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macfrog · 3 months

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sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he��s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

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javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months

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Chapter 18: Hole in None

Summary: During your bridal shower, Steve takes Javi golfing. When they return, the way Javi is acting has you questioning everything you knew about your relationship.

Word Count: 12.1K (getting back to my roots of a short chapter LMAO)

Warnings: SMUT(18+) unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl pls), oral (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint?), makeup sex and getting caught (The Murphy's will never catch a break) ANGST (I'm so sorry!!), Hurt/comfort, Javi being super insecure, you being confused as hell, Steve being an absolute idiot

A/N: HELLO. IT'S ME! I DO EXSIST! I am genuinely SO sorry that this chapter has taken a million years to happen. December has been so busy and I have had no time to write, so I really, really appreciate all of your patience 🥺 This is a lil different than any other chapter we've had so far in the NTL universe, it's a lil angsty-er than normal but ya girl only believes in happy endings so don't fret!!! Also poorly beta'd bc I have the stomach flu and I am 100% there are mistakes in this chapter that I'm sure I missed 🫠

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“Do I really have to do this? This thing hasn’t even started yet and I’m already exhausted.”

“Yes, Hermosa, I do think that most people do expect the bride to be at her own bridal shower.” Javi laughed, staring into the bathroom mirror as he ran his hands through the dark curls of his hair, fixing them into place as you stood next to him, finishing the rest of your longer than usual makeup routine to prepare for being the center of attention against your will for the next several hours.

It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful that your co-workers wanted to throw you a bridal shower before your wedding, now only a few weeks away- the sentiment of the whole thing was incredibly thoughtful. Your 3rd grade teammates had even found a way to get in touch with your family to make sure that your mom, aunts and cousins felt included in the event, too. You should have been thrilled about the fact that the people who loved you most in the world were coming together to celebrate your upcoming wedding and quite literally showering you with gifts, but if there was one thing you hated more than anything else, it was the social exhaustion that came from having a party planned for no one but you.

You had really tried to convince Maria, Estelle, Linda, and now, your mom that you didn’t need a bridal shower- your wedding was going to be small, and since you had already been living on your own, there weren’t a lot of things you needed as you started married life together. Unfortunately, neither of those arguments were going to stop those ladies from going all out for you, leaving you feeling like your bridal shower was turning out to be even bigger than your actual wedding.

“Don’t you think I could just get a cardboard cutout of myself and use that instead? All these ladies love to talk so much that I don’t think they would even know the difference.” You sighed, giving yourself a once over in the mirror before putting away the rest of your makeup as Javi snuck behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, planting a soft kiss into your shoulder as he pressed his chest against your back.

“I have a feeling that someone would notice.” Javi chuckled, a soft grin spreading across his face as your eyes met in the mirror, his smile and sweet eyes enough to calm your nerves for at least a moment. “I would definitely notice.”

“Well that’s easy for you to say, you don’t even have to be there.” You huffed, letting a little pout fall from your lips as Javi playfully shook you in his grasp, trying your best not to smile as you tried to keep up your unenthused facade. “It’s not too late to trade. You can go to the bridal shower and I can go golfing with you and Steve.”

Even though Javi had insisted he was more than happy to stay at the shower with you, Maria had insisted that Javi find another way to spend his time so the spotlight of the day could be on you, and not him being distractingly handsome to everyone else there. Lucky for Javi, that meant extra time to spend with Steve while Connie was at your shower- not so lucky for you that Maria had banished your future husband from attending an event for your own wedding.

“I honestly may have to take you up on that. Steve must have needed an ego boost when I let him pick what he wanted to do while you and Connie were at the shower because he knows I can’t golf for shit.” Javi’s overdramatic sigh and roll of his eyes was enough to make you break into a little giggle, turning your head enough to press a quick kiss onto his cheek before reaching your hand under his chin, giving his jaw a little jiggle. “It’ll go by fast, Osita, I promise. And then, when we get home,” he paused, pressing another kiss into your shoulder and up towards your neck, digging his fingers a little tighter into your sides as he rasped into your ear, “I’ll take as much time as you want to destress you.”

“As much time as I want? Bold of you to assume that the dog is gonna give us that long.” You snickered as a happy Bear trotted into your bathroom right on cue, his tail loudly thumping against the bathroom cabinets from his happy wags as he wedged himself between you and Javi.

The newest furry member of your household had been a well loved addition, but if there was one thing Bear had no concept of, it was privacy. Your dog had become a constant shadow to you and Javi anywhere and everywhere in your house, including your in your bedroom, even when you were, well, not sleeping. It hadn’t helped that Javi had already formed such a soft spot for Bear, and had let him on your bed from the moment he stepped foot into the apartment, and now, your dog and his clingy personality had become a new obstacle to try and navigate in your sex life.

“Someone needs to tell his dad that he’ll survive if he gets left out of the bedroom for a half hour, huh? That he’s adorable, but that he can be a little cockblock, can’t he?” Squatting down next to Bear, you wrapped your hands around his face, scratching behind his ears as you mockingly serenaded him, raising an eyebrow at Javi.

“He just sounds so sad when he whines and he’s trapped outside the door.” Javi grumbled, kneeling down to join you, patting Bear’s stomach, now much thicker and fuller than it was a few weeks ago after you had first brought him home, skinny and neglected from his lack of care from his previous owners.

“You say trapped like we're kicking him out to the streets when we close the door on him. He’s adorable and sweet, but he’s a dog, Jav, he’ll be okay.” You smirked, playfully scolding Javi as you peppered Bear’s head with kisses, making his tail thump even harder as it wagged back and forth. “Tell your dad you’ll be just fine, won’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Javi groaned, knowing damn well you were right, even though he couldn’t bring himself to admit he had become an absolute softie for your new dog. “Alright, Hermosa, we gotta get you to this shower before Maria yells at me for making you late.” Pushing his hands against his knees, Javi let out a little grunt as he pushed himself back up to stand, checking the time on the silver watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Wow, so eager to get rid of me, you must really be excited to go get your ass kicked in golf.” You teased, now following suit and straightening out your dress as you stood, throwing your arms around Javi’s neck, pressing up on your tiptoes to plant a little kiss on his lips. “Sure you don’t want me to golf for you?”

“I’m sure, you dork.”

After Javi had insisted on giving Bear more than his fair share of treats before the two of you left for the day, you were on the road to Maria’s, Javi insisting that he drop you off, instead of letting you take the treacherous 2 minute drive by yourself. As you drove down Maria’s street, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory of walking up to her house for an end of the school year party almost exactly a year ago. A party that had ultimately turned a handsome stranger from the Laredo Sheriff's department into your future husband, now sitting in the driver’s seat on the way to your bridal shower. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself at the irony, leaning your head over onto Javi’s broad shoulder as you pulled up to Maria’s house.

“What’s up, Osita?” Javi asked, a twinge of confusion in his voice at the content and calm of your demeanor as the two of you arrived at the event that you had been seemingly dreading for days.

“I just- It was probably a year ago to the day the last time that we were at Maria’s house. Crazy to think that a year later we’re getting married and here for my bridal shower. I don’t know, a year ago I never would have thought I would have met someone I love so much, let alone be getting married, building a house, owning a dog, I- I’m just really happy that the department made you come to do that stupid presentation. You’ve made this year the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, Jav.”

A tender silence hung in the air as Javi leaned over the center console, gently bringing his palm to cup the side of your face, his thumb tracing circles along your cheek, letting his sweet brown eyes lock with yours as a soft smile spread across his face. “I love you too, Osita.” His words barely left his mouth above a whisper, bringing his lips to yours. The two of you could have stayed like this forever, lost in the moment of your love for each other, but unfortunately, the world had other plans.

“JAVIER. DIOS MIO. CAN YOU KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER FOR 3 SECONDS?” Maria shouted, banging at the driver’s side window, the aggressive thumps of her hand against the glass making the two of you practically jump out of your skin.

“Jesus Fucking Christ….” Javi whispered, clutching his hand over his chest, trying to steady his heart rate back to normal, the two of you looking at each other in pure terror.

“If you’re going to drop her off and make a scene in my driveway, the least you can do is help an old woman out before you leave, Javier!” Maria demanded, still rapping her knuckles against the glass, the two of you trying to keep from dying of embarrassment as you exited out of the car.

“Sorry Maria…” The two of you grimaced, still trying to avoid direct eye contact with her before she decided to scold you more.

“Chucho is right, you two are no worse than a pair of teenagers. Come on, we only have an hour before everyone arrives and I need you and that wildly blonde haired boy to help me move chairs.” Shaking her head in disappointment, Maria was already halfway up the driveway and into the house as you and Javi trailed behind her, glancing at each other in confusion as to who she was referring to, until you noticed the Murphy’s car parked on the side of the street, realizing that Steve and Connie must have beaten you there.

Before you even had a chance to make it a foot into the house, you were greeted by an overbearing swarm of people rushing to say hello and give you a hug, already feeling overwhelmed 30 seconds into the start of your shower, and these were all people you knew. Your mom was the first to make her way through the crowd, squeezing you in a death grip hug, even though you had just seen her last night after picking her up from the airport and dropping her off at her hotel.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe the day is almost here! My baby girl is finally getting married! Ugh, you look beautiful sweetheart!” Your mom beamed, planting a chaste kiss on your cheek before making her way over to Javi, squeezing him just as hard. “C’mere, don’t think that you get to escape hugs from me too, Javi.” Javi looked over at you, trying his best not to laugh at everyone’s dramatics, knowing how stressed you already were, and that no one’s overly excited attitude was doing you any favors.

“Ouch on the finally there, Mom. What do you need help with?” You asked, noticing that your mom had been holding on to Javi for a touch longer than what was probably appropriate while everyone else continued to hustle and bustle around Maria’s house.

“Does he always smell that good? God, I wished your father smelled like that, the man smells like a sweaty sock. Javi, what kind of cologne do you-”

“Mom! Jesus Christ.” You interjected, burying your hands in your face.

“Sorry, sorry! Honey, you don’t need to help with anything, it’s your shower!” Your mom swatted her hand at you, shaking her head in disbelief that you would ask to help, even though she knew better than anyone it was not in your nature to sit back on the sidelines and let other people do the work for you.

“Why don’t you come help me set up decorations?” A soft voice replied behind you, making you whip your head around as their hand rested on your shoulder.

“Connie!” You grinned, throwing her arms around her, relieved to find someone who wasn’t going to drive you absolutely crazy for the next hour of party prep. “It’s so good to see you, thank you so much for coming!”

“Hey, Sweetheart!” a lower voice grunted from behind a stack of folding chairs making its way to the backyard.

“Wow, Maria put you to work too, Steve? Yikes, she’s running a tight ship around here.” You and Connie snickered as Steve set down his stack of chairs, revealing his already sweaty and frustrated face, considering Maria had probably made him carry 6 trips worth of seats up and down the stairs since he and Connie had arrived.

“You’re tellin’ me. Hey, make yourself useful and pick up some of these chairs, lazy ass. Sooner we get this set up, the sooner I kick your butt at golf.” Steve smirked, gesturing over at Javi, still standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips.

“In that case, I’m taking one chair at a time.” Javi sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your temple in stride towards Steve, giving him a swift hug and a pat on the back before being interrupted by a shrill and demanding voice.

“JAVIER. I HEARD THAT. IF I DON’T SEE YOU WITH A STACK OF CHAIRS IN YOUR HANDS THE NEXT TIME YOU’RE OUTSIDE, IT’D BETTER BE BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.” Maria shouted from across the house, making everyone’s faces freeze in fear.

“You heard the woman. Chop, chop, Peña.” Steve chuckled to himself before passing off half of the chairs over to Javi, and walking towards the back of the house as Javi picked up his share, begrudgingly trailing behind Steve.

“Alright, we should probably get to work on decorations before Maria finds us standing around for too long. I know you’re the bride, but I have a feeling that holds very little value to her until everything is set up.” Connie shrugged, nodding towards the backyard where the shower was being held.

“You’re definitely right, and I would prefer to live through my bridal shower in order to make it to my actual wedding.”

With all of the helping hands around the house, and Maria’s commanding dictatorship over shower setup, all of you had finished with time to spare, leaving your mom and co-workers to happily chat and gossip amongst themselves as you and Connie found your way to say goodbye to Steve and Javi, one of whom was looking much more excited about departing for golf than the other.

“Have fun, ladies. Any last words for your future husband before I absolutely obliterate him on the golf course?” Steve snickered, giving Javi a soft punch on the shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Murph.” Javi groaned, rolling his eyes as he braced himself for the next 3 hours of harassment from his former partner.

“Don’t be too hard on him, okay Steve? He gets grumpy when he loses, so just a reasonable amount of ass whooping, nothing too drastic.” You teased, now playfully punching on the other side of his arm, you, Steve, and Connie laughing to yourselves at Javi’s fed up frown.

“Says the one who literally pouted for hours after insisting we play "Sorry" and then she lost.” Javi smugly murmured, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well someone wasn’t very sorry about it, were they… You know what, Steve? I changed my mind, go ahead and kick his ass for me.” A mischievous grin grew across your face, bursting out into giggles as Javi flung his arms around you, giving you a squeeze and shaking you in his grasp.

“Pendejo. Alright, you need anything else before I go get my ass kicked, Hermosa?” Javi asked, pressing a kiss into your hair. You were about to speak, but stopped yourself for a moment, looking Javi up and down, admiring how handsome he looked in the khakis and navy blue polo he had picked out this morning. You’d been so worried and worked up about the day that you hadn’t really had a chance to get a good look at him until now, and God, part of you wished you hadn’t taken the time to really take it all in as he stood next to you. You knew there was nothing you could really do about it now, but that wasn’t about to stop you from at least getting a little taste.

“Uh yeah, I uh- actually um, I uh, I scraped my finger earlier on one of the banners I was setting up and I think I got a papercut. I forgot to ask Maria about it earlier, but um, can you show me where the bandaids are upstairs again?” You tried your best to sound as casual as possible, but Javi knew just as well as you that there was no way in hell that you actually needed a bandaid. His brow scrunched in a slight confusion, head cocked to the side as if to say “I think I know where this is going and I’m not really sure it’s going to work” before giving you a little shrug, gesturing up towards the bathroom at the top of the stairwell, trying to keep his smug grin hidden between his lips.

“Yeah, I uh- here, let me show you where they are and I can get you one before we go.” Before Steve or Connie could even muster a word in protest, Javi was already dragging you halfway up the stairs, barely letting you make it to the top of the stairway before closing the bathroom door behind you.

“Band Aid, really? That was the best you could come up with?” Javi laughed under his breath, letting his hands roam down your sides and under the hem of your dress as his fingers dug into the meat of your ass, the heat of his breath tickling your skin where his lips met your neck, gently sucking at your pulse point, making a tiny moan escape from your mouth.

“I needed to come up with something to get you alone for long enough to give you a proper goodbye before you left.”

“And a Band Aid was the way to do that?”

“Oh shut up.” You giggled, draping your arms over Javi’s neck, letting your hands roam through the curls at the nape of his neck before pulling him in tighter to let his lips crash into yours with an electric intensity, his fingertips gripping deeper into your flesh.

“I don’t think-” Javi muttered between kisses, “I don’t think a bandaid is gonna buy us enough time to do anything, Hermosa.”

“I know. I just needed this. Just needed to kiss your stupidly handsome face. I needed something before you left me to fend for myself. Plus,” you paused, pulling back to see the lovestruck grin spread between Javi’s cheeks, “only fair that I get a chance to recreate our first kiss.” You snickered, gesturing to the interior of Maria’s bathroom, where you had found yourself with Javi almost a year ago to the day, your lips meeting for the first time as you sat on the ledge of the sink after Javi had came to your aid when a shattered beer bottle had landed in your leg.

“Fuck, I forgot our first kiss was in Maria’s bathroom. Real fucking smooth of me, huh?” Javi grumbled, rolling his eyes at his past self for letting your first kiss be in the bathroom of his Mom’s best friend’s house.

“Smooth enough for me to wanna marry you, so I guess it all worked out okay, didn’t it?” You teased, planting one last kiss on his lips before shooting him a wink and slipping out the bathroom, your face warm and tingly from the rush of excitement tucked away with Javi in your impromptu makeout session. Javi ran his hand over his face, taking a moment to try and compose himself, shaking his head to himself in shock and delight at how he found himself falling more and more in love with you every day.

“Okay, uh- sorry, sorry about that. Just didn’t wanna have to bother Maria for anything.” You sighed, darting your eyes away from Steve and Connie, their arms crossed against their chest with almost comically smug smirks on their faces as they watched you shuffle back down the stairs, Javi reluctantly trailing behind you.

“Yeah? How’d that bandaid work out for ya?” Steve smiled with a shit eating grin, nodding to your hands, neither of them with a bandaid anywhere in sight. You let out a gulp, trying to quickly tuck your hands behind your back, your cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. “Goddamn, you two gonna make it 3 hours without touching each other, or am I gonna have to bring him back here after hole 4 for a mid-round makeout?”

“Jesus Christ, Murph, really?.” Javi grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Bye, love you. Have fun and I’ll see you soon.” Leaned over, snaking his arm around your waist to plant one last kiss in your hair.

“Not soon enough, apparently…”

“Murphy…”

“Stop makin’ out and I’ll stop givin’ you shit.”

“Touche…” You muttered under your breath, just loud enough to make the 4 of you burst into laughter, easing the uncomfortable tension that you had brought upon yourself from your antics. “Love you too, have fun getting your ass kicked.”

“Yes, yes, out, out, out! It’s only 10 minutes until guests arrive and your truck is taking up all the room in the driveway! Out!” Stampeding into the living room, Maria waved her hands at the boys, quite literally shooing them out of the house after overhearing your goodbyes. Giving a quick wave to Javi as Maria kicked him and Steve to the curb, you caught Javi’s head whipping around for one last glance at you before you left, giving you a once over with his eyes and a soft smile on his face as the front door shut behind him.

Truth be told, your shower ended up being way less painful than you expected it would be. In all honesty, it was actually somewhat enjoyable. The fact that your mom, co-workers, and Connie had put into helping everyone come together to celebrate you filled your heart with so much more joy than you could have predicted- your friends and family had bought you and Javi so many more gifts than you knew what to do with, had so many kind things to say about the two of you, and Connie had even gone out of her way to make sure that there were fun games planned for everyone to keep the need for constant socialization at bay. It really had ended up being a fun afternoon, even if it meant having to answer the same questions about your wedding, house and honeymoon plans more times than you could count.

Javi, on the other hand, could not have been having a worse time on the golf course, getting his ass thoroughly handed to him by Steve hole after hole, wondering to himself how anyone could bring themself to genuinely enjoy the torture that had been the past two and a half hours of hacking his club into chunks of grass and loosing his golf balls in the brush. The only consoling factor was that Javi was grateful to spend time with Steve, even if it meant being berated by endless questions from him on top of his painful performance while he played.

“You feelin’ ready for the big day?” Steve grunted, after smacking his driver against his ball from the tee box, Javi relieved that the pair were finally on the 9th and final hole.

“Yeah, I mean- Oh fuck me-” Javi grumbled, hitting his club and watching his ball fly into a patch of trees, the opposite direction of where he was trying to aim for, “I still can’t believe I’m getting married.”

“You and me both, Jav. I never thought I’d live to see the fuckin’ day, that’s for damn sure. Javier Peña, a married man.” Steve chuckled, slipping his club into his golf bag as Javi followed behind, grabbing what must have been the 57th golf ball from his bag this round.

“Shut the fuck up, Murph.” Javi chuckled, shaking his head at his friends’ jab, the two of them hopping into the golf cart together to try and scavenge for Javi’s long lost ball.

“I’m just given’ you shit, Jav. I’m fuckin’ happy for you man. Really happy. She’s a great girl. Best thing that’s ever happened to your sorry ass, I’ll tell you that much. Guess you don’t have to worry about really followin’ through this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re actually gonna get married this time? You’re not leavin’ her at the altar like Lorraine, huh?” As Steve laughed to himself, Javi could practically feel his stomach drop, his heart beginning to race as a wave of terrible guilt and panic washed over him at his friend’s ironic question.

To his own shock and surprise, Javi hadn’t thought about his last lack of a wedding once since the two of you had gotten engaged. He had been so head over heels excited to spend the rest of his life with you, that the failures of his past engagement had been tucked far away in the back of his mind. But then again, no one had been so gracious as to bring up the knife to the chest that was leaving Lorraine at the altar, and no one had been so gracious as to bring it up in classic Steve Murphy fashion.

Javi could audibly hear himself gulp, his heartbeat pounding so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears as the terrible reality of the past he had so glady forgotten about met him in a head on collision, instantly re-opening all of the cuts and wounds he had finally managed to sew together.

The last time he almost got married, Javier Peña had astronomically fucked up the lives of every last person who cared about him, leaving nothing but chaos and heartbreak in his wake.

Rationally, Javi could tell himself that his upcoming wedding was the polar opposite of everything that was once planned between him and Lorraine. Javi couldn’t have cared less about Lorraine. From the moment he had wearily accepted his fate, he had dreaded every moment of his future from that point on. But you were not Lorraine.

Javi loved you.

Javi cared about you.

Javi wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you and give you everything in the world you could possibly want.

But, one mention of that 8 letter name had Javi’s brain flooding with every single doubt, regret, and painful memory of his past that he had fought so hard to forget. It had his mind reeling with every uncomfortable feeling of remembering the man he had been before you had come into his life and changed him for the better. He knew he was a better man. A stronger man. A man who was worthy of the love and compassion you had shown him from the moment you two had met.

Or was he?

“Earth to Javi? Hello? Anyone home?” Waving his hand in front of Javi’s face, Steve stared at Javi in confusion as to why it seemed like his friend had suddenly become lost in his own world as they pulled up to the patch of trees where his ball had most likely landed.

“Uh yeah, uh- what, sorry, um, what did you say?” Javi asked, visibly trying to shake the thoughts from his head, painfully scrunching his face and running his hand through his hair before looking back over at Steve.

“I asked if you were gonna go get the ball or if you just wanted to add to your +200 score and drop one here instead. Hey, you okay, man?” Steve questioned, pausing for a moment before asking the later half of his statement, seeing the color flushed from Javi’s face.

“Uh, yeah- Yeah, sorry, I just, I’m good. I’ll um, I’ll just drop a ball.” Javi muttered half to himself as he stepped out of the cart, barely paying attention enough to even remember what in the world he was even looking for in his golf bag.

If Javi wasn’t already thankful to be on the last hole before Steve’s comment, he sure as hell was now, mindlessly whacking his golf club with no regard as to how his ball made it to the green. Any thoughts about golf, let alone any previous attempts to even try to play well had now flown out the window, creeping thoughts of self doubt and resentment crawling through Javi’s mind. The rest of the round and the entire car ride back to Maria’s were spent in an internal battle ranging in Javi’s brain, the fight between the man he used to be and the man he’d thought he’d become rearing its ugly head with a painful intensity that absolutely felt like it was consuming him whole.

Steve, who was just as oblivious to his friend’s distraught state as he was to the idiocracy of his sarcastic question, had chalked Javi’s quiet and somber mood up to being an overly sore loser after getting mercilessly crushed at golf. Little did he know that his one silly comment had sent Javi spiraling down a trail of crushing self-doubt.

As the pair pulled into the driveway and made their way to the backyard where a few straggling party goers still lingered, trying to monopolize their time with you to get the details of your upcoming plans for the future. Being the attentive and patient person that you were, you were trying your hardest to seem enthused and engaged with in the conversation with who you thought was Javi’s Aunt’s Cousin (at this point, you had been introduced to so many new people, you were questioning your own name), but it wasn’t long before your future husband’s big, broad body entering the backyard had you more than distracted, your face instantly lighting up at the sight of him. Peeking over his Aunt’s cousin (or cousin’s aunt, you weren’t really sure) shoulder, you bit down on your lip to try and contain your excitement, letting a little wave shake from your hand in his direction.

Javi wished that your sweet smile and beautiful self were enough to snap him out of his funk, to see how you beamed in excitement just at the sight of him and shot him that lovestruck look he’d never get sick of- but for some twisted reason, it only made him feel worse.

You were everything- kind, smart, funny, the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. But what was he? Tired? Broken? A shitty guy who had done even shitter things, who had left nothing but destruction in his path for years and years, with no regard for who it hurt, or even worse, left for dead? How was he supposed to give you everything you deserved when he sure as fuck didn’t deserve you?

Before you had even said a word to him, you could already sense something was off about Javi’s demeanor that was due to more than just losing to Steve in golf. Even from across the backyard, his forced smile and tired brown eyes had a worried pit swirling in the bottom of your stomach, politely excusing yourself from your conversation to make your way over to Javi.

“Hi! You guys have fun at golf? Steve didn’t kick your ass too bad?” You grinned, wrapping your arms around Javi’s waist, pressing up on your toes to plant a kiss on his lips, his mouth barely ghosting over yours in return.

“Yeah, it was um- yeah, it was fine.” Javi nodded, trying to make a smile appear between his pursed lips. “How was the shower? You uh, you ready for Steve and I to start putting things in the truck to bring over to the new house?”

You immediately frowned in response, cocking your head in confusion at him. “Yeah, it was great, but hey, are- are you okay? You seem really off, like more than just Steve kicking your ass at golf off. Did something happen?”

“No, I’m- yeah, I’m good, Hermosa.” Javi’s eyes darted towards the ground, trying his best to stifle his sigh before another fake smile spread across his face, his response making you even more concerned than you were before, seeing he was clearly lying to you. As much as you wanted to problem solve right then and there to figure out what had Javi so distressed, the calls of one of the last groups of party goers wanting to say their goodbyes rang across the backyard, you flashing them a quick smile and a wave to signal you’d be over in a second. Before you could try and get anything else out of Javi, he had already backed himself away from your hands still tangled around his waist, nodding towards the group of women who were not so patiently waiting for you. “Go say goodbye, I’ll start loading stuff up.”

“Um, I- uh, yeah, o-okay. Thanks.” You murmured, half to yourself, as Javi had already begun to walk away to find Steve to help him start carrying things out to the car, leaving you more anxious and confused with every passing second.

With goodbyes finished, and decor and party setup cleaned up just as fast as Maria had demanded it to be put up, you and Javi made your way to your now packed car, followed by Connie and Steve, who had asked to see the progress on your new house while they were in town. You figured you’d kill two birds with one stone, inviting them over and having them help to unload gifts in the same trip, but now, given the strangely somber mood that Javi couldn’t seem to shake, you really wished it was just the two of you so you could figure out what the hell was going on.

You and Javi piled into his truck, Steve and Connie hopping into theirs and following you down Maria’s street towards your new house. A stark silence filled the car, praying to yourself that maybe Javi just wanted to be alone before he said anything about his current state, but 5 minutes down the road without a single word falling from his lips, you had a devastating feeling that wasn’t going to be the case.

Your leg bounced against the seat, fingers nervously drumming in your lap, letting out a quiet sigh to yourself before looking over at Javi and mustering up the courage to try and interrogate.

“Sooooo, golf was fun? I love ya, but I think it’s probably safe to assume Steve won?” You quietly snickered, trying your best to stay nonchalant.

“Yeah, it was good, Steve won, but that’s no surprise because I suck at golf.” Javi mumbled to himself, barely glancing your direction from behind the yellow tinted aviators perched on the bridge of his nose. Normally, if either of you had something that self-deprecating to say, it was at least followed by some sort of a joke or laugh, but his comment ended with nothing but a stoic silence as his hands gripped tighter around the steering wheel.

“Hey, babe, it’s okay, you don’t ever golf, so it’s hard to expect yourself to be good at something you rarely ever do.” You reached over to grab his arm to reassure him, that unsettling and anxious pit beginning to grow in your stomach again with the way Javi was acting. All he could muster was a half hearted huff in response, signaling to you that whatever was happening was much bigger than a poor game of golf.

“Javi… Baby, what’s going on? Did something happen with Steve?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing, Jav. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I told you, it’s fine.”

“Javi, it obviously isn’t fine if this is the way you’re acting about it. Why won’t you talk to me about it? I just wanna-”

“I told you, it’s fine, okay!? Jesus, I don’t need you to solve all my problems.”

Oh.

You and Javi had been in arguments before, hell, you’d been in fights before, but never once in the time that you’d known him, had Javi snapped at you like this. You could practically feel yourself recoiling in your seat from the harsh tone of his voice, fighting back the tears that had instantly begun welling in your eyes. You could feel your heart in your throat, choking down a heavy gulp as your lip quivered to try and keep from crying.

What had gone so wrong that Javi was acting like this?

You wish you had it in you to dig it out of him, but as you pulled up the driveway of your new home, Steve and Connie right behind you, ready for a tour, the best you could muster was a quiet, “O-okay.” As soon as the car was in park, Javi was unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door behind him, leaving you behind in the car, trying everything in your power to not become a startled, sobbing mess.

Wiping away the wetness pooling behind your eyelids, you swiped the back of your hand against your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths before following behind, mustering up as much courage as you could to keep your cool for however long Steve and Connie were planning to stick around before heading back to San Antonio.

You had hoped that Steve and Connie hadn't picked up on the palpable tension brewing between you and Javi, trying your best to put on a brave face as you paraded the Murphy’s through your nearly completed house. To be quite honest, you couldn’t have recalled anything that had happened in the time that they were there, your mind racing in torment as you watched Javi brood around your new home, barely saying a word to you, let alone make any eye contact, or look in your general direction.

As the four of you made your way upstairs, your attention was finally caught by the low lull of Steve’s laughter as he situated himself between you and Javi, grabbing you both by the shoulders and shaking you in his grasp.

“Well I’ll be damned. Y’all got enough rooms up here to house half a baseball team! You want that many kids driving ya nuts, huh?” Steve chuckled, making his way down the hallway, peeking into the empty bedrooms of your 2nd story.

“Steve!” Connie scolded, slapping the back of her hand against Steve’s stomach for his comment.

“What?! I’m just sayin’! I thought y’all would want like, 2, but there’s enough room for way more than that. I mean, I guess you two are fuckin’ goin’ at it like rabbits all the time, so I can’t really be shocked.”

“Steven Edward Murphy! Jesus Christ!” Connie snapped, shooting Steve a dangerous glare, aggressively raising an eyebrow at her husband as she gestured towards you and Javi.

“No, it’s okay, we don’t know for sure how many we want, but we figured if we had the space we’d add the rooms and even if they’re not bedrooms, they’ll still get used.” You had it in you enough to force a half smile across your face, flashing it at Steve and Connie before looking over at Javi.

While you hadn’t expected much of a response from him given the current situation, what you weren’t expecting was the panic stricken look painting Javi from head to toe.

If you weren’t already worried out of your mind about what the fuck was going on with Javi, you sure as fuck were now.

“Uh, I um- yeah.”

Those were the only words Javi was able to choke out through the audible thumps pounding in his chest as his face went ghost white, eyes peeled to the ground.

“See, Steve? You’re making them uncomfortable! You have absolutely no filter, I swear! I’m so sorry, you guys!” Connie frantically apologized, giving Steve another hardy slap in the stomach, making him wince.

“I’m just jokin’, Jesus Christ, sorry!” Steve grumbled, holding up his hands in defense from his wife’s accusation, sheepishly looking over at you and Javi with a little shrug.

“No, it’s uh- no, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You had given up on trying to be convincing at this point, your voice quietly shaking as you stared at Javi, now looking like a terrified, ragged shell of himself.

What the fuck was going on? Did Javi want to wait to have kids? Did he not want to have that many? Was he having second thoughts about kids all together? Fuck, was he having second thoughts about getting married? He’s literally never acted like this before. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You were sure at this point, you probably looked just as much of a mess as Javi did, letting your thoughts race wildly throughout your brain, the silence now lingering between the four of you now seemed to feel deafening, Connie beginning to pick up on the uneasiness festering between you and Javi and knowing she had enough common sense for her and Steve to pick up her cue to see herself out.

“Well, still, I’m sorry. We should probably get going anyways, we told the sitter we’d be back around 6 so we should probably hit the road. Thank you so much for the tour! The shower was beautiful and I’m so glad I could be there for it. We’ll see you guys for the big day soon! Just let me know if you need any help with wedding stuff between now and then okay?”

“Uh yeah, yeah of course. Thanks for all your help, Con. I’ll um- I’ll let you know if we need anything.” You stammered as Connie pulled you in for a hug goodbye, followed quickly by Steve, who planted a few pats on your back mid hug.

“Bye sweetheart, thanks for letting me steal this asshole for golf today. See y’all when you’re gettin’ ready to get hitched! Adios, loser.” Steve chuckled as he pulled away from your hug to tug Javi into another, giving him an even harder pat on the back before letting Connie say her goodbyes as well.

“Do you want me to walk you guys down to your-”

“Nah, we’ll find our way out, no worries. Bye lovebirds, see ya soon.” Steve grinned, giving the both of you one last wave farewell before disappearing down the stairs, their hushed bickers about Steve’s unnecessary comments quietly trailing behind them. Before you could even get a word out to Javi now that the two of you were alone, he was already halfway down the stairs behind the Murphy’s, not even bothering to look back at you as he mumbled under his breath.

“I’m gonna get the gifts out of the car and go sit outside.”

“Jav, wait, I-”

You could feel the lump beginning to swell in your throat, your bottom lip trembling with tears welling in your eyes as you watched Javi storm down the stairs without even so much as an attempt to care about what you had to say, leaving you with nothing but yourself and 5 empty bedrooms that now had you questioning everything you thought you knew about your future with Javi. You felt your body begin to collapse like a sad pile of jello as you melted into a sobbing puddle on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest as you cried into the flowy fabric of your dress, leaving wet stains behind from your tears. Your breaths were rapid and shaky with each muffled sob, trying to rationally grasp on to something, anything, as to why Javi was acting this way. But the more the gears frantically turned in your brain, the more irrational and terrifying your thoughts became.

This all happened so fucking fast. It’s only been a year since I’ve known him. Is he realizing it’s too much? Am I too much? This was all too fucking good to be true, wasn’t it, you fucking idiot.

Taking a few more minutes to collect yourself enough to at least stop full on sobbing, you wiped your wet cheeks with the back of your palm, inhaling a trembling deep breath as you mustered up every ounce of courage you could find to face whatever fate was waiting for you downstairs with Javi.

Each step down the stairs felt heavier than the last, leaving your fingers anxiously drumming against your legs as you saw Javi’s broad body hunched over the side of the unfinished back patio, staring out to the tall grass of your backyard swaying in the warm summer breeze. If it were any other time, you would have rushed up behind him, wrapping your body around his back and attacking him with kisses until the two of you were wound up in a fit of laughter and giggles, happily tangled in each other's bodies.

Right now, you were terrified to even step too close to him.

Carefully and quietly sliding open the glass door to the porch, you prayed with every bone in your body you weren’t going to do anything that set Javi off enough to even let you attempt to have a conversation with him about what was going on. The new wood softly creaked under your shoes, making Javi turn his head just enough to acknowledge your presence as you wearily approached him. Taking one more deep breath, you opened your mouth to speak, but with your jaw hanging open, Javi’s words filled the stark silence before yours could.

“I don’t know if we should get married.”

Fuck.

You could practically feel your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach, like the weight of 1,000 bricks had been dropped on your body all at once, hearing that come out of his mouth. You could have mentally tried to brace yourself for a lot of things, but hearing Javi tell you he didn't want to get married anymore sure as hell wasn't one of them.

“Javi, I- baby, what- I don’t- I don’t-”

“Why the fuck do you even wanna marry me?”

Your brows scrunched in pain and confusion at the sharp tone of his words, desperate to try and understand what point he was trying to prove in this gut wrenching game he seemed to be playing.

“Because I- Javi, I- Javi I love you, that’s why.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you sat down next to him on the edge of the porch, leaning over enough to see the tears glistening down his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy as he tried to stifle the sobs rumbling in his chest. He shook his head back and forth before his gaze fell into his lap.

“You shouldn’t love me.”

“Javi… what the fuck are you talking about?” you plead, feeling the pain and hurt creeping through your body as you watched the tears he was so desperately trying to fight. With a scornful scoff, Javi shook his head, pressing against his knees to stand, taking a few paces around the porch, burying his hands in his face, his words muffled and muted by his palms covering his mouth.

“What the fuck am I- I’m not- I’m not what you deserve. I don’t understand how you don’t fucking see that.”

You followed suit, bringing yourself to stand with your arms crossed tightly across your chest, staring at Javi in bewilderment, biting down on your tongue so hard to keep from bursting into tears you thought you were going to make it bleed. You could feel the storm of pain, anger and confusion brewing deep in the pit of your stomach, your body numb and mind blank.

“Javier. What the fuck is going on? I don’t understand why-”

“Because last time I was gonna get married I fucked up everything. For everyone. I hurt everyone I cared about. I went half way around the world and I spent a decade fucking things up even more. How do you know I’m not gonna fuck everything up again? I love you too much to let it happen to you. The thought of ever hurting you even half as I much as I’ve hurt anyone else because of my choices fucking kills me. I can’t do it. I can’t hurt you like I’ve hurt everyone else. I’d never fucking forgive myself. I love you more than anything, Osita. I love you more than anything in the world. You deserve someone who isn’t going to hurt you. Someone who will do right by you, by your family, your future children, I just- fuck- I don’t think that person can be me.”

A deafening silence hung in the air as you stared blankly at Javi, tears streaming from his tormented brown eyes, his body trembling with devastation and regret. You had no doubt your body mirrored his as the guilt and heartbreak flooded you from head to toe, wondering how in the world you had ever let the man you loved and cared about more than anything feel like he wasn’t enough for you.

You wished you could speak- to find the words to tell him that he was your everything, the glue that had put you back together when you were convinced there was nothing else that could mend the broken mess that you had become. You wished you could express to him that there was no one on the face of this earth that you would rather spend the rest of your life with than him- that there was no one else you wanted by your side through every moment of your life, the good, the bad and the ugly, more than him. You wished there was a way to tell him that you loved him more than anything, but in that moment, all you could do was grab him and wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing him as tightly as your body would let you, letting your wet face rest against the familiar warmth of his chest as you whispered into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Javier Peña, you’re the only person it could be.”

You could feel his chest begin to rumble with heavy sobs as his arms draped around you, pulling you against his body so closely, it was like his life depended on it, like he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting you go again. One arm stayed wrapped around your back as the other slid up the back of your neck, his broad palm cradling your head in his grasp, his fingers practically digging into your skin to keep you close as the two of you let yourselves do nothing but hold each other in your teary silence.

You let one of your hands reach up towards Javi’s face, cupping his jaw and forcing his gaze back on to you, as your thumb traced back and forth along his cheek, wiping away the wetness that had been welling in his eyes.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?” You asked, waiting until you felt Javi’s head gently nod up and down in understanding in your palm before you continued, “The man you were before doesn’t scare me. If it did, I would have been gone a long time ago. The man you were before has turned you into the man that you’ve become. The man that I want to spend everyday with for the rest of my life. Every good day, every bad day, every painful, hard and shitty day, and every day in between. And I promise that I will spend every last one of those days until the day I die trying my best to convince you that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if I die trying, then so be it. I love you, Javi. Don’t you ever think for a second that there is anyone out there that I want to spend the rest of my life with more than you, and I won’t ever let you forget it.”

It was only moments before both of Javi’s hands were cradling your face, gently trembling as they cupped your soft, wet skin as you locked eyes with his, watching his face shift from terrified to bewildered, thinking he must have misheard what you had just said to him.

“Osita, I-”

“Promise me.”

“Promise you what?”

“Promise me that you believe me. Promise me that you know I love you more than anything.”

There was a part of Javi’s brain that wished he could find something to prove that he couldn’t. To prove he wasn’t worthy of keeping the promise you had made to him. To convince himself that he had no reason to believe he was worthy of the love you had given him.

But the truth was, for the first time that he could remember, as he looked down at you, the woman who had taken his life and forever changed it for the better, who had helped to heal him in ways he didn’t know he needed, who had cared for him in ways he never thought he deserved, and who had stood by him even as you learned about the ugliest parts of him he never thought he’d forgive himself for, Javier Peña finally realized he had learned what it was like to be worthy of love.

You had made him realize he was worthy of being loved.

A small gulp slid down his throat between his shaky breaths, taking a moment to soak in everything about you, before letting his lips ghost across yours as a quiet whisper left his mouth.

“I promise.”

And just like that, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocious and tender passion, soaking in every ounce of the sweet flavor of you, a taste he knew he would never tire of, one that he craved like nothing else.

“I love you, Osita. Fuck, I love you so much.” Javi moaned between your kisses, praying with every bone in his body you knew how much he meant it.

“I love you too, Javi.” The hot breath of your words danced across his lips before they were crashing together once again, his tongue swiping between your parted mouths as he ran his hand down your back and around your waist, pulling you so close you were convinced your bodies were going to melt into one as you pressed against his broad chest, now needily grasping at fist fulls of his shirt.

In that moment, it was like the two of you could feel something in the air change. The tension lifting, the frustrated fog fading, the both of you desperately needing the other to know how much you loved them. The Javi you knew and loved had come back, returning home to you. All of the fear and sadness was replaced by a rampant desperation to know how much you needed him, almost as much as he needed to show you how hopelessly he craved you, too.

With your bodies still tangled together, your kisses became messier and sloppier as you backed your way towards the door that lead inside, stumbling and trampling over each other’s feet without any regard for where you were headed until you felt your back bump against the kitchen island, the rounded edges of the countertop stopping you in your tracks as Javi caged you between his broad figure and the island.

Both of your hands were now feverishly roaming across each other’s bodies before Javi had run his hands down your thighs, hoisting you up to sit on the countertop, planting hot, wet kisses across your neck and collarbone while his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, his palms sliding up and down your legs, digging his fingers into your flesh.

“Javi…” You whimpered, letting your eyes close and head fall back as he sucked at your pulse point, leaving you with one hand bracing yourself against the edge of the counter and the other with your fingers wrapped around the navy fabric of Javi’s shirt, clinging on for dear life.

You eyes opened, and gaze shifted downwards as you felt Javi pull away from your grasp, watching him drop to his knees, slotting himself between your parted legs and kissing the inside of your thighs while his hands tugged at the waistband of your already soaked underwear, hastily shuffling them to fall down your legs and pool at your ankles. His needy kisses up your thighs crept closer and closer to your core as your legs draped over his shoulders, kneeling before you like you were the altar of everything he worshiped as his deep brown eyes looked up at yours, like he was begging for forgiveness for his sins.

“I’m so sorry, Osita. I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Fuck, I love you so much. Let me show me how much I love you. Please, baby. Please let me show you how much I need to be yours.”

Your response was nothing but a ragged moan as you felt his hot breath hovering over your cunt before letting long, flat licks of his tongue drag through your folds, each swipe pressing firmer than the last, lapping up the arousal dripping from your entrance like a sweet nectar. With one hand still white knuckling the edge of the countertop, the other shot down to bury itself in the dark curls of Javi’s thick locks, tugging at ends to find some place to ease your tension as he began to flick and swirl his tongue relentlessly against your clit, lapping you up like a man starved.

“Oh fuck Javi- fuck- you feel so good, baby.” You moaned, raking your fingers along Javi’s scalp as you watched his head bob nestled between your legs, feeling the low hum of satisfaction thrumming in his throat as he began to suck your sensitive bundle of nerves, latching his lips around your clit as his mouth worked feverishly against your cunt. You could already feel the tingle beginning to grow at the base of your spine and spread to your legs as Javi found every sweet spot that he knew made you lose all control, desperate to make you feel how much he needed your love and forgiveness.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let go for me baby, I’ve got you.” Javi hummed before diving back between your legs, tightening his grip around your thighs as his tongue danced around your clit relentlessly. It wasn’t long before you could feel your orgasm begin to flood your body, pleasure crashing through you as you cried out his name, a death grip clutching around the counter and Javi’s dark locks. Javi worked you through your high, drinking up the juices of your slick as you came, feeling your legs tremble as they stayed slung over his broad shoulders, not stopping until your body was shaking and your whimpers and moans had become so wrecked, he had no choice but to stop to relish in the blissed out, dripping mess he had made you. He would have loved to stay like this forever, watching you become more and more wrecked beneath his tongue, the want, no, need, to be buried inside your heat, getting lost in your wetness and warmth, savoring in the way no one else would ever be able to have you like he did, to know that you were his.

Javi worked in a determined silence, rusting with his belt buckle until the metal clangs of it opening had his pants and boxers in a puddle around his ankles, splaying kisses across your neck as he slid you towards the edge of the counter, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising intensity. He stroked himself a few times as he lined his cock up with your entrance, guiding his tip through the glistening arousal covering your folds, leaving his dick shiny with your slick as you whimpered into his skin.

“Javi… Please, baby. I need you.” You whimpered, instinctively bucking your hips towards him, desperately craving him to ease the achy emptiness between your legs.

Resting his forehead against yours, the dark, damp curls of his hair brushed your skin, the hot and heavy heat of each of your shaky breaths melting into one another’s as your lips ghosted his, only fully meeting yours to catch the moan that had escaped your mouth as he pushed himself into your heat, letting himself bottom out, his tip brushing against your cervix. You couldn’t help but wrap your legs around the small of his back and drape your arms over his shoulders, desperate to have your bodies needily tangled and intertwined together as you savored in the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness.

He began to rock his hips, letting his cock drag in and out of your cunt, taking his time with each stroke, the movement making you dig your fingernails into the fabric of his shirt stretched over his muscular back, in turn, making the grip he had around your waist even tighter, his fingers buried in the soft flesh of your stomach where his hands had crept under your dress.

The way he punched up into you, perfectly pounding against your g-spot with each thrust, combined with the way the hairs at his base rubbed along your clit, already had the inevitable coil beginning to tighten in your belly. You dug your nails deeper into Javi’s skin, grasping for the damp curls at the nape of his neck, your whimpers growing louder and more desperate with each stroke as you could feel yourself beginning to crumble beneath him.

Each stroke seemed to become deeper and fuller than the last, Javi’s pace now climbing in speed and intensity as he felt your cunt clench tighter and tighter around his cock, knowing that familiar feeling meant you were coming closer to your end. You could barely muster anything but a whimper, your soft pleads and begs going straight to his dick as he slid and out of your wet heat.

“Fuck baby, don’t stop- ahhhh- please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

The lewd sounds of skin hitting skin and low, ragged moans echoed against the bare walls of your unfinished kitchen as Javi fucked deeper and deeper into you, singing sweet, soft praises against your skin between locking your lips with yours.

“Fuck- Dámelo, Hermosa (Give it to me, beautiful). Need to feel you soak my cock before I fuck you full of me. It’s okay mi amor- mierda- té tengo. (my love- shit- I’ve got you.) I’ve always got you. Forever.”

You could feel your legs lock even tighter around Javi’s waist as heat began to bloom in your belly, only needing a few more thrusts as you rolled your hips against his before your mind went blank and vision went white, your orgasm crashing through your body and flooding every inch of you with pleasure so intense, you could feel yourself going limp in his grasp.

“Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god-ahhhhhhhh-” You whimpered as Javi fucked you through your high, now desperate to chase his own as his thrusts became rushed and sloppy, pounding into you as your walls gripped around his cock like a vice. Your warmth and wetness consumed him, only needing a few more pumps before he could feel himself following suit, hissing through gritted teeth as incoherent babbles spilled from his lips.

“There it is, baby. Fuck- fuck, you’re so fucking perfect. I love you so much, Osita. Con todo mi corazón. (With my whole heart). Oh fuck- I’m yours forever. Oh shit, I’m gonna cum to, oh fuckkkkkk.”

With one last thrust, Javi finished buried deep inside you, hot ropes of his cum coating your walls as a slick mixture of spend leaked down your thighs, leaving him panting while he slumped into your shoulder, his chest heaving with labored breaths, trying to compose himself. Bracing himself with one palm flat against the counter next to your hip, his other hand reached up to your face, brushing away a piece of stray hair back into place before gently cupping your cheek as he spoke.

“Osita, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I didn’t mean what I said earlier, I just- fuck- I’ve never been so sure of anything, but when we were at golf today, Steve brought up Lorraine, and I- I just was so scared I was gonna fuck everything up again, and I-”

“Oh God, he brought up Lorraine?! Jesus. I knew it. I knew this was Steve’s fucking fault.” You sighed, quietly laughing to yourself as you shook your head.

“Wait, how did you-”

“Because it just seemed so strange that you were acting like this all of a sudden. You got back from golfing with him and it was like you were a different person. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I was freaked out and panicking wondering what happened because you’ve never acted like that before. That, and because I love Steve, but he’s an idiot.” The two of you were both now laughing, Javi rubbing his hand over his face before rolling his eyes, wondering to himself how he had really let his friend’s stupid comment get the best of him.

“I’m so sorry, Osita. I should have just ignored it, I just hadn’t thought about it in so long and I was so terrified to mess everything up again. It would kill me to hurt you like that.” His thumb circled around your cheek as he tilted your gaze to meet his, sincerity and remorse swirling in the dark pools of his chocolate brown eyes.

“Javi, listen, if this is moving too fast, or it’s too much for you, I want you to be able to tell me, I understand if-” Before you could finish your sentence, Javi’s lips were planted tenderly against yours, pulling away from your mouth with a goofy grin and satisfied sigh.

“I promise you, I’ve never wanted anything more. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I can’t wait to marry you,” he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek, “I can’t wait to live in our new house with you,” he grinned, planting another ticklish kiss on your neck, “I can’t wait until we can finally start filling up these empty rooms with little baby Peñas” Javi chuckled, now peppering kisses all over your body, making you erupt in a fit of laughter and giggles, squirming and flailing in his grasp, playfully swatting at him. “I can’t wait to spend every day for the rest of my life with the most beautiful, amazing woman I’ve ever met.” He smirked, tilting his head to let your mouths meet again, this kiss filled with a tender passion and intensity unmatched by his previous playful ones.

It was the kind of kiss that said all of the things that words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that had butterflies fluttering in your stomach like the first kiss you had shared in Maria’s bathroom almost a year ago. The kind of kiss that made you fall even deeper in love with him, even when you thought you couldn’t.

It was also the kind of kiss where everything else in the world seemed to melt away and make time stand still, a kiss that you could have stayed lost in forever… unless a certain someone hadn’t forgotten his wallet at your house and needed to come back and get it.

You were so oblivious to anything else happening around you, that neither you or Javi had heard your front door open, followed by the rushed, impatient footsteps of Steve and Connie, arguing about where Steve could have left his wallet, and how on earth he could have left without realizing it was missing from its usual home in his back pocket.

“Seriously, Steve, I can’t believe we’re gonna waste a whole hour having to turn around and come back here because you couldn’t remember your wallet!”

“Con, I told you, it’s right on the counter, I know where it is, lemme just go grab it really quick and then we ca- Oh Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve shouted, walking into the kitchen to see you and Javi making out on your island, your dress pushed up well past your legs, and Javi’s bare ass on display from his pants still pooling around his ankles.

“Ahhhhh!” You and Javi shrieked, practically jumping out of your skin to see Steve’s tall and lanky frame frozen in your kitchen, now scrambling to try and fix your clothes and hair to try and save yourselves at least some dignity.

“What the hell are you two doin’?!” Steve grimaced, trying not to cackle to himself as Connie rushed up behind him to see what was happening, only to very quickly cover her eyes and turn away from you and Javi.

“Us?! What the hell are you doing here? Jesus, you ever heard of fucking knocking, Murph?!” Javi groaned, shuffling his pants back up and fixing his hair before helping you off the counter, trying your best to hide your beet red, embarrassed face.

“I forgot my wallet! Forgive me for thinkin’ you two would keep your hands off each other for long enough to let me come pick it up in peace.” Steve frowned, raising up his hands in defense.

“I’m sorry! I told him to call you to let you know he was coming to pick it up, but he seemed to think it wasn’t a big deal.” Connie scolded, giving Steve a forceful nudge of her elbow before finally turning back around to face you and Javi, knowing you were at least halfway decent. “God, I love you, but you are an idiot.”

“You can say that again…” You snickered under your breath, just loud enough to make Javi and Connie join in your laughter, leaving Steve with his arms crossed over his chest, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Hey, listen. Call me what you want, but I don’t think you’ll be callin’ me an idiot when you need me to come babysit your 47 kids so the two of you can get some…” He paused gesturing to you and Javi’s disheveled state, “... time to yourselves. Like I said earlier, y’all gotta lot of rooms to fill, and I don’t think you’re gonna have any problem doin’ it.”

And for as much as you wanted to give Steve the ten pounds of shit he deserved, as you looked up at Javi standing next to you, you couldn’t really even bring yourself to be mad. Because in the end, the only thing that mattered was him- the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with. The one who was your future, the one who stood with you through every twist and turn, the one who was your home. What started as a day that had you questioning everything had turned into one that had never made you feel more assured. You knew that Javier Peña loved you more than life itself, and you knew that you were so lucky to spend the rest of your life getting to prove to him over and over that you loved him just as much.

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

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postwarlevi · 2 years

Note

How about 9, 15, and 46 for the weird asks if they haven’t been asked already?

Hello Tay! Hope you get a good night sleep!

9 which do you prefer, cotton candy or funnel cake?

I don't think I've ever had a funnel cake?! I just read it's kind of like a pancake batter though? And I imagine you put toppings on it. I think I'd like that better then cotton candy. I do love my sugar but spun sugar is a little too much for me. Something I never thought I'd say!

15 what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to you?

answered a little here I get signs a lot from a family member no longer here. It's actually really nice, just unexplainable.

If we're looking for like, WEIRD, I can't think of anything else specifically LOL

46 a christmas song you secretly like?

Oh I love Christmas songs! I know that over the years Santa Baby has caused some controversy but I still love it! No matter what version is playing on the radio I enjoy it!

You know I might be thinking of Baby It's Cold Outside, for being controversial (maybe it's both?) Guess what? I like that too!

ask me something

#ask game answers #moots #moots tay #all the carnivals i've been too and i've never had a funnel cake #i have had lots of cotton candy though #it's kind of too much not that i'm older haha #i literally cannot think of a weird story #except for the one mentioned #i will listen to christmas music the entire month of december #i love it #santa baby i love it #no reason it should start an argument

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weast-of-eden · 2 months

Text

I've been thinking about how I could contribute to the ACD/Granada Sherlock Holmes fandom for a while, seeing as I'm neither an artist, a writer, or anything actually useful lol. But then I realized something I myself always treasure are curated fic recs, which I could actually do! I've read probably like 25% of all the h/w ACD and Granada fics on ao3, so I compiled a short list for anyone who is just starting out with the fandom. Without further ado, may I present

Eden’s Top Picks for Beginning ACD/Granada Fics:

(edit: i made a second list here!!)

The Adventure of the Doctor's Heart by mistyzeo 12k | Rated E Summary: Holmes has observed much of Watson's habits and tastes over time, which is why it surprises him when his friend objects strangely to a folk song sung at the conclusion of a case. Disturbed by the Doctor's unexpected display of emotion, Holmes becomes determined to lift his spirits by any means necessary, with mixed results. Notes: obviously if you're going to read canonverse h/w, you are going to read mistyzeo. this one is just so good and angsty and features music (!!). it's got some steaminess but it also has wooing. basically it has everything you ever need. this is my odyssey, my iliad, my hamlet, etc.

Cameo by what_alchemy 8k | Rated M | For Archive Users Only Summary: Holmes and Watson become embroiled in a case Scotland Yard refuses to acknowledge. A soulmate AU. Notes: i honestly skipped over this fic for a while, since i'm not the biggest fan of soulmate aus. do not make the same mistake i did, because this shit HITS. this fic has hit after hit: soulmate-mark based case for our main duo, angst, hiatus feels, MORE ANGST, and ofc a happy ending. ugh. read this fic if you enjoy being happy.

A Tide That Does Not Turn by tweedisgood 3k | Rated T Summary: Holmes is a very bad patient with a devoted doctor who adores him. Watson wishes it was safe to speak up, but his friend is a tide that does not turn. Notes: do NOT read this if you don't like angst... ok now i'm sensing a pattern. anyways this is the first hurt/no comfort fic i read for this tag and i literally have cried more than enough tears over it. poor, poor watson :( iconic author though, read everything they write!

The Adventure of the Glad Outlaw by radondoran 7k | Rated T Summary: While Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a student's disappearance, Dr. Watson is more puzzled by the changing dynamic between his flatmate and himself. Notes: cute pastiche! a nice little mystery and a nice little get-together. ahhhhhh.... this fic is like cotton candy to me, so sweet and fluffy. defo recommend

Hands by MinorObsessions (draculard) 1.4k | Rated T Summary: Naturally, there are some things Watson thinks about Holmes that don't make it into the books. Notes: i'm also in the star trek fandom, so if you know anything about that then you know that hands are kind of A Thing in both circles and ergo i now Have A Thing about hands. so this is a nice little ode to holmes' hands, featuring some doctoring by watson AND a nice reverse appraisal at the end. it's so sweet :)

Conductor of Light by ColebaltBlue 1.4k | Rated T Summary: A Victorian stiff upper lip won't prevent you from falling in love, but it might prevent you from realizing it. Notes: they finally get their shit together! honestly i would recommend this fic to anyone just starting out with h/w fics in any medium. the characterization and dialogue is A1, and their argument is really realistic to me, idk. also features the iconic HOUN quote for its title so props to that!

A (Mis)fortunate Man by sans_patronymic 1.5k | Rated T Summary: December, 1880. Watson writes a note which may be his last. December, 1899. Watson writes back. Notes: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING. this was a gut-wrenching read but god i cried at the end for watson. don't worry, this one has a happy ending. ugh now i wish there was a second chapter where watson lets holmes read the letters. to sum up: oof, my heart

The Second Smartest Man in London by FairSinner 73k | Rated E Summary: Dr John Watson returns from Afghanistan to Victorian London, wounded, traumatised and alone. When he meets Sherlock Holmes, his life begins to seem worth living again. But Holmes is a man who despises sentiment and Watson cannot seem to expunge it from his heart. Notes: congrats, you've made it to the end!! so now i must confess that it's been a loooong time since i've read this fic, but the private note i left on my bookmark was just "holy shit", so i'm sure it's a banger. i'm also sure it has angst because i love angst and i love bookmarking angst so i can read it again and again and suffer infinitely. enjoy :)

anyways, now that i've put these all here i realized how much i enjoy angst and hurt/no comfort fics. if any of you guys have a favorite fic you want to link or want to plug your own writing, feel free to!

#i hope this is coherent #or at least helpful to someone lol #sherlock holmes #acd holmes #granada holmes #granada johnlock #acd johnlock #fic rec #acd johnlock fic rec #granada johnlock fic rec

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 months

Text

Thunder In Our Hearts: You're Losing Me

Summary: A few short weeks before their first holiday together, the reader finds Ben slipping into his old ways...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, angst, fluff

A/N: This takes place within Part 9 of Thunder In Our Hearts. Enjoy! 😉

_______

You hummed as you stirred the ingredients in the Dutch oven on the cold December day. Things with Ben had been good lately. It’d been about four months since you’d both stopped hunting down people, trying to hide him from the CIA. You simply…were.

For Ben, that meant a whole lot of learning still. He’d been out of the box for a little over six months now and had picked up a few things. He even had his own SUV now for getting around. He understood how to use the TV and get to streaming apps along with some basic use of the internet and a smart phone.

And he prided himself on how well he could cook a full breakfast for you both. You’d even got a smirk out of him when you called him your own Betty Crocker.

But there was still a lot to learn and it wore on him some days. Unfortunately, it seemed like today was going to be one of them.

“Jesus Christ,” groaned Ben, stepping into the house, shrugging out of his winter jacket. He kicked off his boots and left them in the middle of the floor, all while shaking his head. “Your generation is full of fucking pussies, baby. No wonder this country has gone to shit.”

You tore your eyes away from the soup on the stove, annoyance prickling your skin. Yeah, it was definitely one of those days.

“The fucking child working the counter at the auto store didn’t know two shits about the oil I was looking for. Literally the twats only fucking job,” he grumbled, walking into the kitchen and washing up his hands. You tried to let it go. He was allowed to get irritated as much as you were.

You set the spoon on the rest next to the stove and put the lid back on top, the stew having a few hours to go still.

“And then at dealership where I had to go to get the stupid shit, there was, I swear to God, some kid that had to be thirty fucking years old was buying a car with his dad. These little shits don’t know to wipe their own asses.”

You rolled your eyes behind his back and left the kitchen, Ben inhaling sharply, lifting the lid up. He licked his lips and set it back down, either ignoring or not picking up on your own growing annoyance. You sat down on the end of the couch, Ben leaning over the back, strong hands on your shoulders.

“And why the hell is everyone obsessed with these fucking frilly decorations for Chirstmas? It’s fucking stupid. If people want shit they should buy it. End of discussion. Lame ass holiday anyway.”

He squeezed your shoulders gently, leaning down so his lips brushed against your ear.

“You’re tense, baby. Let me help you relax.” Strong hands slid down over your shoulders, headed straight for your chest and you’d had enough. You faced him with a glare, Ben narrowing his eyes. “What’d I do?”

“You’re being an ass today. You’re acting like asshole Ben, the one I didn’t like, remember?” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “All you have done today is complain about other people, leave the house a mess, hell you even got something against Christmas. It’s fucking Christmas, Ben! No one in the world, even the most redneck backwoods hillbilly, has anything against a strand of fucking white lights. Frilly? Oh come on.”

“First off, they are fucking frilly,” he spat back as you headed for the foyer. “What’s wrong with not liking a stupid ass holiday?”

“Nothing! Hate Christmas for all I care! Plenty of people do. But don’t put it down because of lights or trees or presents. Hate it because your family sucks or whatever. Not because it’s not manly enough for you.”

“Oh fuck you,” he said, getting in your face, leering down at you with a certain visceral that reminded you of your first argument. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Don’t hate everything that’s not part of your toxic masculinity!” His eye twitched and you looked away, past him out the patio door. “For three weeks you’ve been acting more and more like an asshole. I know this is hard for you. I know learning is hard and learning to be accepting and even tolerant doesn’t happen overnight. But Benjamin, I told you once before. I will not live with a man that I’m afraid of. Do not become someone I am afraid of.”

“You have no idea how hard this is!” he shouted, so loud your body shook. You forced yourself to meet his angry gaze, fighting back wetness in your own. “I do everything for you! Every goddamn day I try for you! I’m sorry your worthless piece of shit boyfriend isn’t doing it fast enough for you!”

“I never called you that,” you said quietly, throat thick from fighting back the tears from falling. “Never. All I have ever asked of you is to try and you Ben, these past few weeks you aren’t trying. I am not giving up on you. All I’m asking is you to not give up on yourself. You’re worth it. But you have to want it too.”

“What I want is you to stop hounding me over every little thing every motherfucking day!” he shouted. You tore your gaze away and swallowed before heading for the door. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“For a drive,” you said, putting your boots on, taking your coat off the hook. “For the record, all I wanted to do today was make you homemade beef stew because you haven’t had it since you were a kid. Maybe, just maybe, decorate for Christmas because we both had shitty childhoods and maybe we could have made our own good traditions. But if you don’t want that, Ben, I won’t force that on you. I’m done. I’ll always love you but I don’t deserve to be screamed at for helping you, for still holding up my end of the deal.”

You ripped open the door and threw up your hood without looking back.

It was close to eleven when you got home. You were tired and your stomach felt off from your makeshift dinner of a greasy burger and fries. Least of all did you want another fight with Ben tonight. You just didn’t have the energy for it.

You sighed as you pushed open the door, catching sight of him out of the corner of your eye. Great. But you cut off your own thoughts as your eyes took in the room, darting through the family room and over to the kitchen and dining room.

Hundreds of small lights filled the house. Draped on the wall. Wrapped around the decorated tree in the corner. Over the mantle where two stockings hung.

You knew you were standing there with your mouth open, letting the cold air inside behind you. Ben walked around the couch and shut the door, all while staring at you. He flickered his own gaze down and you caught his shirt wasn’t his usual thermals or t-shirts.

He had on a fucking Grinch sweater. A fucking Grinch sweater.

Your eyes flirted back to his, worried green ones meeting them. His lips parted, words caught in his throat. He swallowed, taking both your hands in his.

“You deserve a better life than this.” He lowered his head. “Than me. But you won’t leave me alone unless I make you go which is what I’ve been doing. I don’t want you to have to teach me everything. You’re wasting away your life on me. I’m not good. No matter what I do, I’ll never be good. I’m always the villian. I want better for you than me.”

You stared at the Grinch on his sweater, at the comically large yellow eyes, the curl of green on top of his head.

“Y/N. Say something. Do something.” You lifted your gaze, his head turned cautiously up, waiting for a response. You stepped closer to him, Ben ripping his gaze away, like you’d burn him.

“Don’t you ignore me.” His head turned back, dropping your hands when you pulled them away. “Why did you do all this if you want me to go?”

“I never said I wanted you to go,” he whispered, cracking a sad smile. “I told you. I want you to want someone better than me.”

“Why did you do all of this?” you asked again, Ben closing his eyes, bottom lip trembling for a split second.

“Because…” he said, scrunching up his face, forcing himself to look you in the eye. “Because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Because you deserve better but I’m the bad guy and I can’t survive without you. Because you’re my girl. Because I like these fucking frilly lights even though I’m the Grinch. That guy was an asshole too until someone gave him a chance. Give me one more chance. Let me be selfish. Don’t let me lose you.”

“I…” you said, Ben nodding once and lowering his head. You ripped off your jacket and boots, Ben barely lifting his chin as you cupped his cheeks. “I’m so proud of you.”

Confusion crossed his face as you smiled, wiping away a single tear that slipped free. “Why? I fucked everything up.”

“We still have to work on that self-worth I see,” you said, gently stroking over his cheek. “Benjamin. I love you and I’ll never give up on you. If you want better for me then you become that man because I picked you. I see you becoming him more and more everyday. But this Ben? The one right in front of me? I don’t love him any less than that other man.”

“I was an ass on purpose. I scared you,” he said. “You should-”

“No, you didn’t. But you needed a wakeup call because baby, I know you. I know you want me to hate you some days because you hate yourself. I know you think you trapped me. But you saved me, Soldier Boy. I need you to remember I’m here because with you is exactly where I want to be.”

He closed his eyes, an argument on the tip of his tongue. But he surprised you.

“I just want you to be happy,” he whispered. You kissed his cheek and then his lips, wrapping you arms around him tightly.

“I am. You’re my happy place.”

“Oh god that’s sad,” he half-laughed, resting his head on your shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve earned that.”

“Tell that to the guy who decorated the whole house with the frilly little lights,” you said, Ben chuckling. “If you want to leave me Ben you can but never do that again.”

“I promise and that’s not happening,” he said. He hugged you gently, the room quiet for a beat and then another. “I saved your stew. Maybe we can have it for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” you said, enjoying the warmth of him around you. “Was today as bad as you said it was?”

“No. But I know how to make you think less of me,” he said, pulling back. “You should still be upset with me.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “We’re not doing that. I know what I want and that’s for you to feel like you can talk to me when you start feeling bad. Please.”

“I’ll try,” he offered and you nodded, knowing that was all he could promise right now. You rested your head against his chest and breathed slowly, his heart thudding away strong and steady. “No.”

You frowned and looked at him, Ben raising his chin, nodding to himself. “No?”

“I won’t try. I’ll do it. No more trying. I will be better. End of story. I’m going to give you what you deserve.”

“Someday I hope you can see how fucking far you’ve come,” you said, Ben shrugging. “Come on. Let’s head to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Ben,” you said the next morning as you lay curled up in his side. He traced his fingers up and down your arm, offering you a sleepy smile. “Can I give you a Christmas present early?”

“Eh, after yesterday I think I’m on the naughty list,” he said, catching the frown on your face. “Sorry. Working on the self-worth thing. So uh, I guess sure?”

You took his hand and slid it under your shirt over your belly, his eyes narrowing. “Listen.”

He closed his eyes, sliding his hand down slightly. He swallowed once, eyes flashing open. He stared at your stomach for a solid ten seconds before finding your face, lips parting.

“There’s another heartbeat inside of you,” he whispered. “Two more.”

“I know,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. “I found out yesterday morning. I went to the doctor while I was out. I’m eight weeks.”

“Twins?” You smiled and nodded, Ben’s hand still on you. “And they’re mine?”

“Of course they’re yours,” you laughed, Ben swallowing thickly. “Ben. It’s going to be okay. I’m scared too but excited. We-”

“I-Is it a boy? Are they boys?” he asked. You smiled and touched your forehead to his. “Can you know that before?”

“Nowadays yeah, but it’s a little too early to find that out,” you said, his breath hitching. “Do you…want boys?”

“No. No, I don’t want boys,” he said, suddenly jumping out of bed, hands going to his thighs as he leaned over and made a wincing sound. “You have to leave.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, sitting upright. Ben turned around, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“I should not be anyone’s father. I-I’m going to fuck these kids up. I can’t…Jesus Y/N. I’m going to lose my temper and hurt them. Or I’ll be awful and raise them wrong. I can’t ruin their lives. I-I can’t be my father. I can’t-” You put his hand back on your stomach, Ben’s chest rising and falling quickly.

“You guys are going to have the best daddy in the world if he loves you this much already,” you said. Ben wanted to argue more but you shushed him. “Whatever they are, they’re going to be just fine.”

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

“Because we know everything not to do.” He thumbed over your skin, spreading his palm out wide. “I have to ask you to try for me one more time, Ben. Try to believe you’ll be good at this.”

He closed his eyes, a tiny smile crawling onto his lips. “If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have told you I’d be a perfect father. Now…I know I would have destroyed them, made them awful little people like me.”

“Please stop saying things like that,” you whispered. He nodded, touching his forehead to yours.

“If you taught me, I guess these two will be alright. But I have to learn faster. I need to…shit I don’t know anything about babies. How much do they eat? What do they eat? And what the hell do babies wear nowadays? And-”

“Shush,” you murmured, smiling to yourself. “Calm down, super dad. We get to learn this together. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ben’s breathing slowed, his gaze flickering down between you, staring at his hand with a goofy little look. You almost teased him about looking happy for the first time but held back the comment. Whatever was going on in his head right now was healing him, even if it was ever so miniscule.

And that was the best gift he ever could have given you.

“Merry Christmas Ben.”

“Merry Christmas, baby…and babies,” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Thank you. All of you.”

_________

#soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #the boys fanfic #soldier boy reader insert #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x

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swimmingismywholelife · 5 months

Text

Miracles in December

Summary: You haven't seen your best friend since his injury. And only a Christmas Miracle will bring him back to you.

Warning: ANGST but fluffy ending, platonic best friend!Gavi, mentions of Gavi's injuries, light arguments, insecurity, guilt

WC: 5K

A/N: 🎶On the third day of Ficmas, my writer gave to me a fic withbest friend!Gavi🎶 If you're new here, I bleed Blaugrana. I've been a Barca fan since I was a kid and that club means everything to me. That being said, Gavi is one of my favorite players and my son and I'm absolutely devastated that he's had such a major injury. I don’t typically write for Gavi (he's a literal baby to me), but I wanted to write something to show my support for him. So this is dedicated to him. Estamos contigo. Mucha fuerza Gavi y te queremos ❤️💙

Link for the Song: Miracles in December

"Oh, I didn't know how thankful your love was, oh

I thought it would stop once it ended, oh

But every day, I'm fixing

Myself to want you

I think my love will endlessly continue."

~~~

You knocked on the door, your duffle bag over one shoulder, trying to shake off the snow.

"Hola, Aurora," you said to the person who opened the door.

"Hola, Y/N, come in! You must be freezing right now!" Aurora answered, gesturing for you to come in quickly. "I'll make you some tea. Sit, make yourself at home!"

You set your stuff in a small space by the doorway, one that commonly had your stuff whenever you came to visit the Paez Gavira household. It wasn't surprising to see you come over as you'd been doing it since you were a kid. You and Pablo had met years ago on your first day at La Masía. You'd just moved from America back to Spain so you could play for the academy. You were an awfully shy kid, especially after your American classmates bullied you for the way you spoke Spanish.

You remembered your first day at La Masía very clearly. You had stood outside the building too afraid to go in. Pablo noticed you on his way in and despite being shy himself, approached you, asking if you were lost.

"Hola, soy Pablo. Are you here to play?" Pablo asked.

"Sí," you said softly. "Soy Y/N. Today is my first day here. I'm just a little scared."

"¿Por qué? You're gonna love it here! This is the best academy in the world!" he said excitedly.

"But what if they don't like me? What if I don't make any friends?" you asked worriedly.

"You don't have to worry about because I'll be your friend! And I'll introduce you to everyone else!"

"Yo no sé," you mumbled to yourself, ready to call your mom to pick you up. "I think I'm just gonna call my mom to pick me up and go home."

"How's this? I'll be your first friend, and because we're friends, we'll walk in together! You belong here, I promise. And so long as I'm your friend, I'll make sure you know that this is where you belong and what you're meant to do! What do you say, Pequeña?"

"Pequeña?! I'm not that small!" you protested, feeling slightly offended that he was coming for your height like that.

"Yes you are but that's okay! See, you have a nickname now from a friend!" Pablo said. "Everything is gonna be okay. You're here for a reason. This is your home and even if you're nervous now, I'll help you see that," he continued, calming your nerves and reassuring you.

Pablo held out his hand for you to take. "Just take my hand and we'll reach our dreams of playing for the first team together."

You hesitated, but took a deep breath. You knew you had to take the chance to achieve the dream of playing for your favorite club. So you took Pablo's hand in yours. You smiled at each other before walking through the doors together, ready to take on the world.

Since that day, the two of you were inseparable. And he was right. The moment you stepped through those doors, everything felt right. Pablo introduced you to his friends, making you feel more at ease with everyone. You eventually made your own friends within the academy. And despite your growth spurt, you still ended up tiny, causing Pablo's unfortunate nickname for you to stick. Even after Pablo started playing with the first team, he always did his best to support you in your games. He was your best friend and you were his.

Which was why you were just as distraught as he was when his injury happened. You were in the crowd proudly wearing his jersey and cried just as hard as he did as he was subbed off, knowing the injury was serious. You cried even more when you found out it was a torn ACL and meniscus, knowing he was out for the rest of the season and the Euros. Pablo more than anything loved to play, and you knew he would be devastated.

On top of that misfortune, Pablo hadn't spoken to you since that day. You'd traveled with him back to Barcelona and to the medics after that game, where you held him as he cried. But after that, he'd gone radio silent. At first, you thought he just needed time and space to process everything going on. But you soon realized that Pablo was still talking to the others after catching up with Fermín and some of the others one day.

"Yeah, I think Pablo just needs space," you said, drinking the coffee you'd ordered. "He isn't really speaking to anyone right now."

"What are you talking about?" Fermín asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "Pablito and I talked yesterday. He's nervous for his upcoming surgery, but I reassured him that everything was gonna be fine."

"Wait, he talked to you?" you asked, now being the one confused.

"Pequeña, he's been regularly talking to all of us because he needs the support," Cristo explained.

"Then why hasn't he talked to me?" you asked again, feeling extremely hurt. "I thought we were best friends. I haven't seen him since he came back to Barcelona. And he hasn't answered any of my calls or texts. I've been to his house every day since and he's never even so much opened his door."

"I'm sorry, Pequeña," Fermín said, trying to smile.

But the damage was already done.

"How is he, Rora?" you asked gently as his sister gently handed you a mug.

"The same," she sighed. "His surgery went well so he's just recovering now. I think Christmas being around the corner is making him even more upset though. You know, holiday cheer and all," Aurora replied, sitting down next to you. "He's still crying every night even if he thinks we can't hear him. He hasn't talked to you then I assume?"

You shook your head. "He hasn't said anything to me since that day. The only way I know how he's doing is by asking you or some of the others. I just wish I could help him you know? It's like I'm here, but he won't even acknowledge that we know each other, much less being best friends."

"You've been here every day since," Aurora said gently. "Even if Pablo can't see it now, I know he's appreciative of that." She grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together. "And we appreciate that too. My brother is annoyingly stubborn and yet you've been here every day, doing your best to help him and the rest of us. You're doing more than enough, hermanita. He's lucky to have someone like you in his life."

You squeezed Aurora's hand laying your head on her shoulder.

"I would take the injury if it meant he could play too," you said honestly.

"Don't ever say that," Aurora said sternly. "If Pablo were down here, he would've hit you for saying that. You love playing just as much as he does. And you deserve to play too."

"I made the first team, Rora," you whispered. "And they've been strongly suggesting they're gonna sub me in at some point. They're finally gonna let me play. It's everything I've been working towards."

Aurora quickly sat up and hugged you tight. "Y/N! That's amazing! Estoy tan orgullosa de ti! Just in time for Christmas too! This is like the best present ever!"

"Thank you," you groaned out, "but you're squeezing me a little too tight there."

She only squeezed you tighter in response. "My parents are gonna be so excited! And Pablo-" She cut herself off. "Pablo will be proud of you too," she said softly. "I know he will."

"Is he?" you scoffed. "He hasn't spoken to me once since the injury. He's visited the first team, he regularly talks to Fermín and Cristo and all the others. But he won't even look in my direction."

"He'll come around," Aurora answered. "I think he's afraid of how you'll treat him. He's stupid for that but he'll come around eventually I promise."

"You know," you started, "everyone kept saying today that this was the best present I could've gotten. To play for the first team. And don't get me wrong, I'm so excited for this. It's all I've ever wanted since I came to Spain. And in time for Christmas too? It should be make my holidays even more exciting." You sighed, resting your head on Aurora's shoulder. "But honestly, I just want Pablo to come back to me. That's really all I ask for. But at this rate, I think even a Christmas miracle won't bring him back."

You stayed for a little while longer before Aurora kicked you out (mostly because she didn't want you walking home in the dark and the snow was starting to pick up). But before you left, you walked up to Pablo's room and knocked on the door like you'd done every time you came to visit. You knew he was awake and heard you, but there was still no effort to come see or talk to you. You sighed, taking a seat with your back against the door.

"Hola Pablito," you said. "I hope you're doing okay over there. I'm glad your surgery went well. Rora tells me everything's been great. I'm sure you probably know better than I do, but the team is struggling. That's okay though, they're managing as best they can."

You turned around to lean your forehead against the door.

"I, uh, I got called up for the first team for tomorrow's game. The others think there's a good chance Jonatán might put me in too," you continued softly, a smile appearing on your face. "I'm a little late compared to you, but we finally did it, Pablo. We're both finally on the first team, just like we promised when we were kids."

A frown appeared on your face when you didn't hear anything other than the noises of his TV.

"I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I hope you can at least watch the game on TV. Maybe I'll even score on my debut," you chuckled. Still no response from him. "Well, I have to go before your sister starts yelling at me. The snow is getting pretty bad anyway. I'll be back tomorrow after the game and I'll tell you all about it."

You got up, dusting yourself off. You rested your forehead against the door once more.

"I'm proud of you, you know? I know things are difficult for you, but you're gonna come back and be better than ever. I'll see you tomorrow, Pablo. Te quiero."

Pablo stared up at his bed as the sound of your footsteps faded, his stomach in knots as he was full of guilt. He knew you didn't deserve to be ignored, but he was ashamed. He couldn't bare to face you. You were his closest friend from La Masía and he didn't want you to see him in his condition. You wouldn't have judged him, and he knew that, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak to you. His family and his friends had scolded him many times for it, but Pablo didn't have the courage to apologize. And now hearing that you were finally called up to the first team and he still didn't say anything? He felt even worse.

Pablo heard another knock on his door.

"Hermano, it's just me. Y/N left. Can I come in?" his sister asked.

"Sí," he said, not bothering to sit up.

Aurora walked in and sat on his bed.

"She's upset, you know?" she said softly. "That even after making the first team, you still haven't talked to her."

"Yo sé," He responded.

"You know what she said to me?" Pablo remained quiet. "She said, 'Honestly Rora, I just want Pablo back. I would've said no to playing tomorrow if it meant he'd just talk to me.' And she said she would take the injury if that meant you could play again. Do you know how much that hurts to hear? That she'd rather give up her dream than not have you in her life? That's how much you mean to her. That girl has been here every single day since you got injured and you've said nada to her. You've talked to everyone else except Y/N. Why hermano? I just don't understand."

Pablo still said nothing. He took a deep breath, tears in his eyes.

"Yo sé," he answered. "Yo sé and it's killing me. But I don't want her to see me like this. All mangled and depressed. She should be living her dream, not watching me trying to walk every day."

Aurora sighed before raising her hand, slapping Pablo on his forehead.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" he yelled, grabbing the spot in pain.

"For being stupid, Stupid! Y/N has been your best friend since you started at La Masía! She's not judging you for getting injured! You couldn't help that and all she's wanted to do is support you because she knows how devastated you are. She's just as devastated for you!" Aurora said. "I know this has been hard for you, but you don't have to do it all alone, hermano. Just let her in and let her help you."

Aurora got up to leave Pablo with his thoughts. Before she closed the door, she peeked her head in and said, "And please at least watch her game. It's the least you can do after how you've treated her. You and I both know that."

You tossed and turned in your bed that night. With the excitement of finally making the first team and your best friend still ignoring you, sleep almost didn't come at all. Thankfully, you were able to get some rest that you knew you needed, especially if you were trying to prove yourself to your coach and the fans that you deserved some playing time.

Your stomach was in knots as you arrived at the stadium. You did your best to seem calm and collected knowing there were cameras filming the entrance to your very first game with Barça Feminí. But you didn't know what to think or what to feel. You just wanted a good game.

"Are you ready?" Lucy asked you, swinging an arm around your shoulders as you entered the dressing room.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you said nervously, twiddling your fingers.

"Aw, it's gonna be okay, Pequeña!" she said. "You deserve this. It's been a long time coming honestly."

"Do you think I'll end up playing today?" you asked hopefully.

"There's been a lot of buzz about you online since you're close to the men's team. A lot of positivity mostly so I think people are excited to see you. But between you and me, I think you've got a good shot. You're our secret weapon," Lucy winked. "You're our Christmas miracle this year."

She gave your shoulder one final squeeze before parting, allowing the two of you to get dressed.

"What happens if you score a goal?" Aitana asked you as you tied your shoes. "Do you have a plan for it?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "I have an idea. But that's assuming I get on the field at all today, much less score a goal."

"You will. No doubt in my mind. It would be stupid of them not to, Pequeña."

You were flattered by your teammates' faith in you. Despite knowing the stack of players who were both in the starting XI and on the bench, you were honored to have been chosen as an option to play tonight. But while you were still unsure you'd see any playing time, your teammates were fairly confident in you and your abilities.

You dusted yourself off before you checked your phone, giggling when you saw the good luck messages from your friends and family. You sighed in disappointment still not seeing anything from Pablo, but you tried not to let it get to you. You threw your thoughts aside to focus on the game ahead of you, hoping you'd get subbed in at some point.

The game surprised the whole team. It was a lot trickier than any of you expected, your team struggling to convert any chances into goals. The score was tied at 1-1. The other team's defense was tough to break, and it was thanks to yours being just as good that they also weren't able to score as much. On top of that, the snow was starting to fall, making it harder to see and turning the air colder. You were all nervous that the win streak of the team would break today.

You were biting your nails as Alexia's shot was blocked once again, making you and the rest of the bench groan with disappointment. There were only a few minutes left on the clock. The team needed something and they needed something quickly.

"Y/N! Start warming up. I'm putting you in," Jonatán said. "Congratulations, Pequeña."

You looked at your coach before looking behind you. You repeated this several times before pointing at yourself in disbelief.

"Me? You're talking to me?" you squeaked.

"Sí, Pequeña, I'm talking to you. We need to change up the game plan and you're gonna be the magic we need to win this game. So I need you ready to go. Start running, Kid," he said before going back to coaching.

You let out a noise putting your hands over your mouth, still in shock over his decision. Your teammates all smiled brightly at you and cheered lightly, knowing that you were finally fulfilling your childhood dream. You stood to follow your coaches directions, but not before whispering something to Claudia, discreetly handing her a jersey. She nodded, smiling brightly and patting you on the head to send you on your way.

Your mind shifted to focus on what your game would be, but you couldn't help but think about Pablo. You shook off the thoughts, knowing that your friendship with him wasn't your priority right now. All you could do was hope that he was watching your game at home and cared enough to support you.

Your palms were sweating as you waited for Alexia to come off the field, your jersey number flashing on the board. This was the moment you'd been preparing your whole life for. And while you were nervous, you were more than ready for this.

Alexia hugged you and patted you on the head. "Go kill it, Pequeña," she whispered to you.

The moment you stepped onto the field officially replacing your captain, an indescribable feeling came over you. You could hear your team and the crowd cheering for you, all excited to see what you could do. Even though you felt the pressure on your shoulders, it didn't compare to what that atmosphere was like. There weren't any words in any language that could perfectly capture how you felt, but you knew that this was where you belonged. And you knew that you would do anything to feel this emotion for the rest of your life.

Lucy threw the ball in, initiating the start of play once again, snapping you out of your thoughts and putting you back into game mode. The ball was passed around amongst your teammates as you tried to figure out your options. You peaked over your shoulder, noticing a space that you knew you could use to your advantage. But you were also aware you were being marked by a defender, so your run would have to be quick and accurate. You made eye contact with Aitana and locked your eyes with hers subtly telling her that you had a plan. She launched the ball in your direction and you started sprinting as hard as you could, trying to keep the defender off your tail. The ball made contact with your foot as you kept running, dribbling the ball close to you. The other defenders had come quicker than you were expecting, but you knew you just had to keep going. You felt them grab your waist but you shrugged them off, pushing yourself to keep going. You scanned your surroundings not seeing a clear path for any of your teammates, but you did spot one right in front of the goal.

Your world stopped for a moment as your mind went back to your first day at La Masía. Pablo's face appeared in your mind as the words, 'Just take my hand and we'll reach our dreams of playing for the first team together', resounded in your ears. This was your dream and it was right in front of you. And you knew that despite your hesitation, you needed to just take a chance to reach that dream, just as you did all those years ago.

And so you kicked the ball towards the goal. The stadium held its breath as you all watched the ball fly past the defenders and slipping right past the goalkeeper's fingertips. You couldn't hear anything but the sound of the ball hitting the back of the net before deafening screams rang out from everyone around you. Your name and face flashed on the screen with a "GOL" next to your face.

Your eyes widened, realizing that not only was that your first touch of the ball in your very first game for the first team, but that you'd just scored your very first goal. Once you snapped back to your senses, you ran over to the side, kissing the badge on your shirt. You jumped into the air and screamed as you felt your teammates jumping onto you in celebration. You high fived everyone and huddled into a group hug, elated at the way you put the team into the lead, a "2-1" now appearing on the screen.

Knowing you didn't have much time for your own personal celebration, you broke off to the side running towards Claudia, who handed you the jersey you given to her earlier. You presented it to the crowd around you proudly. The camera zoomed in to display the "6 Gavi" on the screens around you. Despite not speaking to him for weeks, you wanted to still show your support for you recovering best friend because without him, you wouldn't even be playing that night. It was thanks to Pablo that you were here living your dreams, and this was your way of thanking him for everything he'd done.

Right before you turned back, you looked at the crowd one last time. And there in the stands was the boy himself sitting in the crowd with his cast on next to your families.

"You came," you said mostly to yourself in disbelief, feeling the tears form in your eyes, snow falling all around you.

Pablo nodded and cheered. Words didn't need to be spoken to know he was proud of you.

You laughed as you returned the smile. You knew things still had to be mended between the two of you, but you knew this was a step in the right direction. You presented the jersey a final time, hitting the badge on your own before tossing it back to Claudia and getting back into the game.

The snow fell around you as the final whistle was blown, your last minute goal being what your team needed to win the game. The bench ran to you and jumped on top, causing all of you to fall to the ground as you screamed in delight. The crowd cheered just as loudly for you, excited for the win and to see what more you could do for the team.

"You did it, Pequeña, you did it!" "You're our Christmas miracle!" "You deserve this!" "We're so proud of you!" were the words spoken by your teammates. This really was a dream come true.

You ended up earning the Player of the Match trophy for your heroics. You raised it to the fans as you walked over to the side for the interview as a means to thank them for the support.

"Wow! Y/N your first game and your first goal for Barça Feminí. How does it feel?" the interviewer asked you.

"Um, I can't really explain the feeling to be honest. Overwhelming but in a really good way," you answered honestly. "I've been dreaming of being in this position since I came to Barcelona when I was a kid, and I don't think it's fully hit me yet that I'm here."

"Well, there's been talks about you in La Masía and how you were going to be the secret weapon the team needed this season. Lots of people were anticipating your debut and I'm sure they're pleased to see what you've added to this team. They're already calling you 'the Christmas Miracle' online. Do you have any comments on that?" another interviewer asked.

"I'm really honored to have that sort of title," you laughed. "My teammates have been nothing but supportive and had complete faith that I would play today. And I couldn't be more grateful for all of them."

"And of course we have to talk about that goal celebration!" the interviewer said. "Culers loved the dedication to the beloved Gavi who is unfortunately injured and out for the season. Was there any particular reason for that?"

You grinned. "Gavi is the whole reason why I'm even here. On my first day at La Masía, I was so nervous I almost turned around and went home and Gavi was the one who convinced me that I belonged and helped me walk in. It's really all thanks to him that I worked up the courage and the passion to play."

"You must've been gutted to see him get injured," the other interviewer commented.

"I was probably just as devastated as he was," you replied. "I hate seeing any player injured, but to watch one of my best friends suffer was even worse. And since I'm here because of him, I wanted to honor him and his love for the sport and for the club. To let him know he might be off the field physically, but his spirit and his heart are still present with us. And to thank him for everything he's done for me."

"Gavi was in the crowd today and I'm sure he appreciated it. Well, congratulations Y/N on your first game and your first goal for the team. We hope to see more from you this season!" the interviewer said.

"Thank you so much!" you answered excitedly, giving each of them a small handshake before heading to the tunnels.

You spotted a figure in crutches waiting on the side for you leaning against the wall for support. You smiled and walked towards him.

"Hey stranger," you said softly, making him jump.

"Hey," Pablo answered, looking at his feet before averting his gaze to look at you.

"I can't deny I'm surprised to see you here, Pablito," you said, nudging him lightly.

"Aurora talked some sense into me. And I realized that wallowing in my own self pity wasn't more important than watching your first call up," he replied.

"What if I didn't end up playing?" you asked.

"First of all, you were always gonna play. There's no way you wouldn't. Honestly, I'm surprised it took this long for them to call you up when it should've happened years ago," Pablo said, shaking his head. "Second of all, it wouldn't have mattered to me anyway. Regardless of your playing time, I wanted to support you and your team just like you've been supporting me all this time. Even when I haven't deserved it."

He glanced at his wrapped leg. "I've been a jerk and a coward and I'm sorry for ignoring you. I just didn't want you to see me in this state because I was ashamed and embarrassed of this injury."

You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead.

"Ow! What the hell?! You and Aurora have been hanging out too much," he grumbled.

"Yeah, because you're an idiot! I've known you since we were gross and snotty kids!" you exclaimed. "We've been best friends for literal years. If you haven't gotten rid of me yet, then that means I'm sticking around like those boogers you used to stick on the walls."

"You said you would stop bringing that up!" he whined, making you giggle.

"I'm serious though. Don't feel ashamed. Injuries happen and it's not your fault. All you can do now is lean on your loved ones for support and work to get better so you can come back stronger and better than ever," you said.

"But what if I don't?" he asked. "What if this injury ruined everything?"

"You're too stubborn for this to ruin your life," you said bluntly. "Does this sport mean everything to you? Will you give your all for your team once you come back?" Pablo nodded. "Then don't let this get you down. You just have to be patient and let the healing process do its thing. And once you get past that, you're gonna find yourself being the captain of Barcelona leading your team to greatness."

"Thank you," Pablo said seriously. "For everything. Te quiero, Pequeña."

"Te quiero también, Pablito," you said. "Estoy contigo por siempre."

You leaned over to give him a hug, but he stepped back.

"You can hug me later. You stink dude. And I'm cold. So hurry up and change. My parents are already with yours and they're making your favorite in celebration," Pablo whined. You just laughed, making your way into the dressing room.

Your first game had been something straight out of a fairytale. Your first call, first game, first touch, and first goal. It was everything you could've dreamed about when you stepped foot in Barcelona for the first time.

But while all of that was great, you got something even more important that night. And your Christmas miracle was in the form of the boy waiting for you in the tunnel.

Taglist: @thoseboysinblue @chilwellspulisic @neverinadream @notsoattractivearenti @pulisicsgirl @lizzypotter14 @lovelynikol16 @nyctophilic0vitnir @shadowscorch

#gavi #pablo gavi #gavi imagine #gavi one shot #gavi au #gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi au #pablo gavi x reader #footballer au #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #footballer one shot #swimmingismywholelife

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unlust-fvck · 3 months

Note

If you're looking for requests...how about reader dating dad! Schlatt?

dating dad schlatt headcanons!

THANK YOU THIS IS SO CUTE!!!

dating dad schlatt is like having two children of your own

whether it’s cats or children, he will always take their side in any pointless argument

“jay, the cat scratched the couch again”

“he’s just a little guy”

he LOVES planning little outings and dates for the three of you.

playground date? he’s bringing a blanket and some snacks for you two to sit in the shade while you watch the kid on the playground

my mans literally melts whenever he sees you and the little one curled up together on the couch.

he snaps a picture of the two of you and it’s been his lockscreen ever since

SCHLATT TEACHING HIS KID TO PLAY BASEBALL??? HELLOOOO???

imagine sitting on the warm bleachers as you watch schlatt pitch the ball

hearing his absolute delight when your child hits a home run

schlatt who always gets your children the “fun” gifts at chirstmas.

the drum set got put in the attic by december 27th after a stick was thrown at a vase on the mantle

watching fondly from the door frame as schlatt tucks in the kiddo

he gets all into the bed time story, using voices and theatrics

him almost falling asleep as he reads

family grocery shopping on sunday is always an adventure

schlatt driving, his hand holding yours over the armrest as he keeps peeking at the kid in the mirror

he really is a great dad and you adore him for it <33

#jays headcanons !!#jschlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt headcanons #chuckle sandwich #chuckle sammy

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kaleidescopic · 7 months

Text

more headcannons to add to the pile:

ocean is the only member of the choir that doesnt have her ears pierced because shes scared to death of needles

mischa is banned from the only wafflehouse in uranium for reasons he refuses to explain

noel and ocean made a pact in like middle school to get married if neither of them were married by the age of 30

neither mischa nor ricky are allowed on aux under any circumstances because theyll play nothing but badegg and undertale fan songs respectively

mischa walks around in a t-shirt and shorts in the middle of canadian winter, hes just immune to the cold for some reason

ocean sorts all her stationary in rainbow order, she will explode if they get messed up

noel and ocean get into arguments about the best taylor swift albums constantly during choir

ocean is a lover and fearless stan for life an noels favorite is reputation

constance doesnt even try to make her case for speak now

one time she did and both of them turned to her in sync, yelled "no!", and went back to fighting

penny casually brings up her trauma in the middle of conversions and proceeds to leave the rest of the choir speechless (“oh yeah like that one time i got my entire family and friends arrested in a police raid on our drug commune” “the WHAT”)

ocean has a bunch of sapphic romance books hidden under her bed even though literally no one but her goes in her room

noel was a theatre kid but was banned from all school performances after the nativity incident so he started taking art instead

constance is the same height as (if not a little shorter than) ocean but always wears platforms so ocean ends up being the shortest either way

“100% of people who have sex as teens die, you don't want to die do you?” -ocean oconnell rosenberg, 2009

everyone in the choir needs glasses just to varying degrees most of them just dont wear them for reasons ranging from "yeah thats understandable" to "WHAT THE FUCK RICKY

penny hates pants with all her heart and will only wear shorts or skirts no matter how cold it is outside

constance hates pants almost as much and will wear shorts all the way up to like december

mischa refuses to close any of the apps or tabs on his phone and it literally dies quicker than he did

ocean loves cats but cats hate her, if they dont kill her from allergies, theyll start scratching the shit out of her (she cant be within 500 ft of the potts household without dying on the spot)

noel literally had to lock penny and ocean in the choir room together for them to confess to each other

it took them 2 hours

the others were just outside playing cards the whole time

mischa taught ricky poker during those 2 hours and ricky absolutely wrecked him every single round

mischa rage quit after the 5th time he lost in a row

the piano in the st cassian music room (/choir practice room) has been horrendously out of tune for longer than anyone can remember and no one bothers to fix it (ocean tried once but failed miserably and probably just made it worse)

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yutanology · 1 year

Text

(UNEDITED) Yandere!Jake × Reader

WARNINGS : yandere, suicide, depressing thoughts, guilt tripping, mentions of dead body and manipulation

Jake pets your head softly while humming the same song that he always sang to you. Your body was leaning on his chest and his arms were securely wrapped around you, hugging you to keep your cold body warm.

He kept you close to him as possible, wishing that he would hear your heart beating and you breathing air out of your nose but no matter how he kept his ears open for you, he never got to hear anything from you.

He wished this was only a bad dream and when he wakes up, everything was completely fine but no. Everything is real.

He should've let you go before it's too late. He should've let you walk away. Even if it pains him that you're happier without him, you could've been atleast alive still.

He isn't usually the selfish type of a person. He had always been so generous but it's a different topic when it comes to you. He never wanted to lose you or share you to someone else. He only wanted you all to himself.

Losing you was literally the last thing he'd ever wanted to happen.

You really loved him. So much that you didn't expect that you'd actually fall out of love for him. You did talk about this with him and it only ended with a lot of misunderstandings and arguments.

"How could you even—" he gritted his teeth together trying to bite back the hurtful words that were trying to come out his mouth. "Was that all a lie then? Everything we had?"

The room seemed to be even colder than outside where snow was gracefully falling to earth. The first snow of December.

"That's not what I meant—"

"Stop telling me that!" his voice echoed his anger. "If you really loved me, you could've not thought of leaving me to suffer alone after making me believe all those "I love you"s."

He was stupid. He trapped you through all those guilt trips and tiny bits of manipulation just so he could convince you that you were wrong, that you were at fault and you'd find yourself still binded with him.

"I'm sorry..." you were the one who apologized and he'd embrace you, telling you that he forgives you. After that, he acted like the arguments never happened.

Seeing him smile again relieved you but it worried you of how you can't feel the sparks and butterflies you used to feel anymore whenever you saw him.

You were too kind to ruin that beautiful smile on his lips so you decided not to bring it up ever again. The thing was, you never thought that doing that would make you suffer in return.

You tried your very best to keep Jake happy to the point where you mostly neglected your own happiness. Every night when he's holding you to his sleep, you'd stare at the ceiling wide awake as you wonder what you were doing.

The same thing happened again and again until you were drained. You hated to be this selfish but you were too tired to even care about anything anymore. And that lead you to drowning yourself into a peaceful rest.

Jake absentmindedly kept on petting your wet hair as his teary dull eyes stared at your pale yet beautiful face. Warm tears kept on running down his cheeks but he doesn't make any crying sound.

Just silently weeping over your dead body. "How can you still be this beautiful?" he asked, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face. He smiled bitterly.

"I-i'm sorry..." his voice cracked. He never thought that all it would take him to apologize to you was you being gone literally.

"I'm so sorry, my love.."

#yandere jake #yandere #sim jake #sim jaeyun #enhypen #enhypen yandere #yandere enhypen #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #kpop #gender neutral reader #enhypen jake #enhypen angst #enhypen sim jaeyun #enhypen sim jake #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction

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luveline · 1 year

Note

hi!! hope you’re doing well and having a fantastic december so far <3 do you think maybe you would write something with James where the reader has always kind of been in toxic relationships where sex was the only way to move on from or get past a fight, and he like kind of rejects that and tries to (super gently and kindly) teach her how to talk about it in a healthy way and work through it together? i just think it could be cute :) ily!

hi! tysm, i hope you are too, ily <3 i think i focused in on the wrong thing but i hope you like it anyhow!!! cw past unhealthy relationships + conversation about sex 18+ mdni ♥︎ fem!reader 1.5k

James is practically radiating anger across the room. You can tell he's trying not to show it.

You're angry too, of course, but you're more scared than anything. Not of James (he'd probably rather die than hurt you, and you know that) but of the possibility that you might break up.

It feels irrational and rational at once. He'd sounded so mad. He'd sounded hurt, which was worse. You'd made a snarky comment you now regret about his never being home because he's always at training, and he'd argued how this wasn't fair because rugby was literally his job, and you'd said it wasn't fair that you never saw him. So on and so forth, the argument had devolved into your saying stuff you didn't explicitly mean, backed into a corner, and James being upset because of it. You'd said… a lot of stuff that wasn't really true, and you'd accused James of not caring about you.

That's what blew his top.

You understand why he's mad about it. If he said the same to you, you'd be livid. But you don't really know how to fix it.

Well, you do. Though James isn't looking at you like they would, no expectancy, no Well, aren't you going to say sorry?

He's stationed himself on the sofa, elbows to his knees and facing the floor. While his anger is slipping, hurt and frustration are evident in his hunched posture. You stand up from the arm opposite where you'd been perched and take the few steps needed to close the distance, sitting primly by James' side.

He's kind. He turns to look at you as soon as you settle, and it's with an openness that makes your mouth dry. In your head, you're thinking that this is more than salvageable, that James will fuck you and forgive you and that if you do a good enough job, he'll spend more time with you during the week.

You put your hand on his knee, feeling the slightly tensed muscles underneath.

"Jamie," you murmur, one part apologetic, one part something else, "I'm sorry."

He holds your eye and then sighs inaudibly.

You keep talking. You don't want him to get mad again, or impatient. "Really sorry, and…" Your hand inches upward. "I can make it up to you."

He stiffens ever so slightly. You really hate that, unsure and unhappy and thinking maybe you can't fix anything after all. You pull your hand away, worried you've made him uncomfortable. He must see the flash of concern on your face as he sits up properly.

"Sorry," you mumble, eyes on his leg. "I thought…"

"That we would kiss and make up?"

His sudden response startles you, but James doesn't sound as mad as you'd imagined. "No," you say quickly, although that is exactly what you'd thought. "No, but I- I-"

You flounder for the right thing to say, embarrassed beyond words with the beginnings of panicked tears in your eyes.

James' hand is warm as he places it on your shoulder, and his expression much softer than it had been.

"Is that something you've done before?" he asks.

"You don't want to?"

He can likely hear how mortified you are. His hand climbs to the curve of your neck as he shifts toward you, his knee pressed into yours.

You perk up and immediately realise you've read the signs wrong again. James isn't going to kiss you. He's letting you down easy, which means he doesn't want to make up.

You backtrack hard. "James- I swear, I'm sorry, and I won't- I won't complain again. I know you have to go, and I know it's selfish to expect you not to. I won't mention it again."

You drift off, hoping he has something to say.

He stares at you for a beat that's too long.

"Sweetheart," he says finally, so softly, "back up a second, okay? I'm just trying to understand here. Did you think you had to have sex with me to say sorry?"

You wince and lean away.

"Because you don't have to. Ever."

You didn't think you had to have sex, but you're out of your depth here. You don't really know where to go from this point. "I know," you say weakly.

"Do you?" James asks, offering you his hand palm up over your thigh.

You take it like a lifeline.

"I don't think that it's a good solution to our problem," he says.

"What's our problem?"

"We're not on the same page."

You have never felt this awkward around James. To read the signs so wrong, to come onto him when he doesn't want it. "I'm sorry, for trying to-"

He squeezes your fingers. "Hey, don't be. Is it okay if I talk for a little bit?" You nod stiffly. "Alright… I'm not sure what you've- what's happened before, but I want to say that you don’t have to feel like you need to apologise in that way with me, because it should be on your terms completely, always. You know?" He weighs your expression. He can't find what he's looking for, because he continues. "With us, I don't want sex to be a kind of," — he searches for the right word — "currency. I don't want that for you." Again, his voice turns soft as silk. He massages your fingers with his lovingly. "Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand."

His eyebrows pull together. "I'm not mad at you, angel. It was a misunderstanding."

"I feel so-" Silly. Icky, immature. You shake your head. "I'm sorry."

You're still trying to soak in what he's said. He doesn't need sex to know you're sorry. It takes a second, but you realise how nice that feels.

"It's okay, you don't have to be sorry. I just needed to make sure you knew. We might be fighting but you're still my girl, right?"

Your throat aches as you say, "Right."

He leans in a little closer. His voice quietens. "I'm sorry someone made you feel like you had to do that, sweetheart. Really. There are better ways to work through it."

Tears come on so suddenly they're dripping off your jaw before you comprehend that you're crying at all, heavy teardrops that bump down your cheeks fiercely.

James is as surprised as you to see them, and he proves to you how big his heart is for the second time in as many minutes when he starts wiping and kissing away your tears, placating you with little murmurs and reassurances.

"It's okay," he says quietly, hand splayed behind your neck.

You hide away in his neck. Embarrassment rolls hot over your skin and still you can't get the tears to stop. This is possibly the most whirlwind you've ever been in front of him, and you know how lucky you are to be treated so delicately through it all.

"I'm sorry," you say again, thick with tears and genuinely appalled by your inability to stop crying.

"Don't be sorry, my love," he says, quiet still.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He scrubs his hand up and down your arm. "You didn't. I was more surprised than anything. I think… all the best make up sex comes after the making up, yeah? When we're both happy, and when we both want it because we want each other. Not because you feel like you need to."

You mean to say thank you, but "I love you," comes out instead, all sniffly and scratchy.

"I love you, too. You know that."

You're lucky enough to say that you do. James surprises you, as that is by no means the end of the conversation. He talks about things you should've talked about a while ago, and he makes a lot of things clear. That sex isn't something you ever have to do. Not to make up, not because you owe him anything, and not because you think it's expected. And all these things are normal — they're, as James says, the bare minimum, but he doesn't understand. They may sound like the bare minimum to some, but you've never actually had them before. He apologises for that, too.

And after, you talk about the argument. James tries to express his frustration, how he'd only been trying to resolve the issue, and you're gutted when you understand. You'd let insecurity guide you and you'd exacerbated the fight. Made it something that it wasn't.

James assures you that it's okay.

"I said stuff I didn't mean as well," he says. "Everybody does that."

You talk it out. When you do have make up sex, it's much later, and it's because you want to. James must ask "Are you sure?" twenty times, and he insists on being able to see your face. You don't mind.

He's right. All the best make up sex does come after the making up, not in place of it.

—

to clarify this isn't me dogging on all make up sex, just in situations where the reader felt like she had to because it was the only way to make up, as requested <3

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter imagine #marauders era #marauders #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n

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antimony-medusa · 7 months

Text

HEY MCYTBLR HAVE YOU HEARD OF YULETIDE?

What's this? I have come once again to your dash to tell you about an exchange? Absolutely I have. And let me tell you, this one is a doozy.

Yuletide is The Big Multifandom Exchange. It is the king of exchanges. It happens every year, and the works reveal on December 25th, and de-anon on the 1st of January. Last year over 1,800 people took part in the exchange. A lot of people only do Yuletide from the roster of exchanges. It is literally so big that it's the reason we have the Ao3 matching algorithm, because the Ao3 algorithm was built to handle Yuletide, because you have to algorithm match that one, it is simply unfeasible to hand-match an exchange of this magnitude.

What makes Yuletide special is that it is an exchange for rare and tiny fandoms— specifically, fandoms with less than 1000 fics on the archive. So all these niche book fandoms that get 10 fics posted in them a year— these people sign up for Yuletide, and they get matched. And people sign up with SUCH small fandoms.

Commercials.

Tumblr posts.

Art.

Songs.

Reddit Posts.

TikTok skits.

Web comics.

Twitter threads.

Books published 30 years ago.

Anthropomorphic concepts.

Niche tv shows.

Video games.

You can look at the tag list last year to get an idea of the sort of fandoms that show up in it. I did it last year, and I signed up with two book fandoms, SMPEarth, anthropomorphic apple products, and the "humans are space orcs" tumblr post as my fandoms.

Wait, SMPearth? And yes, we have come to the point of why I am specifically talking to MCYTblr. I do the MCYT on Ao3 stats dive every month, so I happen to know that there are 35 canonized MCYT tags that are eligable, as they have less than 1000 fics.

Pirates SMP is eligable.

Ivorycello Prison Escapes is eligable.

Karmaland is eligable.

Rats SMP is eligable.

Witchcraft SMP is eligible.

New Life SMP is eligable.

SMPLive is eligable.

Mianite is eligable.

The list goes on.

So. Do you want to do Yuletide 2023 with me?

Please Please Please Please Please. It's just a 1k minimum and they give you six weeks to work on it. You don't even nead a canonical tag to nominate, you can nominated non-canon fandoms! Please Please Please so funnnnnnn.

They are in tag nominations now, so until 28 September, at 9am UTC, you can nominate the tags you want to match on. I just nominated SMPEarth Emduo and Worldbuilding. It's a fun time. Join Meeeee.

IMPORTANT TECHNICAL NOTES:

Yuletide is a BIG EXCHANGE and everyone there is very professional, but that also means that they have very specific rules for how things should be run. I would say read the rules, maybe twice, before you submit anything. If you have any questions, message me and I will do my best to answer them.

Yuletide blog here.

Yuletide collection here.

Nomination rules here.

(Especially take note of the stuff about disambiguation, and use mcyt best practice of using gamertag and not tax filing name, none of the | pipes and multiple names in there.)

Eligability rules here.

Nominate on the Tag Set here.

If there is something about your fandom that makes you think they might not accept it, you can explain your arguments here.

Note that people who have had over 1000 fics written about them in RPF are not eligable to be nominated in a RPF fandom, so depending on your guy, you may need to pop a message on that post to explain that Afterlife SMP is not actually Video Blogging RPF for example, and Smajor1995 (Afterlife SMP) is not the same as Smajor1995 (Empires SMP).

Go forth! Participate in a great exchange!

#mcyt #mcytblr #Ao3 #mianite #slimecicle cinematic universe #smpearth #smplive #scurvyblr #squeaksblr #karmaland

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wikiangela · 5 months

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fuck it friday

tagged by @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks

hi!! i'm back lol - well, the craziness at work is done and I'm slowly getting back to writing bc I haven't written in like a week and it's killing me lol (this is gonna sound dramatic but I literally don't feel like myself if I don't write for too long haha) I don't have anything new to share rn, but I figured since it's already december and since some of y'all are sharing Christmas fics, and knowing I likely won't write one this year, I'm gonna shamelessly plug my holiday fake dating fic with 4 Christmases and 6 Christmas chapters actually 😂 (Christmas was a very important time for Buck and Eddie's relationship in this lol) - there's obvi more holidays in this but anyway, here's a snippet of their first Christmas together also, it's been a year since I posted the first chapter and I'm feeling nostalgic lol, this fic is my baby and I love it so much (tho there's so many things I'd change now lol)

[read on Ao3]

___

Turns out, Buck is very much serious about the whole thing, and Christopher finds it hilarious and is eager to play along. Eddie doesn’t have valid arguments not to do it, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to. After another snide comment when talking to his parents, he made his decision. And he already felt this exciting feeling of satisfaction when he told them he’d be bringing someone for Christmas this year – miraculously, Buck and Eddie don’t work on Christmas, and they took an additional day off, so their schedules allow for a three-day trip to Texas.

So now, it’s Christmas Eve and they’re on their way from the airport to Eddie’s childhood home, and he’s nervous, doubts just starting to seep in. What on earth possessed him to do this? He can’t lie to his family. He can’t pretend to be in love with Buck. What if he really does fall in love with him? What if everything goes to shit? He’s watched enough movies to know it’s a bad idea, but he couldn’t and still can’t bring himself to stop it.

“So.” Eddie says, his voice shaking slightly, as they sit in a cab. ��We’re doing this.”

“Yep.” he can hear Buck grin next to him. “Unless you still wanna back out?” he adds quickly. They could still say Buck’s just a friend. No big deal. But Eddie does have this petty desire to stir something up, and this seems perfect.

“No. It’ll be fine.” he smiles at Buck, and then feels hot when Buck grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers, winking at him. Christopher laughs.

“You’d make a great couple.” he comments. He’s been unusually happy about all of this. He also asked Eddie a few days ago if Eddie loves Buck, which prompted a conversation, but he thinks Chris knows what’s going on now. Eddie doesn’t really know what to think about that.

“Thanks, buddy.” Buck responds excitedly, squeezing Eddie’s hand, and he can’t contain a smile. If not anything else, at least all three of them are going to have a lot of fun.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @jamespearce9-1-1

#fuck it friday #the holiday fic #wikiangela writes #for a holiday (and forevermore)#some shameless self promo #it's done and 95k and it's fake dating and it's fluffy and cute and I love it haha #also there's quite a bit of eddie and his sisters and it was my fave thing to write (abc give us some big brother eddie pls im begging lol)#and just recently this fic got my first ever 1k kudos which is just mindblowing and i get overwhelmed if i think about it too long lol #so perfect time to share it again haha #buddie fic #buddie #my writing #fic snippet #this post got long and rambling lmao sorry and if you read it all ily <3 hahaha

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cacoetheswriting · 10 months

Text

pearl: june & july 1985

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 4.5k chapter summary: reunions aren't always happy on the first try.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, adult language & mature themes, stubborn idiots in love, quite angsty, a little fluff, mentions of the upside down / blood / character death / loss of a parent, grief and grief management, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities, mentions recreational drug use, use of pet names - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

pearl masterlist

June 20, 1985

With another failed senior year behind his belt, Eddie was feeling mighty sorry for himself.

He really banged on graduating this year so he could leave Hawkins behind forever, along with all the memories he had associated with this place.

Memories of you.

His grip on reality was slipping and this time it wasn’t because of the weed.

Yeah, he smoked the devils lettuce more over the last six months than ever before, but that’s not what had him tripping. You did, or rather the memory of you and how badly he fucked everything up before last Christmas.

Starcourt Mall had quickly become the only place in Hawkins not tainted by the memory of you.

Eddie didn’t like coming here, it was too colourful, too cheerful. On afternoons like this though, when he found himself reaching for Pearl and the scarf you left behind, Starcourt Mall was exactly where he needed to be.

Turns out that, unfortunately, the universe had other plans. Apparently it didn’t want him to escape this literal hell that’s been seeing you everywhere he went, or hearing the sweet sound of your voice in every possible surrounding. Apparently the universe didn’t want Eddie to forget you despite his desperate need to.

A belief affirmed when Eddie walked by the food court.

“Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose. Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free.”

What the fuck— he froze in his spot, just outside Scoops Ahoy. At the end of the locale, behind the till, was the girl he'd been desperately trying to get over, and right next to you, singing his own terrible rendition of Me and Bobby McGee was fucking Steve Harrington.

Eddie's jaw clenched instinctually and his fingers balled into fists at the sight in front of him. Fury began to burn through his veins as you tilted your head back in laughter at Steve dancing around you, holding an ice-cream scooper in front of his face like a microphone.

Not only were you back in Hawkins and the metalhead somehow didn’t know, you were also hanging around Steve the Hair Harrington, singing a song deemed to be only yours and Eddie’s.

Back in December, when you two saw each other last, you gave Eddie shit for lending a tape of what you yourself declared to be the album that’s defined your friendship. Even though the underlying subject of that argument was larger than the tape in question, looking at you now, Eddie was hurt.

Yeah, it was mostly his fault you weren’t friends anymore, he knew that. But despite his shitty behaviour towards you, this was a stab in the back 'cause you were twirling around Harrington, singing along, “Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee”, as if nothing you shared with the metalhead mattered.

Eddie observes as you playfully slapped Steve’s chest, the biggest smile gracing your features. He didn’t realise just how much he missed seeing your smile until this moment, and every fibre of his being ached because he wasn’t the reason for your happy reactions anymore.

Time seems to have come to a standstill.

He's not sure how long he's stood there shamelessly staring, but whatever spell he found himself under is broken when a group of kids runs past him. In that same moment, you disappear into the back of Scoops Ahoy and Eddie knows he doesn't have long before you return so he hurries inside — maybe Harrington can give him some answers.

“Ahoy, how can I help you today?” Steve announces excitedly when Eddie approaches, however, the playful charade is just that, a charade. The second the metalhead stop at the till, Steve leans in close and grumbles, “She doesn’t wanna see you, man. Either get some ice-cream or get lost.”

“How do you know I’m here for her?” Eddie scoffs, trying to play tough.

Harrington rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re not fooling anyone. I freaking saw you standing out there for the last fifteen minutes, eyeing her like she’s some prize you can never win.”

The sigh that escapes Eddie's lips is defeated.

“Look man, I’m not here to cause a scene, okay? I just wanna know how long she’s been back in Hawkins.”

“And then you’ll leave?” Steve sounds sceptical but Eddie nods 'cause regardless of what the King of Hawkins may think, Eddie really wasn’t in the mood for some big confrontation.

“Okay dude, okay. Ehm… I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but she dropped out of college in early March and was back here about a month later so… guess the answer you are looking for is April.”

April. You've been at Eddie’s fingertips for the guts of three months and he didn’t have a clue. How the hell did you manage to steer clear of him for this long? Hawkins isn’t that big of a town.

“Now, are you getting a scoop or—”

“Nah man, I’m going.” Eddie mutters and shoots Steve a weak smile. “Thanks, eh… I appreciate you being honest with me. I don’t know what she told you—”

“Munson, whatever went down between the two of you is none of my business. All I know is she made it quite clear she didn’t want to see you and as her friend, I owe her to see that request through.”

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket, Eddie chews down on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, I get it. See you around, Harrington.”

Dropping his head, Eddie's exit is just as quick as his entrance. He does make one more mistake though. He decides to look back at the till. Not really because he thought he’d see you again, but that’s exactly what happened. You're at Steve’s side again, only this time your attention is elsewhere.

You are looking right at Eddie, a perplexed expression on your face.

The metalhead lifts his hand and waves at you rather awkwardly. To his surprise, you do the same. The action, albeit small, is enough to ignite a glimmer of hope within the curly-haired boy. One that's quickly squashed by a feeling of resentment and he heads in the direction of the exit as you follow him with your longing gaze.

“You said you didn't wanna talk to him,” Steve defends his actions for shooing Eddie away.

“I know.”

Over the last couple of months, Steve Harrington had become your knight in shining armour.

Ever since Christmas of 1984, he’d been at your beck and call, from driving down to see you every other weekend while you were still at college, to helping you with various basic chores for your mom.

You weren’t quite best friends, but you were inseparable. Steve made moving back to Hawkins easier. He was actually the first person you told about your decision to drop out and the boy couldn’t have been more supportive. He even came with you to convince your mom this was for the best — although, it was not like she needed much convincing because ever since your dad passed… well, she hasn’t entirely been herself.

She is a big reason why coming home was the right thing to do. Your mom needed you now more than ever and you needed her just the same.

To say you hadn’t quite come to terms with your dad’s death would be a severe understatement. Yes, you learned how to cope with the day to day, and honestly, you were on the right path to fully allow yourself to feel all the emotions you'd been somewhat suppressing, but then you found out the truth.

Back in February, you came to visit your mom for her birthday. At first, she didn’t want anything extravagant, but after bumping into Karen Wheeler at the store, your mom decided that company is perhaps exactly what she needed. ��The house has been so empty since your dad’s funeral,” were her exact words.

That’s how you ended up sitting in the garden on the snow-covered patio furniture with Steve and a bunch of kids he swore he didn’t babysit.

You don’t exactly remember who let the word Demodog slip first — Steve thinks it’s Dustin because apparently that boy can never keep his mouth shut. Once you noticed the horrified look on all of their faces, you knew it was a word you weren't supposed to hear.

After much nagging and borderline blackmailing, you came to learn a lot more than you had bargained for: the Upside Down, Jane’s real identity, Eleven, along with her crazy superpowers, and most importantly, the events that transpired at Hawkins Lab in November 1984 leading to how your dad really died.

By the time you had gone back to college, the scary creatures those kids described had invaded your dreams. You weren't eating, you weren't sleeping. You basically forgot how to function. Your grades began to slip and it didn’t take long for your to realise you no longer felt a passion towards American Literature.

Although being back in Hawkins terrified you, being around your mom, seeing you smile for the first time since November, and being around Steve, cleared the dark fog that had formed within you. By the time summer had come around, you were genuinely happy again.

That feeling lasted until today.

The second your gaze landed on a leather clad frame with a set of curly brown locks, your heart stopped. A certain melancholy overcame you as his doe-eyes locked with yours. He waved awkwardly and when you lifted your hand to do the same, you realised you haven't been completely happy.

There was an Eddie shaped hole in your heart. It’s been there since your last conversation in December, if not earlier, the funeral perhaps. You just subconsciously decided not to address it.

You watch him hurry away and something inside of you snaps, or maybe it clicks into place. Either way, before Steve can do anything to stop you, you rush out of Scoops Ahoy and in the direction Eddie disappears in.

He’s not hard to spot in the crowd. His dark attire is easily noticeable amongst all the neon of other Starcourt Mall goers. You debate calling his name, but then again you don’t really want to talk to him with so many people around. Your first conversation since December should be somewhere more private — especially since you're not sure exactly what you want to say.

Once outside however, you're forced to make a brisk decision.

“Eddie?”

The sound of his name causes him to halt. He slowly spins on his heel and the two of you are now standing face to face, only an arms length apart, for the first time in months.

“I thought you didn’t want to see me,” his tone is surprisingly harsh, “Or did Harrington lie to me?”

“Well, I-I…” you inhale, fidgeting with your work uniform. “N-no, Steve didn’t lie. But then I saw you anyway, outside the shop, and I-I… well, I don’t know exactly.”

The metalhead is agitated. You can tell by the way he runs a hand down his face before crossing his arms across his chest.

You begin to panic.

How stupid of you to run after him like some pathetic school girl in love. How stupid of you to think even for a second you could have a normal conversation considering how badly the last one ended — “Perhaps space is exactly what we need,” the argument is now ringing in you ears, “We clearly forgot how to be there for one another.”.

“Forget it,” you mutter, “I don’t know why I followed you out here.”

You're about to walk back inside when suddenly Eddie’s hand is holding onto your forearm, preventing you from going anywhere. Your shocked gaze shifts to his grasp on you and the feeling of his skin on yours sends a shiver down your spine.

After a split-second, you nervously lift your eyes to meet his.

“Why didn’t you tell me you came home?”

There’s a sense of urgency in his question. Urgency and a hint of betrayal. You hesitate to answer as there are a number of different scenarios running laps across your mind. All you are certain of is you won’t be made to feel guilty for this decision.

“Are you forgetting you’re the one that said we needed space from each other?” You bite back, snatching your hand free from his strong grip. “I’m giving you what you asked for, Eddie. What more can you possibly want from me?”

“Your behaviour is fucking confusing!” Eddie yells, earning the two of you some rather questionable looks from other patrons of Starcourt Mall. He’s quick to notice the odd glances and composes himself briskly while taking a step towards you.

“I’m supportive, you’re agitated and then ignore me. I try to give you room to breathe, you give me shit for being a bad friend. I stand up for my own feelings, it’s wrong. I tell you what you want to hear, I agree about spending time apart, and you follow me out here only to be a bitch. I’ve done everything you wanted these last few months and you continue to give me a hard time.” Eddie exhales sharply then continues, “Okay, I get it, perhaps you were staying true to our promise by not telling me you were back in Hawkins, but if you really didn’t want to see me, why the fuck did you follow me out here?”

“You actually think time apart is what I wanted?” You ask, focusing on that part of his speech.

Eddie nods, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and your lips part slightly in shock.

“I never wanted this. I never wanted to be away from you for this long. If you took the time to read the letters I left you, you would fucking know that!” You jab your finger into his chest with all the power you can muster.

He grabs your finger, squeezing it. “I kissed you and you fucking froze me out,” he practically hisses, though the pain in his eyes betrays his angered front “And you're apparently dating Harrington now so fuck me, I guess, for thinking you felt something too.”

“This is pathetic, Eddie. I can’t believe you.”

He opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but he never gets the chance to say anything because you're both interrupted.

“There you are!” Robin hails your attention and Eddie drops his hold on you immediately. “Steve said something about finding you? Can you believe that guy? I literally just got in for my shift and he has me running around the whole mall as if he doesn’t finish work in ten minutes—” She stops, glancing between you and the metalhead.

“Everything okay?” Robin asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, perhaps a little too quickly, “We were just catching up.”

You can tell she doesn’t entirely believe you and honestly you couldn’t blame her since you and Eddie didn’t necessarily display the body language of two people having a friendly talk. But Robin doesn’t say anything to point out the stiff dynamic. Instead, she links her arm with yours and starts to slowly pull you away from the curly-haired boy.

“Is your mom still making bolognese tonight? Do you think she’d mind if I crashed your dinner? I love pasta.” Robin babbles while you shoot Eddie one last look. He dips his head, avoiding your gaze, and begins to trek in the other direction, assumingly towards his van.

Your heart is aching as you watch him go. Once again you are victims of poor communication and seriously bad timing.

July 4, 1985

Holidays really aren’t Eddie's thing.

Even growing up he thought the Easter Bunny was dumb, Halloween just a little too childish, and the magic of Christmas purely designed for people with big happy families — something he wasn’t privy too.

That all changed when you waltzed into his life.

Eddie was quickly fascinated by how you easily made every single holiday special in some way, even the really obscure ones like National Pizza Day, or National Cat Day. By simply being yourself, you made these celebrations fun and unique.

4th of July in particular had become Eddie’s favourite.

Every year, the two of you would enjoy a barbecue at your parents house, Wayne would be invited too. Everyone would watch the firework display from the backyard, and then you and Eddie would leave to camp out by Skull Rock.

The night was usually sleepless. You’d smoke, exchange ghost stories, and fill your stomachs with junk food you had previously taken from your parents' press.

Last 4th July, Eddie almost told you he had feelings for you.

This year, you wanted nothing to do with him.

Wallowing in his own self-pity, Eddie decided to spend this 4th of July in bed. He stocked up on soda and snacks, and planned on getting so high, he would think the fireworks were aliens coming to abduct him.

He had just about cracked his window open to allow for minimal ventilation during the night, when someone started banging on his door. Uncle Wayne enters moments later, the expression on his face is one of horror, but then also relief and Eddie's stomach twists into a knot.

“Oh thank heavens you’re here, boy.” Wayne exhales.

“Where else would I be?” Eddie questions, slowly crossing his room.

Wayne waves his hand dismissively and turns on his heel, walking away from his curly-haired nephew. A huff escapes Eddie's lips when he's forced to follow.

“Where else would I be?” He repeats.

“Doesn’t matter, kid. Just glad you’re safe.”

“Come on, Wayne. Don’t be like that.” Eddie probes, “You came running into my room as if something happened and now you just expect me to drop it?”

Uncle Wayne sighs. He’s facing his nephew now, hands on his hips. “Thought you’d be at Starcourt Mall for some reason. Glad you’re not is all.”

Eddie's brows furrow. “Starcourt Mall? What’s happening at Starcourt Mall?”

'Cause he's not at Starcourt Mall, but someone he knows, and despite everything, someone he still cares for quite deeply, most likely is. His insides fill with dread. Judging by his uncles behaviour, something bad has happened and Eddie can’t just stand here knowing he could do more, knowing he could at least try to see you.

So he doesn't waste any more time, running back to his room to throw on a pair of disheveled sneakers, before pushing past Wayne to get to the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“Starcourt Mall.”

“Eddie—”

“She could be there,” is all Eddie says. It’s all Wayne needs to hear. He throws his nephew the keys to the van and Eddie hurries outside.

The entire drive to the shopping centre, Eddie is feeling frantic. He still has no idea what happened, but his entire body is shaking. Even though you and him aren’t exactly on the best of terms, at this moment in time, you are everything to him. The mere thought of losing— no, he can’t be focused on the bad things right now.

Unfortunately, he’s right to be scared.

Chaos unfolds in front of Eddie’s eyes the closer he gets to Starcourt Mall. It seems the entire fire department has passed him on the way and as he turns the corner, he knows exactly why.

Bright orange flames engulfed the entirety of the venue. Eddie has never witnessed a fire of this extent, but he is smart enough to know the probability of someone making it out alive are quite slim. All he can do now is hope you weren't inside when the fire started. All he can do is hope he can find you amongst the crowd gathered in the parking lot, before rushing to your house just in case you’ve been there all along. Safe.

He parks the van as close as he can and sneaks under the police tape when no one is looking. There is so much going on, Eddie isn’t sure where to focus his attention. People screaming, children crying, first responders running up and down. His heart is in his throat while he looks around like a headless chicken, feeling frantic.

Suddenly, there’s an arm on his shoulder and he panics some more, thinking he got busted, though when he shifts in his spot to meet whoever has grabbed him, he feels relief.

“Dude,” Harrington drops his hold on the metalhead, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Even under the night sky, Eddie can see the brunette boy looks rough. Judging by the red-ish bruises on his face, whatever happened to him, had nothing to do with the fire. But Eddie doesn’t care about that right now. There is only one person on his mind.

“Where is she?”

Steve knows exactly who Eddie's asking for and he’s kind enough not to put up a fight. Instead, he points in the direction of an ambulance closest to the burning mall.

You had never been more scared in your life.

Stories of the Upside Down had haunted you ever since you found out about the other world under Hawkins, but they had been just that, stories. Then a couple of days ago Dustin showed up at Scoops Ahoy with some Russian code and things quickly evolved from there.

You were convinced you were going to die when the Russians took you, Robin, and Steve as prisoners. You were convinced you were going to die when they chased you around the mall. You were convinced you were going to die when Billy showed up out of nowhere, followed closely by what the kids called a Mind Flayer.

Despite all of the events from the last few days, by some heavenly miracle and thanks to a lot of dumb luck, you survived.

Well, most of you.

Your eyes dart to Max. She’s resting her head on Lucas’ shoulder, patiently waiting for her mom to arrive on the scene. You swallow thickly at the memory of the young girl screaming over Billy’s lifeless body. You can feel her pain. You can feel all of their pain.

Especially Eleven’s.

Your focus shifts to the girl that saved you all. She’s wrapped up in a police blanket, Mike and Will by her side. She seems frozen. The boys are trying to talk to her, but she’s blanking them out completely. It’s not until Joyce approaches that the young brunette displays some sort of emotion. Throwing her arms around the woman’s neck, you can see her start to cry. No girl deserves to lose her dad. Especially not the way she did. You unfortunately had that in common now.

Sliding your arms into the jacket you were given by one of the fire fighters, you stand, about to walk towards Eleven. You're thinking you can hug her. Tell her you're here for her 'cause there’s nothing that brings people closer than shared trauma. But before you can do any of that, someone steps in front of you, blocking your view.

You lift your gaze.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Eddie breathes.

In a flash, his arms are wrapped around your waist. You return the hug instantly, squeezing him tight while your fingertips tangle themselves in his bouncy curls. You take a moment to inhale his musky scent. The thought of why he’s here crosses your mind, but you shove past it because at the end of the day, you’re simply glad he is.

The two of you couldn’t possibly be any closer, yet you're tugging at each other’s clothes and limbs as if you were trying to become one. His ring-clad fingers are digging into your flesh while you push your body further into his chest. You can feel his heart beating against you and you're convinced he can feel yours too.

“Fuck, princess, you have no idea…” he whispers in your ear, the remainder of his sentence fading into the night. “I thought I lost you. For real.”

“I’m right here,” you murmur into his hair. You didn’t entirely feel like yourself, understandably so, but you knew in your soul Eddie needed to hear those words.

He pulls back slightly and gently cups your face in his hands. “I don’t know about you, but pretending to hate you has been absolutely exhausting.”

The admission lingers in the air between you, causing a smile to tug at your lips.

“I missed you so much, princess.”

“I missed you too, Eds.”

Corners of his mouth also tip upwards into a timid smile He proceeds to take in a deep breath, his thumbs caressing along your jawline.

“I-I read your letters,” he admits then lets out a soft chuckle, “Actually, full transparency, I re-read them maybe fifty-six times, if not more.”

Your own smile grows wider ‘cause suddenly everything feels okay again.

“You’re bluffing.”

Eddie proceeds to lift one hand. “Cross my heart,” he says, mimicking his words.

“Those letters are all I have— had of you. I know I acted quite unfairly considering everything you were going through. I know I said some harsh things. Those letters you left me, they made me realise just how much I need you in my life and I should have told you that the last time we stood in this parking lot, if not sooner. I’m sorry, princess,” he pauses, “For everything.”

“I’m sorry too, Eddie.” You express, “I’ve been acting really selfishly since, and even at the funeral.”

But he shakes his head and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Sweetheart, you have every damn right to be selfish. Losing someone important to you like that… Hell, if I lost you, I would probably burn this whole town to the ground in my grief.”

He grimaces and briefly looks around. “Sorry. Burn is probably the wrong choice of words in this instance, but you get my point.”

The chuckle that escapes your lips is soft.

“It’s okay, Eddie. I-I.. I’m just really glad you came, that you’re here. Suddenly this whole thing doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

“And I’m glad you’re okay, “ he states and hugs you again, placing a delicate kiss on your crown.

The two of you stand there for a moment, embracing one another. Your hands have since moved to his back, under his black t-shirt. The feeling of his soft skin under your palms is so soothing, you almost forget where you are and the circumstances surrounding your situation.

It’s damn near perfect, hiding from the world in his embrace. And you think perhaps you love him more than before, if that’s even possible considering how much time you spent apart.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Eddie asks, breaking the spell as well as the hug. He pulls back although his hold on you doesn’t end because he takes your hand.

“Anything.”

The metalhead nervously scratches the back of his neck.

“This is really stupid and it’s seriously not the time to be asking you this, but I just gotta know. Shit. Did you mean what you said in those letters? What you wrote about me?”

You suck in your bottom lip between your teeth. Eddie senses your apprehension because he’s quick to add, “It’s no big deal. I-I was just curious.”

Squeezing his hand, you exhale softly.

“Every word, Eds.”

Eddie fails to conceal a smile. He swings an arm around your shoulder, hand still holding your own, and as the two of you wander back towards his van, you know for sure your feelings for him have only grown stronger — despite everything that’s happened.

You love him with every fibre of your being, though that’ll continue to remain unspoken, for now.

The crossed out lines on your unsent letters being the only tangible proof.

pearl masterlist | main masterlist

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this lil series: @cactusangie , @spenciesprincess , @capitanostella , @ashlynnkennedy , @ms1oftheboys

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson best friend #bestfriend!eddie #pearl (eddies version)

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