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kiwisbell · 6 months

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Las Mañanas || Chapter 1 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, javier pines like a mf, FLIRTING, referenced PIV (protection implied), food as sexual tension, angst, so much fluff, some light touching, steve being a little shit, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 8.8k

a/n: HOORAY! it begins! since this is my oldest fic, it lacks some polish, but neverthless!! i'll be posting new chapters every couple days so your dashboards don't get clogged up, but i sincerely hope you enjoy this series!! to my lovely friends who have already read this series and given it so much love, words cannot express how much i appreciate you. to my newcomers, i am kissing you through my screen rn for giving this fic a chance. i hope you like!! xoxo

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia

The café, Las Mañanas, makes stellar coffee. Javier Peña knows this; everyone in Bogotá knows this. That’s why he comes in at seven o’clock every morning and pays 30 pesos for a cup. Black. Then he sits at a table and sips it while he watches her move. He leaves at seven-thirty and clocks in at the Embassy ten minutes later. He does it again the next morning.

Two months ago, he would come in twice a week. Two weeks later, three times. Now, it’s daily. He thinks he might have an addiction, but so does every other bastard in the city. It’s not his fault the coffee wakes him up just right, striking his tired bones like hammers and making him sit upright all day, alert as a rearing cobra.

She’s got eyes like that: bright, sharp. They cut incisions into early-morning brain fog and part the haziness like curtains. Then she sutures the edges with that smile and turns every man in the café complacent, cheery, harmless. Javier goes for the coffee, but it’s nice to look at her. It’s not his fault she’s so nice to look at.

She doesn’t own the place. Her boss is a family friend and doesn’t share her last name; he knew her father, who died. The records don’t say how, and Javier had to sneak out before he could find out more. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be snooping around in records that didn’t have explicit relevance to his job, but he was just being safe.

He knows this because he likes to know things. He’s proactive. It reassures him to know that his thorough background checks on each employee and regular produced nothing of concern, that she’s around safe, innocent people all day. When she brings his coffee to him, she smiles at him, and her eyes shine. He knows that when he leaves for work, she’s safe. It’s real fucking hard to be safe in Bogotá these days.

Javier drinks. The coffee goes down hot, always the same temperature, always strong. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, watches her, lights it. He keeps it in his mouth when she raises her eyes from her notepad at the counter and smiles. From this corner of the café, he has a perfect view of her. She’s relaxing to watch. She walks with a sway to her hips; she bags pastries so delicately it’s like they’re strapped with C4; she writes little notes on her customers’ receipts and her handwriting is impeccable. He keeps his receipts.

She puts her lip between her teeth and worries it, like she’s debating something in her head, pen pausing over paper. Javier narrows his eyes playfully at her, and then she moves. She ties her apron tighter around her waist, tucks her hair behind her ear with the pen, and grabs something from behind the counter before she’s moving. Toward him.

Javier panics for a moment, but he feels stupid when he does. He forces himself to adjust minimally, sitting up straighter and tucking his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. She’s carrying a pastry bag. “Here,” she says, “for when you leave.”

Her honeyed voice seeps bone-deep. They speak in English, but he’s heard her use the local colour with her patrons. “What’s the occasion?” he asks her.

“I want to see how long the poison takes to activate inside a human body.” She thrusts the bag out farther. “It’s a thank-you. Empanadas. New recipe.”

Javier takes it, looks inside. “You poison all your customers, or am I special?” he says, inhaling the fresh burst of warmth. “These smell incredible.”

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“God, no.”

“More coffee?”

He glances at his watch. 7:23. “I can’t,” he says, and it gives him pause when his voice carries a faint whine. “Work.”

She bites her lip again. Instinct tugs his eyes down to it. “You’re certainly the most mysterious customer I’ve ever had.”

He stands up so he can look down at her, puffing at his cigarette. She puckers her lips and blows the smoke away from her face with a teasing glare. “And the only one special enough to try the new recipe for free,” he says lowly. “Isn’t that right?”

She shoves the bag into his chest and rolls her eyes, beckoning him back toward the counter. “Who said it was free?” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. It stops him, stunned, in his tracks.

He comes back the next day. He makes sure to learn her name this time.

At some point in the seven months since he first entered the café, Javier makes a friend.

He does not remember how it happened. His life is not conducive to friendship. But this half-hour routine inside the café doesn’t give a shit about his life. She’s begun to call his name when he steps through the door.

“Javier!” She shimmied around her coworker as she hurriedly untied her apron. He barely had time to open his mouth before she continued, “I took my break early. Now come on, I made churros.”

“Fuck, cariño, I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I met you.”

She just grinned at him and shooed him toward his usual table while she grabbed a plate with two sweet-smelling churros on it. “My father would say that’s a good thing. Go, go!”

He obeyed her without further complaint and put out his cigarette so he could sip at the coffee that was already steaming on his table. She slid into the chair across from him. He knew churros for breakfast were a terrible decision for his digestive system, but he physically could not refuse her. Her leg bounced excitedly when he picked one up and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re fucking magic. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

She grinned and took a bite of her own churro. He noticed she liked to hold her free hand underneath her chin to catch any residue that would make a mess of her apron; preventative measures. She was careful, meticulous. “My father lived in Spain most of his life; he taught my sister and I to cook from the second we were able to walk.” Her head tilted as she watched him eat, her smart eyes travelling in latitudes across his face like she was memorising a script, line by line. “I’m lucky to see other people fall in love with my food the same way I loved his.” She smiled suddenly, warm. “You’ve got churro dust in your moustache, viejo.”

He raised a brow. “You learn enough Spanish for that, huh, smartass?”

The bell above the door chimes when he walks through. She’s tending to a customer at the back of the room, but she looks over her shoulder. Smiles and waves. Gestures with her eyes to his usual table.

His table, which now has a very new, very handmade sign on top of it: RESERVED.

Javier sits down and touches the black ink. It smudges on his finger.

“I almost had to rugby-tackle Jorge for sitting there during his break,” she says when she arrives.

“All this for me?” He clicks his tongue. “Bad for business.”

“You’re a paying customer, viejo,” she says teasingly. “You are business.”

Javier slides his sunglasses off his nose and stares her down, dropping his voice all low and mean. “You better knock that nickname habit quick, baby. Could get you in trouble.”

“More trouble than the man who comes in every morning with a gun in his pants?” She bites her lip when she grins. “I think I’ll be okay. Oh, and here’s your coffee.”

She places a mug in front of him, snatches the RESERVED sign from his hand, and carries it with her to the counter.

“What is it you do at your big, scary, gun-totin’ job, anyway?” she asks as his coffee pours. He’s at the counter, waiting this time, knowing no one’s going to take his table. Not if they know what’s good for them, what with the leopard behind the counter.

Javier lights his cigarette. “Don’t wanna have to kill you.”

She cocks her head. “Can’t kill me, viejo. Who’d make your coffee?” She leans in real close and whispers, “Jorge can’t treat you like I can.”

He does not focus on the way her breath knocks against each knob of his spine.

“Janitorial services,” he blurts out, not so much suavely, “at the Embassy.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know they let janitors carry guns nowadays, but I guess there’s always something new to learn.”

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“My doctor says I’ll never be able to get the smell of coffee out of my nose.”

Javier laughs, plucking the dish rag from her hands so she stops cleaning the counter and looks him in the eye instead. “Gonna need more than that. Tell me something I don’t know, cielito.”

She flushes. “You have to pay extra for that.”

“Then pour one on me,” he says, sliding the coffee pot toward her.

A wicked smile overcomes her face, one she tries to tame by chewing on the inside of her cheek. She spots a customer waving her down, so she turns quickly to Javier and says, “Give me two minutes. Pour it for me.”

He fills the cup she’s just cleaned until it’s almost overflowing.

The first day something goes wrong, Javier is unprepared.

She’s all smiles and flowy skirts when he walks in the door, but he feels out of sorts when he spots the men she’s pouring coffee for—mostly because he recognises them, and they’ve never been in here before.

His heart swoops down into his gut when he remembers where he’s seen their three faces before.

It stings to watch her smile falter when he ignores her familiar greeting for him, pretending like he doesn’t know her. He heads straight for the counter, sits down, waits twenty seconds, and then accidentally knocks a mug to the floor.

A few people idly turn, but it’s her excusing herself to clean up the mess that matters. He lowers himself to the ground with her when she grabs the broom and dustpan. “Keep smiling at me,” he says under his breath. “Don’t let your face change.”

“Javier…” His name is an exhale from her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are involved in some bad shit, and I don’t want you in it.”

To her credit, she does not look at the three men at the table, nor do her eyes widen, her mouth drop. He knows her mind is chewing on this, working it through, judging whether or not she can trust him. At last, still cleaning up the ceramic shards, she asks, “What do I do, Javi?”

That’s his girl. “I need you to take your break until they’re gone. Can you do that for me?”

She breaths out a yes and looks up at him for one brief moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers. “Paying customer, remember?”

“Always and forever, baby. Now go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stands up with the dustpan and thanks him loudly, that bright smile still on her face. She takes the broken mug into the back room, and she does not reappear.

Javier has backup waiting when the three narcos leave, filled with his waitress’s coffee and pastries. Javier stays inside, sipping his own coffee. They won’t know he called for backup. They’ve never seen his face. But they’ll be ambushed once they’re a safe distance from the café, and they’ll go away in handcuffs for the couple kilos of cocaine inside the trunks of their taxis.

Javier comes in the next day and expects her to cuss him out. She’s had every opportunity to call the police, to report him for being somehow involved with bad men, to ban him from her little safe haven. Instead, she just sets down the coffee at his table and shakes her head.

“Janitor, my ass.”

He wishes he could shut his mouth every now and then, but he finds himself telling her the truth about his job before he can think to stop.

He rationalises.

He owes her this much. The strange men may not have harmed her, but in a line of work like Javier’s, people have to learn to be cautious. In his case, he may have been uber-cautious, but his senses become a whirlpool when it comes to her.

She takes it all in stride, same as yesterday. She’s a rapt listener, tuning out the world as he stumbles through the truth, and when he’s done, when he thinks he’s laid out all she needs to know for now, she nods. She understands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, unusually sombre, brushing a knuckle under his chin the way he does her.

“Can’t stand the thought of you mad at me, cielito.” It’s the truth—he thinks he would forsake all his manliness and beg on his knees for forgiveness.

But he doesn’t need to do that with her. “It was scary, Javi,” she says earnestly, “but it would’ve been a lot scarier if you weren’t there, talking me through it.”

He grins up at her where she stands on the other side of the counter. “Any chance that means free churros for life?”

She hums like she’s pondering the thought. “For you, viejo? That’s only two more years at your tender age.”

Javier leans in close to her and glares. “Keep it up, honey.”

She drums her fingers on the side of his mug and smirks. “Plan to. More coffee, Agent Peña?”

She’s talking to another man when Javier walks into the café. He’s average height and muscled, around her age or a bit older, wearing a black leather jacket that matches the beard and hair on his head (the stuff that’s not greying), and he’s speaking rapidly, tautly. She keeps shaking her head, her lips pressed tightly together, furiously wiping down the counter and nudging his elbows away when he tries to set them down. Javier tries to eavesdrop, but they’re speaking too quietly, interrupting one another, so he settles into his chair at the back with his sunglasses still on his nose. And he watches carefully.

He's never seen this man before. He isn’t a customer, and his scowling face was not one Javier had combed through during his dubiously ethical background checks. It unsettles him enough to lean forward in his seat when the man abruptly tears the rag from her hand. Javier instinctively reaches for the gun in his waistband, but he will not fire here. He bites down on his cigarette when she aggressively wipes under her eyes and storms into the back room. Moments later, she emerges with her purse, fishes out a wad of cash, and throws it square at the man’s chest. He leaves once the money is tucked inside his pockets.

Javier approaches the counter with his coffee. She is visibly shaking, but she smiles at him like he’s a relief to see. “Javi,” she says in one long exhale. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might like some company,” he says, setting down his mug.

He doesn’t press her to tell him about what he’s seen, even though he knows she saw him walk in. Her shoulders loosen. “I… I didn’t have time to make you something, Javi.”

Her eyes are watering, and her irises undulate like they’re caught in a swell. Not for the first time in seven months, Javier reaches out and touches her. Lays a hand atop hers and squeezes her fingers. “You’re gonna make me fat, cielito,” he says softly.

She doesn’t let the tears fall. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm.

It’s another month before Javier sees the man again.

Javier has been very good at keeping his life behind a wall, and while it’s obvious she notices, she doesn’t press him. He is profoundly stupid to give her the information he does; he’s told her about his father (she smiles like she’s remembering an old friend), bitched about Murphy (constantly), and told her about his hobbies. He told her that he reads in his spare time, even though nobody expects him to and fucking backwoods-hillbilly Murphy gives him constant shit for it. She knows he likes Tolkien, that he’s a fan of Lewis and Fleming. She gives him shit for reading so many “manly” books, but she laughs while she does it, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

He knows he is older than her. She’s never read Tolkien. He finds himself promising things. He’s going to lend her his copies. He wants to share his interests with her, to watch her face light up with excitement when she tells him how much she loves Marilyn Monroe and Gloria Estefan and Selena.

She moved to Colombia two years ago, but he doesn’t know why. There is the switch. He’s found it: the moment of closure, when her spine stiffens and her smile trembles in an effort to hold on. Everyone has their switches. Javier understands.

But for the first time since he came to Bogotá, he wants to know someone. He wants to get attached. He wants a friend. Why the fuck shouldn’t he have that?

“Javi.”

He looks at her over the rim of his mug. “Hmm.”

She bites down on her smile. “It’s seven-thirty.”

Shit. He says as much, downs the rest of his coffee (she watches him with a raised brow), and begins to haul his jacket over his arm. He’ll have to put it on on the move; he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

The bell above the door chimes.

He’s dressed the same as last time, but Javier knows his clothes are expensive. When he doesn’t see her at the counter, he peers through the employees’ door, then scans the café until he spots her, sitting across from Javier.

He stalks over and goes off immediately. “Whoring around, guapa? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance toward Javier.

She looks more angry than embarrassed. “Nicolás, you need to leave.”

Javier settles back into his seat. No way in fucking hell he’s leaving her alone with him.

His dark eyes blaze at the woman, and he crowds her space, frowning. “I’m not signing.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says calmly, though her skin is stretched over her knuckles as her hands clasp each other.

“You don’t just get to leave me.” The man’s scowl deepens, and when he grabs her by the wrist, she yelps, slapping a free hand over her mouth so nobody notices.

Well, Javier sure as fuck notices.

Last time, he stayed back, let the situation diffuse. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. This time, he doesn’t give a shit.

This time, Javier sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

He stands up and clasps his own hand around the man’s wrist.

“I don’t see you letting her go,” he says gruffly. “Let’s try again.”

“You fucking son of a bitch, trying to tell me what to do with my wife,” grunts the man, letting go of her wrist with a jolt. She stands up and pushes him squarely in the chest.

“I am not. Your. Wife,” she says, spitting a large glob of saliva in his face. “Sign the papers, Nicolás. I don’t love you. I don’t even give a shit about you.”

Nicolás moves like he plans to smack her across the face, but Javier is quick—and itching to knock him unconscious.

The punch cracks his jaw. He howls while the owner emerges from the back room and another customer helps drag Nicolás out the door. They throw him on the street and cuss him out. Javier shrugs on his jacket and sniffs, feeling accomplished.

“Cielito,” he mutters, offering his hand. Trembling (more with rage than fear, he suspects), she holds out her wrist and he gently prods around the area, feeling for disturbances. She winces, but it will only bruise. Still—

“I should have been faster.”

“Javier,” she whispers. “Don’t start.”

He lets out one frustrated sigh through his nose and nods. “Is it a judgment against your character if I say you married a complete fucking asshole?”

She laughs softly, like sad little bells. “Wasn’t my choice in the first place.”

He frowns down at her. “Cielito—”

“You’re already late for work, Javi. They’re gonna chew you out.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing a knuckle over her chin. “I’ll lay on my charm.”

She hums. “Maybe you’re the asshole, Javier Peña.”

It’s been a year since he met his waitress. Tonight, for the first time, he pictures her face to make himself come.

He’s in the shower when it happens. Standing under the stream of hot water, he's unable to quell the image that bubbles up in his hindbrain. He imagines her lips around him as he hardens, and when he takes himself in his hand and juts out his hips roughly, he grunts, pretending he’s pushing past the seal of her pretty lips. Her face—so beautiful, so smiling and kind—sweaty and ruined, more radiant than ever. Her body: its curves and its delectable softness, its taste like coffee beans and flowers, if he can imagine it. The tempting, unknowable skin under that waitress’s uniform. He wants to make her feel good. He wants to lick every inch of her, savour every drop of her wetness when he gets her ready to take him. Tangy sweetness, twilight and the calm of the water at dusk. Flashes of teeth, lips, skin.

That's it, baby. You can take me. I’ll make you feel good.

Javier… A rush of breath, the distant cry of a swan over the water. Please.

He doesn’t think until he’s spilling over his hand and the wall, harder than he’s come in a long time, of how wrong this is. How wrong of him to imagine a claim on her body, her life. Underneath the steaming hot water, his mind sharpens. He wants her, and he feels so filthy for it.

He turns up the heat some more and lets himself scald.

Seeing her in the little café after fucking himself to the thought of her naked is a surreal experience. He’s never even seen the more intimate areas of her; she wears an apron and a dress, and he can only ever see her knees, her arms, her collarbones. But now he wants to trace them with his fingers, watch them hollow out when she inhales, watch the curve in her throat as she swallows and sighs. He wants to get on his knees and lift up her dress so he can make her fall apart on his tongue. He’s fucked everything up.

Him and his stupid goddamn dick.

“I’ve figured it out,” she says triumphantly, sitting down at his table across from him. There’s a cup of coffee for both of them; he figures she’s taken her break. Which means she likes to spend this half-hour with him. Which means she likes him.

“What have you figured out?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses further down his nose to peer at her.

“That DEA disguise might work for you, but I see all.” She reaches for his glasses and puts them on her own face, pantomime-lighting a cigarette. “You’re a spy, Agent Peña,” she says mischievously.

He really, truly, desperately wants to kiss her.

The sunglasses slip down her face, so he pushes them onto the top of her head. Stares her in the eyes. “You got me, honey. What are you gonna do, huh? Lock me up?”

“How much money can I get for a spy?” she muses. “Guess it depends how good you are.” Her eyes narrow when a grin slithers up the corner of his mouth. “Javier, do not—”

“Oh, I’m very good,” he says, toasting his cup of coffee.

With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her own cup in toast, and takes a sip. The sight of her lips on the rim while she meet his eyes is enough to make Javier wish he owned looser jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Her eyes ask the same question, but she phrases it sweetly, the way she always does. She’s a fucking tonic to his bones and the reason he’s so goddamn tense. “Blinking is very important, you know.”

He does just that, clearing his vision and letting her come back into sharp focus. The morning sunlight adorns her skin like jewellery. She’s a vision. Even someone with a single sense out of the five could tell how beautiful she is, but it doesn’t make his life any easier. It doesn’t lower his heart rate, doesn’t cool him down, and it definitely doesn’t help the tightness in his pants.

He fucks his hand in a bathroom at the Embassy, and then he brings an informant home and fucks her, too. He makes sure she enjoys it when she’s on her hands and knees, because all he’s doing is picturing his waitress. He hates himself for the way it makes him grasp her a bit tighter, pump her a bit harder: imagining her syrupy whines, her flushed chest, her smooth skin all for him. He tunes out the noises she makes and pretends it's her. When he makes her come, he pictures her brows scrunching up, her eyes squeezing shut when she can't take the pleasure he gives her. He’d make his girl real happy, make her satisfied and dazed and fucking drooling.

Javier completes the transaction and cleans up in the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, at his dishevelled hair and his tired eyes. Sex didn’t help.

She’s still in his blood. She’s in his system for good.

He doesn’t want a quick fuck. He wants her: his friend, his secret. His girl, whether she knows it or not.

The next day, she’s working on the books when he comes up to the counter, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, so engrossed she doesn’t even notice he’s arrived until he sits down.

She’s so fucking cute, he thinks, with her glasses and her thinking face, brows pinched together. But she smiles up at him like always. “Good morning, Javier.”

His mind is really a bastard, feeding him flashbacks of last night's wet dream. On her knees, taking him so well, so perfect, on her back while he left marks that would let everyone know she'd been fucked and who’d done it, on top of him, writhing and gasping and collapsing next to him. In his dream, he kissed the top of her head, laced their fingers together, and mumbled how well she’d done until they both fell asleep.

“Morning,” he says. “Don’t you have people for that?”

She huffs. “We’re short-staffed. Which means there’s me, one other cook, and Jorge. So I’m stuck making sure we won’t get audited.”

Javier whistles lowly. “Jorge’s got a real soldier working for him.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. He likes making her nervous. “Maybe if you say that to his face, he’ll give me a raise.”

“You need money?”

Fucking moron, he thinks. Way to scare her off. Her eyes widen, but then she’s saying, “Oh, Javi, no. I’m doing all right. I promise. Just some… marital strain.”

His jaw may snap off if he clenches it any tighter. He can’t meet her eyes when he asks, “He been bothering you?”

It doesn’t piss him off that she’s married. She hates the guy, never wants to see him again. She’s been trying to get him to sign the divorce papers for over a year. What pisses him off is that any mention of her husband sucks her cheer away like blood from a wound. Javier has a real problem with someone making her frown.

She rests her cheek in her palm. “Every time I try to pay him off, he comes back saying it wasn’t enough, that he can’t afford a lawyer. Which is bullshit, by the way. He makes a hell of a lot more than me.”

“What does he do?”

She shutters off again, looks back down at her books. “It’s not a moral sort of work.”

Javier would know all about that.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, whirling around, the glimmer in her eye back again. “I forgot—I made you something.”

His chest feels tight. “ Bonita—”

She slides the books aside and places down a piece of blueberry pie. “You can’t say no,” she says, producing two forks, “because I’m helping you eat it.”

He’ll prod about her shitty husband later. For now, Javier enjoys the half-hour he has with her. They finish the pie in minutes.

Steve Murphy is a dick.

Javier knows it was a mistake to bring her up to him, because now Murphy has forgotten all his paperwork for the night, and he’s got his eyes set on making his partner’s life hell.

“Does she know you got those narcos arrested a few weeks ago?”

“She’s not stupid, Steve.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes.”

“Is that because you told her, or because you stole her personal file?”

“Murphy, if you don’t shut up—”

“You’re not fucking her, are you?”

For some reason, that pisses him off the most. Javier grits his teeth. “Knock it off.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Jesus, Javi.” When he leans back in his chair, he’s still watching Javier with a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You really aren't.”

Javier puffs his cigarette and tries not to fly across his desk at his partner. “And how do you know that?”

“’Cause if you didn’t respect her so damn much, you wouldn’t get all defensive.” Murphy whistles lowly. “You’re so fucked, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t look up from his typewriter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You don’t wanna fuck any random girl.” Murphy hides his mocking laugh with his hand. “You want to fuck your friend.”

Javier flicks his cigarette and it smacks Murphy in the cheek. “Pendejo.”

Murphy’s still laughing when Javier grumbles about going somewhere. He doesn’t even know where he’s planning to go, but it’s his lunch break and he needs fresh air. He definitely doesn’t want to linger on the reality that Murphy is right.

There’s a market across the street and down a block from the Embassy, which itself is a block away from the café. It’s not strange that she’s there, tediously browsing apples like choosing the wrong one will poison her customers, but Javier’s heart still kicks up, watching her as he waits for the traffic to clear.

She’s real fucking pretty in the daylight. Her hair is down, no longer in its clean ponytail, and the breeze picks it up like it’s watching her, too. She smiles at the vendors she passes; some call out to her, trying to sell or flirt. Javier crosses the street and gets giddy at the thought of seeing her outside.

He strolls up behind her and watches her inspect an apple. “If you stare any harder, it’ll wither.”

A little gasp leaves her mouth. “Javi!” she says brightly, eyeing him without a modicum of shame, her hand over her brows to shield herself from the sunlight. “So this is how you look in the light.”

She’s dressed in a flowy skirt that forms around her thighs when a breeze rolls by, and her shirt shows more of her cleavage than he’s ever seen before. He knows she notices his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t particularly care to look away. Watching her roll her eyes above his sunglasses delights Javier to no end. “You’ll get arrested walking around like this, cariño,” he says, leaning in real close and feeling her shiver when his breath reaches her ear.

She steps backward and holds onto the lapel of his jacket. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Javier, do it while you help me shop. I don’t have all the time in the world like you and your fellow superheroes.”

It only spurs him on. He lifts the canvas tote off her shoulder. “Fine by me,” he says. “What are the apples for?”

“Pie,” she says, picking two more apples from the cart. “You ever bake?”

“I cherish my place too much; don’t wanna see it burn down.” He steps in front of her when she reaches into her pocket to pay the vendor, slapping his own pesos into the man’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand and smiles at him in thanks. He lets her put the apples in the bag. “You want to teach me?”

Her face glows at the thought. “You’d really want to learn?”

It feels so good to make her happy that Javier doesn’t give a shit if Murphy finds out he offered to bake with this girl. “Will you put your hands over mine to show me how to knead the dough?”

Her hand trails across his stomach when she passes him. “Anything you want, honey,” she says.

Javier feels like he’s in high school again. He shuts his eyes for a moment to reset his brain, since the imprint of her hand on him shut it off. When his eyes are open again, she’s three vendors away. Javier scrambles to catch up with her. “So,” he says, “come here often?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” she says. “You and your big, scary bloodhounds.”

“They only allow one bloodhound for a partner, and he’s pissing me off. Besides, how could I just let you walk around by yourself out here? It’s dangerous.”

She pokes him in the stomach. “You’re the dangerous one, Peña.”

She stops between two vendors’ carts and stares up at him with her hands on her hips. For a moment, Javier worries he’s in trouble, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologise, when she asks, “Are you free tonight?”

It is frankly humiliating how fast he blurts out a yes.

“Good,” she says plainly. “I’ll teach you how to bake.”

Javier is practically salivating when he arrives at her door for dinner. There are two reasons for it.

One: whatever she’s cooking smells incredible. It’s a lot fucking nicer than the shit he eats at home—on the rare nights he remembers to eat after all the long nights at work.

Two: she’s dressed in loungewear. It’s a pair of shorts and a too-large sweatshirt. It should not make him half-hard. But she’s adjusting the bun on top of her head when she opens the door and beams at him and Christ, he’s going to be lucky if he lasts the night without excusing himself to his car to relieve his situation like a horny teenage boy.

A grin splits her face, and she leans on the door. “You brought flowers.”

He did. He thrusts them out in front of him and grimaces, his face warm. “You like lilies.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that holds the bouquet of white flowers, “I do. Come in, Javi.”

He thinks of himself as a gentleman where it counts, so he bites his tongue when he takes in the state of her apartment. She isn’t messy—she’s clearly done her best to keep up appearances, despite the fact there are leaks bleeding down the walls and peeling wallpaper and her bed is mere feet from the puny bathroom. Javier feels suddenly embarrassed by his own swanky place, set up for him by the DEA. He’s hit with a burst of cold air when he enters the room, and she crosses the room, flowers in hand, to fiddle with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry it’s so chilly,” she says sheepishly. “This thing needs fixing. Unless the problem is behind the wheel.” She tries to dial the heat up by two degrees, but the dial falls off and lands next to her feet. She just sighs. “You ever go undercover as a handyman, by any chance?”

He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The broken chain lock worries him; there’s nothing but the lock on the door to stop someone from breaking in, and picking this sort of lock is too simple. “I don’t go undercover,” he tells her, “but I can smack your landlord around.”

She hums. “They’ll trace it back to me. Gotta be careful about those things, Peña. There should be a vase in that cupboard behind you.”

He finds it, fills it with water (which sputters for a while before it runs), and places it on the dining table (barely big enough for two). She places the flowers inside and smiles fondly. “You have an eye for décor.”

“Wrong,” says Javier, “I have an ear, and it listens to what the woman likes.”

She swats him gently in the chest. “Flattery doesn’t excuse you from helping the woman in the kitchen. Get an apron on those hips.”

Javier decides he hates baking. But she makes it tolerable.

His job is full of tedium. He likes to leave that behind in his personal life. She’s so easy to be around, to talk to. He likes leaving the Embassy, leaving behind the narcos, and knowing she’ll be the first person he talks to the next morning. There’s no politics, no bureaucracy, no bullshit with her. He trusts her.

Baking is tedious as shit. It’s precise, all about waiting, timing, and the end result is only good if you’ve worked like hell for it. It’s too much like work.

She has flour on her nose, and he lifts his thumb to wipe it away. The look she gives him makes him forget why he hates baking.

Javier tried to knead the dough for the pie crust but ended up treating it like an interrogation suspect, so she did as promised and placed her hands over his. He remembers her cheek resting against his arm as she leaned around him, felt her breasts on his back, her impossibly soft hands, her warmth.

“Be nice to it,” she whispered. “We don’t want our food to bite back.”

“It’s delicious, Javi,” she says, finishing her last bite of the apple pie. They made it, together. Javier is proud of that no matter how much sweat he wasted slaving over that oven. “Worth all the pain and swearing?”

“Fucking malparido,” he hissed. She whipped around, eyes wide. He rubbed his elbow. “Burned myself.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wetting a cloth with cool water and wrapping it around his arm. She was always quick to react, quick to soothe. “¿Mejor? (Better?)”

He liked the way Spanish rolled off her tongue. It was sweet and smooth, not quite fluent but proficient enough to fake it. He grinned down at her. “Eres demasiado buena para mi, bebita (You’re too good to me, baby).”

She looked away and he pretended not to notice her smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”

It is a damn good pie.

He’s still in her apartment four hours later, and she hasn’t given him a hint she wants him gone. It’s the longest he’s spent at a woman’s home without getting into bed with her. Sure, he wants to, but Javier’s content here, on her small sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

“So. Want to tell me how you ended up working in a café in Bogotá, married as far down as someone can possibly go?”

She shoves him lightly. “Don’t rub it in, Javier.”

“Just can’t get my head around a guy like that marrying a woman so far out of his league. You’re you, cariño. He’s—”

“A moron?”

“You said it, honey.”

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Javi, I trust you. I honest-to-God trust you more than I’ve let myself trust anyone in a long time.”

He lifts a brow and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “That’s a good start.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I came to Colombia to help take care of my sister. She was sick. Nicolás approached me one night while I was out for her medication. He offered me work, told me it would pay more than anywhere could. I was desperate and stupid enough to buy it.”

Javier doesn’t like where this is going. Still, he places a hand atop her knee and lets her continue. “He turned me into a whore, Javi. I don’t care about that, not really. It paid, it gave me work. But the things he would make me do…” She breathes in harshly, like the memory pains her. “He made me believe he loved me. I married him, and my sister died anyway.

“My brother-in-law is a lawyer. When I served the papers, Nicolás took all the money and ran off. He only started coming back a few months ago, trying to make me believe he’s broke.”

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. His rage, horror, and sadness are a cocktail in his aching head. Her husband was her pimp. He forced her into sex with men and then put her money in his pocket. Javier wants to act—he needs to help her, to pull strings with folks outside the DEA and get the asshole to sign the papers. If not, a restraining order could work. But there are tears falling down her cheeks, and Javier’s plan of action retreats to the back of his mind. He smooths back her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, nearly chokes out, voice strained. “Thank you.”

She sniffles. “I can see your wheels turning, Javi. What are you thinking?”

“I know how it feels to be trapped in a marriage,” he tells her. She frowns.

“You were married?”

“Nearly,” he amends. “The kid wasn’t mine.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, like that’s all the explanation she needs. “We’ve both been truly fucked over, huh?”

He lifts his glass in toast. “That we have.”

She clinks their glasses together. “To making bad decisions.”

He chuckles. “I can toast to that.”

“Like… none?” Steve peers at him from across their desks. It’s times like these Javier hates being forced to sit right in the bullpen with Murphy. “None at all? How long?”

“You wanna play this game, Murphy? Really?” Javier glares. “When’s the last time you got fucked by your wife, huh?”

Murphy throws a pen at him, but Javier catches it. “Don’t talk about my wife, Peña. And since you’re curious, last night.”

Well, fucking good for Steve Murphy. Javier hasn’t cared to get in bed with a woman for weeks; even in the weeks before that, the sex was nothing inspiring, nothing good enough to make him forget about how badly he wants his waitress’s sweet body beneath him.

“Fuck your hand later, man,” says Murphy, “we got doors to knock on.”

Javier rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sitting this one out. Got another lead to look at.”

Murphy grunts. “Sure. Make sure you pay her well.”

“Fuck you.”

Javier waits outside the unassuming house, drumming his fingers beneath the driver’s side window with his sunglasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. He has triple-checked the address, memorised the routine of the man he’s watching, but it still unnerves him when he finds himself waiting for a long damn time for him to emerge.

When he does, Javier steps out of his car and walks right up to him. “Nicolás.”

The man curses when he sees Javier, surging forward. “You want to assault a DEA agent?” Javier challenges, choosing Spanish. “I just want to talk.”

“You assaulted me, you son of a bitch,” says Nicolás. “She send you?”

“No. But you’re going to sign the papers.”

Nicolás scoffs. “Just because you’re fucking my wife—”

Javier itches to pull his gun and press it to the asshole’s forehead until he shits himself in fear. “I’m not fucking your wife,” he says, “but it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

Nicolás snarls. “I’m not signing the papers.”

Javier feels dirty when he reaches inside his vehicle and pulls out the divorce papers he stole from her bedside table. Nicolás’s brows come down in a furious line. “This is coercion,” he says.

“It’s a warning.” Javier’s patience is waning. “She’s not going to be nice forever, and neither am I. I won’t lose sleep if you go to jail.”

“Let me tell you something,” says Nicolás. “I own her. I have owned her from the moment she signed her contract and I will own her even if she’s not my wife. I have shit on her that will destroy any chance she has at a life, a career. You’ll have to do a lot better than fucking divorce papers.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, but he’s already tucked away the information he needs. He’s going to get her out.

That night, she shows up at his home.

Javier opens the door when a soft knock sounds. He’s not expecting anyone, which is why his gun is tucked into his waistband.

Her face is puffy with tears, and Javier is on red alert. His hairs stand on end and he steps into the hallway, crowding her gently so he can place his hands on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles when he touches her. “Oh, cielito,” he murmurs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shivers. It’s raining outside, and she’s soaked to the bone, her pretty skirt clinging to her thighs and her knit cardigan a blanket of sopping fabric. He knows she doesn’t have a car, that she walks everywhere, but he feels like an asshole for not tracking her down and picking her up anyway. “Went to the Embassy,” she says, teeth chattering. “I found your friend Steve; he gave me your address.”

“Oh, shit, honey.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

She tries to laugh, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Javier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Javier ushers her inside and she stands timidly on the mat while he closes the door behind them. “C’mon, take your shoes off. Can I…?” She nods, and he helps her shrug off the heavy wet cardigan while she slips off her tennis shoes, still hesitant about stepping onto his hardwood floors. “A little water never hurt me, honey. I don’t pay for this place. C’mere, I’ll get you some clothes.”

She holds herself reserved and taut as she follows him, but does not step beyond the threshold into his bedroom. He roots through his closet and refuses to look at the bed. Javier does not let himself imagine her lying there, both of them rolling around in hazy desire, morning laziness, and close talks while squinting against the morning sunlight. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old, shitty sweatshirt emblazoned with Texas A&M spirit. She smiles down at it and says in a wrecked voice, “It’s gathering cobwebs, viejo.”

He wants to fire something back about her smart mouth, but he doesn’t have the heart. Not when she’s crying. “You can change in here,” he says. “I’ll make you some coffee. That okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll make some for myself, too. How about that?”

Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

He leaves her just as she’s beginning to pull off her shirt, and he warns his heartbeat to settle before working on the coffee pot. Javier doesn’t let himself think much when he’s working. He tries to get the job done, accomplish what’s necessary. If he thinks… Well, if he thinks, he’ll think about why she’s crying. He’ll wonder what happened to her that was so bad she didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’ll want to track whoever did this to her down and the things he’ll do to them will be horrific enough to land him in jail, let alone fired. No. He’ll make coffee. He will assure that she’s comfortable. He will not—

Fuck.

Javier’s brain goes blank, like he’s wiped all the chalk off the board, when she emerges wearing his clothes. Her feet are bare, the sweatshirt too big, her arms hugging herself as she pads over to him. It’s almost domestic; it’s his fucking dream, seeing her in his home like this, and he can’t enjoy it because she’s in trouble.

He hands her a mug and waits for his brain to restart. They sit together on his sofa and she watches him for a while, scanning his face.

He doesn’t realise until a minute passes that he’s fucked up. Royally.

Her gaze is soft. “I don’t blame you, Javi. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and curses at himself in Spanish. “I… Fuck, I just wanted to help. I promise you.”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “I know,” she says. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy, “he did.”

She shuffles closer, and he can feel her fresh warmth, smell her dewy hair, watch her irises shimmer in the dim light. He clenches her hand tighter. “I’m okay,” she says, reassuring him even though he’s the one who brought the wrath of her husband down upon her. “Just had to see you.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Knocked on my door and told me off for getting involved with a hijo de puta like you.” She smiles wryly, looking down at their joined hands. “His words. Then he told me you showed up at his house, threatened him.”

He tries a joke and feels even more rotten inside for it. “Couldn’t help it. He’s easily threatened.”

Now, as the initial panic subsides, Javier begins to think.

There isn’t a noise inside his home besides the sound of their breathing. He’s wearing jeans, a button-up, and he still feels like he’s on fire. She’s on his fucking couch. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s sipping his coffee, and she’s so close to him her arm brushes against him whenever she shifts. Her face is a foot away from his; there are little specks in her eyes, tear tracks on her face; she parts her lips to say something, and his ears begin to ring. He needs her. He needs her close.

Javier cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb along her chin. She leans into his touch like it’s the most natural thing he could do, like they aren’t crossing a hundred lines. Both of the mugs are set down on the coffee table. She turns her body to face him, looking up at him with doe’s eyes, and his entire body hums for her.

“He knows, Javier.” Her voice is a whisper. “He knows what you mean to me. He said if I don’t start working for him again, he’ll kill you.” She licks her lips, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her eyes are welling up again. “I can’t…”

“Shh, cielito.” He wants her out of her head, wants his girl back. He drops his voice, too, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Gonna get you out of this.”

She’s butter beneath him, soft and sighing. “Javi, I—”

“I know.” His other hand slips around her hip, fingers teasing the skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. She’s so soft.

He drinks in her little gasp. “We can’t—”

“I know.” He brings his hand forward, pressing gently into the small of her back and enjoying the way her warm body curves to him. He slides his hand back around the curve of her waist, memorising, relishing, making a map of the places he wants to explore.

She whimpers when his hand leaves her skin, only to rest between her hip and thigh. “He’ll use it against me.”

“I know, baby.” She’s close enough now that he can brush his lips to her temple in the mere suggestion of a kiss. “We’re gonna do this right,” he says, trailing his hand back up her side so he can grab her other hand and squeeze. “Hey? You and me.”

She nods fervently. “You and me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says into her ear.

“What do I do?”

“It’s already done. I just need you to do the final step for me.”

She traces her fingers along his jawline and he feels the tremor through his spine. He’s at home, here, melting under her touch. He nudges the pads of her fingers with his nose, and she smiles at him like he saved her life. “Anything,” she whispers.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

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miinatozakiii · 8 months

Note

heyy loved the teacher fic!!! idk if u were open to writing a smut chapter but I’d love to read how sana’s a sweet kindergarten teacher by day, freak in the sheets by night ;) the kiss scene was so well written, so hot but so sweet!! Also loved the part about Sana admiring the tattoos

In any case, I’m excited to read more Sana fics from you, whatever the plot!

sweet nothings

wife!sana x fem!reader

summary: comfy, heated mornings are the best way to start the weekend.

wc: 1.9k

warnings: fluff ; smut ; cursing ; mentions of food

a/n: hi hi anons, thank you for your kind words! i was writing this little drabble for sana and it had smut and fluff, I figured it would fit both your requests. (also, to the second anon, I'm not too good with headcanons and whatnot so I hope this is alright with you.)

also, first time posting something more intimate, lmk how you guys like it.

sana is usually the first to wake up, it isn’t any different this morning.

she’s cuddled up against you, her arm draped across you and her hand on your waist. sana has one of your legs trapped between hers, as if you were one giant teddy bear, and your other free leg is sprawled out on the queen-sized bed. your hand rests on her forearm as you sleep, and sana has her head on your other arm near your shoulder while your hand rests on her own shoulder.

sana takes in the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine as she lazily breathes against your chest, it’s a refreshing smell and it really suits you, she thinks.

she lazily pulls herself closer to your body, trying to steal the warmth that you radiate, because it's unusually cold for some strange reason, but she's too lazy to turn off the fan that is spinning above on the lowest setting, or pull the blanket that sits messily on the two of you to cover her fully.

a small mumble escapes your lovers' lips, more like a faint hum as she nuzzles her nose into the crook of your neck, which seems to make you shift in your slumber a bit. your hand that's on sana's shoulder pushes the woman closer to you, and your other hand moves to her cheek, rubbing softly instinctively.

sana smiles at the feeling, and she's slowly waking up while you seem to be falling into a deeper sleep.

you two lay there for a bit longer – it's a saturday morning after all.

sana decides that it's time to get up fifteen minutes later, or at least when she's a little more awake.

she moves away a bit and a groan escapes your lips, sana giggles softly. she makes her way over to your cheek, trailing kisses down to where your pulse point is, and down to your collarbone with the tattoo that's exposed from your oversized t-shirt sana had gifted you for your birthday a couple months ago.

you roll over and your eyes stay shut,

"sana..." you mutter, "five... minutes...?"

"baby, it's almost eleven."

"it's saturday..." you sigh, blindly reaching for her as she lifts herself off of you.

sana looks at you, and she swears she falls a little more in love.

your cheek is mushed into the pillow after you had rolled over, and she thinks you're so damn cute she's going to lose it if she can't make out with you soon.

sana decides to give you a peck on the forehead, your cheek, and your lips – only to pull the blanket away from you after.

"sana!" you gasp. your eyes are open now, and you're rubbing at them while groaning dramatically, sana laughs at you with your disheveled hair, eyes squinted, and the sight of you in only the t-shirt and panties because you were too lazy to fully change back last night.

you pout and she just laughs at you again, "come on baby we gotta get up."

"how are you not tired? you came like, five times, at least," you say with annoyance, though you're pretty proud at how nice and pleasing it was to have her lose herself to you the night prior.

sana hits you with a pillow, "and I still have more energy to get up lazy bum! come on, I'm hungry!" she whines. you scoff lightheartedly and throw the pillow at her face, using that as a distraction and quickly pinning her down on the bed,

it's a swift movement, a short moment, but sana already feels the familiar aching feeling between her legs.

"mmm, me too," you mumble, looking down at her trapped between your hands, and your right leg is in between her legs just barely making contact with her sweet spot. you bite your lower lip slightly, and sana already pulls you closer.

you both smile into the kiss, even laughing in between.

it isn't long before you trail your kisses down to her jawline, to the crook of her neck, making sure to nibble at the spot that always has her gasping. she's already panting and you lick and nip at her neck a bit more, just before pulling away quickly to slip her shirt off.

the shirt she had been wearing belonged to you, it was easy to slip off and you already had access to all of her after it was off. the marks that you had given to her were still present all over her, damn... you marked her good.

"i thought you would've at least put your panties back on," you laugh,

"oh shut up," she responds.

you laugh again before getting back to work.

your first thought is to immediately make your way to her tits, and so you do. your lips land on her left nipple, and a sharp moan is heard from sana as soon as you do so. your right-hand plays with her other tit, groping it, squeezing it – just the touch of your hands and fingers on her chest is enough for her to lose herself in the moment.

she's gasping, she's groaning, and it's the best fucking way to start a saturday morning.

you toy with the right tit again, and then it feels right for you to go at it with your tongue. sana is whimpering at the feeling, gripping at your already messy hair, making it even worse, but it's worth it because the feeling is just so damn amazing.

your lips and hands work at her chest for a while, but now you're craving something sweeter. and so, your tongue makes its way down sana's tummy slowly, swirling around her sensitive areas that make her twitch in surprise, sucking and nipping at them to make her call out your name out of breath.

sana's body is like a monument, like a piece of art, something that takes time to really savor fully. it's something you admire, love, cherish, and devote your all to.

you make your way down the beauty that you're so glad to call your lovely wife of two years, and the familiar sight of her center is right in front of you. you plant slow, sensual kisses on the inside of her thighs, her back arches a bit and you smile.

"baby, please." she whines, "need your mouth."

"mhm."

your tongue comes into contact with her clit, and her hand shoots back to your hair, pushing you deeper her head sinks into the pillows, eyes closing. she's losing herself to you and you're losing yourself as you go down on her, just as it has always been.

you've been sucking on her clit for a bit now, and your fingers have been assisting by plunging into her as you lash your tongue against her pussy.

"god, fuck- oh my god... baby i'm-" sana can barely make out a proper sentence, she's trying to encourage you and it's really fucking difficult while you're going at her like that.

if the neighbors didn't hear the two of you fucking for hours last night, they're definitely going to notice the way sana sounds when she completely comes undone.

her hips are grinding into your mouth, bucking towards you, and by the way her breathing gets heavier and the way she repetitively mutters your name, she's about to cum soon.

your fingertips tighten around her thighs, and you lash your tongue against her walls, and give her that last feeling on her clit that makes her moan so loudly you might actually get a complaint from your neighbors; i mean, it wouldn't be the first time.

sana's whole body jerks a bit, and she's trembling the same way she had last night when she had reached her high. she lets her body relax into the bed, breathing heavily again and closing her eyes as you taste the rest of what she had offered from her climax.

you pull away and wipe your lip with your thumb, looking at your wife with admiration and care as her heavy breaths return to her normal breathing pace. she's lying on the bed and motioning for you to make your way back to her. she kisses you messily, and she hums as she tastes herself off your lips. sana hums in satisfaction.

"oh now you're tired?" you tease, looking at the beautiful, disheveled sana before you. she nods with a stupidly cute smile, and you can't help but plant another kiss on her lips.

sana wraps her arms around your neck, lazily deepening the kiss as your tongues explore the familiar setting they're in. you pull away for a brief moment to mumble against her lips, "let's wash up?"

"one more kiss," she whispers,

"anything for you, lovely."

sana does some persuading (she kisses you on the lips once) and manages to convince you to carry her to the living room.

you set her down so she can lean against the counter, and the high(s) from last night and twenty minutes ago seem to take a toll on her as her legs tremble slightly. you snicker and she hits your shoulder playfully.

"you need crutches?" you joke, looking at her with hearts in your eyes.

"yeah, and i'll poke you with them if you keep it up."

"sorry, sorry love." you chuckle, and you make your way over to put a hand on her cheek, the other hand just above her waist. "anything my lovely wife would like for breakfast?"

"mmm i think it's a little too late for breakfast." sana giggles, staring at your lips, "but~ maybe waffles?"

"anything for you." you smile.

it doesn't take you long to whip up some waffle batter, your signature mochi flour waffles – one of sana's favorites. you make four waffles, two for each of you. sana makes some tea and cuts up some bananas, apples, and takes out some of the honey from the fridge.

you put two of the waffles on one of the two plates that sana holds, and the other two on the other.

"thank you chef." sana says before pecking you on the cheek.

"mmm I think the chef deserves another."

"maybe at the table." she says, and you pout before she rolls her eyes and gets on her tip toes to peck your forehead.

you two sit at the table in your shared apartment after sana finishes putting the fruit in a seperate bowl and adding honey to the waffles – extra honey on your waffles, just how you like it.

you hum as you sit down with sana, reaching for the utensils and handing her some of her own before she kisses your cheek again.

"I love you." she murmurs.

"i love you more." you respond.

"never." sana argues.

"you wish."

sana rolls her eyes again before you poke at the waffles on her plate, cutting a piece for and feeding it to her. she melts as she chews on the piece, you laugh at her and you feel so content, there's a warmth in your heart as you watch her.

you two eat together, a few words exchanged while you devour the breakfast made, and moments like these remind you why you keep breathing and living – it's all for her.

sana's face is so bare, and theres something about her cozy state that makes you fall in love with her all over again.

– there's a sudden knock at the door that breaks you out of your little daydreaming, sana turns to you with her left cheek a bit puffed out due to the food she's been chewing. you shrug and tell her to wait there, making your way over to the door.

there's a familiar face, the annoying old guy that lives next to you – he looks pissed.

"sana," you start, "it's the neighbors."

"not again."

#twice x reader #anon asks #anon #sana x reader #kpop x reader #twice sana #twice imagines #sana imagines #sana smut #twice smut #twice fluff

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angelrari · 2 months

Text

gossip girl · pt. xvii

based on the tv series gossip girl

max verstappen / charles leclerc x socialité!reader

fc: elsa hosk (y/n) · taylor hill (léa) · barbara palvin (jolie)

a/n: hi! i'm so, so happy for the responses and the interactions the last chapter had!!! also i've hit +800 followers!!! it's insane to think so many people are reading this story. thank you so, so much!! here's a new part for you, hope you like it!🤍

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gossip girl here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of monaco's elite.

joliedebelle

liked by arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc and 102.223 others

joliedebelle karma is a cat purring in my lap cause it loves me.

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yourusername ily

username the quote, the caption, y/n in the third picture... this confirms it's over i'm SCREAMING

username jolie please breathe if y/n and max are done

joliedebelle liked this comment

username oh mY GOD

· · · · ·

"what a fucking idiot". jolie said, rolling her eyes as you explained to her and lily how your relationship with max ended.

"jolie". you stopped her. "it's my fault".

"i am not saying otherwise, i am saying he's a fucking idiot and i stand by that". she replied. "also, seeing another girl the right after you break up? that's suspicious".

"yeah, i agree, you just don't happen to meet somebody else right after you break up with your partner...". lily said. "do you have the picture that gossip girl posted?". she asked to jolie and she nodded, quickly searching it on her phone.

"here it is!".

"let me see". lily said as she grabbed jolie's phone. "wait... i know her, i met her a few months ago. she's léa's friend. if i remember correctly her name is zoe".

"wait". jolie said as she starred at the picture. her eyes widened as memories came to her mind. "oh my god, now i remember it! i thought her face was familiar because i thought i had seen her somewhere around here, but no, she was in abu dhabi, i saw her at the club! she came with léa".

"now that's suspicious". lily declared. "do you think they met that night?".

"nah". jolie replied. "max was with the drivers all night, he must've known her from before".

"girls". you stopped them. "let's not do this. i don't care when they met or what's he doing with her. i'm the one to blame here, whatever he does afterwards it's none of my business".

· · · · ·

yourusername

liked by joliedebelle, charles_leclerc and 124.254 others

yourusername had to get my apartment ready for christmas, so here's a photo dump of how it went! 🎅🎄❤️

baked christmas cookies with my favorite girls @/joliedebelle and @/lilyfleury 🤍

"helper" 1 (@/joliedebelle did not buy one single christmas decoration or gift in the whole morning, just things for herself because "she deserved it").

"helper" 2 (@/charles_leclerc only came to eat the cookies and then had the worst idea ever - see number 4).

short trip to find a christmas tree (pro tip: don't let you friend with a ferrari tell you it's a good idea to drive there. we had to carry the tree all the way back home and then come back for the ferrari).

friendly reminder to also buy a ladder. "helper" 2 wasn't tall enough and i almost died (real).

the results!! (still decorating, but i'm so happy how the tree turned out!).

view all 1.242 comments

charles_leclerc i definitely deserve more cookies after the effort i've put in decorating your apartment

lilyfleury wdym more???????????? you and y/n ate them all

yourusername we burnt the calories when we had to carry the damn tree all the way home i agree with him we need more cookies

charles_leclerc that's why you're my favorite

lilyfleury i hate you two😒

joliedebelle stop exposing me like that! (ily)

yourusername i literally lost a whole morning because you didn't find some sneakers you wanted (ily2)

joliedebelle it's called investing time, not losing!

username please her and charles in the fifth picture it's SO cute

username it's giving couple behavior

username it took her a week to move on max sweetie i am so sorry

username max literally went on a date with somebody else and you're blaming this girl for hanging out with her friends joliedebelle liked this comment

· · · · ·

the chatter coming from the living room could be heard from the kitchen. spending the evening with your friends had filled your heart with joy, but a few minutes ago you started to sense an anxious feeling creeping in. it had been like this for the past week, the guiltiness haunted you since the day you kissed charles, making you feel regret every single time you thought about your relationship with max. so, when the anxiety had started invading your body, you had excused yourself, telling everyone you were going to load the dishwasher quickly before it got too late. charles, who had known immediately what was going on, helped you carry all the plates to the kitchen.

"are you okay?". charles asked after he brought the last plates, placing his chin on your shoulder and his arms around your waist. the familiar perfume and his body always brought some sense of comfort.

"it's fine, it will pass". you replied, taking a deep breath as you kept rinsing some of the plates. "i just needed a couple minutes to clear my head".

"i hate seeing you like this". he muttered before placing a soft kiss on the side of your head.

"i'm sorry".

"don't apologize". charles said as his hand reached to turn off the tap.

"what's wrong?". you asked as you dried your hands with a dish towel, turning around afterwards to face him.

"you don't have to go through this alone". he said starring at your eyes and you nodded. "you know this, right?".

"i know, i know". you replied as you lifted your arms to place them around his neck, pulling him a bit closer. "i'm sorry i've been distant these past days, i have a very short social battery lately".

"it's okay". he said. "i'm just worried because i haven't heard much from you this week. i know you tend to overthink and i know how you tend to push people away when you're sad, so i keep thinking about you non-stop".

"i'm sorry i-".

"stop apologizing".

"sorry". you repeated and both of you chuckled. his hands, that were still resting on your back, pulled you closer and you rested your forehead on his. you took a deep breath with your eyes closed. somehow charles always made you feel at peace when he was around you. "i needed some time alone to sort out my thoughts, but i promise i'm not pushing you away".

"good, because i don't plan on leaving anytime soon".

· · · · ·

lilyfleury posted a story!

caption: ❤️‍🩹 @/yourusername @/charles_leclerc @/joliedebelle

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taglist: @cha-hot @carlandonorri-s @raizelchrysanderoctavius @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @crlsummer @f1mockingjay @ssararuffoni @au-ghosttype @jointhehunt67 @amalialeclerc @lazybot @kimmchijjajang @roseseraj @ponkaniee @champagneproblems17 @starshapedb0x @aundercover @lqvesoph @coffeewhore18 @coolio2195 @crazysaladchopshop @mirrorball-6 @nataliambc @scenesofobx @stopeatread @woozarts @spaghetittied @inloveallthetime @f1mockingjay @smnthnclj @ironmaiden1313 @d3kstar @kapsylia @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @basicchelsea @xjval @formulaal @weekendlusting @dutifullyannoyingfox @evie-119

let me know if you want to be exlcuded from the taglist!

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gavisuntiedboot · 10 months

Note

Whenever you have the time could you write about Gavi with a gf that is a bit reserved and touch starved, her love language is physical touch but she doesn't initiate it with Gavi because her ex always told her she is clingy and annoying so she's insecure about it, so Gavi tries to show her it's okay by always cuddling her, or touching her in any way. And then over time she starts to initiate the cuddling/touching and Gavi is so proud and happy because she finally feels comfortable with him

Your writing is amazing btw, I've decided to wait for you to finish Just Pretend completely to continue reading it because whenever I finish the last chapter you post I get so sad because the next one isn't out yet and I can't live in the agony of not knowing what happens next

Pls hold my hand

"Princess, why do you have a sweatshirt that says ‘clingy’ on it?”

You looked over to Gavi, who plopped himself down on the couch next to you, grabbing the remote to cue the Netflix show the two of you had been watching for the last several weeks, eager to finally watch another episode, as the two of you held your shared series’ to a sacred standard. With only two episodes left of the latest “Drive to Survive”, you didn’t want to delay the experience with too much conversation.

"Just and inside joke between me and my friends.” You said, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the bag of m&m’s in front of you.

“Your friends think you’re clingy?” He asked, turning to face you as his hoodie slipped from his head, messy brown locks on full display. One of the things you adored about Pablo was how much he was always trying to protect you and look out for you. You weren’t really be confrontational, and this lead to some mistreatment and being pushed over at times by those close to you. Well, you used to. Since you and Pablo started dating about 8 months ago, he had been there to defend you against people who wanted to take advantage, and often was the voice reminding you to stick up for yourself.

“No no, it’s not them. It’s … something to do with my ex boyfriend. Do you still want to know?”

Gavi tensed at this. Despite you never saying anything explicitly negative about your boyfriend, all the stories Gavi heard made him hate the man with a burning passion. He had slowly but surely messed you up in so many ways, and now as Pablo worked to slowly unravel the knots tightened around your heart, he couldn’t help but curse the man that tied them to begin with.

“Yeah. You can tell me.”

You shifted in your seat, rather uncomfortable with the topic, but not wanting to lie to your boyfriend.

“Well, remember that little love languages quiz I made you do? Well I did mine like years ago, and I got physical touch. Which makes sense right because that’s one of yours and we seem to be getting along pretty well.” Gavi giggled at this, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and causing you to tense.

“Well, my last boyfriend wasn’t super into like… touching? Fuck that sounds sexual. I mean he didn’t really like being touched or cuddling or all that couple stuff. Didn’t like holding hands either. And like this one time, he was watching something on his computer and I was feeling bold or whatever and tried to sit on his lap — he hated that though. He liked pushed me onto the floor and told me to stop being clingy.” You forced out a laugh, trying to lighten the mood and soften the look of horror that had occupied Gavi’s face.

“That was actually why I broke up with him. Anyways I didn’t hug any of my friends for a month after that, and when they finally confronted me and I told them why, they got this made me for me. See, look at the sleeve,” you said, stretching out your arm to show him the ‘pls hold my hand’ embroidered on the sleeve. “So now whenever I’m in my clingy sweatshirt, my friends give me a ton of hugs and stuff. It’s funny. I think.” You say, winching slightly by the fact that Pablo’s eyebrows are still pushed together in anger.

He muttered his grievances about your boyfriend while cuddling closer to you, pulling you into his chest. Your cheeks warmed as they were pressed against Gavi’s beating heart. Despite the long time you had been dating Pablo, you still were shy when it came to initiating any sort of affection. You were too scared of annoying him and pushing him further away. So you remained shy and reserved, only responding to the touches he initiated.

“Give me your hand, silly. Never been with a girl who came with instructions before. Maybe I should get you a pair of panties that say-“ his sentence abruptly ended with a pillow to the face. You giggled, trying to pull away from his grasp, but he just pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you now.

“Oh no no princesa. You’re not going anywhere. Now hush and make mean comments about Verstappen with me.”

Over the next few weeks, Pablo had made an active effort to make you more comfortable with being physical with him. Whenever the two of you were out, he held your hand or had you two link arms. He hugged you and kissed you on the cheek or forehead, asking, “you don’t want to give me a kiss back, Amor?” Puppy dog eyes and adorable pout on display, you coyly returned the peck to his jutted out lip. He smiled widely, teeth almost blinding you. He returned with an attack, kissing you across both cheeks, and ending with a searing kiss to the lips.

His favorite time was when you two watched shows together. He would always pull you in close, cuddling with you next to him on the couch. He would lean close and whisper his comments about the show into your ear, making your skin erupt in goosebumps as his breath famed over. He would press kisses into your temples, breathing in the sweet smell of your hair, and reminding you how much he loved being around you.

“You’re so warm amor - my personal furnace. I love it.”

“Your skin is so soft, feels so nice.”

“I wish I never had to get up from beside you.”

After three weeks of hand holding, kisses, and encouragement, you finally found the confidence to approach Gavi to heal your touch starvation. You put on your clingy hoodie again, laying out snacks on the coffee table and firing up her Netflix.

“Princesa I’m here! Where are you?”

Running to the door, you wrapped both arms around Gavi’s neck, pulling him into you and greeting him with a firm kiss. As he recovered from the unexpected greeting, you informed him that you would be in the living room pulling up a new series. He followed closely after kicking off his shoes, and peeling off his Barca jacket, picking up the hoodie you had laid out for him.

“Did you change shampoos? Used to be peach and now it’s strawberry.”

“How could you tell?” You asked, grabbing some drinks as Pablo got comfy on the couch. He crossed his arms across his chest, legs spread and back slumped.

“My clothes smell different around the shoulders. That’s usually where your wet hair sits.” He looked over at you, watching your eyes go wide. “Amor, you know I love you, stop being surprised when I actually act like it. Now what are we watching?”

Taking a deep breath, you walked back over. You grabbed the remote, pressing play.

“The new season of Black Mirror is out and I’m dying to see it. Heard this one is creepier than normal.” As you explained, you walked over to Gavi. Before he could move to make space for you on the sofa, you draped yourself over his lap. Your legs were to his side, back pressed to his chest. Your arms wrapped around his torso, and you laid your head on his shoulder. ‘Deep breaths it’s okay he’s not going to push you off.’

Pablo was stunned for a moment, so much so that he remained motionless. Once the shock wore off and he felt your slight tremble, he brought his muscled arms around you, pulling you tightly against him, soft lips pressing to your pulse point and freeing a soft gasp from your throat. He rested his head atop yours, the pressure and warmth comforting and familiar.

“Look at you being bold cariño. If I knew it would get you to sit in my lap we would’ve done this months ago.” You giggled softly in response, turning to face him. You rested your forehead against his, gazing deeply into the deep brown pools of his eyes. Leaning in, his lips eagerly met yours, refusing to release you. When you finally pulled away, you resumed your comfortable position in Pablo’s embrace. “I’m so proud of you, princesa.” The two of you fell into s comfortable silence, enjoying the show, squeezing each other tighter whenever things got intense.

“Can I get a matching clingy hoodie for whenever I want cuddles?” Pablo asked, smiling at you from above.

“I don’t think so, Pablito. You would never take it off.”

~~~

Guys I have the worst headacheeeeee but yay I posted!

#gavisuntiedboot #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #pablo gavi imagine #gavi x reader #gavi x you #fc barca #gavi imagine #pablo gavi x reader fluff #pablo gavi x y/n #gavi x yn #gavi #gavi fluff #pablo gavi fluff #gavi fic #pablo gavi fanfic #pablo gavi fanfiction #gavi fanfic

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verstppism · 17 days

Text

Boy's Talk (About You) - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - take me anywhere but home

word count: 1957

masterpost.

synopsis everyone has their secrets, a group chat formed by charles leclerc, pierre gasly, alex albon, lando norris and george russell knows all of them. the 'kill the grid' chat has only one purpose: gossiping about other drivers' lives, romantic and social

or, a casual chat leads to charles confessing a crush on max, who's has been his rival since childhood

If Charles was still half asleep, the iMessage notifications coming from Max definitely woke him up. All the nervousness and anxiety from last night made sense: Max was leaving Brazil and his girlfriend to spend New Years in Monaco. But what were his intentions behind such a sudden decision? If Max really broke up with her, then he wouldn’t be texting the older one on a cold December morning. Or would he? Max Verstappen was a confusing person. One night, he says he’s not happy with his girlfriend, the other he goes on a private padel match with his ex-rival. Things seem to go well between them.

It’s when he posts a photo with his girlfriend after the race that tears everything apart. Still in his racing suit. Messy hair. Still sweating. Everything that belonged to Charles and to him only. In fact, Max was his. Who does she think she is? Charles only thought about how he could talk so casually about Kelly right before calling him “Charlie” and pushing him as far away from Lance as possible in the sprint podium. It was driving him insane — More than he already is. After eternal minutes discussing his own love life and its frustrations, Charles notices he left Max on read, he had accidentally opened the app and his conversation with the other one.

“charlie: good morningg “

“charlie: i am! are u okay? “

Charles was really at a loss at words, so he decided to pretend that he didn’t know where Max was nor that he was a few meters from the blonde’s house.

“maxiee: yeah “

“maxiee: just had a little change of plans and came back to monaco “

“charlie: oh really? “

“charlie: did anything happen or? “

“maxiee: can we talk about this in person? “

“maxiee: we can go to that café you mentioned in the padel match “

He… Remember. Their meeting (date?) was months ago, and he remembers it. Something he slightly mentioned once in a lifetime, and he recalls it in perfect detail. Charles wonders if Max remembers everything that pondered his mind. He asks himself if he recalls their discussions back in their karting days, or when they slowly started to use pet names for the first time. In the end, did Max realize that they were made for each other, even though they were predestined to fight for a whole life?

“charlie: of course! what time? “

“maxiee: im just getting ready, i’ll be there in a couple minutes “

“maxiee: nothing is too far here “

Charles giggles at the last message, like he always did when he exchanged messages with his beloved. After all, it was more of a date orchestrated by Max — he is good at setting up dates so subtly. Or maybe Charles just accepts every invite from the other. — and again, alone together. A more casual reunion this time: without any sport or anyone that could get in their way. It seemed like a dream, Charles hoped it wasn’t.

He didn’t even mind telling his friends of such an important event, just got up from his bed and quickly got ready. Casual clothing and sunglasses to go unnoticed. It wasn’t easy to go on a date in broad daylight in a city as small as Monte Carlo.

—————

It really didn't take long for them to meet. That little cafeteria was one of the secret gems of Monaco, hidden between beautiful historic buildings. As Charles arrived, he already could see Max, stirring coffee and sugar on the delicate little cup. He was looking down, his face with little to no emotion, more like hesitant of… something.

The doorbell ring filled the quiet place when the older entered the place getting the other's attention, which gave a soft and kinda sad smile to him. A smile that wasn't common as the post race ones or those shared in press conferences. ‘This is not the moment to overthink your relationship with him.’ Charles thought.

“I’m not late this time. '' Leclerc broke the awkward silence between them as he sat down. “Yeah… I mean, you live around here, no?” Max sounded somewhat different. Nervous? Sad? Reading his feelings through his face wasn’t Charles’ best ability. “So remember when I told you I would spend New Years in Brazil?”

“Of course! I was also about to ask you about it. Why did you come back home?” He said as he sat down. Home. Not the best wording at the moment, given that he’s actually Dutch and we are somewhere around near South France. It’s what they say: ‘home is where the heart is’. “Like… Did anything happen?”

“Yeah, uh…” Apprehensive. A worried tone filled his voice. “Me and Kelly had a little fight right after Christmas and I thought it would be better for us to part ways. She wasn’t very willing to but… Can I be honest? I was growing tired of being stuck with her.”

Stuck with her. Stuck. Max was tired. Max doesn't like her. At All. Charles felt like his chest was collapsing in the best way possible. How was he supposed to act normally and feel pity for them when butterflies filled his stomach?

“And you know, I only kept the relationship up because of her daughter…” Verstappen smiled while looking at the cup. The older’s intrusive thoughts were telling to adopt a child with that man. He was such a good dad after all! “And PR too. I think our love wasn't reciprocal… I was there for the kid and she was for the status of being a Formula One driver's girlfriend.”

“Oh Max… That's too bad. I’m so sorry for you” A pitiful look surged on Charles’ face, trying to show empathy and not that he was going insane over all of this. “I’m sure you and her will be able to meet again.” A shy smile appeared on the younger’s face when ocean and emerald eyes met. A comfortable silence surrounded them, only the ambient sound and smell of fresh coffee filled the empty café.

“Now that we are on the topic, it may sound rude but I need to get this off my chest. I doubt you two would still be together if you didn't win in 2021.” Still apprehensive, Charles felt safe to talk shit about Max’s ex-girlfriend. When he saw the other’s eyes glitter at the comment, he was sure: the blonde has been waiting forever to do this. “You doubt? I'm 100% sure! After we left RedBull’s party she started talking about marriage, mate. Can you believe that!?”

Minutes that felt like hours passed by. Charles and Max talked about many secrets they've kept for each other for the mere thought of “this is not something you usually tell your best friend, especially when he’s dating a person you don’t really like”. In fact, they would never get to these specific topics – mostly about relationships. Maybe both were scared of oversharing and confessing their true love, ruining it all for once. The older didn't know if delusional thoughts took over, but he felt things were getting intimate, at some point, their feet touched and so their legs proceeded to slightly intertwine.

They didn’t even bother to order food or anything. — and so the waiters did not ask them to. Perhaps it was an obvious date to whoever passed by. When leaving, Max only paid for this coffee cup that was now cold, half drunken and long forgotten on the table. Both got so deep in conversation they forgot the world keeps spinning, and the day goes by, like they always do. Like it always happens. If you didn’t know, you would guess that they were long-distance boyfriends meeting for the first time.

It was almost dusk when they left the café. The orange-ish colors in the sky implied the sun was setting, and so Max and Charles decided to walk home. Staying side by side on a very narrow sidewalk made their shoulders brush at all times.

As they got closer to Leclerc’s house, he noticed that Max started to tense up. Was he scared of something? Scared of leaving Charles? That reaction started to worry him but as soon as they got to the older’s doorstep he spoke up, point blank:

“I… Charlie, the true meaning behind this all-of-a-sudden meeting is that… You are the love of my life. I’m sorry for not noticing it earlier.” Max stuttered, a subtle way to let the other know it was hidden and buried deep inside with fear for years and years. Maybe even his whole life. It drove Charles insane. It’s like he was feeling every single emotion at the same time. He swore he was dying or something. The older man fought every desire to kiss him right here in the middle of an empty sideroad right in front of his house, but he knew it would appear in every headline in worldwide newspapers. “Charles ‘il predestinato’ Leclerc is found kissing Life-long rival Max Verstappen”. That is not the best way to be in the news, probably something that would end their careers or worse: their friendship. With no words left to say, Charles just hugged him tight as if he would disappear at any time. “Je t'aime moi aussi, mon amour” He said as one or two teardrops slid across his cheek.

Feeling something wet hit his shoulder, Max broke the hug but still kept their bodies suspiciously close. He held the other’s face with both big hands as their eyes met once again, but now with much more compassion. After all they’ve gone through, all their ups and downs brought them to this moment. What they’ve been waiting for.

“Wait wait wait.” Charles popped the little bubble they builded to protect themselves from the rest of the world. “Can we get inside first? I mean, it’s very romantic to kiss in the middle of the crosswalk I know but we’re kinda famous so yeah…” Max chuckled at the comment. “Of course we can, schatje”

He unlocked the door and let Verstappen enter as if nothing almost happened a few seconds ago. “Uh… So are-” He’s interrupted by the softest of lips crashing into his own, almost cornering him into a wall like a (ironically) raging bull. For the very first seconds they are both surprised by the feeling but locked in very quickly. This kiss felt like heaven, the way both mouths swayed together felt like they were pieces to a puzzle, just waiting for it to be finally found and placed together. It was definitely not what Charles thought it would be like but it was good nonetheless.

They only broke the kiss when there was no oxygen left in their bodies still, they stayed close, panting and hanging on by a thread of spit. Leclerc hid his face on his lover’s shoulder and started giggling, ending up with a lowkey confused Max.

“Why are you laughing?” He said, with a broad smile on his face. Charles’ laugh was contagious.

“This is so stupid. Why did we take so long to do this?”

It all came down to them snuggling together in Charles’ bed. The moonlight that invaded the room through a slightly opened window shines in their features, giving both an godly look. After a whole day spent with Max, Leclerc seemed to forget about his friends, who might’ve gone insane by his disappearance. So he was right: when checking his phone he’s welcomed with 86 missed calls, – all coming from 4 different people – and at least 300 messages coming from his group chat, Kill the Grid. Charles opens it, doesn’t read any of the past messages and starts typing.

“charlie: guys, youll never know what just happened '' Send it.

taglist: @mrsbrxkkxr , @nyxstice , @thedecalcomania-blog ,@sebastianize <3

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leilani-lily · 2 months

Text

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 5)

I'll admit, I had this finished a while ago, but couldn't post until now. I have a confession to make... my long term boyfriend of 6 years split with me a couple days ago. And it's been... hard, to say the least. I'm really hoping this wont deter me from continuing to write (especially since this story is kinda romantic, but also isn't? There's deep feelings involved xD) I hope maybe writing can maybe help me as it serves as a distraction? I honestly don't know... All I can ask for is patience as I deal with this. If I find I need a break I'll be sure to let you guys know. But I guess for now, please keep me in your thoughts if you can. Or if anyone wants to swap stories I'm more than happy to share. ꨄ But ok. Enough sadness. This chapter was a joy to write before all the bs happened. I hope it can make you smile! And as always, please feel free to comment your thoughts! SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You settle into hotel life, and whip up Alastor's fave dish! But some drama ensues when you get a little too friendly with a certain Spider Demon~ Word Count: 4.4 K Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had developed quite a routine here during your time at the hotel, and you certainly found your days a lot busier than you had intended.

Your morning coffee with Alastor that usually blended into breakfast, then joining him in his tower for his broadcasts. He’d always pour two glasses of rye whisky and sit with you, asking for your thoughts afterwards. You’d discuss what you liked and didn’t like, and were surprised to learn he took criticism well (other than the occasional eye twitch). You’d bounce off new topics for future shows together before wrapping up and heading back down to the kitchen for the lunch rush.

After lunch was usually when Charlie would want to round everybody up. Either discussing how to make the hotel more liveable, how to recruit more sinners, or various exercises to improve everyone’s character. Sometimes these meetings were very boring and you’d have to pinch yourself constantly to stay awake. But for the most part they were fun, and you found yourself actually enjoying spending time with everyone. Especially goofing around with Angel and Husk, which usually resulted in Vaggie snapping at you all as you choke back laughter. Sometimes you would catch Alastor watching you with an unreadable expression, but you didn’t think anything of it.

When that would wrap up, it was time to whip up dinner. You managed to figure out everyone’s favourite foods, and every Friday you decided you’d rotate through and make someone’s special dish for them. Everyone enjoyed Friday dinners, always trying to guess what everyone liked, make bets on who was next, and were especially pleased if it was their night. It wasn’t much, but their praise always made you secretly feel warm and bubbly inside.

Finally, after cleaning everything up and ending your shift, you’d have some spare time. Depending on how the day went, you would either read and have a quiet night to yourself, or just completely pass out straight away.

Before you knew it, a month had flown before your eyes; bringing you into the present.

You knew you had no reason to be so nervous. Angel had loved his lasagna dish last week, and previously Charlie loved the pizza you had made (even if others had picked off the pineapple in disgust). You had proven you were a good chef since working here. But this Friday meal in particular… this one was different. It was Alastor’s. Your closest friend. And you knew just how important this particular meal was. It wasn’t just a dish, it was a memory. A way to remember his mother, and you had learned very quickly just how much she meant to him.

Your heart was fluttering nervously as you put the jambalaya out on the large dining table. No one was there yet, but you could hear the chitter of excited demons coming closer to you, so you knew they were on their way. You always tried to make Friday’s dinner special, it was the one meal where you all sat and ate together. Kind of like a little family. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your heart fluttering warmly at the thought. You went back to the kitchen to grab the cheddar biscuits, your mind wandering back to Alastor. You shouldn't be overthinking this, it’s just a stupid dinner. Did his opinion really matter that much to you?

You re-enter the dining room, and your eyes immediately locked with the demon in question. Alastor’s smile seemed to brighten the moment he saw you, but his smile only made your hands sweaty.

…… Yes, yes his opinion really did matter that much. You really wanted to make a good impression.

“Ooooh and ya baked fresh biscuits??” Angel had zipped up beside you, eyeing the plate of goodies in your hands, “ya really know how ta spoil a demon Baby Cakes!” His fingers danced over a biscuit, causing you to snap out of your hold with Alastor and give Angel a quick slap on the wrist. He zipped his hand away in mock horror, making you snort a moment.

“You know the rules; no eating ‘till everyone’s here,” You scold him, but you can’t help but smile; you could never really be angry with him. Angel groaned dramatically, hugging himself with his four arms.

“You’re a cruel mistress y/n; makin’ a cutie like me practically starve to death! Jus’ look at me! I’m witherin’ away!” he leans up against you, arching his back as his full weight pressed on you. You let out a single laugh as you tried to maintain your hold on the plate and not fall over. He continued to groan weakly as his one arm grasped the air above him and another flopped over his eyes.

Wow. Someone give this guy an award. No wonder he was in show business.

You laugh again at the dramatics and roll your eyes. Finally, you sighed and grabbed a biscuit, offering it to the Spider Demon. Angel peeked over and immediately lit up, grabbed it eagerly before standing up straight, miraculously recovering from his ‘near death’. He took a deep whiff of the warm bread before smiling back at you.

“Yarra real doll toots~” he gives you a flirty wink to which you shake your head in amusement. Always the charmer this one.

“Yeah yeah, well, just don’t tell the others. Or else they might think you’re my favourite~!” You swing your hips to him and give him a playful hip bump, winking right back. He laughed as the nudge pushed him to the side, using the momentum to walk to his seat. But as he sauntered away, he looked back and grinned mischievously.

“Well maybe they should~!” he called back, doing a little suggestive shoulder shimmy and wiggling his eyebrows. You couldn’t help your snort. Cheeky thing.

You knew it was all in good fun; teasing and play-flirting had become your thing. He was like the gal-pal you had never had since coming to Hell, and you could tell he was happy to have a girlie here at the hotel. You knew his real bestie was some demon named Cherri (which he INSISTED you all had to go out one night), but having another chica just a couple rooms down from his own was fun and convenient. And you were happy to be that friend for him if it meant slumber parties and beauty routines.

You felt someone’s eyes on you, and you snapped out of your bubbly thoughts. Alastor was standing in the same spot he was before, not having moved an inch. He was still smiling, but this time it felt a little more strained. More forced. And his eye twitched ever so slightly. You also noticed his grip tight around his microphone. He caught you looking at him and immediately turned away, beginning to walk back to his seat with an unreadable expression.

… That was weird.

Before you could even begin to process, the rest of the gang entered the room. They all gave you a greeting in their own quirky ways as they arrived and made their way to their seats. Angel shoved the rest of the biscuit into his mouth to hide any evidence and happily trotted over to Husk. You smiled happily at the arrival of your comrades and set the tray of bread down on the table. Everyone looked at the spread before them and chittered excitedly, impressed with the effort you had put into tonight’s dinner.

As everyone sat down, you quickly made your way to your seat beside Angel. Before sitting down, you cleared your throat a moment to get everyone’s attention. As the happy chatter died down, you began to speak.

“First off, I’d like to thank everyone for joining in today’s special dinner. Today’s meal is inspired by our very own Facility Manager, Alastor.” Everyone clapped politely and Charlie even gave a small whoop of encouragement. Alastor sat up proudly from his seat at the head of the table, loving the attention he was getting.

“I’ll admit, I was a bit intimidated with tackling this particular dish, as we’ve all heard him boast about his mother’s recipe.” There were a couple chuckles scattered around the table, everyone very aware of how much he spoke of it. Husk in particular rolled his eyes and muttered quietly in disdain.

“I realize I’ll probably never meet up to her standards,” you look back at Alastor and give a sheepish smile, “but I sincerely hope it’s to your liking.” Alastors smile widened ever so slightly, his hooded gaze softening at your words.

“My dear,” he marveled, his eyes never leaving yours, “the fact that you were kind enough to take the time to prepare it with me in mind already makes it wonderful.” You felt your hand press up to your chest, your fist curling up tightly near your heart. Alastor always knew what to say to make you feel better. He could be really gentle when he wanted to be.

“Yea, and not only for ol’ Smiles ‘ere,” Angel spoke up, making you look down at him, “But you’ve made some bitchin’ good meals fer all of us.” he gestured to the crowd, gaining various murmurs of agreement and praise. You looked at everyone and their smiling faces and could feel your chest tightening.

“Seriously, Sugar, ya freakin’ amazing.” Angel continued, giving you a warm smile. He suddenly grabbed onto his glass and raised it high, giving everyone a cocky grin. “Let’s hear it for y/n ya filthy sinnars!”

Before you could comprehend, everyone had raised their glasses and gave a cheer of encouragement. You looked out to everyone and their genuine happiness and support, at a loss for words. You had organized all of this simply because you wanted to, but you had to admit, being recognised felt really good. A warmth began to spread into your chest, and a lump formed in your throat.

It… wow, it had been so long since you’ve had friends like this.

You did your best to blink back tears at the gesture, not expecting to get so emotional over all of this. As you took a moment to acknowledge everyone, your gaze finally turned to Alastor.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t looking at you, but he was looking at Angel. His eyebrows were tight as his grin stretched in an uncomfortable smile. You could tell he felt your gaze, cause soon his eyes flicked up to you, catching you watching him. In the blink of an eye, his expression softened as he grabbed his own glass, raising it high and giving you a heartening look. You shook the strange feeling from before and smiled back at him, grateful for his appreciation.

The excitement settled down as everyone started serving themselves, the smell of the cooking becoming too much for everyone to ignore. You finally sat in your chair and reached out for Angel’s hand. The Spider Demon looked to you in surprise for a moment, taking in your smiling face.

“That was really sweet of you to say Angel,” you whispered, your grip on him tightening for a moment. You could feel yourself choking up again. “Seriously… Thank you.” Angel's face softened as he twisted his hand so it could grip on to yours. He began to open his mouth to respond.

In a mere moment, you could feel your chair lurch backwards, a panicked yelp escaping your throat as your hand was ripped out of Angel’s. Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing, looking at you in surprise. Angel turned in his seat and looked at you stupidly.

“... What the fuc-?”

Angel didn’t even get a chance to finish his statement as suddenly everyone chairs in your row shifted to the right, causing everyone to cry out and grip onto their seats in fear. Everyone on the other side of the table looked on in disbelief as their friends were shuffled around.

To your surprise, while everyone shifted right, you slid to your left at lightning speed, the chair scraping loudly on the wooden floor. You suddenly jolted to a stop, and you held on for dear life at the force in which you were moving. Before you could recover, your chair lurched forward, propelling you back to the table and new place setting.

… Right next to Alastor.

You gasped in surprise, your heart racing in shock as you felt your knuckles turning white from gripping the seat so hard. You noticed something flicker beneath you, and your eyes managed to catch something. A shadow with a familiar Cheshire grin shimmied away from the feet of your chair before melting into the shade of the table.

Your head whipped up to Alastor in disbelief. The Radio Demon had just finished serving himself jambalaya, not even looking in your direction as he tapped the serving spoon against his plate. With a cool expression, he turned his head to you and tilted his head to the side, as if nothing had happened.

“... Jambalaya~?” He pointed the spoon to the pot and looked at you expectantly.

Everyone stared for a moment, the room eerily quiet.

“.......... Alastor what the actual FUCK was that?!” Angel suddenly exploded, clearly very upset that his bestie was now 2 chairs away from him. Everyone else in your row nodded in agreement, perplexed at the sudden change in seating. Alastor didn't turn his head, nor look at Angel. The Radio Demon simply took your plate and began serving you the ride dish, his expression surprisingly calm and attention only on you.

“Just say when dear~”

Your eyes darted from Alastor to Angel, unsure of what to even do or say. Angel’s face scrunched up into a scowl, clearly displeased with being ignored.

“Hey! Freaky Face! I’m talkin’ to ya!” he growled, his hands tightening into fists. Alastor continued to ignore the spider, continuing to serve you as if it was just the two of you in the room.

“My my, hungry now are we y/n dearest~?” Alastor grinned cheekily. You were still so dumbstruck, your gaze finally fell to your plate and you quickly realized just how full it was getting. Awkwardly looking between Angel and Alastor, you softly murmured a 'w-when'. Alastor gave a hum of approval and tapped the spoon on your plate before setting it back down in front of you.

“Hah, ok Asshole. I see how it is.” Angel chuckled darkly to himself, “I get it. Ya just hate ta see anyone else gettin’ cozy with our little chef. I’ll admit, I didn’t take ya for the jealous type.”

That seemed to catch Alastors attention.

It was only for a moment, and only you were able to catch it sitting so close to him. But you noticed the Radio Demon’s pupils flash, and his one eyelid twitch as his smile grew dangerously wide. But in an instant, Alastor calmed his expression and was back to his suave self. Taking a breath, he finally turned his head to Angel.

“Oh please.” He drawled, his eyes looking at him with boredom, “I simply figured it only made sense for our wonderful chef to sit next to the demon who inspired tonight’s dish. Wouldn’t you agree y/n~?” He turned his head to you and slowly leaned in, giving you a pleasant smile. You felt your heart leap at suddenly being caught off guard, unsure of what to say.

“I, ah, well-!”

Everyone's eyes were on you, and you suddenly felt very self conscious. Being put on the spot like this, and feeling as if you had to choose between your two friends, it was becoming very overwhelming. Unbeknownst to you, Charlie looked at you with such pity, and felt her own blood begin to boil at the situation these men put you in. Placing her hands on the table, the Princess of Hell rose from her chair, her face suddenly very authoritative.

“Both of you need to stop this nonsense.” She stated, looking down at both Angel and Alastor disapprovingly. “Y/n put a lot of effort into making this dinner special; and I won't allow you to ruin it over something so petty!” She continued to glare at them judgingly before turning her attention to you, giving you a quick comforting smile and nod. You felt your shoulders relax and smile back at her, feeling grateful for her support. She really was growing into her royal title.

Angel had his arms crossed and was clearly still pissed, but there was a mix of shame in his eyes after being called out. Alastor’s face remained surprisingly calm, turning to look over at you. He noticed your posture and expression, his eyes calculating as he assessed the situation. Finally he turned back to the table.

“Our Princess is right of course~!” He smiled, lifting a hand and placing it on your shoulder, “I would hate for all of dear y/n’s efforts to be neglected. She has worked so hard; let us forget about all this nonsense and enjoy this wonderful meal~!” His eyes slid to Angels and gave him a hard stare. The Spider demon glared right back, his jaw tight and eyes furrowed with hatred. But after glancing at both you and Charlie, and seeing your faces, he finally grumbled in defeat. With a huff, Angel reached for another cheddar biscuit and slouched in his seat, ending the feud.

You finally released the breath you were holding as everyone shrugged their shoulders and returned their focus to their plates. You felt Alastors grip on your shoulder tighten for a moment, making you turn to him.

“Are you quite alright my dear?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in question. Despite the calm look on his face, you knew he wouldn't be asking if he wasn't genuinely concerned. You sighed and felt a smile spread across your face, giving his hand a pat in reassurance.

“Yeah, I’m ok Al,” you started, beginning to shake your head and grin as you thought about the shenanigans he pulled earlier. “But seriously, there’s no need to be so jealous. If you want to sit beside me, just say so.” You looked up to him playfully, your previously conflicted emotions melting away. Alastor stared at you for a moment, his eye’s lidded and giving you a blank stare before turning to his plate. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he picked up his utensils and was suddenly very focused on his meal.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about y/n~” he replied. He scooped up a spoonful of rice and shrimp. You could feel your eyes crinkling as you watched him knowingly.

“Uh huh~” you smirk.

The Radio Demon ignored you and took his first bit of jambalaya. Your grin slowly began to fall as you watched him pull the spoon out from his lips, your previous nerves from earlier settling in again. You watched his expression with baited breath as he tasted your cooking.

His appearance didn’t change much; his eyes looking down at the food beneath him, eyes flickering over the plate. After a moment, his eyelids sank down closed as he continued to chew, allowing all of his senses to focus on the flavor. You could feel your leg begin to jiggle anxiously; seriously it was sad how badly you wanted this man’s approval.

The demon lifted his head and gulped his mouthful down, eyes still closed and lips in a small pressed smile. You held your breath as you waited for his verdict. Alastor’s smile grew wider as he lowered his head back to the plate, opening his eyes and looking fondly at the dish below him.

“Well well~” he chuckled, finally turning his head to you and giving you an impressed look, “I have to admit, this is as close as anyone has ever gotten.”

You felt your heart stop.

Is he shitting you right now?

“Of course,” he continued, scooping another spoonful and inspecting it, “it is missing a few things; she’d usually add sausage as well, and probably a bit more spice to it.” he looked fond for a moment, seeming to reminisce to days gone by.

“Nevertheless, it does still taste like home~” He took another bite and once again closed his eyes, savoring the flavors.

You felt lighter than a feather.

Of course you knew you’d never get it exactly right. But holy crap you were so relieved that it met his expectations. You were so giddy you had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from squealing, practically doing a little happy dance in your chair. Satisfied with Alastors response, you grabbed onto your own spoon and began to happily dig in.

You were so carefree in your own little world, you didn’t even notice Alastor sneaking a glance at you. Or how his lips curled up ever so slightly at your antics before turning back to his plate.

The rest of the evening went on without a hitch. Everyone gorged themselves until they were ready to burst, and complimented you on such a flavorful meal. You were so flustered with all the praise; despite the little quarrel that had happened earlier, you couldn’t have been more pleased with how the night went. And you felt more confident with your cooking now that you had Alastor’s official stamp of approval.

The group of demons eventually began to trickle out of the room, ready to immediately flop onto the closest comfortable furniture they could find. You giggled at their behavior and wished you could do the same, but you still had to clean up before you could clock off work. With a final stretch, you turn back to the table and are surprised to see Alastor still in his chair, leaning back comfortably and eyes closed.

“Truly a wonderful evening y/n dearest,” he sighed, opening a single eye to look at you, “There’s something about dining with a group of folks that brings out a certain camaraderie, don’t you think~?” You sighed happily as you approached the table.

“Honestly, it was something I had forgotten I had missed since coming to Hell,” you smiled, beginning to stack the plates and collecting utensils. “I’m just happy to do my part in getting demons to open up more and earn everyone’s trust.”

Alastor said nothing in return, simply watching you as you accumulated the dirty dishes. His eyebrow quirked up before he finally raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Shadows emerged from under the table, making you gasp and almost drop your stack of plates. The same shaded goons from your first week at the hotel appeared beside you and began collecting all the dishes. You begin to tumble over words of protests, but they didn’t pay attention to you as they continued to clean, one even grabbing the stack in your hands and waddling to the kitchen.

“Alastor!” you laugh, turning to him in bewilderment, “Call your minions off; seriously I can clean all of this up myself.” But the Radio Demon merely waved a hand to you as he rose from his seat.

“Don’t bother arguing with me my dear,” he sassed, “You’ve done more than enough tonight; consider this my way of thanking you for a marvelous feast.”

You sighed at him, slightly annoyed. But you had to admit, you were grateful for his help. Today had surprisingly taken its toll on you, physically and emotionally, and you were so tired from it all. You smiled up at him, rocking back and forth on your feet sheepishly.

“... Thank you Al. Honestly.” you paused for a moment, thinking about everything he had done for you in the month you’d been here. And asking for nothing in return. It was out of character for him.

“I just…” you sighed, making Alastor tilt his head quizzically to you. “I just want to say I’m thankful for everything you’ve done for me. You gave me this job, helped me settle in and feel comfortable, and because of it all I even got to make new friends…” You saw Alastors eyes narrow for a moment and you had to bite back the knowing grin. You cleared your throat and continued.

“But I hope you know,” you hummed, “that I’ll always consider you my first real friend down here. And that I’m really grateful to have been given this chance to get close to you.”

Alastor looked at you long and hard for a moment, the air between you calm and quiet. His static sound shuffled for a second before he finally straightened his back and stood taller, his lips pressed together into a large smile. The red demon glided over to you, and softly patted your head, shaking his head in amusement.

“Ohhh y/n, y/n, y/n,” he sighed, opening his eyes and quirking an eyebrow, “I do often wonder how someone like yourself ended up down here.” Now it was your turn to cock an eyebrow as you gave him a cheeky smile.

“Al, you know exactly how I got down here.”

“Ah, that’s right.” A chuckle escaped his lips, and you knew for a fact he still found your death thoroughly entertaining. “By the way, you didn’t happen to sneak anything into our meal today, now did you~?” He gave you an impish grin. You burst out laughing.

“You asshole!” you guffawed, shoving his hand on your head away playfully, to which the demon snickered evilly. As your laughter simmered down, looked at you a moment before tilting his head up, eyes closed.

“I still stand by my previous statement,” he mused. “The type of folks in this realm are not worthy of such kindness. You should be careful as to whom you trust around here.” He opened his eyes, and his crimson gaze fell to yours. His expression shifted into a serious one at his last statement, making your grin falter for a moment. But only for a moment.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have you around then, isn’t it?” You smiled, taking a step towards him.

Alastors gaze widened a moment, his eyes flickering over your face. It wasn’t often that you caught the Radio Demon off guard, but the rare moments when you did, you couldn’t help but feel a little pride. Finally, Alastor began to chuckle, shaking his head at you again. After taking a breath, he looked back down at you, a surprising fondness donning his face.

“Hmmm, I suppose it is~”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

..... Alastor doesn't like to share ¬‿¬ Fun fact: Angel like's to give you food-related nicknames. Baby Cakes, Sugar, Puddin', Honey Bunz, ect.

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#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor #oh deer #leilani lily

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cinnamongorll · 2 months

Text

a fragile line - chapter 29

Read on ao3! (135k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 10.7K

Chapter 29

Juliet's POV

One Month Later:

“But she lives right across from you”

“I know”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll have to walk all the way over there and back… and it’s snowing! What if I hurt myself?”

“That’s not the argument you want to make right now.”

“Juliet, please.”

“Fine.”

“Excellent.”

Charlotte smirked as she handed over the woven box filled to the brim with a variety of bottled herbal remedies. They rattled as Juliet took the weight in her arms and her scowl deepened .

“Tell her these ones are to help with the vomiting,” Charlotte reached into the box and ran her fingertips over a couple glass rims, “and these are vitamins to help keep her strength up.”

Despite her mild annoyance, Juliet nodded and promised that she would relay the message to Maria. There really wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for Charlotte, even if delivering her remedies meant directly interacting with the town’s leader.

The ice between Juliet and Maria had never truly thawed from their first conversation almost two months ago now. They rarely saw each other, only subtle nods of acknowledgement across the street or quick conversations about patrol, and Juliet preferred it that way.

Tommy, though, Juliet had grown quite fond of. He would always greet her with a smile on his face and some joke about her performance on patrol. Juliet would roll her eyes and demand to know how many times he would bring up that one time she fell off her horse.

Maria announced her pregnancy only a couple weeks ago. Juliet tried to congratulate Tommy but his smile grew strained and his eyes darted away from her towards a hulking figure she chose to ignore. Juliet tried not to question it; she realised a while ago that she would never really understand the inner workings of the Miller brothers’ minds, so she stopped trying… and she didn’t bring up Maria’s pregnancy again.

Now, thanks to Charlotte’s repulsion of cold weather and her never ending list of errands, Juliet was forced to face Maria and the stiff tension which lingered behind their every interaction.

“Thanks, by the way,” Charlotte said with a wink.

“Yeah, yeah,” Juliet scoffed as she turned and headed towards the door. Charlotte beat her to it and pulled open the clinic door, shivering slightly as the cold air battled with the stifling heat of the fire.

With a thin smile, Juliet tightened her hold on her box and stepped outside. It was snowing, just as Charlotte had predicted, and each flake added to the already solid sweeping of pure white which had painted Jackson for several weeks now.

Juliet hunched her shoulders together to push the collar of Joel’s jacket higher on her neck and started walking down the porch steps, moving the box out of her line of sight to watch her feet on the slippery stairs.

“See you tonight?” Charlotte called after her.

Juliet paused and turned slowly. Charlotte stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows raised.

Tonight.

The dance.

The dance that she couldn’t even pretend to have forgotten about, when every inch of Jackson was papered with handmade flyers advertising the big event.

“Don’t even think about not goin,” Charlotte warned, standing straighter. “You promised me you’d go.”

Damnit, she had promised.

“I’ll be there,” Juliet assured her, projecting some cheerfulness into her voice to ease the lines on Charlotte’s forehead.

“Great!” Charlotte practically sang. “See you at 7?”

Juliet nodded and forced a smile on her face.

“You better head back in, you’ll catch a cold,” she cautioned evasively, looking Charlotte up and down.

Her friend rolled her eyes. “You’re not gettin out of this, I’ll come and find you if you’re not there for 7.”

Juliet knew she wasn’t kidding.

“I know,” she laughed, then lifted two fingers off the box in a wave goodbye before Charlotte decided to pull out a pen and asked her to sign a contract declaring her attendance at the dance.

“Oh! And don’t forget to look for those vhs tapes!” Charlotte called after Juliet as she began to make her way down the porch steps, heading out onto the street.

Charlotte had been searching for a tape of some old movie she used to watch when she was younger, she was desperate to show it at a movie afternoon. ‘Pretty in Pink’ Juliet recalled. Tommy was convinced that there was a box of tapes in Juliet’s house and so another task was thrust upon her.

Juliet turned and nodded very dramatically at Charlotte. “First thing tomorrow, I promise!” she shouted back then sped up to avoid another request. The snow was getting heavier and Juliet secretly hoped that it would get so bad that they might have to cancel the dance.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go…

Okay, she just didn’t want to go.

For many reasons… one being the confirmed attendance of the man she’d managed to avoid all contact with for the past month.

She’d overheard Tommy mention the other day that he’d convinced Joel to come along and Juliet almost tripped over her own feet.

The sharp bite of his rejection still burned, but the hole in her chest was starting to heal over. It was little things at first: like when she stopped waking up in the middle of the night looking for him, then when her first thought in the morning drifted to something other than him, and finally when she walked past his house and didn’t hasten her footsteps, Juliet knew that scar tissue was forming.

But this all relied on not seeing him, because when she did… when Juliet caught sight of him in the stables or grabbing some food in the mess hall… she swore that she was back outside her house listening to him say those words and brush off everything they had built together.

He made her feel like a little girl who’d gotten attached to someone she shouldn’t have.

He made her feel stupid.

He made her feel like every look and every touch between them meant nothing.

And all of that rushed to the surface when she looked at his face. His hard, angry and devastatingly handsome face.

Tonight, at the dance, she couldn’t avoid him. She’d have to look into those hollow eyes and pretend that he hadn’t meant the entire world to her only two months ago.

Juliet blinked away the threat of tears and started walking quicker.

Walking past the mess hall, Juliet watched a man on a ladder attempt to fix one of the broken twinkly lights on a large evergreen tree outside.

It was a strange sight, the lengths Jackson’s residents went to to celebrate Christmas.

Juliet had never known it to be a joyous occasion.

With her father, Christmas had only ever been a sad, cold affair with stiff, awkward gatherings and blurred lines.

There was no singing, no laughter, no trees, no lights. Her father’s community would instead join together for a reading in the community centre. Juliet would sit in the front row with her hands clasped on her lap, terrified to make even a single movement, lest she show that she wasn’t deserving of dinner.

Christmas was the only time of the year her father drank. After their meal, he would ask for whatever alcohol they could spare to be passed around the men of the community and every woman would straighten their spines.

Juliet tried her best to bury her memories of those Christmas nights, leaving behind only a murky recollection of one of her father’s men pushing her up against a wall and every muscle in her body stiffening.

The feeling of hot, sweaty hands pushing her further into the wall, holding her steady as he nudged his face into her neck and his lips spread across her collarbone. Juliet always held her breath, hoping that maybe she’d pass out before his hands drifted further.

Juliet tried to close her eyes, she always did, but the sight of her father watching them over the man’s shoulder was too vividly sickening to ignore.

Every year he allowed his men to have a taste of her… like she was a delicately wrapped present just waiting for their hungry hands to rip apart.

But it was only ever a taste.

When their fingers would drift lower and lower, starting to pull up her skirt, that’s when her father would walk over and place his strong hand on the man’s shoulder. Declaring his ownership.

Christmas always left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Juliet?”

Matt’s voice was drowned out by the piercing sound of glass bottles rattling against each other. Juliet gasped and blinked up at her patrol partner’s concerned face as he reached out to stabilise the box in her arms.

“Shit, sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Juliet stuttered.

“Are you okay?” he asked with hunched eyebrows and a serious gaze.

Juliet looked down at her box and pulled it closer to her chest, then tilted her chin back up to meet Matt’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good!” she replied, injecting false cheer into her voice.

“But you’re crying?” Matt pointed out quietly as his hand gently curved around her damp cheek.

“Oh,” she gasped, embarrassed, “must be the cold air.”

Matt gave her a look that said he didn’t even remotely believe her but he knew her well enough not to push the issue. Juliet knew what she looked like in that moment: red rimmed eyes and a haunted expression.

With one last swipe of his thumb under her eyes, Matt removed his hand and brought it slowly back to his side.

“Where you going with all that?” he asked, pointing to the filled box in her arms.

“It’s for Maria, Charlotte asked me to - ” she paused as a cold shiver rippled across her back.

For a second, Juliet felt the sharp awareness of a gun trained on her and her body instantly stiffened.

But it wasn’t a gun, it was worse.

Joel stood on the porch of the mess hall, his large leather jacket hanging over one shoulder as though he was putting it on but stopped suddenly. He was still, so still that Juliet wondered if time had stopped.

Her eyes washed over him despite her brain screaming at her to look away, but it was impossible when his dark eyes were focused on her like the sharp gaze of a hunter.

Slowly, his eyes moved to the man beside her and Juliet watched as his fists curled and his jaw moved before he sharply looked away.

The second his eyes left her Juliet inhaled a deep breath and quickly returned her gaze to Matt, who stood looking down at her with confusion written all over his face.

“Sorry,” she coughed, “these are for Maria, I’m just heading over there now,” Juliet explained, lifting the box and cringing as the bottles rattled again.

Matt watched her curiously for another second before his signature smile donned his face again.

“I’ll walk with you,” he decided and reached down to take the box out of Juliet’s hand, tucking it beneath one arm and pivoted to hover his other hand on the small of Juliet’s back.

Juliet didn’t look at the mess hall as they walked passed, not even when he felt that dangerous awareness spread over the back of her neck. She just focused on the crunch of snow beneath her feet and watched the clouds of breath hang in the air in front of them.

Their conversation was easy, as it always was.

Matt would recognise when Juliet’s mind drifted elsewhere and he would fill the space with chatter about his big plans for the week. And that day, the topic on his mind was the dance.

Juliet tried not to roll her eyes.

“So, are you coming?” he asked with a smirk.

Juliet shot him a dark look. “I think Charlotte would have many creative ways of murdering me if I didn’t show up,” she explained.

Matt’s laugh was warm and playful. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Juliet’s mouth cracked a smile.

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the turn off towards her street. Matt stopped in front of her and carefully passed the box back into Juliet’s arms.

“Save me a dance?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Juliet laughed. “Sure.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair and stepped backwards. “Don’t sound too excited, Jules,” he said with a wink, and then he was gone, heading in the other direction with his hands in his pockets.

Juliet let out a slow breath and closed her eyes. Matt’s presence was a welcome distraction but the memory of her father lay steady on her shoulders, weighing her down.

He was never far from her mind, even on her good days. Charlotte spoke to her about ‘closure’, allowing herself to face what her father did to her and move past it. But that sounded like a child’s fantasy, as if she could actually ever rid herself from his memory. As if she could ever untangle herself from him.

His initials were burned into her skin but his ghost had sunk deeper into her bones, burrowing himself there and haunting her every movement.

Closure was a privilege not offered to her.

She’d had enough conversations with Charlotte to recognise that he was her abuser, although Juliet still struggled to voice the term.

He was her father, part of her DNA. How could she ever truly rid herself of him?

Juliet had tried taking herself back to that final night in the basement before Joel had found her. She thought if she allowed herself to remember everything that had happened she might be able to work through it and rid herself of some of fear eating away at her, but there were still gaps in her memory; large stretches of blackness behind her eyes where more horrors were hidden.

So, no, she wasn’t excited for the dance, or Christmas, or anything really.

Juliet was still drowning beneath the memory of her father and her only lifeline had abandoned her.

……………………………….

Charlotte’s box of remedies sat on Maria’s porch as Juliet knocked on the door for the third time.

Her knuckles struck the wood but there was still no answer.

She glanced behind her then her gaze dropped to the handle and the impulsive, impatient part of Juliet reached for the metal knob and turned.

It opened.

Juliet paused, unsure what to do. Maybe Maria was sleeping or just hadn’t heard the door… maybe she should sit in the box in the house then leave.

Juliet bent and lifted the box into her arms again and stepped into the house. It was almost an exact replica of the layout of her and Ethan’s and her feet took her into the living room before she could stop herself. A part of her was curious about how the town’s leader lived.

The room was well decorated with soft throws over the couches and trinkets on almost every surface. Juliet kept walking, slowly taking in all of the details around her.

After a moment, she spotted what looked like a small chalkboard over the fireplace and her curiosity took her there immediately. There, written on the black surface were two names:

Kevin 4/3/00 - 9/29/03

Sarah 7/20/89 - 9/27/03

A sinking feeling settled in Juliet’s gut.

They must be Maria’s kids… Joel had never mentioned being an uncle.

God, they were so young when they died. Juliet couldn’t even imagine the trauma that would leave on a person, what might happen to their perception of this already very dark world.

“Juliet?”

Her head whipped around to find Maria standing in the entrance to the kitchen, gripping a pair of scissors tightly in her hands.

“Sorry, the door was open…” Juliet trailed off, realising now how strange it was that she just walked right in.

Maria raised her eyebrows. “What’s this?” she asked, using the scissors to point towards the box in Juliet’s arms.

“Remedies,” she answered quickly, “from Charlotte.”

Maria’s face instantly softened and she tucked her scissors into her back pocket.

“Thanks,” she murmured as Juliet passed the box to her and relayed Charlotte’s message.

Once the box had left her hands, Juliet stepped backwards, feeling the awkwardness that lay thick between them. It was obvious Maria felt the same.

“Well, I better get going,” Juliet said quietly, already turning towards the door.

“Wait.”

She stopped, tilting her head back around to the town’s leader. Maria looked her up and down.

“Who’s been cutting your hair?” she asked while adjusting the box in her arms.

Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed and her chin dipped to look at her dark brown hair falling several inches below her breasts.

“No one,” she replied, sounding more like a question, as she self-consciously tugged on the ends of her hair.

A smile approached the corner of Maria’s mouth before she placed the box on the coffee table and pulled the scissors from her pocket, waving them slightly.

“No,” Juliet argued, “I couldn’t ask you - “

“It’s no problem,” Maria replied in that hard, matter of fact tone of her’s.

Before Juliet could reply, Maria had already turned and walked into the kitchen.

Juliet didn’t really have an option but to follow.

………………………….

Maria’s kitchen was a lot nicer than her and Ethan’s.

Juliet sat on a wooden chair with a towel draped over her shoulders, flinching as Maria sprayed her hair with water.

“Just a trim or are you looking for a chop?” Maria asked suddenly, startling Juliet who had gotten used to the silence between them.

She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t even sure when the last time she had her hair cut was. It must have been when she had first arrived in the QZ when Juliet’s hair was so coated in blood and dirt that she ended up taking her blunt knife to it.

Maria’s scissors looked a lot sharper.

Juliet thought about her question and about everything that she’d been through since that last haircut.

Her hair had grown as she worked those years with Joel, and longer as she travelled the country with him. Now all she had to show for it was the length of her dark brown waves…

Juliet didn’t want to carry that weight anymore.

“A chop,” she answered finally.

Maria’s surprisingly skilled fingers began to separate parts of her length and when the first inch of hair fell to the floor next to her feet, Juliet breathed a sigh of relief.

After another few inches hit the floor, Maria broke the silence:

“You were looking at the memorial Tommy made?” she asked.

Juliet stilled the nervous tapping of her foot and swallowed awkwardly.

“I’m really sorry about your kids,” Juliet murmured as she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, feeling her heart grow heavy for the woman who stood behind her.

“It’s okay,” Maria replied, in her usual even tone, “and kid… just Kevin.”

Another apology almost slid from Juliet’s mouth but her confusion held her tongue. She hadn’t realised that Tommy was once a father -

“Sarah was Joel’s daughter.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat.

Joel had a child? A child who died?

Every interaction they’d ever had, every cold word from his mouth, and every sad look in his eyes flew through Juliet’s mind. Her heart had dropped to her stomach and a cold chill ran down her spine.

She wasn’t sure how to process this information.

He never said anything. Never even hinted at the loss he’d suffered. But as the realisation washed over her, Juliet realised that he had. It was written all over his face; in the hard line between his eyebrows; in the deep grooves around his mouth, echoing a memory of a time when laughter came easily to him.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…” Maria said hesitantly.

“No,” Juliet heard herself say, “thanks for telling me.”

Her heart ached for Joel and there was nowhere to put the feelings inside her chest. She couldn’t go to him, she couldn’t talk to him about it.

Juliet was left to reevaluate everything she knew about Joel as inches upon inches of her hair continued to fall on the floor around her feet.

…………………..

Juliet’s steps were sudden and heavy as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. It was strange, she thought, not feeling the weight of the last few years swinging around her face.

Juliet’s hair now fell just below her shoulders and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. When she reached her room, she headed straight for the floor length mirror balancing on the wall near her window. Her chin tilted upwards as she admired the way her hair moved.

This was a good thing, she decided. A new start.

Maybe, when she went for her next haircut, there wouldn’t be as much baggage to remove.

Her heartbeat quickened as she turned towards her very vacant closet, remembering the dance that rapidly approached and her complete lack of an outfit.

Juliet had been at Maria’s longer than she realised, and the sky was fading into a worrying dark blue as the minutes ticked by.

Her fingers flicked between the hangers in her closet but her mind was elsewhere.

Joel had lost his daughter.

She couldn’t even imagine the pain.

Her grief for her father was a dark, guilt drenched lump in her throat that choked her whenever her mind drifted his way.

Her grief wasn’t a byproduct of her love for him; it was an aftermath of her fear.

Juliet didn’t miss her father. She was still afraid of him.

But Juliet knew that Joel’s grief was different. It made sense now, why his protective instincts ran so deep, and why his eyes were black wells of sorrow and remorse.

Joel’s grief for his daughter was a smouldering fire. It burned hot and, though its flames dwindled, it never went out.

It made sense, that Joel had lost someone.

This whole time, when she witnessed the haunted look in his eyes, Juliet had assumed it was Tess. Maybe Joel regretted letting her go, maybe there was another woman who he still felt the loss of.

But it was deeper than that.

Maria’s reveal was the final piece in the very complicated puzzle of Joel Miller.

Joel was dark and messy and haunted. And, finally, Juliet understood why.

Juliet unhooked a hanger from her wardrobe. On it was the only dress in her possession, one gifted to her from Charlotte.

It was long, falling below her knees, and it hugged her body in a way that made Juliet’s cheeks flush. The straps were thin, barely holding the dress up.

But the best part, in Juliet’s opinion, was the colour. It was a combination of various shades of dark red, all merged together.

It was perfect.

Juliet slipped the dress on and walked back over to her mirror, reaching to tuck her shortened hair behind her ears.

She barely recognised herself, and the thought was a welcome one.

The sky was black, and Juliet knew it was time to go. Charlotte’s threats were not to be taken lightly.

Her steps down the stairs were softer, nervous even.

He would be there. At the dance.

The hairs on her bare arms raised at the thought of Joel’s eyes finding her in this dress. Then she blinked suddenly, erasing the image in her mind.

No. Joel had hurt her. She couldn’t think of him that way anymore.

Juliet shook her head and reached for her boots, lacing them up as she sat on the bottom step.

Juliet’s feelings towards Joel were so tangled up, it was becoming impossible to unravel them all. And, now, finding out something so devastating about him just added another thread to the mess.

She stood and walked towards the front door, where her jacket hung from a hook. Its dark green canvas material still smelled like him. Juliet had to stop herself from lifting it to her nose.

It was worrying her that the thought of seeing Joel brought with it the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. Or were they moths? Churning around in the memory of the way Joel had once made her feel.

As Juliet put her arms through the sleeves, and savoured the warmth it brought, she realised that slowly her anger towards Joel had begun to fade.

He didn’t want her, and that hurt. But the bitterness within her had lessened.

In its place, were recurring waves of sadness and disappointment.

Joel didn’t want her, and it hurt; it left that deep, dark hole in her chest surrounded by a graveyard of misguided expectations.

Joel didn’t want her. But she was still here. She was still surviving.

Juliet would repeat those words at the dance, reminding herself that Joel didn’t have space in his haunted heart for her. And she would have to let him go.

………………………………

The door creaked when she entered, but no one heard.

The mess hall had been entirely transformed. The seats were pushed to the side to make room for couples to dance. There were even more twinkly lights than usual, covering every wall. Candles covered every surface, and a band was set up on a makeshift stage, playing an upbeat song.

Juliet let the door close behind her as she stood in awe, watching as people laughed and twirled and drank.

“You made it,” Ethan beamed beside her, pulling Juliet in for a hug.

Juliet circled her arms around Ehtan’s back, breathing a sigh of relief at his warm familiarity.

“You’re okay,” he whispered in her ear and then pecked a kiss on her cheek before he let go, straightening his back and looking down at her.

Juliet nodded, and a real smile started to twitch at the corners of her mouth.

“Charlotte will be glad to see you, she almost had a search party out,” Ethan said teasingly, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

Juliet scoffed. “I’m like two minutes late.”

Ethan laughed and lifted his eyes, nodding as another person approached.

“Your jacket, miss?” Matt requested in what Juliet had been told was a french accent, a very bad version of it she assumed, and raised his arm, waiting.

Juliet’s eyes hit the ceiling as she shrugged off her coat and placed it in Matt’s arms. She felt her cheeks warm as the cold hit her bare arms but she straightened her back and tilted her chin up, making an effort to not be embarrassed.

Matt blew out a low whistle as he tugged her jacket under his arm.

“You cut your hair,” Ethan breathed, lifting a hand to tug at the chopped length.

“Yeah,” she replied, darting her eyes between her two friends, “just felt like a change.”

“You look beautiful,” Matt said roughly after a long moment.

Ethan cut Matt a sharp look and tilted his head towards the sea of people gathered around the tables. “Come on,” he urged.

Juliet looked up at Matt who gave her a wink and a teasing smile, then settled his free hand on the small of her back and led her through the crowd of people.

“You’re here!” Charlotte screamed into Juliet’s ear as she pulled her in for a hug. “Your hair! And that dress! I was right, it looks amazing on you.”

Juliet felt her cheeks redden even more and she pulled back from the hug, allowing her eyes to drift down Charlotte’s outfit.

“You look gorgeous,” she told her friend earnestly.

Soon, the four of them settled down at a table with drinks in their hands. Juliet winced slightly as she tipped the whiskey to her lips and felt it burn as it went down her throat. It wasn’t the taste that bothered her, more the memory of it.

Juliet couldn’t help it, after a moment she began to drift away from the conversation as her eyes searched for familiar broad shoulders and grey speckled brown hair.

She convinced herself she wasn’t disappointed when there was no sign of him. It was a relief she felt, of course.

Juliet’s focus returned to the table just in time for Matt to share another embarrassing patrol story.

“I told her not to go in, but she did it anyway,” Matt explained, raising his hands as his mouth stretched further to accommodate his beaming smile.

Juliet covered her mouth as Charlotte and Ethan’s eyes swung her way.

“Admit it,” she demanded, turning back to face Matt, “you were just scared.”

He barked out a laugh and took another long sip of his whiskey. “If that’s true, what about that -”

Matt was cut off by Charlotte’s excited scream.

“I love this song!” she screeched, reaching for Ethan’s hand and dragging him to his feet, “we have to go dance.”

Charlotte led Ethan to the dancefloor, and Juliet watched as their fingers quietly interlaced in the space between them.

When her gaze returned to Matt, he was looking at her with a curious expression but chose not to voice his thoughts.

If Charlotte and Ethan had something between them, Juliet was happy for them. She left her feelings for Ethan behind a long time ago, and their friendship had transformed over the last couple months; becoming more mature and grounded on something other than their mutual fear.

“Wanna join them?” Matt asked, nudging his head in the direction of the couples dancing.

Juliet was ready to shake her head but the look in his eyes was so hopeful that she couldn’t bring herself to say no.

Instead, Juliet reached for her glass and swallowed the remainder of whiskey, then nodded sharply and rose from her seat.

Matt laughed in response, reaching suddenly for her hand as they made their way to the floor. The music had settled slightly, it was smoother, slower and she watched as the couples around them began to sway.

Matt looked down at her, sweeping his gaze all the way down her dress and back up to meet her eyes. Then his hand wrapped around her middle and his fingers spread out across her back. In one sudden movement, he pushed and their chests were flush and his other hand was entwined with her own.

Juliet’s heart started to race. This was unexpected, she hadn’t been this close to someone since…

Thankfully, the alcohol drowned out most of her nerves and Juliet pushed away all traitorous.

As they moved to the music, Juliet’s chin tipped up to admire the lights hanging above them. They looked like stars falling above their heads, and Juliet noticed the small reflections in Matt’s eyes.

Matt’s warm expression quickly shifted as his eyes latched onto something behind her, his eyebrows began to furrow and he tightened the hold on her hand. Then slowly, he bent to whisper in her ear.

“What’s got into him?” he murmured.

Juliet knew who it was before she turned her head. There was that awareness on the back of her neck again, warning her that something dangerous, someone dangerous, was watching her.

Still, her head swung with such speed her hair whipped around her.

There, leaning against the bar, was Joel.

The first thing Juliet noticed was his green shirt, and the few buttons open at the top.

The second thing she noticed was the murderous intention in his eyes.

He watched her like a serial killer stalking his next victim. His eyes didn’t stray from her face, not even as Matt tapped her cheek to pull her attention back to him.

Juliet was caught.

And the wound in her chest poured open again.

If he didn’t care, if he didn’t want to be with her… Why look at her that way? Why demand her attention?

“Juliet? Are you okay?” Matt asked, concern seeping into his voice.

“Yes,” she answered quickly, finally pulling her attention away from the man who was still watching her.

“Yeah I have no idea what’s up with him,” she laughed nervously, settling her hand back into Matt’s.

Matt looked back over at Joel then down at Juliet. “He looks like he’s gonna kill someone,” Matt said with a shocked laugh.

Juliet’s responding giggle was a little too high to be believable. But, again, Matt was too nice to ask her about it.

As the next song played, and they continued to dance, Juliet struggled to ignore Joel’s presence.

And she felt that anger start to churn in her gut again.

“Sorry, I’ll just be a minute,” Juliet apologised to Matt in a voice that sounded very far away, unlatching their fingers as she began to march across the dancefloor to the man simmering at the bar.

Her footsteps faltered as she approached him, but Juliet kept her chin up, urging herself not to be intimidated by the rage in his eyes or the way he towered over her.

Within seconds Juliet stood in front of Joel Miller for the first time in a month.

She underestimated how much it would hurt.

His black eyes scanned every inch of her face with a feverish intensity. Juliet knew she had to say something before she lost her resolve.

She licked her lips and ignored the way Joel’s eyes followed her movement.

“Is there a problem?” she demanded.

Joel took a deep breath and the scowl on his face deepened as he crossed his arms over his chest. Juliet also ignored the way the material of his shirt stretched to accommodate the size of his biceps.

“You cut your hair,” he said roughly, ignoring her question.

Juliet’s fingers instantly reached to touch the blunt ends of her hair.

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?” she questioned, dropping her hand back to rest against her leg.

Joel’s jaw shifted. “What are you doin’ with him?” he ground out, looking behind her before his eyes returned to her face.

“Who? Matt?” she asked, confused.

The smallest tilt of Joel’s was confirmation enough.

“He’s my friend,” Juliet answered defensively, straightening her spine.

Joel scoffed and reached a hand up to rub his jaw.

“If that’s what you wanna call him,” he murmured under his breath as corners of his mouth curved into a sick smile.

Rage shot through her, hot and fast.

“What is it to you?” Juliet fumed.

Joel’s expression hardened.

“You need to be careful,” he warned, darkening his tone.

Juliet felt like she’d been slapped. Every interaction she’d had with Joel over the past two months had been strange, cryptic and insulting… and she was so sick of it.

“Of what?,” she demanded, raising her hands in the hair, “of Matt?”

Joel said nothing; his silence was his answer.

“Why?” Juliet urged, “because he might hurt me?”

Her mouth took on a snarl.

“I think I know who I should be careful of, Joel,” she seethed, breathlessly, “I think I know who might want to hurt me.”

Joel’s stone face flinched.

Juliet stepped back, breathing heavy. She didn’t have anything left to say to him.

It didn’t have to be like this between them. If Joel didn’t want her, they could have remained friends. But why did he have to keep pulling her back in, giving her signs that he might still feel something for her, only to stab her in the heart with his cruel comments time and time again?

The music finally reached her ears again and Juliet wiped the tear from her cheek, moving to turn and return to her friend on the dancefloor and try to salvage the evening.

But before she could take a step away from him, Joel’s strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, stilling all movements.

Her face was turned away from him and she didn’t dare attempt to meet his eyes. So, Joel stepped forward until his front was flush with her back and dipped his head until his lips met her ear.

Juliet shivered as though the cold from outside had pushed through the walls.

“Juliet,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

Her eyes closed as another tear leaked out.

“I was wrong,” Joel whispered and every cell in Juliet’s body set alight.

She gasped, waiting for him to say more…

“Juliet, is everything okay here?” Matt’s voice was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her head. She wrenched away from Joel, pulling her arm free from him.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him, hoping he hadn’t noticed the crack in her voice.

Matt looked between them, unconvinced.

Juliet reached for her friend’s hand, pointedly ignoring the feeling of Joel’s eyes on the back of her head.

“I think Charlotte’s waving us over,” Juliet said quickly, pulling him in the direction of the dancefloor.

The distance between her and Joel did nothing to slow her heartbeat or erase the sound of his words from her mind.

“What was that about?” Matt asked when they finally stopped in the middle of the crowded floor.

“Nothing,” she replied. Then before he could ask anymore questions, Juliet pulled him close and started moving to the music.

After a moment, Matt’s muscles relaxed and a smile returned to his face.

Juliet tried not to, but she turned and caught sight of Joel at the bar. He had one empty whiskey glass in front of him, and another one at his lips.

She flinched as she heard that second glass hit the wooden surface of the bar with the force of Joel’s hand.

…………………………

Hours later, the world had grown a little blurry.

The four of them were back at the table, laughing over some joke that wouldn’t have been funny in the light of day. Juliet’s arm was slung over Charlotte’s shoulders as they watched Matt and Ethan arm wrestle.

Juliet had drunk enough to dull the memory of Joel’s lips against her ear, and she had managed to continue the evening as normal, as though Joel hadn’t reignited some hope in her chest that was bound to cause her even more misery.

The lights looked brighter overhead somehow, and Juliet’s chin kept tilting up to watch them flicker.

In the corner of the hall, she heard a christmas carol being sung by a group of drunk men. For a quick second, the memory of Christmas with her father almost pulled her under… but then she looked in front of her, and watched as her friends began to join in. Their voices were loud and frighteningly out of tune, but they were joyful and they weren’t frightened. They were happy.

Slowly, Juliet's quiet voice blended with theirs and a similar smile approached her face. She pulled Charlotte closer, and felt a strange rush of comfort flow through her. Maybe this was what it was like to have a family.

When the song ended, everyone clapped and laughter rang throughout the hall. Juliet sat back against her seat with a true smile on her face.

Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet noticed Matt shift his chair closer to her and she felt his fingers brush across her hair.

“You havin’ a good time?” he whispered in her ear.

Juliet turned to face him and their cheeks almost touched. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Yeah, are you?” she choked out.

He nodded against her hair, then he pulled back and gestured towards her empty glass.

“Want another drink?” Matt asked.

Juliet probably should have said no, she’d had more than enough. But looking around, it very much seemed like the night was still young. So, she smiled up at Matt and nodded.

Matt winked back at her and told her he’d just be a minute as he lifted their empty glasses and left the table.

Juliet leaned back in her chair and adjusted the straps of her dress, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this between her and Matt. He’d always been flirty, yes, but Juliet had assumed it was just his personality.

But under the christmas lights and the influence of alcohol, Juliet didn’t mind his casual touch and whispered words.

Moments later, a woman’s scream cut through her thoughts.

Juliet’s head whipped around, and her view of the world tilted slightly. Her eyesight was diluted and she struggled to see what had caused a crowd to gather around the bar.

Juliet stood on shaky legs, readying herself to grab Charlotte and Ethan and run.

Just as she turned to shout an order, Juliet spotted Tommy hauling someone away from the bar.

It was Joel.

His hair was drenched in sweat, and his curls were plastered to his head. Juliet’s mouth gaped in shock and she started moving, pushing through the crowd of people, desperate to see what had happened.

But the blood on Joel’s knuckles told her more than enough.

Matt crouched on the floor beside the bar with blood flooding from his nose. A woman passed him a towel and he held it to his face as his eyes closed in pain.

Juliet’s ears were ringing in that high pitched sound.

She should have crouched down with Matt, helped him clear the blood from his face, asked him what happened, and comforted him the best she could.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Juliet turned before Matt caught sight of her in the crowd and she pushed against more people until she reached the exit of the mess hall, where Tommy had just dragged Joel seconds earlier.

She didn’t even hear the sound of the door slamming against the wall as she kicked it open. The skin on her arms pebbled as soon as she stepped outside into the cold, but Juliet couldn’t feel it.

Her head turned to find Joel slammed against the wall with Tommy’s hand on his chest.

“Joel” Juliet shouted as she marched towards him. She didn’t even recognise her own voice.

“Juliet?”

Her name fell from Tommy’s lips and Joel’s eyes locked onto her.

“Go back inside, I’ll be in in a second,” Tommy urged her, using his most commanding voice.

Juliet could see the fear and worry in his eyes. Tommy loved his brother but knew that he couldn’t protect him from himself.

“No,” she said loudly, “I need to speak with him.”

“Juliet this isn’t a good idea -”

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Joel growled as he pushed against his brother.

Tommy looked between them both. “You have two minutes.”

As soon as the door shut, Juliet launched herself at Joel.

Her hands planted firmly on his shoulders and she pushed hard, backing him further into the wall behind him.

The way his head rolled and the stink of his breath as it hit her nose told her that he was as drunk as her, drunker probably.

“What the fuck was that?” she sneered. Juliet was breathless, fueled entirely by her own shock, confusion and anger.

Joel said nothing, just started down at her with half open eyes.

Juliet pushed him again, hard enough to hear a groan release from his lips.

“Why would you do that!? He’s my friend, my patrol partner,” she demanded, the words spilling from her mouth in a breathless rush. “Why would you want to hurt him?”

Joel straightened against the wall and Juliet’s hands fell to rest against his chest. The movement of her arms mirrored each breath he took.

“He can’t protect you,” Joel murmured, tilting his chin down to meet her eyes.

“What?” Juliet breathed.

“On patrol,” he clarified, “he can’t protect you.”

Juliet pulled back to search Joel’s face. Maybe this was some elaborate joke. She certainly felt like laughing.

But the look in his eyes told her that he was serious. And that just made her blood boil.

“I don’t need to be fucking protected Joel, don’t give me that,” she argued.

Joel ground his jaw. His eyes were black holes, and Juliet couldn’t see what lurked in them.

“Are you jealous?” Juliet whispered, terrified to even say the words.

Joel pushed against her until Juliet was forced to take a step back.

“Not fuckin’ jealous,” he seethed, then scoffed like it was a joke. “You’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

Juliet flinched.

“Then make me understand,” she begged, “because I can’t make sense of it anymore.”

Juliet paused, inhaling a deep breath and running a hand through her hair.

“You don’t want to be with me,” she started, “I can understand that, that makes sense to me.”

Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears, but she kept going.

“But why won’t you just leave me alone? You keep haunting me Joel, I can’t escape you,” Juliet sobbed, using her trembling hand to wipe her nose.

Joel was silent, his face was wiped clean of any emotion.

“Now you’re punching my patrol partner? What makes you think -”

Juliet’s words caught in her throat as Joel’s hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around, pushing her against the same wall he was up against only seconds earlier.

He planted his hands against the wall on either side of her head, crowding her with his body.

“You wanna know why?” he murmured. Joel’s face was so close his breath warmed her cheeks.

She couldn’t help herself, Juliet’s chin dipped in a nod almost instantly.

“Because if it came down to it and a fuckin’ clicker was backin’ you up against a wall like this,” Joel pushed his chest against hers and Juliet gasped, “he would save himself, he wouldn’t save you.”

Juliet’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Joel’s breathing had grown heavier and his hands curled into fists against the wall.

“And you would?” Juliet asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel let out a humourless laugh and moved one of his hands to cup her cheek. Juliet was always surprised by how gentle his touch could be.

“I’d let myself die to save you,” he vowed roughly, then shook his head slightly and moved his thumb against her cheek, “and I’d let other people die too if it ensured your safety.”

“He couldn’t say the same,” Joel finished in a low voice, his voice a growl against her skin.

Juliet’s heartbeat roared in her ears.

“What -” Juliet started, pausing to catch her breath, “what did you mean earlier? What were you wrong about?”

Joel’s pupils flared and he swallowed rough.

Juliet watched what looked like a thousand emotions pass through his eyes, and she held her breath, waiting desperately for his answer.

“I was wrong to think I could stay away from you,” Joel explained in a voice like gravel.

Juliet swore her heart stopped.

Joel’s head dipped until his forehead pressed against her own. “I thought I could let you go,” he continued, “I thought it’d be better for you.”

So many questions lingered on her tongue, but Juliet stayed quiet.

“I was wrong,” Joel stated. “I can’t stay away from you.”

“And seein you go behind the fence and havin’ to stay behind, not knowin’ if you’re okay,” he paused, pulling back to search her eyes, “it’s killin’ me, not being near you.”

“Then don’t stay away,” Juliet urged, her voice desperate, “be with me.”

Joel’s thumb moved to her lips, tracing the edge of her mouth.

Juliet had laid her heart out on the table. It was broken and scarred, but it could be his, if he wanted it to be.

His head shook ever so slightly and Juliet began to tremble.

“I want to, god I want to,” he murmured, staring intensely at her lips, “but I’m not good for you, baby.”

“Stop,” Juliet said suddenly, pushing against him.

“I’m not a child,” she nearly screamed, “I decide what’s good for me, not you.”

“We live in a fucked up world, and I know how to survive it. So do you. I don’t need to be protected from it, and I definitely don’t need to be protected from you,” the words rushed from her and Juliet was sick of censoring herself. “These past couple months I’ve been so angry at you, so angry, because you’ve taken my choice away. You decided that we shouldn't be together. If I want to be with you then that is my decision.”

Juliet’s heart beat so fast she was sure Joel could hear it.

He stood a couple steps away, looking down at her with his mouth agape.

Then suddenly, he took a step forward, and another one, until their bodies were flush again and his hands were on either side of her face.

“I’m too old for you,” he cautioned.

“I don’t care,” Juliet responded quickly, holding her ground.

“I’m not who I was. I’m too slow and I -”

“I don’t care,” she repeated, firmer this time.

His eyes had grown glossy and Juliet pushed her heart towards him again, wondering if he’d take it this time.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he nearly growled.

“Show me,” she whispered, then held her breath.

Joel’s mouth was on hers not even a second later. His hand curled around the back of her neck as he tilted her face up to meet his.

Juliet responded instantly, gripping his shirt with her fingers, moaning into his open mouth, trembling under his touch.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin when his lips moved to her neck. “Not lettin’ you go again,” Joel vowed.

She pulled harder against his shirt, needing him closer. Joel must have felt the same because his hands slid down to her waist and his fingers curled against her, tugging at the fabric of her dress.

“So goddamn beautiful,” he growled in her ear when his hands found the end of the dress and feverishly began to climb up her thigh.

Joel’s lips suddenly wrenched from her skin when the door to the mess hall opened and a group of people spilled out, laughing and singing.

Joel gripped Juliet’s arm and pulled her into a dark corner, away from the lights in the street.

A bucket of cold water had been thrown over them, but Joel didn’t look regretful. He looked down at Juliet like he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were warm and hopeful.

A cold wind blew around them and Juliet shivered, rubbing her arms.

“Where’s your jacket?” Joel demanded, instantly reaching to shelter her from the cold.

“Inside,” she murmured against his chest.

Joel groaned. “If I go back in there just now, think Tommy might just throw me out.”

“Well, you did punch someone,” Juliet reminded him, and cringed as she remembered the look on Matt’s face. A fierce ball of guilt grew in her chest.

Joel pulled back to give her a dark look, then he bent and tucked his arms under her legs, hauling her to his chest.

“Hey!” she screeched.

“We better get you home then, before you freeze to death,” Joel deadpanned as he carried Juliet round the corner and onto the mainstreet, heading for their street.

“This is completely unnecessary,” she argued, “I can walk.”

Joel ignored her. Instead, choosing to tuck her closer to his chest.

The lights that covered the mainstreet were gorgeous against the night sky, but Juliet couldn’t keep her eyes off Joel as he carried her all the way home, not even breaking a sweat.

When her feet hit the ground, they were standing on her porch. Juliet looked up at him, disappointed that they weren’t at his. She didn’t even want to spend a night apart.

“Don’t,” Joel whispered against the side of her head. “We’re gonna do this the right way.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “That’s not fair,” she groaned.

“Get inside,” he ordered, “put a fire on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Juliet watched him for a second, hoping he’d change his mind and throw her over his shoulder and they could resume what started on his couch almost two months ago.

But no, Joel was being serious.

Before she could stop herself, Juliet stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. She felt his hands curl into fists by his side as he attempted to restrain himself from grabbing her.

“Goodnight, Joel,” she whispered as she turned the handle to her house.

For the first time in a long time, Juliet left him without fear that it would be forever.

……………………….

Her mind repeated her conversation with Joel as she unlaced her boots. With each movement of her fingers, Juliet’s smile grew.

Joel wanted her.

It wasn’t all in her head.

Juliet climbed the stairs quickly, desperate to take off her dress and get into bed. As she lay in the dark she would replay every second of her kiss with Joel.

But as soon as her foot hit the top step she remembered something.

“Urghhhhh,” Juliet groaned as she dropped her head in her hands.

She’d forgotten to look for Charlotte’s vhs tapes, and Juliet told her she’d have them to her in the morning.

It was fine, Juliet knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

For the next hour, as the alcohol faded from her bloodstream, Juliet searched high and low for the box of tapes Tommy had sworn were in his house. Sweat dampened her forehead and Juliet was growing tired. But she couldn’t disappoint Charlotte.

As she walked along the downstairs hallway, Juliet realised there was one place she hadn’t checked: the basement.

Her feet paused outside the door.

Juliet had yet to step foot in the basement of her new home, terrified that it might in some way resemble her father’s.

Time seemed to slow as her eyes traced the pattern on the door handle, and her mind debated what to do.

She could wait for Ethan to get home and ask him to check. He would do it, of course.

But Juliet was sick of living with this fear all the time. She wanted what Charlotte had spoken about. She wanted closure. Maybe walking into this perfectly safe basement would grant her that. Maybe she’d realise that her father was truly gone and that she didn’t have to be afraid of these things anymore.

Despite her best intentions, Juliet’s fingers still trembled as she reached for the handle. She paused before the door opened, breathing deep as she attempted to calm her racing heartbeat.

If she wanted to move on with her life, she had to do this.

She needed closure. She wanted closure.

Juliet’s wrist turned and the door popped open, releasing a draft of cold air that settled on her skin.

She shivered but fought against the chill.

Juliet squared her shoulders and walked through the doorway. Her fingers felt against the wall for a lightswitch but she realised soon that there wasn’t one.

She nearly turned back.

But Juliet knew that she had to do this.

She tried not to count the steps as she walked down them. This wasn’t her father’s basement, she didn’t need to do that anymore.

When she reached the bottom step, Juliet took a deep breath, ignoring the dust that settled on her tongue.

The light from the hallway upstairs allowed her to see somewhat okay, and Juliet felt confident moving forward towards the row of boxes against the back wall.

Her fear settled with every step she took, and Juliet was beginning to realise that she had no reason to be afraid. Maybe she was doing better than she thought.

Juliet hit the floor before she even realised what had happened.

Her hands flew out to protect her face, but her knee burned as she hit the hard ground.

She must have tripped on something.

But Juliet wasn’t worried about that.

Her fall had sent adrenaline flowing through her body and, as she lay on the cold concrete ground, Juliet swore she saw her father standing over her.

“No,” she whispered as she covered her eyes with her hands.

When she opened them again, she wasn’t lying on the ground anymore. Instead, she sat in a metal chair in the middle of the room as a roaring fire illuminated the snarl on her father’s face.

Her arms and legs were strapped down, she couldn’t move.

This was the night her father died, before he had branded her, before Joel and Ethan had found her.

This was the part of that night her brain wouldn’t let her remember…

Until now.

Juliet struggled against her restraints as the memory choked her.

“The world is not safe, Juliet ,” her father whispered, just inches from her face. Her name dropped from his lips like a curse. “There are demons, yes. Those infected monsters, with their peeling faces and sharp teeth. But there is worse out there. Hunters, raiders who crawl the country, killing and gutting people with no remorse -”

Elijah cut himself off with a heavy sigh, then his words became frenzied. “I kept you here, I kept you safe from that. I kept you safe because you are my property, you are mine to protect. And I will not lose another daughter to -”

He stopped, letting go of her wrists immediately. The blood rushed back into them and Juliet began to feel her fingers again, but that relief was the furthest thing from her mind.

Another daughter?

Her father staggered back another few steps, he looked horrified. His mask slipped right off his face as he said those words, now he struggled to put it back on. He wiped a hand over his forehead and when he brought it back down, the horror was gone. He was seething, his whole body moved with the force of his brutal breaths.

“What do you mean, another daughter?” Juliet whispered, but her voice sounded far away.

Her father flinched. Juliet was unsure if what she was experiencing was real, or a dream. Maybe she passed out when he hit her, maybe this was all in her imagination. Because her father’s bravado had never faltered, and yet here he stood before her, visibly flinching at her words.

Elijah started to pace in front of Juliet’s chair, his steps brisk and savage. Juliet’s mind was still clouded, so it took her a few seconds to realise he was mumbling to himself.

Then he stopped, turning to face Juliet. He looked like he was arguing with himself, he was losing control, unravelling right in front of her. For the first time since she could remember, Juliet looked at her father and saw weakness staring back at her.

“Your parents couldn’t protect you, sweet Juliet,” he began. His eyes had a detached look in them, like he wasn’t really standing in front of her.

Juliet swore her heart stopped at his words.

“They didn’t have what it took to survive. They didn’t have the determination to keep you safe,” Elijah continued, raising his bible in the air as he spoke.

Nausea washed over her.

“I saved you. I saved you from them . And then I spared them any more suffering.”

He paused to inhale a deep breath, as though his words were suffocating him. But he wasn’t finished.

“You looked so much like her, with your brown eyes and curls. And your cry, when your parents hit the floor, God, it sounded so much like her’s.”

Juliet didn’t know how much more of this she could take, the nausea was overpowering her.

“I knew at that moment that you were mine, that you were my second chance. I could take you in, protect you, make sure you were never taken from me. Never stolen away.”

The ringing in Juliet’s ears returned, and she leaned forward and vomited all over the floor.

Juliet was shaking when she returned to her body, when the firm grip of her memory released her. Every inch of her body trembled.

She lay on the ground staring at the ceiling, like she had done so many times in her father’s basement.

But he wasn’t her father. Was he?

Juliet couldn’t figure out if her mind was playing tricks on her, or had it been trying to protect her this whole time by shielding her from this memory.

He wasn’t her father, not truly.

The man who had hit her, suffocated her, branded her, kept her locked up for days, weeks at a time… wasn’t actually her father.

He had kidnapped her.

Juliet felt a similar nausea rise in her at that moment.

Her real parents were dead.

She began to crawl on her hands and knees towards the stairs, ignoring the blood trailing in her wake. Her knee wasn’t broken but the skin was burst.

But Juliet felt no pain. Her mind was too consumed by its own horror.

She had to get out of here. Juliet reached the stairs and, by some miracle, stumbled up them and closed the basement door. She leaned against it, ensuring it was closed and that nothing else down there could hurt her.

Her body felt like it was shutting down.

Her whole life, Juliet had wondered if she was like her father. They shared blood, after all, how could they be different? She lay awake at night, terrified for the day she would become like him.

She gasped out a choked sob when she realised that everything she knew was a lie.

He was a madman, a psychopath. And she was his victim.

Juliet slid down the door when her legs gave out on her.

She’d had parents, real parents who might have loved her. Did other people know? In her father’s community surely people would have questioned him when he returned with an infant who he had no relation to. Wouldn’t they?

Someone there had to know where she came from. Someone in her father’s community had to know the truth about her.

Juliet’s mind was racing and her blood roared in her ears as she stood on trembling legs.

She couldn’t stay here, in Jackson. Juliet needed closure, she craved it now.

It was the only thought in her mind as she sped up the stairs and changed into the clothes she usually wore for patrol. Ten minutes later, her bag was packed and her boots were laced.

Juliet thought of nothing but a hazy imaging of her parents. She flinched every time her father’s face entered her mind, gloating about the way he had killed them.

She would go back there and find out who her parents had been and where she came from, then she would return with the closure she so desperately needed. Juliet would move on, she would be with Joel, everything would be okay.

Some distant part of her brain screamed at her to slow down, to think things through, to sleep on it. Her muscles urged her to change her mind, to tell someone, to stop being so reckless.

But how could she tell someone what raged in her mind? No one would understand.

Juliet had just learned that she wasn’t actually destined to become her father’s daughter, she was never supposed to have been raised by him, never supposed to have been hurt by him.

She had been stolen, her fate had been altered.

And so she had to steal it back.

………………………….

The streets were dead as she raced through them. Most of the town’s residents were still at the dance, leaving the path to the stables clear of any onlookers.

Juliet kept her mind focused on her task. She couldn’t allow herself to think of anything else, anyone else. She would come back, she knew the way.

The stables appeared before her quicker than she had expected but Juliet didn’t allow any fear to enter her body. She sprinted to her horse, apologising to her as she readied her for travel.

Juliet could feel wet tears on her cheeks but she ignored them.

Her horse was almost ready when she heard the stable doors open.

Juliet kicked her bag out of sight and planted herself against the wall as she held her breath.

Irritation pulsed through her. Every delay was another second where she didn’t know the truth about herself.

Juliet gasped when a face appeared before her.

A very angry face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he demanded, breathing heavy.

“Joel,” Juliet whispered.

_______________________________

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom

#joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #tlou fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us #joel the last of us #Spotify

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short-honey-badger · 3 months

Text

Peppermint Tea 27 - Lavender 8

Okay. So I've had this chapter in the back burner for a while. Just fluffing the bare bones of it every now and then. We are introduced to a couple of new characters of my own creation. Forgive my lack of creativity on names and appearances.

Note!! I've posted this part once and then took it down like 10 minutes later when I realized I wasn't happy with it. I apologize to the ones who have already read this part. There have been some changes!

I really hope you enjoy! This plot has definitely thickened, and more drama Llama has come. I'm pulling out all the stops.

Warnings! Drinking and Shanks fucks up big time! A bit of a time skip happens. Also, a SURPRISE!

Masterlist

Shanks is drunk. Far more inebriated than he had planned to be, but the sake and rum were tasty, and he and his crew were celebrating a raid gone perfectly. The hoard that Yasopp had found at the end of the fight, if you could even call it one, had been the cherry on top. The group of organized bandits had been at work for a long time, stealing and taxing the villages of this island until everyone was as poor as dirt.

A child of all people had begged Shanks and his crew to take care of the bandits. The redhead had seen another kid in this one’s place, a big sneaky grin and mischievous eyes, and had easily caved. Lucky Roux had found the trail to the hideout quickly, and it was over after that. The bandits and their leader didn't stand a chance against someone like Shanks.

So now, they sat in the bar that had the most booze, going through the bandit hoard for anything they may want for themselves. The villagers had been adamant that the entire crew took something as payment, and Shanks wasn't about to say no to anything for free. He was a pirate, after all.

The Emperor had caught sight of a beautiful hair clip, one simple but ornate with tiny blue jewels embedded in the silver material. Shanks had thought of his treasure, specifically his Snowflake when he'd seen the hair clip and had swiftly pocketed it before losing himself in the copious amounts of booze that flowed around him.

Now that Shanks was thinking about you, he realized just how much he missed his treasure. It's been just over two weeks since he last saw you and tasted your lips on his. Far too long since he'd been able to bury his head between your legs and bring you to the edge over and over before you were begging him to let you come. Or having you ride his cock until you were nothing but a sobbing mess who couldn't remember anything other than the names of the two men who you belonged to.

It’s been three months since the first time Shanks had gotten the privilege of making love with his little treasure. In his drunken state, these two weeks felt like that long ago, and Shanks sighed dramatically and slumped over the bar, his mug of ale sloshing dangerously over the lip, “Benn when can we go back to _’s island?”

Shanks is far from quiet, and the bar is still filled with other pirates. People are listening in, most uncaring for the drunk pirate lamenting about his want for some woman. But to one, the old man hears your name, and recognition lights his brain.

Benn slaps him on the back of his head, a scowl on his face as he narrows his eyes at his Captain. The idiot was drunk as a skunk, “You need to be more careful, Shanks.”

The redhead pouts at Benn, dark eyes glassy, and then he drunks straight from the bottle of sake he holds. He wipes his mouth, “I know what I'm doing, Benn. No one here could ever beat me in a fight. I can protect _ just fine.”

“That's not the point, Shanks,” Benn hisses at him and tugs his Captain close by his black cloak. He shakes him, trying to knock some sense into the other man. Beckman knows that Shanks could be irresponsible, but this was ridiculous.

“Think for a damn second. If someone overhears and spreads a rumor that an Emperor of the Sea is head over heels with her. It's over. You know her past, you know who would be after her. Not to mention that Mihawk would kill you.”

The redhead sees everything that has gone so well the past six months with you and Mihawk all go up in flames. His treasures would despise him, and he would have no choice but to accept that, because it would be all his fault. Already ruining something good.

He spirals further when he thinks about the news you had shared with him and Mihawk the last time the three of you had been able to get together.

--------

You stand before the two men. Shanks can tell that you are nervous, snow has gathered around your feet, and he fights the urge to pull you close and demand what's wrong. Mihawk sits beside him, concern swimming in his ringed gaze. Hank lays on the floor between the three of you, big dark eyes trained on his human.

You begin to pace, picking up the now massive orange fluff ball and holding him close. You hold Sukuna close to your chest, threading your fingers through his thick fur. They watch you take a deep breath and then turn to them, eyes wide and full of trepidation.

“My period hasn't started yet. I keep careful track of it, and it's been fifty-two days since my last one. I-I’ve been really sick in the morning and feeling weak, and all my books say that I'm probably… pregnant?”

Mihawk nor Shanks like the fear in your voice, but your announcement has both of them star-struck. There was a baby inside of you? Made by one of them? Shanks pictures a little girl with bright red hair and golden eyes, chubby cheeks, and a brilliant smile. It's picturesque and perfect in his mind's eye, a beautiful mix of all three of them.

Hawkeye is the first to stand from the couch and go to your side. He takes your face in hand, calloused fingers holding you so carefully, and then dips down to press his lips to yours. Dracule is a mess of emotions, but elation wins over all of it. Never in his life did he think that he would have this chance, and he vowed that he would not squander it. As he kissed you, Mihawk came to the harsh conclusion that he no longer had a choice in keeping his involvement in her past a secret. The warlord would have to tell you.

Shanks eyes his lovers, a smile playing on his lips as he stands to gather his treasures close. He drops a kiss to the back of your head and sneaks his hand around your stomach, a look of wonder coming over his face as he strokes your belly.

“A kid, huh?” Shanks murmurs, and his haki creeps forth, wrapping around you and Mihawk, “I think we can swing that.”

---------

Shanks seems to sober up a bit at the harsh reminder. He sits straight, frown replacing his easy-going pout. his first mate is right, and his chest feels tight with guilt at his incompetence. Had he really been that loud? Fuck. Shanks doesn't remember. He licks his lips and pushes the bottle of sake to the side, suddenly not in the mood for any more drinking.

How could he be this dumb? Shouting your name to the heavens in a drunken stupor, needing his first mate to come in and literally shake some sense into him.

“Thank you, Benn,” Shanks croaks and runs his hand through his hair, grimacing at the state it was in. Gods, what was wrong with him tonight, “Let's head back to the ship, yeah?”

Benn stands, tossing some berri to the counter, “Best idea you've had tonight, Captain.”

The old man stands to go to the bar and order a drink, watching the two men stumble out of the bar. Though he looks unassuming dressed in regular clothes like a local, it is far from the truth.

Wiseman is an old member of the Big Mom pirates and remembers the destruction of the Nammu Isles and the two members of the royal family who escaped. They knew of the location of one, but to hear the name of the princess who was thought to be dead was interesting news that his Captain would be delighted to hear about.

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

Thousands of miles away, a man sits at a dingy bar. He wears a navy uniform, and a Vice Admiral coat clings to his shoulders. His white hair is shaggy and unkempt, and a pair of brilliant green eyes stare into the sake he holds in his hand. He is clean-shaven with a sharp jaw, though his face is marred by a single scar that crosses vertically on the right side of his mouth. No one bothers the man, for which he is very grateful.

Today was his baby sister's birthday, and he always made sure to take off from any kind of work to mourn her. She wasn't dead. At least he didn't think so, but it's been twenty-two years since the last time he'd laid eyes on his sister. He couldn't visit her, it was far too dangerous for that, so the best he could do was make this day for her. Just like he used to before their home had been taken.

The officer knows back his sake, and the bartender helpfully refills his cup. He sits there for another hour before his peace is broken by one of his subordinates.

“Vice-Admiral Delemur?”

He sighs heavily, and a scowl crosses his face when he gives the younger man his attention. His crew knew better than to bother him on this date, so this had better have been important, “Yes, Nitchell?”

The young man gulped in the face of his superior, and Delemur cursed whoever had allowed this wet behind-the-wear recruit into his platoon. Wait. Fuck. That had been him. Was he an idiot? He focuses back on the kid when he speaks up.

“Vice-Admiral Smoker is here to see you. Said he would wait for you on the docks, Sir.”

Smokey was here? Well, that changed things now, didn't it? Smoker, and when did he get Vice-Admiral? He'd been a Captain last time they spoke- was one of the two people in the Navy who knew about Delemur's sister. The other was Sengoku, even if the white-haired man wasn't a fan of the Fleet Admiral.

Delemur stands and pushes his cup into the recruit's hands, “Here. Finish that for me. Be a good kid, and pick up my tab, too.”

He leaves the kid blubbering at the bartender and disappears, body dropping to the ground and turning into dust. He flies past citizens and pirates alike until he arrives at the docks. The officer finds Smoker at the end of the docks, and he reforms beside the other man, the scared side of his lips twisting up in a welcoming smirk.

“Hey, Smokey. Long time no see,” He murmurs and the other man gives him a matching smirk, “Nice coat.”

“Tomura, still a smarmy ass, huh?” Smoker drawls, and shifts the two cigars in his mouth to the opposite side. He looks at his old friend up and down, seeing the drunken haze in those green eyes. The Vice-Admiral knows what day it was, it's why he came to seek Tomura out when he found out that the other man was only an island away. Not to mention that he had news that the other man might want.

“You know it,” Tomura quips back dryly. He shifts to look out at the raging ocean, and two pairs of knuckle dusters clink on his belt. He licks his lips and eyes his friend out of the corner of his eyes. While it's good to see Smoker, it's odd that the other man would go out of his way to see him, even on this particular day, “Whatcha doin’ here, Smoker?”

Tomura doesn't know if he is thankful or not that the other man has never beaten around the bush. But he does know that he hates the look of pity that Smoker gives him.

“Someone's been talking about your sister, Tomura. Rumor says that it came from Red Haired Shanks singing her name, which started circulating about a week ago. News travels fast in the Grand Line, but there's not been a peep from him about her since.”

Tomura sober instantly and orders his crew to start packing up the second Smoker finishes telling him about the rumors surrounding his little sister. He can hardly see through the film of red that threatens to block out his senses. His hold on his devil fruit fluctuates, his body a weird mix of dust and flesh.

The G-5 Vice-Admiral wishes his old friend good luck and departs as quickly as he'd shown up. While he'd like to go with Tomura, he unfortunately had orders to return to Impel Down for prisoner transport. Smoker grips his friend by the forearm, hand tight enough to leave fingerprints behind, “You watch out for those damn, pirates. Good luck, Tomura.”

The white haired man books it to his ship, shouting orders to his crew that lingers around the docks. They break into action right away, most of them running to the ship to begin readying it to sail. Tomura goes straight to his cabin, dropping to his knees and pulling out an old trunk that is full of old documents and things from his past. He bypasses everything until he finds the old log pose that would lead him to where he needed to go. Back to the safe house. Back to his sister.

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat

#one piece #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x you #opla mihawk #shanks x reader #mihawk x shanks #red haired shanks #opla shanks #opla x reader #opla shanks x reader #shanks x reader x mihawk #mishanks #mishanks x reader

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iam93percentstardust · 3 months

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It's not just the commodification of fandom. It's not just the disinterest in wips in favor of completed stories. It's not just the unwillingness to take chances on new writers.

It's the demand for instant gratification too.

I'm posting a "wip" right now. It's actually a fully completed story, and I stated that in the A/N when I started posting it a few weeks ago. I finished writing it early in December. It's not going to be abandoned and discontinued. Short of a tragic accident, it will 100% be posted in its entirety before the end of January.

It's also almost 60k words long. Each chapter is approximately 14k words. That's a lot to expect people to read quickly, so I made the decision to post weekly instead of dumping it all at once. I don't normally do that for wips. I normally post bimonthly to give myself time to write the next chapter. But in concession to the fact that this one is already finished, I decided to post once a week. Could I have posted it all at once or even once a day? Sure, but again, I have more than a few close friends who are slow readers, and I thought it was better to give people the time to read each chapter and let it digest before dumping another one on them instead of making them feel like they have to read it immediately so they don't miss the next update.

This, apparently, was a mistake.

I've been very open about working on this fic since I started it in September. People told me they were excited to get the chance to read it every time I posted an update about where I was in the writing process. When I announced that I was posting it, they told me that they couldn't wait to read it. It's not like I was expecting massive numbers of kudos and comments; this fandom has shrunk in size and engagement, I'm not the most popular writer in it, and I try not to feel entitled to engagement, but considering all the people telling me they were excited for it, I was expecting something.

Instead it was crickets. All those people who were so excited and told me they couldn't wait to get home to read it? That was the last I heard from them, unless it was to express outright incredulity that I expected them to read a work in progress. "It's not a work in progress!" I protested. "I'm just taking a little longer to post it!" Yeah, but it's not posted all in one go, so why should we bother to read it? We'll just wait until the end of January once it's finished. "Will I hear from you then? Will I get any indication at all that you liked it?" Eh, maybe. If we feel like it. But it'll only be one comment at the very end. If that.

This keeps happening. If it's not an already completed chaptered fic that I'm posting over time instead of immediately, then it's an idea that I had first talked about a while ago but took a couple months to write only to be met with silence once I start posting because everyone moved on and forgot about it. If it's not ready to go right now in all its fully finished glory and all 60k words posted immediately after I first spoke about it, then why am I talking about it at all? Why should I expect people to be waiting in anticipatory eagerness?

I remember when I posted my first Christmas event fic in 2020. It was already finished too when I started posting it. I'd been talking about it all year. People had seemed really excited for it when I first mentioned it, but then interest seemed to die out somewhere around August. By the time I started posting it in late November, I was fully convinced that no one was going to read it. I actually posted the first chapter and then immediately turned my computer off and didn't let myself turn it back on until the next day.

I was shocked by the number of readers I had. The number of comments. The sheer amount of people telling me they'd been waiting on tenterhooks for me to post that first chapter. And it kept coming. People were talking and theorizing and marking their conversations with spoiler bars for anyone who hadn't read the latest chapter. People timed when I posted the first few chapters so they could be waiting by their computer for when I dropped the next one. I was randomly gifted art. It was really an event, and I'll always be grateful for the support and community I was given for that month.

I never believed I'd ever be able to capture that kind of readership again, and I was right, and that's okay. But when I posted last year's Christmas event fic, for the first time since I started doing this in 2020, someone asked me why I bothered to space it out over a month instead of just posting the entire thing in one go on Christmas Day and how could I possibly expect them to be that invested for an entire month instead of just waiting until it was finished. I didn't know how to tell them that only three years prior, that's not only exactly what people did but they were excited for it to be like that.

If I'm not going to post my already completed fic in one lump sum right now, then the audience for it is nonexistent. And the audience won't grow once it's finished. It's like I have one opportunity to capture the readers and if they weren't willing to take the chance on the first chapter, then they'll never come back. It's disheartening, to say the least. Only six months ago, I was telling a friend that I thought this was my forever pairing, that I'd still be writing for this ship when I was old and grey. And now I'm going through my ideas folder, wondering what can be repurposed for other ships, because I increasingly feel not just that I'm shouting into a void but that the void is actively ignoring me.

I can't post wips because what if I abandon them or take too long to update? I can't post a chaptered fic in one go because that's too many words to expect people to read. But I can't space out posting completed chaptered fics either because everyone wants the instant gratification of the full fic right now. So what am I supposed to do?

I miss December 2020, but it's not the random art that I miss or the kudos or the number of comments. It was the community that built up around this fic. It was knowing that it was okay to space out the chapters because everyone was still right there with me, talking and theorizing and using their spoiler bars. It was my audience trusting me enough to come along with me for the ride instead of waiting for me to be done. I was so scared back then that the full year between me first talking about the idea and posting the first chapter had lost me my audience, scared that they'd all forgotten about me and moved on to other authors who were quicker to post, but I wish I'd known that three years later, it would only take four months for people to lose interest in an idea.

I'd have treated December 2020 like it was way more special than I did.

#alle talks #bad comments #fandom #writing

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authorhjk1 · 5 months

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December Special!

Round Two!!

Hi everyone! This will be our last and final round throughout the coming week. The links in this post will direct you to the four polls for the four chapters. Keep in mind that I will decide on the order randomly as I write along.

I put all the options into this post, beacuse I do not have the nerve to type all of this four times. Tumblr doesn't let me copy text and paste it into a post.

Have fun!

Chapter

You knew this might happen. You read the script of your knew role in the upcoming kdrama. And yet, you are surprised when your co-star pulls you aside after filming that day. Seo Yeaji's face can switch in a heartbeat. From a cold and emotionless mask, to an adorable , cute smile. While she asks you, if the two of you could practice the next scene, her face shows a new expression. Lust. It's quite a spicy scene after all.

Idols are always stressed, overworked and tired. On top of that, they can't even relax properly. They have to be careful about their food, words and actions. And one thing, that some people might neglect, is sexual satisfaction. That becomes a problem for Karina, Jihyo and Eunbi. Having bigger breasts only adds to their problems. Due to stress, their milk production starts to rise. When the three of them invite you to join their pre-Christmas party, they obviously have ulterior motives.

IU's and Kang Seulgi's competition started, when they caught each other, having sex backstage during an award show, a couple of months ago. At first, it picked up slowly. Random challenges, send via text on kakaoTalk app, answered by pictures as proof of the accomplished mission. Now, the two of them are tied, desperate to come up with something new. Luckily, IU and Seulgi have a lot of fans, who are more than happy to help them out.

You and Irene are coworkers with a special history. The two of you tried out more kinks and positions and places than even married couples. But some things are still missing. Luckily, Irene has a friend who got hired a couple of weeks ago. You were planning on welcoming her properly anyways.

After just being hired by Dreamcatcher Company, you are already tasked with shooting Jiu's and SuA's special clip. Jiu knows that you are an Insomnia and that SuA is your bias. Maybe you will get to shoot another type of special clip with the two of them, thanks to Jiu.

You meet your exgirlfriend IU at a high school friend's wedding. After the memories of your school times come back, the two of you sneak off.

You have worked with a couple of idols already. They are often models and embassadors for brands after all. Now you are tasked with filming a small video to promote Jimmy Choo's newly designed dress. The woman who appears in your studio is no other than Cho Miyeon.

Yuna has always been quite kinky. But her Christmas present for you this year is on another level. It's Ryujin. She is kneeling on her bed, wrapped in red lingerie and a bow like a gift. Her hands are tied behind her back, while her eyes are covered with a red blindfold.

You have already tried everything. Drinking warm milk with honey, listening to music, reading a book. Nothing. Working out, spending more time on your job. Nothing. Even after bringing that girl home last night, Yunjin, you vaguely remember her name, didn't help at all. You still can't fall asleep. It's late at night and you are lying in bed once more. Sleepless. Then, your doorbell rings. That must be your neighbor. Chaewon. After telling her about your insomnia, she said she might know aomething.

10.

Going to college is already hard enough, considering your background. Bad grades, devorced father, stepmother and stepsister and so on. The only reason you got in was because of your scholarship. You are not a good student. But a talented football player. And now everything becomes even more difficult. While trying to learn for your upcoming test, someone knocks on your door. Tzuyu, your stepsister. Her and her mom, Jihyo, seemed to have gotten into a huge fight once again. Can you cheer her up?

11.

The one thing you love most about your job is the fact that you see beautiful women pretty much every day. Being a photographer enables you to make them take any kind of pose in any kind of outfit. Of course, when you started your career, you never thought about it like this. Until you meet Im Yoona.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #lee jieun #gidle #le sserafim #twice #aespa #red velvet #dreamcatcher

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gainerstories · 1 year

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Fat Cats: Chapter 3

The rumble of the subway caused Joe and Justin to jiggle. A healthy paunch sat in Joe’s lap, subtly sloping out underneath well-defined pecs. His pants had been sized up but not his shirt, which was slightly strained at the buttons when he was sitting down. Justin’s thighs now touched at all times, especially when he was seated. Their girth was hard to ignore as the train car sent vibrations through their softest spots.

Justin was staring at his phone in disbelief. Before leaving the house they had snapped a photo for Instagram since they hadn’t posted since they moved to New York five months ago. The image staring back at him didn’t look like the J&J they had been in California. Neither man was oblivious to their expanding waistlines, but seeing their size captured in a photo was a different experience entirely.

Justin glanced over at his husband’s belly next to him and then back at the photo. Yep, it really was that big. He then looked down at his own fledgling paunch. A solid roll was visible beneath his button up and digging into the waist of his pants. He hadn’t realized it was so visible until now. There was no denying it: J&J were expanding alongside the rest of the office. Slightly embarrassed and slightly aroused, Justin tapped “Share” and put away his phone.

He kissed Joe on the cheek and noticed for the first time that a pad of fat had developed just under Joe’s chin. Joe smiled and gripped Justin’s thigh. Joe enjoyed the warmth of Justin’s gelatinous inner thigh and felt a twinge in his loins. He imagined Justin’s freshly fattened ass square atop his face, smothering him with its plumpness. Joe was constantly horny lately and couldn’t wait until the evening when his fantasies could become reality.

Strolling into the office with his shoulders back and beginner belly forward Joe marched straight to the kitchen. A waffle bar had been set up and helped himself. Like all the other guys in the office, he carried a heaping plate back to this desk along with a coffee that was more cream than anything else. He sat down with a satisfied grunt. He enjoyed expanding his appetite alongside other powerful men.

In Justin’s office, Manuel had arrived to deliver some petty gossip. In the last couple months Manuel had expanded considerably as well. Justin hadn’t noticed until today, however, because Manuel was wearing that same seafoam green polo from a couple months ago. Needless to say, the shirt no longer fit. It couldn’t contain the solid inch of chub hanging out from the bottom, which Manuel kept covered by a much needed white undershirt. Although the office was filled with expanding cubs, it was unusual to see someone allowing their girth to hang so exposed.

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot, Manuel, but I think it’s time for a new shirt,” Justin winked.

“God, I know. All my good shirts were in the hamper this morning. Does it look bad?”

“I mean, I’m sure no one will complain. But maybe it’s time to retire that one after today.”

“You’re totally right, man. I put on fifteen pounds just last month and now nothing fits. Can you believe it?”

Justin marveled at the realization that Manuel was actually growing faster than himself or Joe. To answer Manuel’s question, he couldn’t believe it. Fifteen pounds in a month was no small feat. It was moments like this that left him in disbelief at his new life in New York City.

Later that night, Joe and Justin lay in bed reading. Their silence was broken by Joe’s phone which received a flurry of text messages in under a minute. Joe grabbed his phone off the night stand and Justin couldn’t help but steal a glance. The messages were from Guy. Justin’s paranoia was instantly aroused and to make matters worse Joe got out of bed and took his phone to the bathroom. He was only gone for two minutes but it seemed like an eternity.

Joe returned with a sultry look on his face, tossing the phone aside and crawling on top of Justin. His strong legs straddled his supine partner as his belly hung wobbling above the elastic waistband of his underwear. Justin noticed Joe’s cock was already swelling in size. They kissed. Joe placed an affectionate hand on Justin’s love handle and gave it a sumptuous squeeze. Justin’s paranoia dissipated as his cock began to stiffen.

Joe removed his husband’s underwear and then his own. As they made out, Joe wedged his hand between the bed and Justin’s pool of ass fat. With a hand full of ass and his tongue down his lover’s throat, Joe was dripping with precum. Both men were grinding their buttery bodies against one another, the squishy fat spreading beneath the force of their lust.

“Sit on my face,” Joe purred.

Joe reclined on his back as Justin perched his bubble butt atop Joe’s eager mug. Joe went to town as Justin stroked himself and admired Joe’s husky body writhing beneath him. The man was getting seriously beefy between the gym and his newfound appetite. It wasn’t just his belly that was getting fat either, although it was growing spectacularly thick. His legs were bigger too and even his chest had begun to soften.

Justin wondered what would come next. He imagined Joe’s belly turning into a full spare tire that wrapped around his body and muffin topped above a fat ass and bulging thighs. He imagined how heavy Joe would feel next to him, the way the bed would sag beneath their combined weight. He imagined his own body growing alongside his partner’s, swelling with fat week after week until they looked like all the other hulking men in the office. Justin felt himself getting close.

He lifted himself off Joe, whose face was wet and glistening. With a bit of lube and a full blown weight gain fantasy spurring him on, Justin lowered himself onto Joe’s pulsing cock. His ass clapped against Joe’s strong thrusts. Both their bodies jiggled wildly from their passionate fucking. Joe’s belly looked like a plate of jello in an earthquake. Joe seemed to notice Justin watching his gooey core and scooped up his rolls of belly fat in both hands.

“You like that?” Joe said and shook his gut. “You like that beer belly on your man?”

Justin nodded and bit his lip.

“Then grab it,” Joe demanded. “Feel how soft it is. It’s all for you.”

Justin placed both his hands on his husband’s quivering belly fat as he bounced on the dick. It did feel soft. It felt plush and heavenly and he wanted more to grab, he wanted it bigger like the partners’ at the firm.

“You want it bigger, don’t you?” Joe said, verbalizing Justin’s fantasy. “You want a big husky bear under you, don’t you? And I bet you want to be one yourself, you little slut.” He gripped his husband’s cakey ass and gave it a hard slap

This was too much for Justin to take. He could feel the orgasm percolating deep within him and gripped his manhood. Almost immediately he began to erupt. Joe’s eyes dilated in wonder as his husband turned into a fountain of come. He began to orgasm himself, driving his cock deep into his love. Their muscles clenched and their hands painfully squeezed one another’s excess adipose as their erections sputtered the last bits of come.

Exhausted, they collapsed in bed, Joe spooning Justin. Joe fell fast asleep and just as Justin was nodding off, the vibration of Joe’s phone stirred him awake. It sat on the nightstand directly across from him. The screen lit up with a text message from Guy.

Read the full story on Patreon

#gainer stories #weight gain #gay gainer #chubby guy #weight gain fiction #gay bear #gay weight gain #ex jock #chubby chaser

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katerina-marie · 4 days

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The Hot Mic Incident (Feel Like Falling in Love)

Sukuna x Reader

A sequel to this and part 2 of a larger (unnamed) series. I do recommend reading part 1 first to be able to understand certain references in this one.

If someone asked you who was most likely to accidentally spill the beans about your new (and still secret) relationship with Sukuna, your answer would have to be your white-haired co-star. But when an unintentional hot mic reveals to the world what wasn't ready to be shared, let's just say it wasn't Gojo Satoru at fault for once.

Notes: A continuation of my Sukuna x Reader celebrity!au inspired by music (though only loosely, so don't look too closely at lyrical meaning). In this case, it's Feel Like Falling in Love by MeloMance. I'm writing this series as inspiration strikes, so these fics may not always be posted according to the series' linear timeline. I will make sure to note when each chapter takes place in relation to the others (this one takes place a couple months after part 2). I will also get around to making a master list of them in chronological reading order as more comes. I hope you enjoy:)

Content: bandmember Sukuna x actor female Reader (referred to as such, but left descriptively vague), no y/n, manager Nanami, bodyguard Toji, actor Gojo, other favorites who have small supporting rolls, all fluff, crack, and humor, innuendos, illusions to sexting, but no actual sexting occurs (sorry), so please read accordingly, out of character and fluffy Sukuna. Please let me know if I miss something!

WC: 4.3k

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Isn’t it a little early in the morning to be sending naughty pictures to your boyfriend? It’s like 7:00 am.”

You jumped half a foot in the air and clambered to juggle your phone in your hands before it tumbled out and slid four feet across the backstage floor of the talk show studio.

“You need to be wearing a bell, Satoru,” you hissed over your shoulder at the menace that had appeared behind you so suddenly, “and it was not an inappropriate photo. I was completely dressed.”

You teetered over in your heels to grab your phone off the floor and prayed that it wasn’t cracked down the middle, lest you make Satoru cough up punitive damages to make up for it.

“In my experience, being fully clothed is not a prohibiting factor.”

Satoru snickered at the look of disgust on your face and gave you a small shrug, “Who knows, maybe Sukuna’s into th—,”

You threw yourself forward to try and cover his mouth with your hands, but even in heels you still lacked the necessary height to make contact. You settled for pinning him in place with a glare.

“Will you keep quiet please? I swear, if you and your fat mouth reveal this to anyone, I’m going to have Toji leak that photo of you from one of our nights working on that period piece last year!”

You watched with glee as Satoru’s eyes widened in abject horror, and he reached out to grip the tops of your arms and drag you close to his face. A quick peek from your peripheral confirmed that the staff lingering around the studio probably hadn’t been close enough to hear, but they were certainly watching with poorly disguised interest.

Were you and Satoru contracted into a false relationship in order to help promote the upcoming movie the two of you were co-starring in? No, that only happened in fiction. Was it firmly implied by the producer that some offscreen tension and chemistry during the course of the film would promise to be advantageous to you both? Yes, and you presumed that in the pursuit of a paycheck some simple flirting couldn’t hurt anyone…though that was a year or so ago, and you were now closer to sending Satoru to an early grave than jumping in bed with him like fans and media were hoping for.

“Suguru swore he made you delete any evidence of that!”

You stuck your tongue out at him and pulled back against the hold he had on your arms, but he didn’t loosen his grip in the slightest.

“He did, but didn’t bother to check with Toji. Looks like that weird phobia you two have of him is coming to bite you in the ass now.”

Satoru released you with a shiver and took a large step back, his eyes roaming the expanse of the studio as if he expected your bodyguard to be summoned out of thin air at the sheer mention of his name. You didn’t blame him, however, because Toji had a habit of doing just that.

“It’s not a weird phobia,” Satoru muttered, rubbing his throat absentmindedly and pouting down at you, “it’s PTSD.”

You snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was too!” Satoru cried, “He punched me in the throat and nearly sent Suguru through a wall!”

“You and your idiot manager were trying to break into my house at 2:00am, drunk as skunks I might add! What did you think was going to happen? We barely knew each other then.”

Satoru looked down at you aghast, stunned that you didn’t sympathize with his emotions. You considered it even more bewildering that he seriously thought that you would pick his side. You were about to let him know such when your phone dinged twice in quick succession, effectively capturing your attention.

“Look,” you huffed at him, waving your phone in front of his face so he could catch a glimpse of the time (and hopefully ignore who’s name had popped up under it), “we only have like thirty more minutes before we have to get out there and I need some time to decompress, so I’m going back to the dressing room.” You started to turn away before throwing over your shoulder, “Don’t get into any trouble in the meantime.”

Satoru rolled his eyes at you, and—in that intolerable way of his—couldn’t let you possibly have the last dig at him and jerked his head to the phone in your hand.

“It’s not me I’m worried about. Have fun sext—,”

“Goodbye, Satoru!” You made yourself scarce before he could say anything else, eager to find the privacy of your dressing room so you could fawn over your boyfriend in peace.

By the time you made it into the safety of your dressing room a few minutes later, your heart was pounding—and not just from getting lost in all the maze-like hallways—and you tried to decide if hiding in the attached closet to talk with Sukuna on the phone or sitting on the couch in the open with a lovesick grin on your face would look less suspicious should someone walk in. Neither option promised much.

Before you could make up your mind, your phone was ringing, so in order to be able to answer the call as quickly as you could, you dove for the couch and tried not to sound completely breathless when you answered with a quiet, “hi, good morning.”

“Hey,” Sukuna replied back to you, voice equally soft but tinged with a dry hoarseness that usually followed him out of sleep. It made your toes wiggle uncontrollably against the floor.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I wake you with the picture? That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to keep you up to date with my day,” you murmured to him.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t. And besides, even if it did, it’s not a bad way to start my day.” His words made you melt back into the cushions and you kicked your feet in silent giddiness before tucking them underneath you. “You look stunning, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you giggled, “though getting here to get ready while it was still dark outside was borderline torture. I’d say that it’s an unfair slight against women, but I’m pretty sure Satoru’s hair and skincare routine took just as long.”

Your boyfriend let out a disgusted scoff at the mention of your costar’s name, “Please tell me that q-tip is behaving himself.”

“Sukuna!” You chastised, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your throat at the comparison, “You can’t call him that…even if it is somewhat accurate.”

“It’s one hundred percent accurate,” he argued, “but I won’t call him that to his face…probably.”

You shook your head in exasperated amusement, nibbling on the bottom skin of your lip before continuing on, “He’s behaving for the most part, aside from his two insinuations that our conversations this morning were of a sexual nature.”

Sukuna was silent on the other end for a moment before replying back in a low voice with something that had you choking on your spit, “Would you like them to be?”

He could be heard laughing as you nearly coughed your way into a premature death.

“I’m about to go in front of a live audience and on live tv!” You exclaimed.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Sukuna pointed out hopefully.

“No.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and you reached over to a nearby coffee table to unscrew a bottle of water and chug half of it down in the hopes it would help cool you off.

“Speaking of,” he said, sounding just a tad hesitant, “I’ll uh, tune in to the show to watch if that’s okay with you.”

You heart skipped a silly little beat at the idea that he wanted to watch some cheesy talk show just to get a glimpse of you.

“I don’t mind,” you told him, “but it’s going to make me a little nervous knowing you’ll be watching as I stumble through this interview.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled, though something in his voice sounded just slightly wicked, “now you’ll get an idea of how I feel when I have to perform.”

The innuendo had whatever sweet reassurance you had poised at the tip of your tongue fly out of your head, and you scrambled to come with a response that could be said back without implying anything further. The swinging open of your door, however, saved you from the task.

“Hey, Princess,” Toji called as he leaned his torso around the door, “you need to be out there in five.”

You startled from your spot on the couch, surprised to realize that your leg was bouncing from where it was propped up on your knee and your finger was twirling a piece of your hair.

Love made you stupid.

“Toji,” you snapped, “have you ever heard of knocking?”

Your bodyguard rolled his eyes, “I did. Twice.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, especially because you could hear Sukuna cackling through the phone, confirming he heard what Toji just said.

“Oh…I’ll be right there, okay?” You shooed him off with a flick of your fingers and Toji smirked at you as he began closing the door.

“Don’t be late or I’m sending Gojo in to fetch you.”

The door closed shut before you could get a word in and you leaned back with a heavy sigh before returning your attention to your phone call, “I’ve to go. I’ll call you when the whole thing is over and I’m back home, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll be waiting for you. Good luck, okay?”

You weren’t sure if it was all in your head, but you swore you heard a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Thank you. Bye, Sukuna,”

“Bye, Princess,” he sing-songed, and you couldn’t help but smile as you clicked off the call.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Twenty minutes later found you and Satoru sitting next to each other on a platform stage surrounded by bright lights, a large live audience sprawled in front of you, and an all too perceptive interviewer who had started the interrogation just a couple minutes prior. You wiggled in your seat, uncomfortable from the various wires and clips that secured your mic to your back under your dress.

“So,” she began, nailing you with a look that promised nothing good, “you and Satoru were supposed to film an advert on the beach early this last summer, but it ended up being you and the so-called ‘King of Curses.’ Tell me, how did that come about?”

You hesitated a moment, thankful the question wasn’t anything too invasive, but you were still hoping to avoid talking about Sukuna altogether. Usually Nanami would heavily emphasize what could and couldn’t be spoken of before these appearances, but since he wasn’t here, you assumed it had been left to Geto. In that case, you knew he couldn’t be bothered since predicting whatever was going to come out of Satoru’s mouth during these things was an art not yet mastered.

“Well,” you started, clasping your hands together so they didn’t shake, “it really just came about out of well-timed convenience and a favor to the director. We didn’t want to waste any of the crew’s time or have to worry about re-aligning schedules, so Sukuna saved the day by offering to help. Plus, ‘The Curses’ new song at the time got to debut in it, so it was a win-win for everyone! Except for maybe Satoru, of course.”

In an effort to divert attention from your answer, you threw Satoru a faux-friendly smile and urged him with a widening of your eyes to explain his part.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, adjusting himself in the seat and setting a convincing pout on his face. “I just happened to get pulled into something personal last minute and was going to be late to the shoot. I’m appreciative that the “King of Curses” was able to step in and save the day.”

You didn’t miss the obvious sarcasm dripping from Sukuna’s nickname when it came out of Satoru’s mouth, and you had to hide a giggle behind your hand at the thought of your boyfriend cursing at his TV at home.

“But,” Satoru continued, jolting you into awareness when he turned to you and ran a long finger down the bare skin of your arm, “I’m super bummed I missed our chance to get wet together.” The smirk on his face was downright evil, and you just knew your face was a picture of stunned disbelief. The audience was tittering with amusement.

“You wear me out, Satoru,” you hissed at him, batting his hand away from where it still traced slowly over your skin.

Satoru laughed and threw his head back against his chair before taking a quick look at the camera and then leaning in towards you until your noses nearly touched, “I’m flattered you’d admit that on live television.”

Your jaw, and everyone else’s for that matter, fell to the floor and you could only gawk at him. Over the interviewer’s shoulder, you could see Toji backstage laughing his ass off as Geto stood at a respectable distance next to him shaking his head.

We better get those damned bonuses from the producer.

“Well!” The interviewer laughed a bit nervously, breaking the tension in the room and turning to the main camera in front of you all, “That was surely something. We have to go to a commercial, but we’ll be back with these two in just a couple minutes!”

The outro music sounded over the speakers and you and Satoru were released from your chairs to scurry backstage. In between sending friendly waves to the audience and starting the walk backstage, you flipped the switch on your mic off.

“I’m going to kill you, Satoru,” you spat under your breath as the two of you left stage.

The idiot had the gall to laugh, and in your frustration you took a couple large steps to get a head of him. And because the universe didn’t hate you enough, you felt the toe of your heel catch on a stray cable on the floor, pitching you off balance. In your flailing, you reached out to grasp at whatever object could possibly break your fall, and in doing so latched on to Satoru’s sleeve, jerking the poor bastard off his feet and onto you as you both tumbled to floor in a heap of tangled limbs.

Your back hit the ground first, your mic digging painfully into your back with a suspicious crack of plastic followed by Satoru landing on your front, pushing all the air from your lungs with a painful “oomph.”

You stared at the ceiling of the studio, wondering how quickly things would go if one of the giant studio lights fell from above and crushed you under it. You were never going to live this down, especially since it happened still in view of the cameras and the audience if the raucous laughter was anything to go by.

“You know, I never imagined I would actually get you under me,” Satoru mused, staring down at you for a second before lifting his giant self off and then pulling you up to follow. He held a hand against your lower back as the two of you made it to the cover of backstage.

“Honestly,” you admitted, still a little dazed, “I never would have thought so either.”

Staff fluttered around you a minute later, offering water, smoothing your hair out, and ensuring neither of you were hurt…at least not physically. Your pride was a whole other matter.

“Oh no,” you groaned, catching Satoru’s attention once everyone had cleared out around you, “he was watching. He just saw me eat it on live television.”

Your co-star cocked a confused eyebrow at you, “You mean Sukuna was watching?”

“Oh please,” you muttered, “like you didn’t guess. And yes, Sukuna was watching, and now I’m not going to be able to look him in the eye this evening.”

There was a general increased noise coming from the front of the studio, but you were too preoccupied with your own embarrassment to think much of it.

“And why is that?” Satoru asked.

You threw your hands up purely because you didn’t know what else to do with them, “I don’t really know exactly, but there is still something supremely humiliating about doing something embarrassing like that in front of my new boyfriend. He makes me nervous enough as is.”

There was a sudden outbreak of hollers and clapping from out front, and you swung your head around to look and see if anyone had a clue as to what was going on. It took you a minute before you could see Toji running at you with a wild look on his face.

“Toji, what the hell—?” You didn’t get to finish your question before he was spinning you around by the shoulders, yanking down the zipper of your dress, and ripping the mic from your back. You shrieked in disbelief as you whirled back around to figure out what in the world he had been thinking.

“Toji!”

“Your mic has been on this whole time,” he growled, showing you the blinking green light on the cracked plastic box. You swore you had turned it off, but seeing as how it took the brunt of the impact when you fell on it earlier, you supposed it wasn’t unlikely that it had turned back on.

With sudden cold rushing through your body and a sick ball of dread settling into your gut, you looked between Satoru’s dumbfounded expression and Toji’s face of pure exhaustion and immediately decided that if the ground wasn’t going to swallow you up whole, you were going home.

“Get me out of here!”

——————————————————————————————————————————

After finally making it to some undisclosed back alley across from the talk show studio, you were assisted out from your crouch in a trash bin by studio security and ushered to a small nearby out-cove to wait for your bodyguard.

And you just wanted to be famous soooo bad. Glamorous life, my ass.

As luck would have it, you were made aware today of just how famous you, and especially Sukuna, were. For all the grief you gave Satoru about not accidentally spilling the beans about your newly minted—and still secret—relationship with Sukuna, you were the one that had the unintended pleasure of doing the grand reveal. So now the world was free to stir whatever frenzy they saw fit, from the intensely devoted fangirls of Sukuna’s band, to the entire acting community, and the worst of all…your mother. You suspected you were a couple minutes away from an angry phone call demanding an explanation as to why she had to find out from the internet that you were dating a boy with pink hair and face tattoos and how much longer it would be until she had grandchildren.

All of this chaos and Nanami just happened to be in a whole other country.

You suddenly regretted sending him on that vacation.

A sharp squeal of tires caught your attention and you looked up to see a shiny sports car peal around the corner and come to a rumbling stop a couple feet in front of you. Before you could even begin to guess who it could be, the head of your bodyguard appeared as the tinted black window of the passenger side door rolled down.

“Get in the car,” Toji hissed, eyes darting to and fro.

You wasted no time and nearly dove through the open window in your haste to escape broad daylight. You had just finished buckling your seatbelt in the back when Toji mashed the gas pedal and the car leapt forward.

“Christ, Toji!” You gasped, clasping the headrest of the seat you were just flung into, “Whose car is this? It’s certainly not yours.”

He snorted. “Yeah, cause you don’t pay me enough.”

“Rude,” you muttered back to him, “and not true.”

You tried to squint out the front windshield to determine where you might be, but brick buildings towered on either side of you still, and you assumed Toji was taking some alternative route home. “Seriously though, whose car is this? It’s not one of mine.”

“Does it matter?”

You rolled your eyes at his bored tone, “Yes, it does. Toji, I’m not your wife, but—”

“Thank God.” He sounded entirely too relieved about that.

“Still rude!” You yelped, but brushed aside the sting of offense to figure out whose leather seats your dress was currently dropping glitter all over. “I’m not your wife, so I don’t particularly care to know what unscrupulous activities you get up to when I’m not keeping you busy—,”

“None,” he deadpanned, shooting you a glare through the rear view mirror.

“—which I’m pretty sure I had you sign a non-compete, but that’s besides the point. I really need you to tell me where you got this car. In case you aren’t aware, my name is going to be plastered on every social media post, blog page, and headline in the next 24 hours and I’d rather that not include my mugshot with “accomplice to grand theft auto” under it. So tell me who this car belongs to right now or I’m jumping out.”

Toji had the audacity to chuckle at you before reaching back to pat your knee.

“Relax a bit. You know I wouldn’t ever put you in harm’s way on purpose. This is Gojo’s car. Ours was being swarmed by the media out front after your little slip up, so I threatened Geto for the idiot’s keys cause I knew it was out back and the quickest way I could get to our little rendezvous point.”

“Oh,” was all you managed to get out. Letting your racing mind settle down a bit, you snuggled deeper into the plush leather seats and kicked your feet up onto the center console. You got two seconds of peace before Toji opened his mouth again.

“I’m going to have to call Nanami.”

“No!” You gasped, springing upright again and feeling a warm sting creep to your eyes as your throat began to tense up. “He’s on vacation! I promised we wouldn’t bother him unless one of us was dying. I’d never forgive myself if he had to come home to clean up my sloppy love life!”

Toji shook his head and shot you a sad smile over his shoulder as he reached for his phone sitting in the front cup holder.

“We may not really have an option, Sweetheart. Not only is Uraume going to be a huge pain to deal with since this could affect Sukuna’s band, but you’ve also got contracts and appearances promised that may get shaken by the fact it’s been revealed to the world that you've been secretly dating the music industry’s favorite ‘hate to love’ rockstar. We can’t fix this without Nanami.”

The panic that had been brewing in your stomach this whole time was starting to make your head spin up, so you blamed it on that when you lurched out of your seat and nearly over Toji’s shoulder to snatch the phone out of his hand before he could hit ‘dial’ on Nanami’s contact.

Your bodyguard swore when you knocked him in the face with your elbow in your clamber and his hand gave a vicious jerk of the wheel that had horns blaring from either side of your car as Toji swerved to correct it. You were thrown back into the seat you had just previously been in and you waited with heaving breaths as the car jolted sideways once more before continuing on straight. The fact you barely missed crashing was a testament to Toji’s reflexes.

“Don’t you ever do stupid shit like that again, you hear me?!” You’d never heard Toji raise his voice at you and it did nothing to help quell the tears about to start pouring from your eyes, “I know you’re stressed and something big has just happened to you, I get it, but that’s no excuse to do something dumb! You just about gave me a heart attack,” he finished, his voice still at a higher volume than normal, but it was softened by the edge of panicked concern and the worried glances he was giving you.

That was enough to push you over the edge.

“I-I’m sorry, Toji,” you sobbed, upset at yourself for messing up again, “I wasn’t thinking, and I don’t want Nanami to feel like he has to babysit me for the rest of his life, or you to think I’m an airhead or something. I also really like Sukuna and I don’t want him to hate me because of what I did!”

You let your head fall into your hands and hiccuped through another shuddering cry as you struggled to get ahold of the overwhelming-ness of it all. You felt Toji’s hand on your knee again.

“Hey, hey, take deep breaths for me. No one’s thinking that, I promise you. And I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. It was wrong. It’s no excuse, but that scared the crap out of me and I thought we for sure were getting into an accident,” he admitted. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You nodded through your tears, unable to respond to him in any way that was legible.

“Look, we’re almost home. Try and deep breathe for me. Once we get there I’ll help you get comfortable and we’ll figure this out together, okay?”

As was frequent with Toji, you valued his ability to keep you calm when you got into the worst of yourself and you were grateful for his steady confidence. You reached out and clasped the hand he still had stretched back on your knee to give it a squeeze, hoping it could convey all the thanks you had for him. The two of you kept driving in comfortable silence until you felt the car slow and saw a flash of a familiar gate out the front windshield.

“Hey,” Toji started, his voice suspiciously light, “you think Gojo would realize if we never returned his car?”

——————————————————————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! I've got ideas for parts 3 and 4 already, so I'm hoping to work on those in the next coming days.

I'll also be posting this series on AO3 under Katerina_Mar if you would prefer to read there:)

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #toji fushiguro #gojo satoru

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