them on his shoulders instead. He rolled his hips and your mouth fell open with a moan, your body straining beneath him. Deep. He was incomprehensibly deep. “What does it feel like?” Sylvain punctuated the question with a thrust. Too hard, doing nothing to ease you into it now. Your objection sounded like a moan though, and then again when he didn’t stop. The slap of skin was painfully crude, although not as bad as the desperate cries you couldn’t keep down. Your fingers twisted into the sheets to keep your arms from instinctively covering your tits as they bounced with the harsh rhythm he was keeping.

“Too… too hard,” you told him, staring at his perfect chest because you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Sylvain asked, twisting your hips back and forth. It made his cock grind against your g-spot and you whimpered, your back arching like a bridge between him and the bed.

“It—ah…”

“Does it feel good?” He did again. You couldn’t think, all you could focus on was that growing tension within you, the heat, the delicious build of pleasure. Now that you knew what it was, chasing it was that much easier, some perverted seal broken by his touch.

“Mmm…”

“Yeah, I’m making you feel good,” Sylvain said, managing to sound cocky even while breathless and mercilessly fucking you. “Say it.”

“You make me feel…feel really… good.”

“Say how good it feels to get fucked by your brother.”

You squinted up at him, that disgusted panic returning. Even now, flushed with exertion and in a half-mad frenzied rut, Sylvain looked amused by your distress, eagerly waiting to see what you’d do. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head. “I-I-I can’t.”

Sylvain grunted. His hand left your hip to draw downwards, and you hoped he was going to touch your clit. Instead, he pressed his palm down flat against your pelvis, right above where you could feel the weight of him entering you. The added pressure made you spasm, your eyes popping open to meet his mirthful gaze. “You’re so easy,” Sylvain told you, like it was funny. “Don’t you want to come?”

Your body kept twitching, your hips pathetically trying to meet his. It was filthy and shameful, but you did. You desperately did. “Please,” you begged.

“Sure. All you’ve gotta do is say it,” Sylvain said, adding a little more pressure, making your cunt squeeze him even tighter. That made it easier for him to hit your g-spot, your legs mindlessly kicking against him every time, your mind frazzled past decency. “Come on, you’re leaking all over me. I know how bad you want it.”

You whined, shame and need warring within you. A losing battle from the start. “It feels…so good,” you gasped out, your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers clawing at his sheets to keep from covering your face. “To get-to get… fucked by my… my brother.”

Sylvain moaned, his other hand digging bruises into your thigh. You whimpered, back arching desperately. “What a disgusting sister I got stuck with,” he got out breathlessly.

“Please,” you begged, ignoring the humiliation in your shameless chase of satisfaction.

“Say that you wanna come on your brother’s cock,” Sylvain demanded, his words losing coherency as fast as you were. It occurred to you, somewhere in the very back where you had abandoned your sanity, that this was making him feel good too. The idea that you gave him pleasure made you whimper, peeking up at his expression with the submissive supplication of prey.

“I wanna… wanna come… on my… my…” A particularly hard thrust cut you off, an overwhelming starburst of raw sensation shaking through you. Violent pleasure. Sylvain muttered encouragement, his big hand pressing down a little harder. He thrust a little harder, a little deeper, and you could have sworn you felt it against his palm as well. “I wanna come on my brother’s cock, please,” you begged, nearly incoherent.

“Yeah, I know,” Sylvain told you, grabbing your hips again to change the angle until you were wailing, your cunt clamping like a vice around him. You could feel yourself approaching that precipice, so desperate for release. A few more hard thrusts, his cock driving hypnotically deep into your dripping pussy each time, deep enough you felt like you could feel him poking his own hand, and you were gone. The paroxysm of pleasure following that wet snap had your body straining and mouth helplessly agape with a silent cry, your body completely malleable for him to use, helpless to do anything other than feel.

“Fuck, that was hot…” Sylvain muttered as you came down, slowing down and pulling out of you with a terribly slick sound. The loss made your pussy clamp down around nothing. Mourning the loss, you couldn’t help but look at his cock. Flushed and hard and glossy. It was difficult to believe it had fit inside of you. “I guess now I know how to make you do what I say.”

You blinked up at him, your eyebrows arching inwards uncertainly, the emotion caught in a strange haze of heat. Insecurity finally found a place in your empty mind and you tried to pull away, covering your chest.

“What did I say?” Sylvain asked, slapping your hands away and pinching your abused nipples. You whined, your body unintentionally arching into the pain. He grabbed your thighs instead, pushing back until you were practically bent in half, his body curling over yours so he could set your legs around his waist.

“What are you…”

“Hold onto me,” Sylvain demanded. He hauled you up so you could throw your arms around his neck, wrapping his own beneath you like a hug.

With your faces so close, you could see how blown his pupils were. Any traces of Sylvain’s playful mask were wiped from his face, replaced by something feral and dark. One of his arms pulled back to align his cock with your entrance again. Starved eyes watched your expression as he slowly sank back into you, right to the hilt. You moaned breathlessly.

“Say it again,” Sylvain told you, his voice low and intense. Your mouth opened and closed, trying to figure out what he meant, what he wanted. Sylvain punished you with a hard thrust, resting more of his weight onto you, enveloping your body with the suffocating embrace. You could only cling tighter to him, entirely at his mercy. “How good it feels,” Sylvain prompted you, his voice unnervingly flat for how breathless it was. “Tell me.”

You shuddered, a reaction he must have felt considering he was all but laying on top of you. “It… it feelss-” you broke off with a moan as Sylvain’s hips rolled. The position changed the angle, new pleasure tempting you, curling up in your core. “Goddess, it feels so-so good… Sylvain.”

“Come on,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be any closer with a human being, even your cheeks were pressed together. Regardless of the sweat or the heat, Sylvain held you flush against him as he worked back up to the rough pace of before, his cock impossibly deep within you. So heavy, so full, your oversensitized pussy squeezing him with the same fervor you had in holding onto his shoulders. “You know what I want.”

Asking you to think while your brain was so overcome with lust and need was cruel of him, trying to recall anything would have been difficult for you in that moment. But your silence earned you a collection of hard, mean thrusts that made you really wail. “It feels… so good,” you said loudly in a desperate attempt to make him stop being so rough, the words stuttering with each hard thrust. “So good to-to get… get fucked by… by my brother.”

Crushed against his chest, you could feel Sylvain groan, feel the way his hips stuttered. “You’re really… really disgusting, you know that?” he asked with a cruel kind of affection, holding onto you tighter and ignoring the way you whined.

Doing what he wanted hadn’t made him slow down. The sound of skin slapping and the bed creaking filled the room. Sylvain fucked you without any regard given to the theater or how you were responding, ignoring the way your body unintentionally jolted and twitched with every thrust. It sounded mean, sloppy. And yet you held onto him with such ferocity that your arms and thighs quaked, moaning as he mouthed at your jaw, and then to your neck, leaving kisses and bites across whatever flesh he could reach.

You didn’t realize you were going to come again until you were already tensing up, squeezing Sylvain with something like panic, trembling and weak as pleasure shuddered through you. He cursed, his arms flexing around you so you couldn’t move as his thrusts became uneven. You felt every noise Sylvain made—every groan, every grunt, every growl—right in your core, making your pussy weakly flutter around him despite how sore the muscles had become, milking him through his orgasm. Breathing hard, his heart racing, Sylvain twitched inside of you, his cock buried deep into your cunt save for a few sharp, shallow thrusts before he stilled entirely.

Then it was just breathing, heat. You could feel that the tension had gone out of Sylvain, his hold on you loosened. Enough, at least, that he could look into your eyes as you sluggishly blinked up at him.

“How are we feeling, gorgeous?” he asked, winded and exhilarated, his red cheeks a match for your own.

You mumbled something incoherent, even to your own ears.

“Yeah?” Sylvain asked indulgently. “You know… you can let go, if you want. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but I’m gonna need a minute before I can do that again.”

Blinking slowly, you released him, dropping onto the bed. Sylvain rolled onto his side, pulling out of you. Like an unstopped bottle, a mixture of your wet arousal and his cum spilled out of your pussy, slicking your inner thighs and staining the sheets with evidence of your depravity. That was very, incredibly, horribly wrong, but your disgust fizzled out before amounting to anything, your brain buzzing on to abstract thoughts. A song they played earlier that night at the ball, the fire’s cheerful crackling, the wind tapping on the window like an unwanted guest. Friends you hadn’t written in too long, a party in Fhirdiad your mother had promised to take you to, the stray cat that hung around the grounds. Anything that wasn’t this, that wasn’t tainted by the icy sickness of shame.

“Are you crying?” Sylvain asked.

Were you?

“Come here,” Sylvain said with a frown, dragging you to lay against him. Both of you were sweaty and filthy, and the hand he used to caress your face smelled like sex, but he clearly didn’t care. His expression was pinched with concern, his eyes warm. “Don’t get all worked up about this, okay? It’s not like you can change it now.”

Cold dread wrung your heart in a vice, reality threatening to tumble through. You hid your face against Sylvain’s chest, squeezing your eyes shut to try and shut it all out. No, you couldn’t change it. Even if you pretended, even if you feigned ignorance, even if you left this cold, terrible place, you couldn’t take it back.

Sylvain wrapped his arm around you, his fingers trailing lightly across your spine. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice rumbling against you. “This was going to happen at some time, you’re lucky your first time was with a guy who wanted to make it special.”

You sniffed, wishing you could shut his voice out.

“I mean it,” Sylvain told you, pulling your face up to look at him. “One day, you’re going to be unhappily married to some jerk who doesn’t care about anything other than your mother’s money and you’ll come crawling back into my bed, begging your big brother to take care of you.” A smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing yours. “But don’t worry, I will. Family should always come first.”

#sylvain jose gautier #fe sylvain #sylvain jose gautier x reader #fe sylvain x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #my writing #not sfw #tw.noncon #tw.incest

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