#tumblr man is trying to swoon me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wheresarizona · 5 months

Text

Learning to Live Part 26

summary: Watching Javier with Steve and Connie Murphy’s three kids has you experiencing a bad case of baby fever. Some important discussions lead to making a big decision, and there’s one question you hadn’t anticipated being asked...

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), explicit smut, sneaking around (you have to be quiet so the Murphys don’t hear you), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, vaginal fingering, kinda rough sex (Javier works out his frustration on you), oral sex (f receiving), (MASSIVE) breeding kink, dirty talk, spit as lube, Javier saying very romantic things while he’s balls deep inside you, Steve trying to cockblock Javier with an obnoxiously squeaky bed (all it does is piss off Javi), Javier being a menace, misunderstanding, grumpy Javier, Javier being very cute with children, baby fever, emotional hurt/comfort, discussion of pregnancy/childbirth and fears, a dream sequence, death of a parent/grief, marriage proposal (it’s so romantic), love confession, mention of PTSD, an appearance of The Tac Vest™ (in a photo), Olivia and Javier talking shit about her dad in Spanish because Steve doesn’t understand, Connie being the best)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 24.5k+ (It’s a good time)

a/n: Hello there! This is a BIG chapter both in number of words and in terms of plot. Since this is a super long one, odds are the Tumblr app isn’t going to let you reblog with a comment—it’s a known issue. I haven’t heard of any problems if you go onto Tumblr.com directly through a browser, though. Since reblogs are super important, it’s totally okay if you reblog without a comment, and if you wish to comment, you can either do it on the post through comments or by sending me an ask! I’m chill with whatever you feel like doing. 🥰🥰🥰 Thank you all for coming on this journey with me. This is something we’ve been looking forward to, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for betaing and being a trooper for this monstrosity of a chapter.

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

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Baby fever was real.

And it was dangerous.

At least that was the only explanation you had for this overwhelming desire to have your own child that needed, specifically, to be fathered by the love of your life, Javier Peña.

It was cool in the house, and you were in shorts and a loose t-shirt, yet your skin was heated, watching from your seat on the leather sofa as the man you were going to marry played with the two older Murphy children—you weren’t entirely sure what the game was, but it involved Javi holding the three-year-old son in one arm while he dueled their nine-year-old daughter, Olivia, with hard, yellow foam swords. They were over in the empty space of the family room designated for the kids with the toy box against the wall beside a kitchen playset and a tiny red plastic table with two matching tiny chairs, other larger toys lining up in a row next to them.

The three-year-old, Stevie, was laughing while your boyfriend moved about, dodging the young girl's attempts at jabbing him. A big smile was plastered on Javi’s face with sweat beading on his brow, and you were doing your damndest to ignore the primal instinct that had ensured the survival of the human species, purring in the back of your mind as it zeroed in on him as the perfect man to procreate with.

He was so strong, so caring, so kind, so handsome.

So perfect.

Beautiful chocolate-colored eyes you dearly loved met yours, and he winked, making you suck in a breath as you melted into the cushion behind you, not even embarrassed you were literally swooning.

The leather creaked and complained when someone sat down next to you, your attention still on the future father of your children.

“I told you he smiles and laughs with my kids,” Steve said beside you.

Your head whipped toward him, finding that he was holding a giggling Nate up in the air, bringing him down to kiss all over his face and lift him again.

When you first arrived, you wondered how involved a parent Steve was.

Many men left the childrearing to the mother, and with him not helping with nap time or volunteering to get the boys when they’d woken up, you thought he might be one of those men. What you came to find out was his kids adored him, and he was very present.

Earlier, you made chocolate chip cookies with Olivia and Stevie. Their dad happened to come into the kitchen just as you were putting them in the oven, and the kids flocked to him to excitedly tell him all about how they’d helped. He had picked up his three-year-old and smiled as he listened, taking them to the living room so Javi and you could clean up the mess you made. When it was time to eat the freshly baked cookies, Stevie ate his Connie-approved two cookies while sitting on his father’s knee at the kitchen table, Olivia eating her own in the seat beside them.

So, Steve was pretty great with his children.

When you commented about it while alone in the kitchen with your husband-to-be, he whispered to you about how it wasn’t always like this. Back in Colombia and when Steve first returned to Miami, he had that shitty patriarchal mindset that Connie should be the one to care for their daughter—that was, until Javi showed up and stepped in to help Connie with Olivia. Apparently, that triggered something in Steve and lit a fire under his ass to be a better father and husband.

Connie was currently on a run to the store, and Javi had taken it upon himself to entertain the energy-filled kids. Steve was handling Nate duty himself since the little one was super attached to his parents, especially his mother.

“Yes, you did,” you replied to the older man.

The toddler was now cuddled in his arms, repeating Dadada over and over again.

Steve looked at you. “He asked us earlier if we thought he’d be a good dad.”

“And how did you answer?”

White teeth appeared when he smiled. “We told him he’d be a great dad, and it was about damn time he became one.”

Your lips tipped up, glancing over at the man you were talking about, who was now down on his knees and being attacked by both of the children wielding the swords, shielding his head with his arms.

“Yeah, it really is.” Facing Steve again, you asked, “How did you know you were ready to be a parent?”

He snorted. “Did Javi ever tell you about how we got Olivia?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “He told me you adopted her in Colombia…?”

Leaning in, he spoke a little quieter, “The story doesn’t start off too happy, but I know Jav’s told you about what things were like down there.”

“Hell.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Javi and I found her when she was a baby in the home where Pablo Escobar’s sicarios murdered her mother and grandmother—would’ve murdered her, too, if we hadn’t shown up.” He took a deep breath like he was remembering, your eyes widening at the horror.

Murdering a defenseless baby? They were monsters.

“Escobar was also responsible for the death of her father,” he continued. “She was so tiny and had no one. I was worried more people would come for her, so I brought her home with me. Connie wasn’t too happy about it at first.” A smile pulled up on his lips as he chuckled. “And we sure as hell weren’t prepared for a baby, but we’d always wanted kids and had just about given up until we got her.” He was smiling fondly now, looking past you at his daughter. “We fell in love with her, and it was an easy decision to adopt. So, to answer your question—” He met your eyes. “—I didn’t know I was ready to be a dad until after we got the kid. Sometimes, you don’t get a chance to feel ready before it happens, but I’ll tell you, the moment you hold your baby, the instincts kick in fast.”

“That’s good to know.”

“All these questions about parenthood between the two of you.” He nodded his head toward Javi, then you. “Are y’all trying?”

The question had you making a face, wondering why it was socially acceptable to discuss your sex life when it came to reproducing.

“If you must know,” you started, “we’re currently just practicing… A lot. Like practically once a day if we’re in the mood, and I think we’ve got it pretty figured out, especially the unprotected sex part.”

His nose had wrinkled like he smelled something bad, deeply frowning in disgust. “I don’t wanna know that.”

“You asked!”

Javi was suddenly standing in front of you, breathing hard and holding his beer he picked up from the coffee table.

He took a long drink, asking Steve when he finished, “What did you ask her?” He shooed the other man away with his free hand. “Move over.” Steve and Nate scooted to the other side of the couch so your boyfriend could plop down beside you.

Stevie was playing with some toy cars, and Olivia had disappeared.

Javi’s arm went over your shoulders with his side pressed against yours, bringing the brown bottle back up to his lips.

Looking at him, you saw his throat work as he swallowed the beer, rubbing your hand over his jean-clad thigh. “He asked if we’re trying for a baby.”

The liquid must’ve gone down the wrong pipe, your boyfriend making a choked sound and sputtering, it evolving into a coughing fit. You got his arm over your head to lean him forward to pat his back, Steve’s eyes finding yours.

“I swear I don’t do this on purpose,” you said. “I didn’t think it was something he’d react to.”

“Does this happen often?” the blonde man asked, looking both concerned and mildly amused.

“Kinda?” You grimaced. “But not on purpose!” Your attention moved to your boyfriend. “Are you okay, babe?” His coughing had stopped, and he’d set his drink back on the coffee table.

“Yeah,” he hoarsely answered. His head turned in your direction, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. “You’re just as bad as Pop with making me choke.”

“I’m sorry, Javi.” Your hand was gliding up and down his spine. “You know what, from now on, I’m going to stop you from drinking before I say anything.”

“Why don’t you just wait for me to finish drinking?”

“The delivery, babe. Timing is everything for a joke to land or a snappy reply. Don’t wanna throw off my groove.”

He huffed out an amused breath, sitting back up on the couch. “Okay, your plan works.” Leaning forward, he pecked you on the lips before turning his attention to Steve. “We’re trying as much as we can with her on birth control—we go at it like fu-reaking rabbits, and with it only being 99% effective, maybe we’ll be that one in a hundred, and she gets pregnant.”

“I hate you,” Steve said evenly. “I hate you both. All you needed to say was no.”

“Why are you mad?” Javi asked. “You asked about our sex life, and we answered.” He looked over at you. “What did you tell him, mi amor (my love)?”

“That we’re practicing and really good at the unprotected sex part.”

A smirk appeared under his mustache, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and you knew he was just fucking with Steve now. “Yeah, we are really good at it.” His attention went back to the other man. “We told you the truth. Don’t ask questions if the answers are gonna make you uncomfortable.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he said, “Everyone else in the world would have answered that question with a simple yes or no. The two of you are perfect for each other with how much you fuc-fudging enjoy messing with me.”

“She’s mi media naranja, my soulmate,” Javi replied. “We are perfect for each other.”

“Uh huh, calm down, Romeo.” Nate was wiggling out of Steve’s arms, and the man helped him climb down from the couch, the child toddling over to play with his brother. “Now I’ve been watching you both since you got here,” he continued, “and anyone with eyes can see how much y’all wanna be parents. You may be a couple-a—” He whispered the next word. “—assholes—” He spoke normally again, “But I think you guys would do a pretty good job at it—that’s just my opinion, though.”

Javi had grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together, giving it a gentle squeeze as happiness seared through your veins.

“Thanks, man,” Javi said.

“You’re welcome, Jav.” Steve grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “You both do know the quickest way to get pregnant is for her to be off birth control, right? Do I need to give you the sex talk? Tell you about the birds and the bees? Explain how babies are made?”

Your boyfriend flipped him off out of view of the children, the other man laughing.

“We know, you—” He lowered his voice so that the kids wouldn’t hear. “—dick—” His volume went back to normal. “We’ve gotta figure out some things before we pull the trigger.”

“And what if you end up being the one in a hundred, and she gets pregnant before you figure those things out?”

Javier’s attention turned to you with a hopeful look, bringing up your joined palms so he could kiss the back of yours.

“We’d be okay,” you answered truthfully, your boyfriend smiling as he set your hands down. “If it happens sooner than we planned, then it happens sooner than we planned, and we’ll be excited no matter what.”

“Yeah,” Javi added. “We will.”

The trip was going better than Javier anticipated, and it was only the first day.

He had a feeling his friends and their children would like his fiancée-to-be, and he’d been correct. The Murphys all loved her to the point that Steve and Connie were on him about marrying her. Now his best friend was saying they’d be good parents, which, when added to Cielito telling him earlier, they might be able to start their family soon. Javier was so happy, he felt like he was on top of the world.

There were two things he wanted more than anything: to marry the woman sitting beside him and to become a father.

As long as she said yes to his proposal, he figured they’d be married within the next six months, depending on what she wanted to do for the wedding. The marriage was pretty much in the bag with all of her reassurances that she'd say yes, but there were still small tendrils of doubt creeping their way into his brain and making him worry if she’d really be wearing an engagement ring the next day.

He stamped down the negative feelings by remembering the times she practiced saying yes to his proposals and, of course, the fact she had already pre-accepted.

With all that in mind, he was sure he could cross off marriage from his list, which made him feel a bit giddy.

The thing that was going to require work was becoming a father.

Even though they both wanted a child, she had, and there wasn’t a better word than stipulations that needed to be met before she wanted to go for it. He both loved and hated how responsible she was being. The list included:

Get help with his mental health.

Get married.

Move into a bigger place.

The first thing he did was start going to therapy, and it had helped a lot over the past months, especially with the Stechner shit. A lot of old wounds had been opened, and it was finally time for Javier to tell the woman he planned to marry about Colombia, finding it cathartic, even with the nightmares he was plagued with for the week after. She was there every time he woke up in a panic and helped calm him down, soothing him with her words and touch.

His therapist had clocked him early on as having PTSD, and at first, he didn’t believe him because guys who fought in wars and did active combat came home with PTSD, not DEA agents doing drug busts and taking down cartels.

Javier’s therapist was a short, stocky, bald man in his sixties with a calming voice who didn’t like to beat around the bush and told it like it was. His response to Javier’s denial was to lay it all out that the war on drugs was still a war, and Javier had been a soldier who witnessed and experienced a lot of horrific PTSD-inducing shit that he needed to work through. He had worked through it, but the incident with Stechner had triggered him and brought it all back. Luckily, he was fine after about a week with help from his therapist and wif-girlfriend.

So, he’d taken care of his mental health, and marriage was on the horizon—that was two out of three.

Moving into a bigger place was where things got tricky.

Initially, they had planned to buy a house, and then his dad gave them the idea to build one on his land, which sounded great, except for how long it would take. They ended up loving the thought of being able to design their dream home and decided that was what they were going to do, and were now working with an architect—everything else was figured out. His tía María’s husband had his own construction business and would be building it, and they found the perfect spot a little down the road from his dad’s house that was close to him but also far enough they’d have privacy where they’d build. Chucho was thrilled they were going to be next-door neighbors.

It was going to take, at minimum, a year for the home to be built.

Javier didn’t want to wait that long to start trying for a baby, so he figured out a way for them to move out of their one-bedroom apartment into someplace bigger while they waited for their house to be finished, and it was living with his father, who was beyond excited by the prospect.

She seemed to be okay with that, and he hoped it was enough for her to give them the green light to start their family, but she wanted to discuss it with Chucho, which he understood. It was just driving him crazy that he was so fucking close, it was within reach, yet he had to wait for her to talk to his dad on Sunday when they were seeing him next.

The sounds of the front door being unlocked and opened made it to where they were, the two small Murphy boys jumping to their feet as they both yelled, “Mom!” They ran from the room.

“I better go help her with the groceries,” Steve said, grunting as he got up from the couch on his long legs and headed for his wife.

It was just Javier and his future wife in the room—they were alone, and immediately he was turning in his seat toward her, dipping his head to kiss and suck at the side of her neck, his hand sliding up her thigh.

“Javi,” she gasped, her fingers tangling into his hair.

She smelled so good, the sweet aroma welcome as his lips trailed up to tug her earlobe between his teeth, his palm resting on her inner thigh, feeling the heat between her legs.

His mouth pressed against her ear, whispering, “I saw how you were watching me playing with the kids—how much you liked it.” She sucked in a breath, and he smiled. “You say the word, and we can have one of our own—I’m more than willing to give you a baby, Cielito.”

“This is rude,” she breathed, pulling his hair.

Javier chuckled, smacking a loud kiss against her cheek.

His hand left her leg to cup her jaw and turned her head to look him in the eyes.

“I’m serious, mi amor (my love),” he said. “You know how fucking badly I want one, and when you’re ready, I’ll make it happen—I wanna prove you right that I can get you pregnant within a month.”

The way her pupils expanded told him his words were getting to her.

“I cannot believe you’re tempting me with your virility, and it’s fucking working,” she whispered, and he grinned. “God, you’re gonna be such a good dad.” There was a slight whine as she quietly spoke. “Our kids are gonna be obsessed with you, and you’re gonna be obsessed with them and me being pregnant and an amazing partner through everything. Like, I am this close—” She held her thumb and index finger so close together they almost touched. “—to saying fuck it, let’s make a baby.” Arousal sparked in his belly. “But then that annoying, overly cautious, responsible part of me cuts in to remind me I need to double-check with your dad that he’s really okay with us living with him—yes, I remember him making the offer months ago—you know I hate being a bother, though, and I’m worried he likes the idea and would hate the reality of living with his son and a pregnant woman that will eventually also include a newborn.” She chewed on her lip.

“His pregnant nuera (daughter-in-law),” Javier corrected. “And he told me he’d love for us to move in just last week. He was already planning on turning the guest room into a nursery when you got pregnant.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Fuck,” she whispered.

Javier frowned, wondering if she thought the nursery was too much.

“He’s just excited to finally become an abuelo (grandpa), and even if we weren’t moving in, he wanted to make sure he’s got shit for the baby when we visit—he said it’d come in handy ‘cause he’d be happy to babysit anytime we needed him to. And if we do move in with him, he’ll already have a space dedicated to our kid.”

“Right,” she said the word slowly, like she was thinking it over. “Yeah, that’s great he cares so much, and it’s so sweet. We, um, just need to make sure he’s prepared for a newborn, like the crying and all that…”

“He is, and he’ll love having us there with a baby.”

“How do you know?”

“Promise me something,” he said.

Her eyebrows creased. “Okay?”

“Promise me you won’t get sad with what I’m about to tell you.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

He sighed. “Fine. Promise me you won’t mention it to him.”

“That’s something I can do.”

“Since mi mamá passed away, Pop has been really fucking lonely living in that house alone, but there’s no way in hell he’d ever think about moving. He hates being by himself out there, and he’ll probably work until the day he dies to spend as little time in it as possible.”

Tears were brimming in her eyes. “That’s so fucking sad, Javier.”

“Yeah, and I was a fucking asshole who came home from Colombia twice and fucked off almost as quickly as I arrived.” She was about to say something, and he stopped her by continuing. “He loved when I finally moved back in for good, and he’d love more than anything to have us there with him, including our child—especially our child. You know, just as I do, that he’s gonna love our kid more than us.”

“That’s so true,” she giggled.

He smiled, “Yeah, it is.” Hope felt like a ball in the middle of his chest. “So, uh, does this change your maybe?”

“Tío!” Olivia shouted as she came running into the room, and he sat up in his seat.

“¿Sí, tesorito (Yes, little treasure)?”

She rounded the couch and jumped onto it next to him, sitting on her knees with a big smile, missing some baby teeth. Her brown hair was almost the same color as his, falling in loose curls past her shoulders, her bangs on either side held back by blue flower clips.

“Se me olvidó preguntarte algo (I forgot to ask you something).”

He smiled. “¿Qué querías preguntar (What did you want to ask)?”

“Cuando tú y tu Cielito se casen (When you and your Cielito get married), ¿puedo ser la niña de las flores (can I be the flower girl)?”

It made him pause because it’d be up to his fiancée-to-be how they were going to get married, and he wasn’t sure if they would have a traditional wedding. If they did, pretty much all of the guests would be his friends and family, while she’d have maybe a handful of friends—there wouldn’t be anyone from her family she’d want to invite with how they disliked Javier and thought he wasn’t good enough for her.

He knew Cielito would be okay with his answer before he said it. “Bueno, si tenemos una boda, claro que puedes ser la niña de las flores, y tus hermanos pueden ser los portadores de los anillos (Well, If we have a wedding, of course you can be the flower girl and your brothers can be the ring bearers).”

“Sí (Yes),” the future bride said. “Si tenemos una boda, tú y tus hermanos tienen que estar en ella (If we have a wedding, you and your brothers have to be it).”

“Yes!” the girl shouted, clapping her hands.

Javier leaned forward with a groan to grab his beer and sat back, bringing it to his lips as he took a long pull of the lukewarm drink.

“¿Te vas a casar porque tu novia tiene un bebé en la barriga (Are you getting married because your girlfriend has a baby in her belly)?” Olivia asked.

Beer came spraying out of his mouth as he attempted to cover it with his hand and started coughing.

“Oh, no,” Cielito said, patting him on the back. “I’m gonna go grab some paper towels.” She got up and left, and he saw the liquid from his mouth on the coffee table.

“¿Estás bien (Are you okay)?” the child asked.

He’d stopped coughing, wiping his wet hand on his jeans.

“Sí, estoy bien (Yes, I’m okay),” he answered, looking over at her. “¿Por qué crees que nos vamos a casar porque ella tiene un bebé en la barriga (Why do you think we’re getting married because she has a baby in her belly)...?”

“Oh, tengo un amigo en la escuela y su papá se casó con su niñera porque ella tenía un bebé en su barriga (Oh, I have a friend at school and his dad married his babysitter because she had a baby in her belly).”

Javier’s eyes widened. “Eh, mi Cielito no tiene un bebé en su barriga (Uh, my Cielito doesn’t have a baby in her belly). Nos vamos a casar porque nos amamos como tus padres (We’re getting married because we love each other like your parents).”

At the mention of them, Steve and Connie came into the room with his wif-girlfriend rushing to wipe off the table for the other woman to set down two photo albums, and he’d been given a paper towel to wipe his face with. Nate was in his dad’s arms, and Stevie had walked in by himself, going over to where he’d been playing to pick up a Ninja Turtle action figure.

“We heard Olivia is asking questions,” Steve said, smiling and taking a seat in his recliner with his youngest son. Connie sat down on Olivia’s other side.

The girl turned her attention to her father. “Daddy, they said if they have a wedding, I can be the flower girl, and Stevie and Nate can carry the rings!”

Steve looked at his daughter. “They’re called ring bearers, sweetie.”

She looked confused. “They’d be ring bears?”

The adults all laughed. “No, ring bearers,” he said slower.

“Ring bearers,” she repeated. Her head turned to Javier. “¿Los portadores de los anillos significan (means) ring bearers?”

He smiled, nodding. “Sí, asi es (Yes, that’s right).”

Cielito had gone to throw away the dirty paper towels, including the one he used, and returned a minute later, taking her seat next to him.

“I thought the future Mrs. Javier Peña might like to see some pictures of you through the years,” Connie said. She pointed at the albums. “The top one—” It had a forest green cover. “—has photos from when we lived in Colombia before we adopted Olivia. The majority are Steve and I, but there’s a bunch of Javi, too.”

Cielito leaned forward to look past him at the other woman with a smile. “I’ve seen the pictures you sent to his parents!”

“Oh, yes!” Connie smiled brightly. “I was aware he talked to them weekly, so they knew he was okay, but I wanted them to be able to see it, too.”

“Thank you, Connie,” he whispered, his throat feeling tight at his friend caring about his parents so much.

“You’re welcome, Javi.” She patted his knee. Stevie was trying to climb into her lap, and she helped him up. “I loved talking to them—your mother was wonderful, and I was sad when she passed away.” Sadness laced her tone. “I wished we could’ve gone to the funeral, but we didn’t have documents for Olivia yet to take her out of Colombia. I still talk to your dad every once in a while—not as often now that you’re back in Texas, and he doesn’t need me keeping an eye on you.”

His head snapped toward her. “You talked to my parents? How in all these years didn’t I know you talked to them and still talk to my dad?”

Neither of his parents had ever mentioned being in contact with Connie, aside from his father saying she sent them pictures of Javier while he was in South America.

A sad smile was on her face. “Your mother swore me to keep it a secret.”

“My mom?” he said the words so quietly.

“Yes. Your mother was a very smart woman and used the number you gave her to your office in case of emergencies to get a hold of Steve so she could get our home phone number and call me. She just wanted to make sure you were okay, and I understood where she was coming from as a mother—I didn’t have kids at the time, but even then, I knew if my baby was on another continent, I would’ve done the same thing, and it really was no problem. As I’ve said, I loved talking to your parents.”

His eyes were burning with unshed tears at the lengths his parents went to in order to check up on him. Cielito took the beer from his hand and put it on the table so she could tangle her fingers with his, cuddling into his side, and he was thankful for the comfort.

Javier was a terrible son.

He put his parents through so much over the years, and what for?

What did he accomplish?

Yeah, he helped bring down Pablo Escobar and got the Cali Cartel fuckers, but like some mythical monster, you cut off one head, and two take its place—they took down Escobar and the Medellín cartel, and before they knew it, Cali and others had taken over.

It was a never-ending cycle: wash, rinse, repeat.

He’s known it since he made the decision to resign from the DEA: The War on Drugs would never end. From his current job as a drug enforcement consultant, he knew that sentiment was confirmed with the rise of the Mexican cartels becoming major players.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

And all of this showing him he wasted years of his life fighting an unwinnable fight and causing his parents nothing but pain and misery. He was their only son, su bendición (their blessing), and he’d risked his life so many fucking times for what? It felt like it was all for nothing.

Not when he thought about the precious time he lost with his mother, or his father living in that old house all alone, or how he wasn’t getting to start his family until now and really love his life.

Years wasted.

Shame, regret, and remorse were heavy in his head and heart, and he wished he could apologize to his mother—he needed her forgiveness and his father’s, too.

“I appreciate that, Connie.” Getting the words out around the lump in his throat was hard. “I, um, I’ll be back.”

“Are you okay?” Cielito asked, concern evident on her face when he met her eyes.

“Yeah,” he answered, untangling their hands. “I’m okay.” He attempted a reassuring smile that she didn’t believe one bit. “Look at the pictures, baby, and I’ll be right back.”

Her mouth was turned down in a deep frown. “Okay.”

Without another word, he got up and quickly went through the dining room to the hallway, heading for the guest bedroom.

He didn’t lock the door once he was inside.

He didn’t want to worry Cielito more than she already was.

His cell phone was on top of the dresser, and he picked it up, the numbers glowing green as he pressed the number to speed dial his dad.

Ring.

Click.

The recorded message started playing, hearing his mother’s accented voice say in English, “You have reached the Peña residence—” Tears began falling down his cheeks. “We’re sorry we could not make it to the phone right now. Please leave your name and number, and we will get back to you. Thank you!”

Beep.

Javier cleared his throat, the emotion making his words come out thick, “Hey Pop, it’s me, Javi. You’re probably working—” He checked his watch, seeing it was a little after three in Laredo. “—Yeah, you’re working. Uh, we made it to Miami safe, and everyone loves mi Cielito. We knew they would. Um—” He took a deep breath, pacing slowly back and forth. “—I know I’ve apologized before, but I’m so fucking sorry for being gone for so long and making you and mi mamá worry so much. Connie told me about talking to you guys and I,” his voice cracked on the one syllable. He cleared his throat again. “I feel like shit for what I put you through, and I just hope you and mamá can forgive me for all of the pain I caused. I hate that I wasted so many years away from you both that I can’t get back. I’ll—” More tears were falling down his cheeks. “—never see or talk to my mom again, and I miss her so fucking much. I wish I could tell her I’m so close to starting my family. Cielito just wants to talk to you first about us moving in—”

“Javi?” His dad answered the phone, and Javier stopped moving, standing still. “¿Qué pasa (What’s wrong)?” He sounded concerned. “Acabo de entrar y te escuché hablar de tu mamá (I just came inside and heard you talking about your mom).”

“Hola, Pop (Hi, Pop). Perdóname por molestarte (I’m sorry for bothering you).”

“No me estás molestando, Mijo (You’re not bothering me, Mijo). Dime qué pasa (Tell me what’s wrong).”

Javier inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “He sido un hijo terrible (I’ve been a terrible son).”

“¿De qué hablas (What are you talking about)? Eres un hijo maravilloso y estoy muy orgulloso de ti (You’re a wonderful son and I’m very proud of you). Tu madre también estaba mui orgullosa de ti (Your mother was very proud of you, too).”

“No, no lo soy (No, I’m not). Te preocupé tanto que tenías a Connie vigilándome (I worried you so much that you had Connie watching me).”

“Ella no te estaba vigilándo (She wasn’t watching you). Ella solo nos ponía al día sobre cómo estabas (She was just updating us on how you were doing).”

“Todavía te preocupé lo suficiente como para que mi mamá le pidiera que hiciera eso (I still worried you enough that my mom asked her to do that).”

His dad huffed out a breath. “Javi, te acuerdas bien como era tu madre (Javi, you remember your mother). Ella era sobreprotectora contigo (She was overprotective of you). Llamaba a Connie de vez en cuando cuando estabas en Miami y me aseguraba de que estabas bien porque ya tenía su número de teléfono (I called Connie from time to time when you were in Miami and made sure you were okay because I already had her phone number). No eres un hijo terrible (You are not a terrible son). Eres trabajador, comprometido, testarudo, pero no terrible (You’re hardworking, committed, stubborn, but not terrible).”

He spoke quietly. “¿Me perdonas por todo (Will you forgive me for everything)?”

His father sighed. “Mijo, no hay nada de que perdonarte, pero si te hace sentir mejor, sí, te perdono, y tu madre te perdona también (Mijo, there is nothing to forgive you for, but if it makes you feel better, yes, I forgive you, and your mother forgives you, too). Ahora, ¿qué decías acerca de comenzar tu familia en el contestador automático (Now, what were you saying about starting your family on the answering machine)?”

The sudden change of topic made Javier chuckle, his free hand wiping at his wet cheeks. “Of course, that caught your attention.”

“Yes, it did.” The smile was clear in his voice. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay first. Am I finally getting my nietos (grandchildren) soon?”

Javier smiled. “I’ll say it was a great idea to bring her here where there are a bunch of kids—she needs reassurance from you that you’re really okay with us moving in while the house is being built and won’t mind a baby. I think the plan is to talk to you in person at my birthday dinner,” he sighed.

“Of course, I won’t mind a baby!” It was obvious he was excited. “Mi primer nieto (My first grandchild)! I’ve already told you I’d love to have you all here! I’ll have your primos (cousins) start helping me clear out the guest room this weekend so I can begin working on the nursery. This is the best news! Are you sure she doesn’t want to talk to me right now?”

He turned to look at the closed door and was tempted to take the phone to her.

“She’s out in the living room with the family looking at pictures of me.” His fingers slid through his hair. “If I can convince her to talk with you over the phone, I’ll give you a call.”

“I’ll stay home from work for the next two days, just in case.”

“You don’t have to do that. We can leave a message, and you can call us back.”

“No, I need to be here to answer the call. It’s important.”

His eyes were watering at his father’s love for them. “Thank you, Pop.”

“No, thank you, Mijo. I can’t wait to have you all here. Go convince her to call me—I’m not getting any younger.”

Javier laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll do my best.”

“And you better call me when you propose.”

His mouth was turned up in a smile. “You’ll be the first person to know.”

“Good. Javi?”

“Yeah, Pop?”

“I love you, Mijo, and I’m truly proud of the man you are today. I can’t wait to watch you become the incredible husband and father I know you will be.” Javier couldn’t stop the tears, his throat feeling like it was closing up. “Your mamá might be gone, but I know wherever she is, she’s happy her son has found so much love and happiness. It’s all we ever wanted for you. We love you, Javiercito.”

“I love you, too.”

“Now, go work on making me an abuelo and tell mi nuera (daughter-in-law) I love her, too.”

He chuckled. “I’ll tell her. Bye, Pop.”

“Bye, Mijo.”

The call ended, and he put the phone back on the dresser and walked into the en suite to stand at the sink. The skin on his cheeks was glistening in the lights of the bathroom, his eyes red-rimmed, and his nose a little runny.

No matter how many times he apologized to his father for his past sins, it never felt like it was enough—it would never feel like it was enough. He knew his father forgave him long ago, and with how much he’s groveled, he’s become a broken record.

If he really thought about it and looked deep down into why he felt the need to apologize so much, it was because he hadn’t forgiven himself. He wasn’t even sure what it would take to forgive himself. It was obvious his dad was tired of him apologizing and wanted him to focus on his future.

His future.

Cielito was his future.

Their children were his future.

A memory came to him of their second date, hearing the woman he was going to marry clearly in his brain:

“...you feel like you need to atone for everything you’ve done, but you really don’t. You’ve done enough, more than enough. The past hurts, but you can either run from it or learn from it…”

When he first got back from Colombia, he ran; he hid away here in Miami with his friends and their family until he got scared he was going to lose his dad and went home. That was when it hit him: he didn’t want to waste any more time away from his father, and he finally stayed. The most important thing to him now was his family: his dad, Cielito, and their future children; they were what mattered.

One day, he’d forgive himself, and he had a feeling it’d happen when he finally had a parent’s perspective…

Turning on the faucet, he splashed some water on his face, drying it off with a small towel he got from underneath the sink. Any sign he’d been crying had been washed away, and he made his way back to the living room feeling a little lighter and determined to keep his focus on moving forward—engagement, marriage, children.

He found his future wife had moved over on the couch to sit closer to Olivia and Connie with a photo album open on her lap and angled for the other two to see, the older women having a conversation. Stevie stood on the couch next to his mom, pretending his Ninja Turtle action figure was walking on the back of the sofa and on Connie’s head, quietly talking to himself. His little blue eyes landed on Javier, and he smiled.

“Tío’s back!” he shouted.

Javier smiled back. “I am, buddy.”

The women paused, Cielito’s head turning to watch as he walked around the couch to sit beside her.

Immediately, she leaned into him and whispered, “Are you okay?”

He rubbed circles over her spine. “Yeah,” he answered. “Pop says he loves you.”

Realization dawned on her, and he could tell she worked out he’d gotten upset over what Connie had revealed and needed to talk to his father.

She softly smiled. “Hopefully, he knows I love him, too.”

A small smile turned up on his lips. “He knows.”

“Good.”

Her attention went back to Connie. “Sorry,” she said. “So, Texas has a lot of nursing opportunities, and I was over being in a big city—I did my schooling at a university in a somewhat big city, too—I looked into other places around the state hiring and interviewed at a bunch, and out of the offers I got, I liked Laredo the best.”

“I bet the smaller hospital is a breath of fresh air,” Connie replied.

“It is! And working in the ED (Emergency Department) in Dallas was exhilarating until it got exhausting and depressing.”

A solemn look was on the other woman’s face. “I know exactly what you mean. If you think it’s bad here, in Colombia, it’s much worse, and drove me to switch to L & D (Labor and Delivery) when I came back to Miami.”

“I can imagine, based on what I’ve heard. I actually thought about going into L & D, too, but I was offered the PACU position in Laredo.”

“What does PACU mean?” he asked.

Both women looked over at him, saying in unison, “Post Anesthesia Care Unit.”

“Oh, okay…”

“I haven’t understood half the stuff they’ve been talking about,” Steve said. “Connie’s having the time of her life being able to talk shop with someone.”

She looked at her husband. “Let me enjoy this. It’s nice being able to talk to someone outside of work who understands.”

“Hey, I’m happy for you, baby,” Steve replied, holding up a hand in a placating gesture. “Now I know what you feel like listening to Jav and me talking about work.”

“Exactly.” She faced his fianceé-to-be again, smiling. “I love helping bring new little lives into the world and teaching new parents how to care for their babies—most of the time, my job is wonderful. I’m sure Javi hasn’t told you, but remind me to tell you the story about Nate later.”

The tale of how Steve and Connie got Nathaniel wasn’t fucked up like his sister’s; it was just sad.

The youngest Murphy’s birth mother, was a girl not even out of high school, who came to the hospital alone and left alone. She brought no identification with her and refused to give her real name, telling people to call her Sam—the girl had been scared out of her mind, so Connie stayed with her the entire time and discovered she had hidden the pregnancy from her family because if they found out, she would’ve been disowned and thrown out on the street. Sam had begged Connie over and over again for her to find her baby a loving home, that she did love him and wished she could keep him, but they wouldn’t have anywhere to live if she did, and that she wanted him to have a good life.

His mother only held him once, right after she’d given birth, and refused to give him a name.

Connie was the one to take the baby to the nursery to have him measured, weighed and to take his vitals. When she returned, the new mother was gone—she vanished. Security couldn’t find her, and with how quickly she disappeared, Connie suspected a friend or her boyfriend picked her up.

Over the years, Steve and Connie had wanted a third kid, however, they struggled with getting pregnant and had to get help from doctors in order to have Stevie. So, when Connie found herself spending more and more time in the nursery with the tiny, abandoned newborn, she realized he was the third child they’d been hoping for, and her husband was fine with bringing him home—they both agreed on naming him Nathaniel Samuel Murphy.

“I will,” Cielito said.

Out of the three children, Nate was the most easy-going of the bunch. He was content to sit cuddled in his father’s lap, sipping on his sippy cup of water and watching everyone else in the room with his big, dark eyes.

“Mommy?” Stevie was patting his mother’s shoulder as he got her attention.

“Yes, baby?” She looked over at him.

“I want juice.”

“How do we ask for things?”

“Can I have juice, pleeeeassse?” he drew out the last word.

“Okay, let’s go get some juice.”

Nate’s cup left his mouth as he said, “Juice?”

“You want some juice, too, kiddo?” Steve asked him, bending to kiss his hair.

“Juice!” the toddler exclaimed.

His dad chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can I have a Capri Sun?” Olivia asked.

“Of course, honey,” Connie answered.

Steve groaned as he got up from the chair with Nathaniel still in his arms. “Murphys report to the kitchen for juice!” he said.

“Yay!” Stevie yelled, getting down from the couch and running out of the room.

“Y’all want anything?” Steve asked Javier and his future wife.

“I’m good,” he responded.

“I’m good, too,” Cielito added.

His friend nodded and followed his wife and daughter to the kitchen.

“Thank god, we’re alone,” Cielito whispered, flipping through the pages, looking for a specific picture. “I need to ask you about something.”

He didn’t even know what pictures were in this album since he’d never seen it before and was curious about what caught her attention.

“What is it?”

She found what she was looking for, moving in her seat to show him a page with a picture of him holding a bulky satellite phone to his ear, his other hand flipping off Steve, who was taking the picture.

He couldn’t even remember when it was taken. The sleeves were rolled up on his maroon button-up shirt to bare his forearms, and he was wearing an army green tac vest over it, the bulge from the tightness of his dark wash jeans showing he was dressing to the left while his aviators were on—he could admit he looked pretty good.

“Do you have one of these at your office?” she asked.

“One of what?”

“The vest thingy.” She pointed at it.

“The tac vest?”

He met her eyes, seeing her smiling. “Yeah. Do you still have one?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t see any action and don’t need one.”

Her shoulders slumped, frowning, and he perked up at the reaction.

“Can you… get one?” She chewed on her bottom lip, and he smirked.

His voice went lower. “You like the vest that much?”

“This whole look.” She circled the photo with her finger. “The clothes, your grumpy face, the vest—it’s awakened something in me, and I need to, um, see it in person for reasons…” Her eyes darted away.

He leaned in closer, gently taking her chin between two fingers to make her look at him as he quietly rasped, “Are the reasons for me to fuck you looking like this?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“In that case, I’ll borrow one from work and bring it home.” He winked.

“God, I love you.” The album was left in her lap, her upper body twisting in his direction, pressing her fingers into his hair as her lips crashed against his. His arm wrapped around her back, the other hand holding her cheek, kissing her hard.

He was more than happy to wear whatever she wanted—he was always happy to wear what she wanted, and this look wouldn’t be too hard to replicate. His mind was playing out them doing a scene where he stripped her of her clothes and ‘searched’ her, which would end with him bending her over and fucking her…

“Oh, gross!” Olivia shouted.

They separated so quickly you’d think they were burned.

“Gross!” Stevie echoed, not knowing what was going on.

“What were they doing?” their father asked as he walked into the room holding a new beer, Connie behind him with Nate in her arms, the toddler holding a green sippy cup.

The oldest of the children had walked around to sit on the opposite side of the couch to them, drinking from a yellow straw in a silver pouch. Stevie had a red cup that matched his brother’s and came to Javier, who picked him up to sit on his thigh.

The straw left the girl’s mouth, her face contorted in disgust. “They were kissing.”

“That is gross,” Steve said, taking a seat in his recliner, and Connie sitting on the other side of Javier’s soon-to-be-fianceé.

He sighed.

“Oh, stop that, Steve,” his wife scolded.

“Yes, dear,” his friend replied.

Nathaniel wiggled away from his mother to sit in his big sister’s lap, Olivia putting an arm around his middle while her other hand held her juice and it warmed Javier’s heart that they clearly had a bond—it made him happy they all had bonded and loved each other.

Connie’s head turned in the direction of Javier and Cielito. “Do you want to look at the other album since we finished the Colombia one?”

“Sure!” Cielito answered, closing the album in her lap, leaning forward to put it on the coffee table, and grabbing the other.

“You know, Jav,” Steve started, meeting his eyes, a brown beer bottle held in his hand on the recliner’s arm. “I once said you were gonna be a lifer with the DEA, and I’m glad I was wrong.”

He could recall when Steve had said that, and at the time, he agreed, his work was his life, and he didn’t think he could ever leave his job—he never fathomed it. Interestingly, the longer he worked there, the more disillusioned he became until he realized all of it was pointless, and he finally resigned. He just wished he would’ve figured things out earlier.

“I think being domesticated suits you better,” his friend continued. “You sure as heck are happier, and isn’t that all that matters?” He raised his beer before taking a drink.

“Yeah,” Javier said. “This life is definitely better.”

“Most of the pictures in this album are of Olivia because it’s one we have of her and before we had the boys,” Connie told them, bringing his attention to the open photo album on Cielito’s thighs. “But it was during a time when Javi stayed with us for a while, so he’s in there.”

Steve had turned the television onto a cartoon channel with the volume not too loud for the kids while they flipped through pages of pictures of Olivia, who was about five years old in them, and Connie telling them stories behind some of them. Stevie leaned back against his chest, holding his sippy cup to his mouth while watching the TV. The first photo Javier appeared in, they were at the zoo, and it was taken from the side, the grinning little girl on his white, button-up-covered shoulders with him pointing at something, his head turned and tilted up as he talked to her, his eyes shielded behind his sunglasses.

There were more pictures of them at the zoo, some from different beach trips, and a lot at the Murphys' home, Javier smiling and laughing in many of them.

They were looking at one Connie clearly took of him and Steve standing in the ocean up to their stomachs, across from each other, laughing, while Olivia was mid-air between them, having been thrown by one man to the other when Cielito looked at him.

“I’m really mad that your dad doesn’t have any of these and that you made me cry the first time I met him because the only pictures he had of you as an adult were of you miserable in Colombia. Where were these, Javier? All the smiles and laughs!”

He grimaced. “I didn’t know they existed…” That was the truth. Sure, he knew his friends had taken photos, but he always assumed they were of their kids. He didn’t realize they included him in so many.

Her eyes narrowed. “Uh huh, right, then explain this!”

She went back a few pages to a picture she had proclaimed was her favorite a little while ago—he was wearing a light blue button-up and jeans, a bright pink feather boa wrapped around his neck, and silver tiara on his head, looking like a hulking figure sitting on the tiny child-size chair at the tiny child-size table. Olivia was sitting across from him in a pink frilly dress and gold tiara, holding an itty bitty teacup, another three in front of her guests on the table, the other two seats occupied by a teddy bear and a The Little Mermaid Ariel Barbie.

What the woman he was going to marry found hilarious was he was dressed like that with his knees practically against his chest and was trying to look menacing as he glared at the camera with a hand up to hide from the little girl that he was giving the bird to the person taking the picture.

“You obviously knew they were taking this picture of you!” She poked it hard.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “But I figured Steve was just taking it to give me shi-crap later. I seriously didn’t know about the others.”

“Fine.” She looked at the other woman. “I really am going to need a copy of this if it won’t be too much trouble.”

Connie smiled. “I’ve got a duplicate somewhere. I’d just have to look, and I’ll send it your way.”

“You are amazing. Thank you so much! Are there, um, any pictures of Javi with the boys as babies…?”

Javier’s ears perked, his heart speeding up, hoping they did.

“That’s a great idea,” Steve said. “We gotta show her the photos of Javi with Stevie, Con.”

His best friend winked at him, and he decided at that moment he was going to make a run to the liquor store later to buy Steve an expensive bottle of top-shelf whiskey for being his wingman.

Connie frowned, her head turning to her husband. “But I haven’t put them in an album… They’re all loose.”

“That’s fine,” Cielito said a little too quickly, making him grin that she wanted to see him with a baby so badly.

“Yeah, Connie,” Javier added. “We don’t mind.”

“Oh, alright,” she said. “I’ll put these albums away.” She took the one his future wife held and closed it, getting up and grabbing the other on the table. “And I’ll get the other pictures. Be back in a jiffy.” She left the room.

Cielito looked at him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Is this a bad idea?”

“For your self-control?” he replied just as quietly, parroting back what she’d said earlier in the day. “Yes. For me getting that thing I want really bad? No. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Of course you do.”

He frowned, something in the back of his mind needing him to ask the next question.

“Am I pushing too much? Do you need more time?”

She pulled back to meet his eyes, her voice quiet enough for only him to hear.

“The first question, no. You’re just excited. The second, yes and no. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Oh.” A surprised look came over her face before she was looking to her other side. Javier leaned forward to see what got her attention and found Nate had crawled over and was sitting on his knees with his sippy cup in one hand and the other on her arm, clearly asking to be picked up. “Hi, buddy,” she said, immediately lifting him and getting him situated so he was half cradled in her arm and sitting in her lap, his curious eyes staring up at her face and tiny chubby hand reaching to touch it while he drank from his cup. “Hi, there,” she cooed, gently rubbing the arm he had held up. “I’m your tío’s girlfriend—”

“You’re his tía,” Javier corrected, feeling so soft at watching her interact with the little one he feared he might dissolve into a puddle.

“Sorry, I’m your tía, and you’re a cutie pie.” She softly poked him in the belly.

“Daddy,” Olivia said. “Look, Nate likes tía!” She was pointing at them beside her.

“He sure does, baby girl,” her father replied. “Isn’t that something?”

Stevie wanted to be a part of what was going on and moved to look into Cielito’s arms, letting his cup fall into Javier’s lap. “Nate likes tía!” The three-year-old hugged her arm. “I like tía, too.” Javier sucked in a breath. “She makes yummy cookies.”

“I like you, too, Stevie,” she told him, and Javier ruffled the boy’s dirty blonde hair, making him laugh. “And I, of course, like you, also, Olivia.” She glanced over at the girl. “I’m excited that you’re gonna be a paleontologist one day so you can show me real dinosaur bones.”

“I will!” The girl nodded, grinning.

He loved seeing her holding the toddler and talking to the other children, unable to keep the smile off his face as he watched and imagined what she’d look like with their own baby. Her answer to if she needed more time worried him a little, and he hoped they could talk about it soon so he knew what she meant. He was ready—more than ready, but he didn’t want to rush her if she wasn’t, and they’d figure this all out later.

Looking at pictures of Javi with a baby Stevie was absolutely a bad idea.

And it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him holding a baby before; he had a lot of cousins, many of whom had children under the age of two, that you’ve seen him interact with, and always caused you to have the same reaction of feeling like your ovaries were going to explode.

But these loose photos were on a different level.

He went through the stack of pictures that had combinations of Stevie with his sister, parents, and Javi, the latter being the ones you were most interested in—seeing Javi feeding the baby in his high chair, your future husband sitting in a rocking chair with Stevie cradled in his arm as he held a bottle, one of him on the couch with the baby in the crook of his arm and Olivia on his other side while he read them a children’s book, a photo of Javi passed out on the sofa with a protective hand on Stevie asleep on top of him, a candid shot of the man you were going to marry playing peek-a-boo with the baby, and the one that made your breath catch in your throat was Javi standing with Stevie strapped to his chest as he carried Olivia in his arm like it was no big deal.

There were others, and along with the pictures you saw earlier in the album, each and every one was like a glimpse into your future, showing you the type of doting, loving father he was going to be. What had heat crawling up your neck and heart racing was if this was what he was like with kids he considered his niece and nephew, then most likely he’d be like that but times a thousand with his own children.

He was going to be such a good dad.

Why had he ever thought he didn’t deserve to be one? Or that he’d be a bad father?

The thought that your future kids would be so loved made your eyes burn. They were going to have two parents who loved them all so much, and there wouldn’t be any favorites.

Seeing all of these photos and watching Javi interact with the Murphy kids—Stevie was sitting with him and pointing at the pictures, excitedly saying who was in them while the man you loved softly encouraged him and told him what a good job he was doing—had that ancient, primal part of your brain acting up again, this time screaming in the back of your mind that you’ve found the perfect mate to father your children, and it wasn’t wrong; it was exciting and really revving your engines.

There was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Obviously, Javi was jonesing to get going on the babymaking and had even gone so far as to figure out a place to live while your house was being built. You’d think with that problem solved and the assurance you’d be married before a baby was born, you’d be ready to go for it. Well, as much as you wanted a child, you were a little scared about the prospect of being pregnant and pushing a tiny human out of your vagina. You were a nurse, you knew the odds were in your favor that you’d be okay, but you were a nurse, and you also knew the things that could go wrong—Javier’s difficult birth that almost took his mother, coming to mind.

When it was something that was going to happen in the near future, everything was fine, and you were excited about starting your family; however, now that it was on your doorstep with your boyfriend banging on the door, you were kind of freaking out. You should’ve talked to Javi about this earlier when you were having your doubts and needed his reassurance, but at that point, you didn’t know his dad had already given the okay for you guys to move in.

The current climate in your head was that you loved the idea of having a baby with Javi and finally making him a father; looking at all of the pictures and watching him with the children was really doing it for you, and you couldn’t wait to be alone together later that night. The reality of actually going through with it and getting pregnant, carrying a child, and giving birth made you feel uneasy.

It was very confusing to want something yet be scared of it at the same time.

Javi stuffed the photos back into the big envelope the drug store put them in after they developed the film, setting it on the coffee table when he was done.

“Thank you for letting us look at all those pictures,” you said to Connie beside you with a smile. “It was nice seeing Javi so happy with the kids.”

Nate held your thumb in his little hand while his attention was on the television where cartoons played. Stevie was talking to Javi about something you weren’t paying attention to.

“You’re welcome.” She patted your knee. “When we still lived in Colombia, I swear the only time I ever saw Javi smile was when he held Olivia or played with her. He’d buy her toys, and when he’d come over for dinner, he’d take her for a bit to give me a breather. I’m not saying he was as playful and happy as he is now, but there was a difference between the Javi we knew and the Javi Olivia knew, which is still kinda true today.”

“Yeah, he’s sweeter with the kids.”

“And you.”

“And me,” you giggled.

“Just so you know,” Steve started. “Our kids could use some cousins—especially some bilingual ones. We want the boys to be fluent in Spanish like their sister, and it’d be nice for them to have more people to talk to.”

“Because you didn’t bother learning Spanish while living in a Spanish-speaking country for how many years?” Javi asked.

“Hey! I speak enough of it to get by.”

Javi leaned forward to look at the other end of the couch. “Olivia, ¿qué tan malo es tu papá para hablar español (How bad is your dad at speaking Spanish)?”

She grinned. “Él es muy malo (He’s very bad). Él apesta (He stinks).” She plugged her nose with her fingers.

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed again. “You guys know it’s against the rules to talk shit about me in Spanish.”

“Daddy said a bad word!” Stevie gasped. “That’s a bad word.”

The blonde man’s eyes widened. “Oh, sorry, kiddo. Daddy didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s a dollar in the swear jar, Dad,” Olivia said.

The swear jar was a big pickle jar they repurposed that sat on top of their fridge and was filled halfway with a mix of green bills and loose change.

“I’ll put it in there when I get up,” he sighed.

“You lost a dollar, and you don’t even know what we said,” Javi said, looking a little too delighted.

Steve was frowning, his eyes narrowed. “I know malo means bad, and the two of you were making fun of my Spanish.”

“¿Él realmente sabe o lo está adivinando (Does he really know that, or is he guessing)?” you asked the other two Spanish speakers.

“Él probablemente podría entender algo de lo que dijimos, pero creo que en la mayor parte, está adivinando (He could probably understand some of what we said, but I think for the most part, he’s guessing),” Javi answered.

“Solo entiende el español muy básico (He only understands very basic Spanish),” Olivia said. “Es muy gracioso (It’s really funny). Tío y yo podemos hablar de cualquier cosa y papá y mamá no entienden lo que estamos diciendo (Uncle and I can talk about anything and dad and mom don’t understand what we’re saying).”

“Oh god, Connie,” Steve said. “Now there’s three of them talking about us while we’re right here.”

“From what I’ve gathered, it’s just about how we don’t understand much, and I don’t think anything bad…” Connie replied.

“You’re right, Connie,” you told her. Looking between Javi and Olivia, you asked, “A ustedes dos les encanta hacer esto para volverlos locos, ¿no (You two love doing this to drive them crazy, don’t you)?”

“Sí (Yes),” they answered in unison with big smiles.

It was adorable.

“Y su papá tuvo tiempo más que suficiente para aprender el idioma, así que es su culpa que aún no lo entiende (And her dad had more than enough time to learn the language, so it’s his fault he still doesn’t understand it). Traté de enseñarle (I tried to teach him),” Javi said.

“Van a odiar cuando sus tres hijos hablen en un idioma que no entienden (They are going to hate when their three children speak in a language they don’t understand),” you replied.

“No puedo esperar (I can’t wait).”

“Estoy emocionado de que mis hermanos aprendan (I’m excited for my brothers to learn),” Olivia said. “Será como si tuviéramos un lenguaje secreto (It will be like we have a secret language).”

You looked at her, switching to English, “That will be really cool. Do you want to learn any other languages?”

“Ummm, I don’t know.” She shrugged.

“And that’s okay.”

Connie looked at the watch on her wrist. “Gosh, I better get started on making dinner.”

“Do you need help?” you asked.

Her eyes met yours. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to help. You’re on vacation and were sweet to make cookies with our kids.”

“I insist,” you said. Turning your head to Javi, you continued, “Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you take Nate? I’m gonna help Connie make dinner.”

“Yeah.” His attention went to the toddler sitting with him. “I gotta move you, bud.” As he said, he moved Stevie to his other knee, then easily took Nate from you, who was so engrossed in the TV that he didn’t make a sound of protest.

For dinner that evening, Connie was making spaghetti. You followed her into the kitchen, making small talk before she showed you what the sides would be. You offered to make the salad, getting set up at the counter with a cutting board, knife, box grater, and all of the veggies—romaine lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, and a long carrot (no onions because the kids hated them).

There was a lull in your conversation while you diced a tomato, the salad bowl already containing the chopped lettuce, and Connie was in the process of browning the the meat for the sauce.

The last thing she said was that she bet Javi would keep the two boys occupied for maybe another ten minutes before they wandered into the kitchen to find her. You thought it was adorable, making you wonder if your future children would love you that much, leading you to think about how ready Javi was to start a family and your slight hang-up.

“Hey, Connie?” You kept cutting the tomato.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a kinda personal question? I, um, don’t have many friends who’ve given birth, and my relationship with my mother is a joke, so I’m hoping you could give me some insight…”

The meat had finished cooking, and she added canned tomato sauce, tomato paste, and seasonings with a bit of water.

She put a lid over the pan as it simmered and turned to face you. “Ask me anything, honey.”

You smiled, beginning to dice the next tomato. “Okay, were you scared at all about any aspect of pregnancy or childbirth?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty common. I see it all the time in L & D. With mine, I had a lot of fear while I was pregnant because I was so worried something was gonna happen to the baby—we had trouble conceiving. Are you scared?”

“Yes,” you sighed.

“About which part?”

“All of it…”

“Well, here’s what I’m gonna tell you: it’s weird as hell to have a human growing inside of you, but the moment you register it’s your baby—your child, everything kinda changes, and you fall in love with this tiny person. You’ll worry about their health, you’re probably gonna feel like shit, and childbirth is scary, but I’m telling you, when you get to the point you’re ready to pop, you’re gonna want them to get that baby out of you as quickly as possible. And all of it is worth it when you finally get to hold that little human you shared your body with for nine months. Except, it’s really freaking annoying when you do 99.9% of the work, and the baby comes out looking exactly like their father. What’s up with that?”

She sounded so annoyed, and it made you laugh.

“I would actually love it if our kid was a little Javi clone,” you said, glancing over at her. “I’ve seen pictures of him growing up; he was a cutie.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think my husband is extremely attractive, and I know I’m lucky, but it feels like a betrayal that I grew this baby from nothing, and he got none of my genes—not even my eyes!” She threw up her arms. “The only baby I will ever have, and he’s mini-Steve, which, just so you know, we picked out his name before he was born.”

“You jinxed yourself,” you giggled. “He took Steven Murphy Jr. literally. Ooh, I wonder if we’re ever having a boy if Javi would agree to name him Javier Jr.”

“Since you’re fine if he comes out as a mini-Javi, you should go for it. How cute would it be if our minis were best friends?”

“God, that would be so cute.”

Just the thought had you feeling soft.

“Still scared, sweetie?” she asked.

You smiled. “I guess no more than I should be and a bit nervous, but you made me feel way better about everything. Thank you, Connie.”

“You’re welcome, and know I’m here if you have any more questions or just need to talk—Javi’s family, and that makes you family, too.”

Looking over at her, emotion was making your throat feel tight. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

All that Connie said really had helped you feel better, knowing it was normal to have some fear, and like she said, in the end, it would all be worth it when you finally got to hold your baby.

As the mother predicted, the two toddlers arrived in the kitchen, Stevie’s steps more sure-footed than Nate’s toddling, the youngest going straight to grabbing Connie’s leg.

Javi followed them in, and you weren’t sure if he was just ensuring they’d gone to find their mom or if he wanted to see you, but with how his arms wrapped around your middle from behind, and he kissed just below your ear, you thought it was probably both.

Nathaniel was on Connie’s hip as she cooked, the woman not hindered by holding a child.

“What are you doing?” Stevie asked as he stood beside you, looking up.

“I’m making a salad,” you answered.

“Can I see, pleeeasssee?”

“Uh.” There was no way you could use a knife or the grater while holding a wiggly kid, and it seemed a bit dangerous, but he was staring up at you with those big round blue eyes, and you didn’t want to tell him no.

“I’ll show you, buddy,” Javi said, moving to bend over with a wheeze to pick up the toddler and straighten. He stepped away from where you were working so the child couldn’t reach but could still see what you were doing. The man pointed at your chopping board. “She’s cutting up a tomato.”

At him saying that you went back to finishing dicing the second tomato, quickly working the knife in practiced motions.

“What color is the tomato?” he asked Stevie in a gentle tone.

“Red!” the little one answered.

“Good job. Red is my favorite color. What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue! My blankie’s blue.”

“It is.”

“You like red.”

“I do.”

You finished the tomato and grabbed the cucumber.

“What’s that?” Stevie asked, pointing at it.

“A cucumber,” Javi answered.

“What’s that?” he asked again, looking at the man holding him this time.

“A vegetable. They’re yummy. Do you want to try it?”

It was killing you how cute their conversation was.

“Yes.”

“May I please have a slice, mi amor (my love)?” Javi asked you.

You stopped cutting, picking up a thin slice between two fingers you held up to him. “Here you go.”

“What do we say?” Javi asked the child as he carefully took it from you.

“I love youuu,” Stevie replied.

You giggled, Javi chuckling. “We do love her,” Javi said. “But since she’s nice and gave us something, we thank her. Do you wanna tell her thank you?”

“Thank youuu, tía. I love youuu.”

A smile was on your face. “You’re welcome, Stevie—I love you, too.”

“Here you go, bud,” Javi said, holding the piece of cucumber up to the toddler’s mouth. “It’s yummy.”

The child chomped down on it, humming happily as he chewed.

“Is it yummy?” you asked.

He nodded, taking what was left of the slice from Javi in his little hand and munching on it until he’d eaten the whole thing.

In less than half an hour, dinner was ready, their six-seat dining room table big enough for everyone to have a seat—Nate in a high chair next to Steve sitting at one end of the table, Olivia at the other, Stevie in a booster seat beside Connie, and Javi and you on taking up the two seats opposite them.

When your boyfriend was planning the trip, he made sure you both were on the same page about the limited time you’d be visiting and asked if on the first or second night, you wanted him to take you out to dinner or dancing since it was Miami, after all. Your answer was you were there to visit his best friends and their family, so you wanted to spend as much time as possible getting to know them—going out on the town wasn’t important for this trip, and you only hoped there’d be a chance to go to the beach.

You didn’t need him to wine and dine you—you were more than happy eating a homemade meal with the Murphys, laughing and chatting between bites.

Javi and you cleaned the kitchen without being asked after dinner, everyone having milk and cookies before it was time for the kids to go to bed.

Their bedtime was at eight o’clock, and Connie and Steve were double-teaming the boys’ bathtime. Olivia was old enough to care for herself, even though she tried her best to get her parents to let her stay up later. She did ask for Javi to tell her a story before bed, which he agreed to, leaving you alone in their family room watching a rerun of The Brady Bunch.

It gave you time to think, sitting there on the couch, chewing on your thumb.

Even with your fears, the baby fever was strong; all day, as you watched Javi with the kids and looked at pictures, you kept having thoughts about what he’d be like with your own children and feeling this overwhelming need to have a baby with him. There was something really hot about a man who was good with kids, and add in the knowledge you knew for a fact he would be a great parent and partner, had you feeling some type of way...

It was horny; you were so insanely horny over imagining him as the father of your kids.

It didn’t help that he kept giving you material for your imagination to run wild, like him playing with the children and the scenes in the pictures, or when he held Stevie in the kitchen while you were helping make dinner—his free hand had been on your back and he’d pause his conversation with the three-year-old for a second to kiss your hair a few times, easily envisioning him in the same situations with your own kids. Or during dinner with everyone sitting down to eat, and without them knowing, his hand going under the table to ghost his fingers along your jean short-covered thigh until it found its home on your inner thigh, wedged a little in the crease where your leg met your hip, Javi talking to everyone like he couldn’t feel the warmth at your center and thinking he’d absolutely do that at dinner with your own little family. Or there was how he gave you a hug and kiss before he went to tell Olivia a bedtime story, knowing that would be a daily occurrence when you had kids.

God, you wanted him so bad, having to rub your thighs together to ease the ache between them.

From the looks he’d been giving you throughout the day, you were pretty sure he wanted you just as much.

Could he really get you pregnant in a month?

Were you ready to go for it?

It felt like butterflies were fluttering around in your tummy at the thought.

There wasn’t any doubt for you about Javi saying his dad wanted you to live with him, but it felt kind of rude not talking to Chucho yourself before making this huge, life-altering decision that would affect him. You checked your watch, seeing it was almost eight in Laredo. He’d still be up. You could call him and talk it out.

“Hey,” Javi’s voice made you jump in your seat, your heart thudding rapidly. “Sorry.” He came around the couch, standing before you, your head tilting up to look at him.

“It’s okay,” you said.

He had a hand on a hip, smiling down at you with his eyes crinkled in happiness. “You ready for bed? We’re getting up early.”

You started moving to get up, and he put out a palm you took and helped pull you up while you said, “Um, yes. I am very ready for bed. Steve and Connie aren’t gonna miss us?” You were toe to toe with him when you stood.

“No.” He shook his head. “They know we’re getting up early and are exhausted from our long day.”

“Yes, we’re very exhausted from the long day,” you said in a monotone.

His tongue peeked out to swipe over his bottom lip. “Let’s go.”

He turned to grab the TV remote on the coffee table and clicked off the television before it was set down again, and he took your hand, leading you out of the room and toward the guest room, running into Steve and Connie in the hallway who whispered ‘Good night.’

In the bedroom, Javi locked the door, and with all the pent-up tension inside of you, it was surprising he didn’t kiss you immediately; instead, he started working open the buttons on his shirt as he walked over to his duffle bag, shrugging it off when he got to it, and getting out his toiletries bag that he took with him into the bathroom.

To be honest, you stood by the door completely confused while you watched him do all of this and only snapped out of it when the bathroom door closed halfway behind him.

From the sounds of the toilet flushing, then the sink continuously running, he was really going through his bedtime routine, probably washing his face at this moment after he cleaned his hands, and it annoyed you he was doing that instead of fucking you right this second. Your socked feet didn’t make any noise on the hard stone tile as you stomped angrily to your suitcase and got into it, quickly stripping out of your outfit and keeping your underwear on out of spite, covering them with sleep shorts and putting on an oversized t-shirt, you knew he’d hate since he didn’t like you sleeping in clothes.

You softly knocked on the bathroom door as you asked, “Can I wash my face and brush my teeth?” Your stuff was already in there for that.

The door was pulled open as you spoke, Javi standing there in just his unbuttoned jeans, it taking everything in you not to glance down at the trail of hair below his belly button. His face was freshly washed, and a red toothbrush was in his mouth, saying around it, “Yeah.”

He finished brushing his teeth as you walked in, wiping his mouth with a towel and giving you a kiss on the forehead before he went out to the bedroom.

You went through your own routine, the bed squeaking loudly, telling you he had gotten into it.

When you came out, only his bedside lamp was on, and he’d taken the side furthest from where you were standing, lying under the covers with his head propped up on his arm, where he could see you enter the room.

He was smiling up until you pulled back the blankets on your side.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting into bed.”

“Yeah, but what are you wearing?”

The sounds the bed made as you crawled in made your jaw clench, all high-pitched and awful.

“Clothes.”

“Why are you wearing them?”

You both usually slept naked.

You turned your back to him, the bedframe squealing softly as you got comfortable.

“‘Cause I feel like it.”

He sighed, metal screeching with every move he made to end up with his naked body flush behind yours, his arm going over your middle, his mouth at your ear as he spoke softly, “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m annoyed with you.”

“What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do.”

He sighed again. “What didn’t I do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s not like you’ve been driving me crazy all fucking day with your sexy DILF energy, and I couldn’t wait to be alone with you so you could give me some good dick or anything.”

He snorted, and it made you grind your teeth.

“I’m sorry I upset you with the lack of good dick and for driving you crazy all day.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But you said earlier you’d talk to me later about how you needed more time, and I thought that discussion was more important than sex and what we were going to discuss when we got back to the room tonight...”

Your stomach dropped, eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh god.” You didn’t even care about the horrendous noises as you flipped over to face him, your hand going to his cheek. “I’m a horny asshole.”

He was frowning. “You forgot.”

“Actually, it wasn’t that I forgot; it was that between then and now, Connie was a gem and gave me some insight to help me work through my shit. Also, she is really mad about Stevie being a carbon copy of Steve.”

“I know—what shit did you need to work through?”

“It’s so dumb, but when you told me you actually talked to your dad about us moving in, it made things real, and I started panicking about the reality of pregnancy and childbirth—which I know most likely everything will be fine, but I was freaking out. Connie talked me through it, though, and let me know it’s pretty common to have some fear, and now I think I’m okay; nervous and a little scared, but okay.”

His fingers ghosted along the skin of your cheek to cup your face, speaking so quietly, “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“I mean, wouldn’t you be a little scared about growing a tiny human inside of you and then pushing them out of your vagina? And don’t say you don’t know because you don’t have a vagina” You poked him in his bare chest. “You practically live in my pussy—imagine a baby coming out of it.”

“...Okay, yeah, I can see how that would be scary. Jesus, I can barely get my dick inside it…”

“Yes, Javier, you have a big dick.” You rolled your eyes. “Is your ego stroked enough?”

He pinched your hip, and you giggled. “I just mean my dick barely fits inside your pussy. How the fuck is a whole baby gonna come out of it?”

Your eyebrow lifted. “Are you being serious? Do you need me to explain the magic of childbirth?”

“No. It was a rhetorical question.”

“Thank god.”

The look on his face changed, seeing the hope glimmering in his chocolate-colored eyes, his hand rubbing your side over your shirt.

“Is this a yes to a baby?” he asked.

“Before I answer.” You pressed your finger to his lips. “I need to talk to your dad just to make sure we’re all on the same page.” He nodded his head. “But, once I talk to him and everything’s peachy keen, it’s a yes.”

A surprised gasp left you when you suddenly found yourself on your back with a very happy man on top of you, slotting his naked hips between your thighs and pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, moaning when his tongue licked into your mouth to tangle with your own, feeling his cock beginning to harden.

There was a throbbing ache in your core, wanting, no, needing, him to fill it in the only way he could, stuffing you full with his dick, then his come. Your fingers slid into his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp, the bed complaining with every minuscule movement you made.

SCREECH-Screech-screech. Javi sat up on his knees, the blankets falling down behind him. His eyebrows were pulled together, and his mouth was turned down in a frown as he grabbed the hem of your t-shirt. “If you were naked—” The bed squeaked as your upper body rose for him to tug your shirt off, it getting tossed to the floor. You laid back down, the frame screeching loudly again. “—you’d already be coming on my fingers.” Your cunt clenched hard around nothing at his words.

“I’m sorry!” you harshly whispered. “I was mad.”

He moved back on his knees, causing more ear-splitting noises, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. “Yeah, you kept your fucking panties on.” His face scrunched in confusion. “Why would you make it harder for me to fuck you?”

“Because: how annoyed are you right now?”

Squeak. His jaw ticked, and you knew he was irritated. “Between this fucking bed and having to waste time I could be fucking you, undressing you? I’m pretty fucking annoyed.” He pulled off your remaining clothes in one go, your ass rising, then falling back onto the bed and bouncing twice to the tune of the worst high-pitched sounds that could rival nails on a chalkboard. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he seethed.

You grimaced. “I am so sorry, babe. Can I make it up to you? A sloppy blowjob? I can sit on your face? You can play with my ass?” He always loved that.

He moved to lay on his side beside you, the journey plagued by ungodly noise, looking at you with a grumpy expression—someone pounded on the wall connecting your room to Steve and Connie’s master bathroom, Javi’s face turning red and eyes flashing with anger.

“Fuck this,” he growled.

He tossed his pillow and yours to the floor next to you and crawled over you to get off the mattress, the bedframe singing the godawful song of its people as he went, Javi pulling the comforter off the bed to fall on the floor. He groaned as he bent down to situate everything, ending up on his knees atop the spread-out blanket when he was satisfied. His arm went over your belly, using his strength to get you to the edge of the bed in a chorus of squeaks and grunts, and let you get on your feet on the ground before he dragged you down to lay on the comforter with your head cushioned on a pillow.

Javi was back to lying on his side beside you, holding his head up on his arm to look at you with irritation written on his features, his other hand smoothing down your belly to the apex of your thighs, the slide of two thick fingers through your slit making your breath catch in your throat.

“You wore clothes to annoy me.” He pouted.

He gathered some of the wetness pooling at your opening and used it to easily swirl his digits over your sensitive clit, sparking pleasure in your belly.

“Yes,” you gasped.

“You know all the little shit that annoys the fuck out of me—like the fucking underwear and shorts.”

He was fine if you wore underwear to bed, but underwear and sleep shorts? That was too many layers for him and, frankly, you, too. His preference was for you to be naked—he loved skin-to-skin contact and having easy access when you wanted him or when he wanted you.

“I’m sorry.” You loudly gulped, the beginning of your orgasm starting to make itself known. “Please let me come.” He seemed annoyed enough. You could imagine he’d draw things out and make you beg.

His expression changed to confusion. “I’m gonna let you come, baby.” He removed his hand, a pitiful sound leaving you as you watched him suck his fingers into his mouth, hearing the swish of saliva—they came out from between his plush lips, glistening in the low light of the room, and you moaned when without any preamble he pressed those two digits into your wet entrance.

He quietly shushed you. “Gotta be quiet, Cielito,” he said. You bit your bottom lip, reveling in the slight stretch of his fingers as he pumped them slowly in and out, your eyelids fluttering shut. “You also know all the little things that make me happy—like how I prefer Mexican Coca-cola, and you do shit like make me stop at that corner store on our way to Pop’s every week to pick up three bottles.” He started moving faster, and it made you whine at how good it felt. “You love me, you care about me, and make me so fucking happy—I was really fucking happy about your yes.” He crooked his digits, sliding the pads of his fingertips along your upper wall until he hit something divine that made you gasp. “There it is.” His focus went to that spot, making sure to press against it every time he pushed inside, your vision dotting with stars at the intense pleasure. “I was really fucking happy about your yes,” he said again, the added friction of his thumb rubbing your clit, rocketing you to your end, the knot in your belly winding up so tight it was close to snapping. “Then the clothes and the fucking bed—”

“Threw off your groove,” you panted, grabbing at the blanket for something to hold onto.

“Threw off my fucking groove and pissed me off.”

“I’m sorry.” You felt so bad but were also so close to coming.

His head came forward to kiss you tenderly. “Quería hacerte el amor (I wanted to make love to you),” he murmured into your lips, and you clenched around his fingers. “Quería hacerlo bien suave, dártelo despacito (I wanted to do it softly, give it to you slowly).” His hand sped up, hearing the wet slide of his digits fucking into you, the pleasure making the muscles in your stomach tighten and tighten. He nipped at your lip. “But I’m too worked up,” he rasped. “So, now, after you’re my good girl and you come on my fingers, you’re getting put face down, ass up, and I’m gonna give you that good dick you’re entitled to as my future wife and mother of my children—and next time you’re gonna ask for it instead of pulling the passive aggressive bullshit you did tonight; I love you more than anything, but I can’t read your mind.”

“Oh, god,” you moaned, wound up so tight you were dangling on the edge.

He kissed your cheek, trailing his lips down to your ear, his words coming out deep and husky with a slight edge that brooked no room for argument, “Javi,” he corrected, “the man you’re gonna marry, who's gonna make you a mother, and right now, come.”

The tension inside you snapped, the order doing you in as you came with a loud moan Javi smothered with his mouth pressing to yours. Euphoria pulsed out from your center while your pussy squeezed his fingers hard enough that they stopped moving, his thumb gently stroking over your sensitive bundle of nerves to help you ride out your high.

He was languidly kissing you, your body pleasantly relaxed and feeling amazing.

It was wetter between your legs, your slick drenching his fingers. You slid your hands into soft strands of his hair, kissing him harder, and he groaned, grinding his hard cock into your hip for some friction, his precum streaking on your skin.

Javi pulled back, and you chased his lips. “You good?” he asked.

Your eyes opened, seeing his plush lips were red and shiny from spit. “Yeah.”

His head nodded, his loving gaze admiring every inch of your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You smirked. “...and I love that I’m entitled to your good dick.”

His mouth curved in a crooked smile, removing his hand from between your legs to grab your smaller one and press it to his hot, throbbing length. “It’s yours,” he said, “and only yours, so yeah, you’re entitled to it, mi amor (my love).”

You took the girth of him in hand, and his mouth fell open as you stroked the velvety soft skin. “God, you’re so fucking hot, and you were exceptionally hot today. Like, thank you for making me come on your fingers, but I’m afraid I am going to die if you don’t put this thing inside me where it belongs.”

His dark eyes got darker. “Flip over,” he ordered.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” you said, immediately turning over onto your stomach and getting on your knees. You leaned forward to rest your arms and head on the pillow, keeping your ass up in the air.

Pained groans sounded from Javi as he moved, knowing being on the stone-tiled floor was probably fucking up his knees and back. You grabbed the extra pillow beside the one you were on and held it back behind you. “Use this as a knee pad.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning. “What about your knees?”

“You’re a sweetheart for worrying about my knees, but they’re fine. I want you comfy while you fuck my brains out.”

A loud sigh left him. “I should be fucking you in a bed—” There was anger in his tone, snatching the pillow from you. “—not the fucking floor.” You could feel the air moving behind you as he situated himself on the pillow. “You deserve better than the fucking floor.”

You frowned. “If you’re this mad about it, we can fuck on the chair again? Or you can bend me over the bathroom counter?”

“No.” He had shuffled close enough that his body heat was radiating against your skin, hearing him spit on his fingers, followed by wet strokes as he slicked up his cock. “This is how I want you.”

Your head was resting on your crossed arms, and you wiggled your backside. “You did say you were gonna give me that good dick while I was face down, ass up.”

His big hands grabbed your asscheeks and spread them. “Yeah, I fucking am.” A soft moan fell from your lips when you felt warm saliva land on the skin between your asshole and pussy, one of his hands sliding the tip of his cock through the spit to notch at your entrance. “I need you to be quiet.”

“I can be—” The sentence ended with you shoving your face into the pillow to muffle your moan as the tight walls of your cunt were stretched and filled with his hard, thick cock, pushing in so deep he kissed your womb.

He bottomed out, his hips connecting with the plump flesh of your ass, and it stole your breath, your head going dizzy with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispered, digging his fingers into your hips. “Fucking perfect.” He pulled out halfway and pushed back in. “The perfect pussy.” Now, he was rocking into you, keeping as much of himself inside you as possible while still getting some friction. “God, I love you.”

Your head turned to speak quietly, “Are you already pussy drunk?”

He swatted your asscheek. “Don’t give me shit,” he grumped. “You weren’t the only one driven crazy all fucking day.”

“I’m not giving you shit—it’s making me feel really good about myself.”

“Yeah?” His hands were gripping the globes of your ass. “You love knowing what you do to me?” he asked, sliding his dick out until just the tip was inside. He thrusted forward hard, your eyes rolling back in your head and a gasp leaving your lips. “You love the power you have over me?” he questioned, pulling out to the same point. Thrust. “That not even a second inside you, and I never wanna fucking leave.” He kept that slow, hard pace as he spoke, moving in and out. You reached one of your hands between your legs, spreading two digits around where he was spearing into you to feel how he was stretching you open. “My favorite place to put my dick.”

It was taking everything in you to hold back your moans, whimpers slipping from your throat instead from how fucking good it felt. With the way you were positioned, his cock was sliding against those spots that made your toes curl and your vision blur, having a hard time thinking, let alone speaking—his last comment somehow caused you to blurt out, “Liar.”

He was softly grunting behind you, his fingers tightening on your ass.

His pace didn’t waver. “What am I lying about?”

He really wanted an answer? It took a lot of effort for you to reply, a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin, swallowing hard before you spoke. “Your favorite—” He pushed into you, and it hit so good you moaned. “—fuck,” you tried again. “Your favorite place is my ass.” His rhythm stuttered, and he kept his groan low.

His voice was rough, “No, it’s not. That’s my second favorite—fuck, you feel so good—so fucking wet. This pussy is my favorite.” You could tell he was exciting himself. “Fucking love it—can never get enough of it.”

The swing of his hips sped up, fucking into you faster, your ass jiggling as his body collided with yours. This new tempo had you putting your face back into the cushiony pillow to dampen your moans, your fingers moving to rub at your clit, causing fire to ignite in your belly; soft grunts coming from behind you, hearing the slap of skin on skin, and the sounds wet where he was working himself into your cunt, a steady stream of your arousal dripping down his shaft to his balls slapping against your digits.

The heat at the base of your spine was growing, his dick pounding into you at a punishing pace, mewling incessantly from the onslaught. Each thrust had you seeing stars, the pleasure building you higher and higher, your belly clenching in anticipation for your impending orgasm.

It didn’t even surprise you how quickly he was working you up with the way you were pent up from watching him all day—how tempting it’d been to haul him away and fuck him, and he wasn’t disappointing you now, truly giving you the good dick you’d wanted.

The muscles in your stomach were beginning to tighten, so fucking lost in what he was doing to you and your fingers, you’d forgotten to control your volume, a big hand squeezing its way between your face and the pillow to cover your mouth.

Javi came down over your back, holding himself up on an arm while he kept fucking into you, dipping his upper body low enough his lips grazed the shell of your ear, feeling his hot, panting breaths.

“Such a good fucking girl taking it,” he breathily rasped into your ear. “Am I fucking you good? Is this the good dick you wanted?” You moaned into his palm. “Your needy little pussy just needed my cock?” He was pounding into you hard enough to make your thighs jiggle and ass shake like jello. “Turned you on watching me today? You love knowing that I’ll be a good father? That I’ll actually give a shit? That you just, fuck,” he groaned. “That you just have to say the word, and I’ll fuck a baby into you?” He was moving faster. “I’ll give you a baby—I’ll keep your perfect little pussy stuffed with my come to make sure it takes.” The sentence made you clench around him, so close to your climax you could taste it. “Is that what you want?”

You couldn’t speak, not with the way he was fucking you, unable to articulate words as he impaled you on his dick.

“Are you cock dumb, Cielito?” he asked through heavy breaths. “Am I fucking you too good? I know you’re close. Give me another, and I’ll fuck you full of me.”

Your body was trembling, right on the cusp of coming.

“Come all over my cock, baby, and I’ll fill you up. Just think, after my birthday, when I fuck my come deep inside you, I could end up knocking you up.”

Finally, you were cresting, your cunt clamping down on him hard enough, he slowed as you came with a whine, and tears leaked from your eyes. Pleasure exploded out from your core, feeling it in your fingers and toes, your mind going pleasantly blank while your chest heaved and your heart raced.

“My good girl.” He sounded pained, rolling his hips to extend your high. “You’re so fucking good to me—I fucking love you.”

He pulled out of you and removed his hand from your mouth, and you hated how empty you felt.

Groaning, he sat up on his knees.

He tapped your hip. “I need you on your back.”

His hands were gentle as he helped you in your fucked out state to get onto your back with him in the space between your spread legs. He ended up over you, with an arm beside your head, the other guiding himself back inside you in one smooth thrust that made you whimper.

Your eyes were closed, but you could feel how he surrounded you—the mass of him on top of you with those broad shoulders you loved so much.

When he started moving, he didn’t go slow, nor was he going the typical speed to chase his own high—it was something in between that had him slickly sliding in and out of your drenched pussy, hearing the wet suck of each stroke.

First, his lips found yours, kissing you while his hands sought out your own, interlacing your fingers together as he held them above your heads. Your bodies were glistening and hair damp with sweat, not caring how the skin that came in contact stuck together.

You were still feeling good from your orgasm and loved how he felt inside you, knowing this was how he originally wanted to fuck you.

“Te amo (I love you),” he said into your lips, sounding wrecked. “Te amo tanto (I love you so much). No puedo esperar a verte usando un anillo (I can’t wait to see you wearing a ring on your finger). No puedo esperar a verte embarazada (I can’t wait to see you pregnant).” His pace was quickening, his words getting breathier. “No puedo esperar a que seas mi esposa (I can’t wait for you to be my wife). No puedo esperar a que seas la madre de mi hijos (I can’t wait for you to be the mother of my children). No puedo esperar a vivir en la casa de tus sueños contigo (I can’t wait to live in the house of your dreams with you). No puedo esperar a pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you). Te amo, mi Cielito, mi amor, mi vida, mi alma, mi todo (I love you, my Cielito, my love, my life, my soul, my everything).”

“God,” you softly moaned. “This is what you meant when you said querías hacerme el amor (you wanted to make love to me).” This was the only way you were okay with the phrase—it sounded very romantic in Spanish. “How do you make me fall more in love with you?” You kissed him. “It’s not fair.” Your words were muffled. “I want to be married to you and have your babies.” Your legs went around his hips, digging your heels into his flexed asscheeks to pull him closer to you each time he pushed in. “Fuck a baby into me, Javi.” He groaned at your words, his hips moving faster, finally working toward his end. “I want one so bad—I’m hoping I can get rid of my birth control tomorrow.” Which was true.

The sound he made, you’d think he’d been wounded, his strokes getting jerky, his face going into your neck as he breathed through his bared teeth until he was pushing in all the way, biting into your shoulder to muffle his ragged moan as he came. You felt as his cock thickened and pulsed, spurting hot come as deep inside you as he could get, your cunt clenching around him.

This was what you had needed all damn day, finally feeling sated at being full of him, all of him—his dick, his come—sighing happily.

He let go of your hands, and you found yourself under the comforting weight of the man you’d one day marry and have children with, sliding your fingers into the soft, thick, sweat-damp strands of his hair, making him hum and nuzzle into your throat as you lightly scratched at his scalp.

Nothing mattered when you were like this; no one else existed. There was only Javi and you, you and Javi. He was what you could feel and what you could smell. When you opened your eyes, he was what you could see; his heavy breaths were what you could hear—he was everything.

He was your everything.

Javier Peña was your today, tomorrow, next week, and next year. He was your present and future, the one you were meant to spend the rest of your days on this planet with and haunt all of eternity in the afterlife with. He was your person, the love of your life, your soulmate, and most of all, your best friend.

You were going to marry and start a family with your best friend, the man who knew you better than anyone else and loved you more, too.

Why were you ever scared about having a child when you knew he’d be by your side every step of the way and take care of you?

Because you’ve never had this kind of support or been loved like this before. You were in new territory and treading carefully, learning as you went—both of you were learning to live this new life together and figuring things out. As Javi said earlier in the day, it wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows. You were going to have your ups and downs, but all that mattered was you stuck together through the good and the bad because you truly loved each other.

Time passed, the minutes going into the double digits before either of you spoke, content in your cocoon.

“Did you mean it?” he said the words into your skin.

“Did I mean what?” It took some head-turning and neck stretching to kiss his forehead.

“You wanna get rid of your birth control tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Your fingers stroked through his hair. “I was gonna call your dad right before you came and got me for bed, but now it’s too late. I’ll leave a message on his answering machine in the morning since he’ll be working to give us a call on his lunch break so I can talk to him.”

Javi’s head popped up to look you in the eyes with a grin. “He’ll answer the first time you call.”

You frowned. “He’ll already be working by six… He won’t be home.”

He was practically vibrating with excitement. “Trust me, he’ll be home.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What do you know that I don’t know?”

“Nothing that you don’t already know—Pop really wants to be an abuelo (grandpa), and he’s on our ass about grandkids all the fucking time.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain him being home tomorrow…”

“Oh, yeah, I talked to him earlier and mentioned you wanted to talk to him before we finally went for it, and he got so excited, he said he’d stay home the next couple of days in case you called.”

That sounded like something Chucho would do if he knew there was a chance it’d speed up him getting his grandkids, and it warmed your heart, making you smile. “He’s the best—I love your dad.”

“He’s your dad, too—he already calls you his nuera (daughter-in-law).”

“Sure, but it feels a little sweet home Alabama saying, ‘I love our dad’ with your dick still inside me.”

A high-pitched sound came from air escaping between his lips, which he was struggling to keep closed, it sputtering into a full-on laugh, his eyes crinkling at the edges in mirth.

“That’s fucked up,” he wheezed.

You were smiling, pushing his bangs away from his face. “It’s the truth. The sentiment is sweet, but the phrasing is a real boner killer.”

“I love you.” He was calming down, adjusting his weight onto one arm in order to cradle your face in his other palm.

“I love you, too.”

The smile on his face was big and bright, a joyful chuckle leaving him as he leaned in to kiss you—something sweet, and tender, feeling his happiness with each press of his plush lips to yours.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” he said between kisses.

“I’m not pregnant yet.”

“You will be soon.” And he said it so matter of factly, with such surety, it had pleasure shivering down your spine, your cunt clenching around his softened cock, making him hiss from the overstimulation.

A shift happened, the kisses turning more fervent before he was pulling out of you and making a journey with his lips down your body, to between your legs, where he worshipped you with his mouth and tongue, your fingers tugging on his hair, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet.

After he pulled another orgasm from you, he finally seemed satisfied, and a quick shower was taken to wash the sex away from your bodies. Javi was so pissed off about the bed he refused to sleep in it how Steve had intended and instead quietly moved the furniture around, pushing an end table and the bedframe closer to the closet to give him enough space to put the mattress on the floor. It was going to be an absolute bitch to get up from in the morning, but your future husband was pleased with himself for getting around his friend trying to cockblock him, and you both were happy you weren’t plagued with any more godawful noise.

This time, you were naked when you crawled into bed with Javi, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, tangling your legs together. Exhaustion caught up to you from the long day, sleep making your eyes heavy, smiling when he kissed your forehead, then your lips, his nose nudging yours as he whispered, “I love you.”

Your thoughts had become slow, so comfortable and warm, feeling so loved and happy, you were drifting off, mumbling as you went, “I love you, too.”

The bright teal walls and floral artwork hanging on them let him know he was standing in the hallway at the back of his father’s house—his mother had chosen each piece, and his dad had hammered each nail they hung from in the spots she’d decided. In all his years in this house, he’d never seen these walls bare and loved even after all this time since his mom had passed away, his father hadn’t changed a single thing she decorated; not in this hallway, not in his parent’s bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, the entryway, the guest room; they all had a touch of her, little traces of her memory with the pictures she chose to display or the knick-knacks she left on shelves or decorations adorning the spaces.

Sounds were coming from the kitchen that told him someone was cooking—a tune he couldn’t quite make out but somehow knew playing on his mother’s favorite Spanish radio station, something frying on the stove, the dings and scrapes of cooking utensils against pots and pans—the familiarity of it making him wonder what his Cielito was making, and feeling like he was floating across the floor with how smoothly he walked toward the noises.

One moment, he was walking, the next, he was in the kitchen beside the table. His vision was soft around the edges and unfocused, but he knew the woman whose back was to him wasn’t Cielito—it was almost like she was a shadow; the shape of an adult human female with no details.

The dark figure’s head turned to look over their shoulder at him, and even without a face, he could tell they were smiling.

“Ah, mi Javiercito, estoy muy feliz de que estés aquí (Ah, my Javier, I’m so happy you’re here)!” His vision focused as she spoke and filled in those details that were missing, his mother appearing before him with her brown hair that matched his beginning to grey and the same lines on her face that were in the photo taken on his parents’ 35th anniversary. “Te he echado de menos, nene (I’ve missed you, baby boy).” She turned to face him, wearing her light pink, rose-printed apron with the ruffle trim and two big, solid dark pink pockets on the front. “Ven a ayudar a tu mamá a abrir este frasco obstinado (Come help your mom open this stubborn jar).” She held it up, and he was so transfixed with her he didn’t care to see what was in it.

“Amá (Mom),” he whispered, trying not to cry. “¿Eres tú, amá (Is that you, mom)?”

“¿Estuviste ausente por tanto tiempo que te olvidaste de tu pobre madre (Were you away for so long that you forgot about your poor mother)? Sí, soy yo (Yes, it’s me). Ahora, ayúdame a abrir este frasco (Now, help me open this jar).” She lifted the glass again. “Tu papá está trabajando y tengo que terminar de hacer la cena (Your dad is working and I need to finish making dinner). Es una gran noche para todos nosotros (It’s a big night for all of us).”

Javier took the jar and easily got the lid off with a pop as he removed it.

His mother was much shorter than him, and she reached up to grab his face, pulling him down to kiss all over his cheeks like he was a child before she held them and looked him in the eyes.

“Gracias, Javiercito (Thank you, Javier),” she said. “Estoy muy orgullosa de ti y del hombre increíble en el que te has convertido (I am so proud of you and the amazing man you have become). No sabes lo feliz que estoy de ver hacia dónde se dirige tu vida (You don’t know how happy I am to see where your life is going). No mereces nada más que felicidad (You deserve nothing but happiness). Hablando de eso, ¿cuándo llegará mi nuera favorita aquí (Speaking of which, when will my favorite daughter-in-law get here)?” She patted his cheeks. “¿Dónde está tu Cielito (Where is your Cielito)? Ella necesita estar aquí para la celebración de que tu padre y yo finalmente vamos a ser abuelos (She needs to be here for the celebration that your dad and I are finally going to be grandparents). Estoy haciendo su receta favorita de mi caja de recetas (I’m making her favorite recipe from my recipe box).”

It was so hard to speak when it felt like there was a lump in his throat.

“¿Por qué estás haciendo su receta favorita (Why are you making her favorite recipe)?” he asked thickly. “Soy tu hijo (I’m your son).”

His mom smiled. “Porque ella es la mujer increíble que hizo sonreír a mi hijo de nuevo, y lo ama tanto, sé que finalmente tendrá la vida feliz que tanto se merece (Because she is the incredible woman who made my son smile again, and loves him so much, I know he’s going to finally have the happy life he deserves).” Her smile turned mischievous. “Además, ella es mi hija favorita que nunca tuve y la madre de mis futuros nietos, así que le haré todo lo que quiera (Also, she is my favorite daughter I never had and the mother of my future grandchildren, so I will make her anything she wants.”

Suddenly, consciousness was crashing into him as he woke up, gasping on a sob, his eyes wet with tears. The room was pitch black when his eyelids lifted, lying face up atop the mattress, Cielito’s back pressed to his side with his arm draped over her bare middle, the ache in his heart making his shoulders shake as he cried away the sadness.

What he’d give for that dream to have been reality.

He couldn’t recall the last time his mother had visited him while he slept. For years after she passed away, the only time she appeared in his dreams was when he relived the last time he saw her alive as she lay on her deathbed. Over and over again, he’d sit on the edge of the hospital bed with her frail hands gripping her rosary between his, begging him to take it for her, and Javier always telling her he would and how much he loved her. Sometimes, he’d say more—he’d beg for her forgiveness for being away for so long, tell her he couldn’t live without her, and plead with her to stay a little longer because he wasn’t ready to let her go.

What he dreamt this evening was different than anything he could remember. It was jarring how real it felt, which made it hurt so much worse. He wondered why his brain chose tonight of all nights to have her visit him and say things he’d needed to hear. Maybe it was all of the big changes taking place in his life—he was moving forward, and it was a reminder she’d always be with him. What he knew for sure was it made him miss her so fucking much and hate that she wouldn’t be with his dad when he and Cielito called him this morning to tell him the news they were engaged and wanted to start their family.

Thinking about his plans for that morning, he moved his arm from over his future wife to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks and carefully sat up so he didn’t wake her, the blankets falling to pool at his waist. He twisted his upper body to look over his shoulder at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table pressed against the mattress-less bed frame. The alarm he set would be going off in ten minutes, so it looked like he was getting up. He leaned back and stretched his arm to turn off the alarm.

It was a smart move to put the mattress on the floor with how he was able to quietly get out of bed, his knees complaining when he stood up and made his way in the dark to the chair by the bathroom door where he set out his clothes the night before.

He’d get dressed in the bathroom, brush his teeth, do his hair, and shave. Then, he needed to do some other things before it was time to wake up the woman he loved.

His head was running through the list of shit that he had to get done, and something he kept thinking about, and he knew wasn’t rational, was how the dream felt like his mother saying hi and giving him her approval of who he was going to marry from beyond the grave.

As he said, it wasn’t rational, but it made him really fucking happy.

The tickle of his mustache as he kissed along your shoulder had you waking. His warm hand was rubbing along your arm while he whispered into your skin, “Wake up, Cielito. It’s time to get up, mi amor (my love). We gotta get going, baby.”

“Mmm,” you hummed with a smile. He was on top of the blankets behind you. “What time is it?” you murmured.

“Half past five.”

“In Laredo or Miami?”

You could feel him smile. “Miami.”

The answer made you groan. “That’s four-thirty at home—why are we waking up at five-thirty on vacation?”

“If you get up, you’ll find out.”

You were frowning. “Is everyone else getting up, too?”

“No.”

“What, are you making me breakfast before they wake up or something?”

“No.”

“Are we going someplace at the asscrack of dawn?”

He huffed out an amused breath. “Yes.”

That had you wondering where in the world he’d take you so early.

“Will there be food?”

“Yes.”

He probably wanted to take you alone to some local diner he used to go to when he’d visit, so it was best to leave while everyone else was sleeping.

The thought of coffee and breakfast had you saying, “Fine, I’m getting up.”

“Thank you, Cielito.” He placed one last kiss on your shoulder and moved to get up with a groan. You stretched under the warm covers, blinking open your eyes to see the bathroom light was on with the door cracked, and Javi was fully dressed, yawning as you threw back the blankets.

He helped pull you up from the mattress, and as you walked toward the bathroom, you asked, “Will leggings and a t-shirt be okay, or is there a dress code?”

“Whatever you’ll be comfortable in is fine.”

“Mmkay.”

After taking care of your needs in the en suite, it took some minutes to get ready, ending up in some black leggings and an oversized coral-colored t-shirt with minty breath and your hair done.

The two of you were quiet as you made your way out of the house, stopping to put on your shoes and Javi locking the front door with a key on his keyring as you left.

The sky outside was dark, the street lights offering an orangish glow. Javi was wearing a white button-up under his black leather jacket and jeans, and you were still feeling a bit groggy when you got in the SUV, unable to keep from yawning. He laced his fingers with yours on your thigh, and even though there was a center console separating you both, you leaned your head against his arm as you hugged it, street lights and the headlights of morning commuters passing you as you made your way down the roads with the radio softly playing.

Between the signs on the highway and glimpses of the ocean, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Javi pulled over to the side of the road near a beach access point in Miami Beach forty-five minutes later. It still wasn’t clicking what you were doing there so early in the morning, though. A big bank of dirt covered in bushes kept the water out of view, with some palm trees and a street lamp standing high above near the entrance.

“I thought you said there’d be food?” you said, not even attempting to keep the confusion out of your tone.

“Trust me.” He kissed your hair, untangling your hands as he put the vehicle in park and switched it off.

“Okay… I didn’t bring a jacket.”

Javi met your eyes, the overhead lights coming on when he removed the keys. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, mi amor. Now, come with me, please.” He didn’t even look tired, his gaze bright and hopeful.

“Okay.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, and he smiled, doing the same.

What was a surprise was when you went to see what he was getting out of the trunk, and he pulled out a big bundled-up blanket and full tote bag that clinked as he moved. You closed the back of the SUV without him having to ask.

“Javi?”

He had started walking, and you followed, the air surprisingly warm for how early it was.

“Yes, Cielito?”

“Did you bring me to the beach for a breakfast picnic?”

“Yes.”

You followed him down the path lined with tall grass, bushes, and trees, your feet sinking into the sand as you walked, hearing the waves in the distance—on the beach, you looked around, not seeing any other people, just miles upon miles of sand, and wondered to yourself with how sweet this whole thing was if Javi would let you suck his dick. Thankfully, he didn’t make you walk far, taking you to a circular alcove at the base of the hill where it indented in, the grass and raised land along the sides shielding you from view at those angles.

He set down the bag and spread out the blanket, stepping onto it, and you watched as he lowered himself down to sit on his ass with his legs spread a little out in front of him. He made you giggle when he tugged you by the arm and pulled you down into his lap, ending up across it, his head turning to look at you with a smile, the same expression on your face.

“You stupidly romantic man,” you said, stroking your fingers over his smooth cheek.

“You love that I’m stupidly romantic.” He kissed your palm.

“Yes, I do—like, if you wanted me to, I’d suck your dick right this second. A beach breakfast picnic deserves an out-in-public blow job.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“Hey, I can’t help that it makes me horny when you’re stupidly romantic. My only complaint is how early it is. Aside from that, everything else is lovely.”

His lips dipped into a frown. “I’m, uh, sorry I can’t make the sun rise later…”

Your eyes rounded. “Oh my fucking god,” you breathed. “We’re here to watch the sunrise. I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Why else would I get you up at the asscrack of dawn?”

“Sex,” you answered immediately.

His eyebrow went up. “Did we fuck?”

“No.” You shook your head. Warmth was moving through your veins, feeling the fuzzy happiness. “Because you brought me to the beach for a breakfast picnic and to watch the sunrise!” Moving, you straddled his thighs, taking his face in your hands as you crashed your mouth to his, kissing him like your life depended on it. His arms went around your back to pull you into him, his mouth opening when you eagerly pressed your tongue inside to slide against his, rocking your hips.

The need to breathe became too much, and his lips went to your chin to travel along your jaw in wet streaks.

“I love you so much, Javi,” you panted. “I wish I could do something as special as this for you.”

“You did.” He sucked on your neck, and you moaned.

“I did?”

His head came up to meet your gaze. “Yeah, when you learned how to make mi mamá’s tamales.”

“Oh.”

“You’re stupidly romantic, too.”

It never crossed your mind that making him his mother’s tamale recipe would come across as stupidly romantic—you’d just wanted him to have some comfort on his tough first day at his new job.

“Well, fuck, we’re both a couple of stupidly romantic fools.”

He smiled big as he laughed, giving you a quick kiss.

“Yes, we are. Turn around, baby, and watch the sunrise.” He nodded toward it.

“Bossy.” You gave him a peck on the lips and turned around to sit between his legs, with your back to his front.

A cool gust from the ocean hit you, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin and making you shiver; staring off at the horizon and the dim sky colored in a fiery red where it met the water, lightening to yellow, then a soft blue as it rose.

Javi’s upper body was moving behind you. “Lean forward a little,” he said.

You tilted forward slightly, and he placed his leather jacket on your shoulders, feeling the weight of it and warmth on the inside from his body heat as it covered your arms and back.

Leaning back with your head on his shoulder, you turned to kiss his jaw. “Thank you.”

He hugged around your belly, shoving his face in your neck. “You’re welcome.” His words were muffled.

“What’s in the bag?” you asked.

He squeezed you a little tighter for a second.

“Thermos of coffee, some coffee cups, croissants, donut holes, berries, and cut-up pineapple.”

It was getting brighter, and you were enjoying watching the waves rolling.

“How in the world did you prepare all of that?”

“Connie—she bought everything, had the coffee pot set to be ready when I got up before you, and all I had to do was cut up the pineapple and pack everything.”

“Connie’s the best.”

His chin was resting on your shoulder.

“She is. Are you enjoying the trip?”

“Yes,” you answered truthfully. “Your friends are great, and I’d love to visit again.”

“Good.”

The sky had erupted in bright yellows, oranges, and reds the closer the sun got to appearing.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, taking your left hand in his, his other arm staying around your middle.

In the past, if he said such a thing, you’d snort or deny the compliment, but you’ve been with him long enough to know it wasn’t just him saying words—he meant it. If you asked him if he’d rather watch the sunrise or look at you, he’d choose option two because he was so unbelievably in love with you there was nothing or nobody more beautiful to him; he didn’t even look at other women, or if you pointed out one was attractive, he sounded so uninterested, with his, ‘Sure,’ or, ‘I guess,’ before he got flirty and told you how you were hotter.

This man was obsessed with you, and it was the greatest feeling in the world to feel so wanted. Your insecurities would never disappear, but he did his best to ensure you knew he loved all of you, including your flaws and the things you hated. He was perfect, and sometimes you couldn’t believe he was yours.

You grabbed his hand on your stomach. “My sweet man, I’m literally the happiest girl in the world. I don’t know how I got so lucky meeting you,” you said, sighing wistfully. “You came into my life with those beautiful brown eyes, that perfect mustache, and those tight-ass jeans, and I was a goner. You take up my every thought, and second, and hour, and everywhere I look, it’s you who comes to mind—it’s always you. God, I get lost in your eyes, your smile, and your voice. I get lost just thinking about them. I am so in love with you, Javi, that I miss you constantly. You can be in another room, and I miss you. You can be sitting on the other end of the couch, and I miss you. What I’m trying to say, Javier, is that I love you and am as obsessed with you as you are with me and that I know, to you, I am more beautiful than what we’re looking at.”

Emotion made his words rough. “I’m happy you finally believe me.” He kissed your hair.

“I do. I definitely do.”

He cleared his throat. “Can I say my stupidly romantic shit now?”

You laughed, the sun just beginning to peek in the distance, the colors of the sky reminding you of the opening scene in The Lion King. “Yes,” you answered.

He cleared his throat. “Mi Cielito, eres mi primer amor y mi último, mi media naranja y la mujer con la que voy a pasar el resto de mi vida (My Cielito, you are my first love and my last, my soulmate, and the woman I am going to spend the rest of my life with). Yo te pertenezco (I belong to you). Todo de mí es tuyo (All of me is yours). Mi presente, mi futuro, te pertenece (My present, my future, belongs to you). Eres con quien quiero compartir mi vida, y con quien quiero pasar por los buenos momentos y malos (You are the one I want to share my life with and the one I want to go through the good times and bad with). Me haces un mejor hombre y me haces querer ser un mejor hombre que merece a alguien tan increíble como tú (You make me a better man, and you make me want to be a better man who deserves someone as incredible as you).

“Sabía que eras la unica desde el momento en que nos conocimos (I knew you were the one from the moment we met). Sentí una conexión contigo (I felt a connection with you)—por la primera vez, sentí paz y sé que era mi alma encontraba su pieza faltante (for the first time I felt peace and I know it was my soul finding its missing piece). Sabía que iba a casarme contigo en nuestra tercera cita mientras bailábamos en tu cocina, y si soy honesta conmigo mismo, sabía que te amaba entonces, también (I knew I was going to marry you on our third date while we were dancing in your kitchen, and if I’m honest with myself, I knew I loved you then, too)—las palabras estuvieron pegadas a la punta de mi lengua durante semanas antes de que las dijera en voz pero supe durante tanto tiempo que tú eras para mí (the words were stuck to the tip of my tongue for weeks before I said them out loud, but I knew for so long that you were it for me).”

Tears fell down your cheeks, hearing and watching the waves crashing, the sun rising in the flaming sky as the backdrop.

“It’s not fair your stupidly romantic shit is making me cry,” you sniffed.

He kissed the side of your neck, his right hand on your tummy moved up to cup your left cheek, swiping at some of the wetness with his thumb.

“Lo siento por hacerte llorar, pero no he terminado (I’m sorry for making you cry, but I’m not finished).”

“Please continue. It’s not like you’ll make me cry any harder.”

You could hear him smiling when he started talking again. “Mi sueño para donde estaremos en cinco años es que estemos casados, viviendo en la casa de sus sueños que he construido para ti, rodeado de tantos niños como quieras, que estemos criando juntos (My dream for where we’ll be in five years is that we’re married, living in your dream home that I’ve built for you, surrounded by as many kids as you want that we’re raising together). Quiero eso (I want that). Quiero que eso se convierta en una realidad (I want that to become a reality). Quiero hacer mis sueños realidad y convertirme en tu esposo (I want to make my dreams come true and become your husband).”

Gasping, your head turned to look at him, his hand leaving your face, realizing this was a proposal.

“Javi,” you whispered, your breath stuttering as teardrops streamed down your cheeks, your lip trembling. “Are we practicing?”

There’d been a few practice proposals, the rules for the real thing being that Javi had to do it, and there needed to be a ring. Being on the beach, with the rolling waves and the rising sun, made this the perfect location and time for him to do it, but there didn’t seem to be a ring…

“Sigue mirando el amanecer, mi amor (Keep watching the sunrise, my love).”

With a nod, you faced forward again and immediately jolted in shock, your palm covering your mouth, stifling your loud gasp.

In front of you, Javi held up with one hand an open white leather ring box containing a gold band with a decent-sized princess cut diamond in the middle and two smaller ones on either side.

It was beautiful.

And he was actually doing it.

This was the real thing.

It was finally happening, and your body was shaking with sobs, the tears from earlier turning into full-on ugly crying because you were so happy and overcome with emotion.

“Te amo tanto, para siempre no sería suficiente tiempo para pasar contigo (I love you so much forever wouldn’t be enough time to spend with you),” Javi continued, sounding choked up. “Soy tuyo hasta que respire por la última vez, y seguiré siendo tuyo cuando mi alma deje esta tierra (I am yours until my last breath, and I will still be yours when my soul leaves this earth). La muerte no nos mantendrá separados (Death won’t keep us apart); Nos volveremos a encontrar (We’ll meet again). Buscaré en el cosmos y en los cielos hasta encontrarte porque no puedo vivir sin ti (I will search the cosmos and the heavens until I find you because I cannot live without you); eres mi otra mitad, mi media naranja, y me haces completo (you are my other half, my soulmate, and you make me whole). No hay yo sin ti (There is no me without you).”

“Me haces feliz de una manera que nadie más puede (You make me happy in a way that no one else can). Me haces sentir amado (You make me feel loved). Te preocupas por mí, y por todo eso, tienes todo mi amor y total devoción, y quiero dedicarte cada pieza de mí mismo, cuerpo y alma a ti (You care about me, and for all that, you have all of my love and total devotion, and I want to dedicate every piece of myself, body and soul, to you). Mi Cielito, mi amor, mi vida, mi alma, mi todo ¿me hariás el hombre más feliz del mundo, te casarías conmigo (My Cielito, my love, my life, my soul, my everything, you’d make me the happiest man in the world, will you marry me)?”

Nodding your head, you answered through tears, “¡Por supuesto que sí (Yes, of course)! ¡Un millón de veces sí (A million times, yes)!”

He paused for a second. “Really?” he asked softly.

His surprise sobered you up to the point you frowned and stopped crying, shaking off his hand holding yours to turn around, sitting on your knees between his legs.

His eyes were rimmed with red, tear tracks streaking beneath them down his cheeks. You held his face in your hands, your gaze on his.

“Now, you listen here, Javier Jesús Peña López: I. Am. Marrying. You. You proposed with a ring, and I said yes. I. Said. Yes.” You poked him in the middle of the chest. “We’re getting married. I want to marry you, so please put that gorgeous fucking ring on my finger so we can make out.”

“Right, shit,” he said, fumbling to take the ring out in front of you, the box falling once he had it between his fingers. He grabbed your left hand, sliding the ring onto your ring finger, and it fit perfectly.

You were staring at it, the diamonds sparkling in the early morning light.

“It’s so beautiful,” you said, your vision muddled from the water brimming in your eyes.

“It was my mom’s.”

Your gaze snapped to his. “Your mom’s?”

He was smiling softly. “Yeah. She would’ve wanted you to have it, and Pop agreed; he had it cleaned the day after he met you.” His hand held yours, sliding his thumb over the ring, and you wept, the teardrops slowly falling. “He gave me his blessing to have it altered because the original center diamond was very modest—he worked on the ranch for the previous owner in high school to help out mis abuelos (my grandparents), and once he realized he was going to marry my mom, he started saving a little bit of his paychecks for years until he had enough to buy her a ring he felt proud about her wearing; he wanted me to feel proud when you showed it off, too. The rest is the same aside from being adjusted to your size.”

You were looking down at where his thumb was moving over each diamond, back and forth, knowing the ring's history making you feel incredibly emotional.

“She wore this?”

“Yeah.”

Your shoulders shook. “It’s perfect,” you said. “She’ll always be with us.”

Javi had tears wetting his cheeks as he smiled. “Yeah, she will.”

The sentiment had the floodgates letting loose and made you start to bawl, throwing your arms around his neck and shoving your face in his throat as you hugged him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. He comforted you while you happily sobbed.

You were just so unbelievably happy with everything that happened—the proposal was better than you ever could have dreamed, and the fact he’d done it with his mother’s ring was making you an absolute mess. It meant so much to you that Chucho and Javi felt Antonia would want you to have it, silently promising her as you held her son that for as long as you lived, he would be loved, cherished, and you’d take good care of him.

When you finally started calming down, you said into his skin, sounding stuffed up, “There’s not this much gross crying when people get engaged on TV or in movies. Like, who’d wanna make out with someone whose face is wet from snot and tears?”

He chuckled, rubbing a hand along your spine. “I would.”

Sitting up, you met his eyes with a frown. “I feel too icky.”

“Hold on.” He leaned to dig into the tote bag beside him and brought out a small square box of tissues, presenting it to you.

“Connie?” you asked as you pulled two from the top.

“Yeah.”

You were wiping your face. “We should get her a fruit basket—one of the fancy chocolate-dipped ones.” The tissues were discarded for another to blow your nose, thinking this had to be the peak of romance.

“We’ll do that. I was gonna get Steve a nice bottle of whiskey, but with what he did to the bed, he’s not getting shit now.” The box of tissues was set down.

You snorted, your face finally clean and hands free. “You’ll get back at him somehow. Now—” You moved to straddle his lap with your arms going over his shoulder and fingers threading into his hair. “—I’d like to make out with my fiancé.” His white collar caught your attention. “I’m surprised for such a special occasion, you didn’t match your shirt to mine.”

He was smirking, his hands coming up to slide along your cheeks before cradling them. “It’s because—” Gently, he pulled you forward, kissing the tip of your nose, then nuzzling it with his own. “—I’m wearing the same outfit I wore on our first date.” His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, remembering him sitting in the bar on your first date in his white button-up under the black leather jacket and jeans, and that it was exactly what he wore here—all of the thought he put into this morning making you go so soft you were practically goo as you melted into him, pressing yourself closer, and allowing his tongue to plunder your mouth.

Happiness was wafting off the both of you, the sun shining in an orange glow behind you as the waves crashed and rolled.

Javier Peña was your person—he was the love of your life, your soulmate, your best friend, and his newest title, your fiancé.

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

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

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

443 notes · View notes

theyanderespecialist · 29 days

Text

Base Yandere Adam Headcanons: The First Yandere (Hazbin Hotel)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am here finally with a new chapter! This one is Adam from Hazbin Hotel! He is a yandere so good luck, I hope you all enjoy this chapter here!]

(Disclaimer: Adam is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life!)

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Adam From Hazbin Hotel-

.Adam oh man is he an egotistical man, and for you, the person he is in love with man oh man is his ego huge when it comes to him being the best for you?

.If you are an AMAB and or masc presenting he sees you as the second-best man right behind him.

.If you are an AFAB and or Fem presenting he is a bit more sexist with you and keeps his lady in line

(Okay this is a disclaimer from the Queen in which I will HAVE To do small videos of male listener and female listener with him because he treats those two VASTLY differently so this is for SURE His very base yandere self) (Anyways back to gender neutral)

.All in all, you are the only one worthy enough to be his new spouse

.And you are damn lucky that he decided to have you as his spouse, do you know how many women and MEN would want to be with him.

.He is the first man, he has the first dick! you should be on your knees worshiping him in more than one way!

.He is also a narcissist and would remind you a lot that you are nothing without him, he is going to break you down, to build you up.

.Making you the perfect partner to be with him and for him to worship the ground he walks on and get to work serving him.

.He would deal with rivals (Okay another side not from me as the Queen I have to do also different listeners/Readers like in which one is an angel and another is a sinner and so forth, so if you want to see that comment what you want to see!) again he would mainly deal with rivals by first off mocking them and then unaliving them.

.He does not care if they are seraphim or if they are hellborns.

.You are his and ANYONE who gets in the way of stealing you is going to suffer.

.He is a type of yandere that loses his shit fast and starts lashing out.

.He thinks he is a cool man and a dick master but break him down he is just a frat boy kind of man that thinks he is better than anyone else.

.He would confess to you and try and swoon you.

.If you say yes, as long as he is in charge you will be treated like royalty HIS royalty

.If you say no? He is going to get so pissy and possessive and aggressive

.He will try and make you jealous by dating me and women to make you jealous.

.If that does not work he will straight up kidnap you and make you his without a care of how you felt.

.If he gets really desperate he might steal some love potion from hell to make you love him.

.He does not care what he has to do or what boundary he has to cross you will be his, heaven be damned!

[Anyways! Another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed this and if you want to see more specific Adamn yandere below Comment what you like to see UNLESS you see this on Tumblr then put your request in MY ASK BOX thank you and stay sexy all of my sexy muffins!]

#yandere #yandere adam #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel #adam x reader #reader #gender neutral reader

104 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 9 months

Note

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I LOVE LUCK

First of all pairing Gaz with Luck was genius

But the way you told the story??????

Luck being so enamoured for Gaz that they would risk everything and rationalising it as their selfish demon nature even as every act of luck they perform is above and beyond

I know that all the demons are slightly yandere-esque stories but the way Luck is besotted with this man gives the vibes of those cheesy supernatural media where the fem mc has a bad boy swooning over her that would burn the world down for her - except Gaz is the mc!!!!

It's perfect! Let him be a damsel!!!!

Idk how much he knows about Luck's influence BC he's not stupid and once he knows their powers there's only so much "oh whoops looks like they have bad aim" you can rationalise away, he might not know exactly when he started getting more luck tho if (from how you described it) the powers of the universe seem to let him absorb the natural well of luck that exists.

It might be harder for him to pinpoint exactly when if Luck is the type to take credit for stuff just for the possibility of praise and attention - which they clearly adore coming from him. "A miracle - your heart swells, that's you!" And "he jokes about a lucky streak and you beam with pride"

I just wanna make him my baby girl. I wanna protect him, let him give me his little neck tie thing like a Princess gives her Knight a favour

I truly love the demon au bc it somewhat feels like a role reversal from the fae au where now the characters are the darlings

(also I think I've sent asks before as myself or as anon I can't remember but Tumblr likes to eat my asks for some reason)

Gaz as the damsel lmao yeah kinda. Gaz gets a demon handbook, and reads it, but I don't think he fully understands how Luck's powers work... Luck isn't hiding from him, let's be clear on that, but it's very much the sort of vibe of "luck isn't really a power, I'm not trying to win the lottery" while Gaz figures out how to make Luck useful.

Anyway here's Luck performing some truly spectacular magical luck and Gaz trying to explain it away because he's not supposed to tell people he has a demon looking out for him.

Little things are easy, you don't really need to exert any energy for them. An enemy comes around a corner before Gaz can spot them and you make their gun jam before they can take a shot. Someone throws a knife at Gaz, you make sure it flies over his shoulder and lodges into another AQ's head. Extra bullets in a mag, extra mags in the rubble when he's running low, passwords on paper next to computers, unlocked doors, keys left in cars. All of it is lucky, but nothing spectacular. Nothing combat worthy. Then again you're not technically a combat demon.

"Certainly make life easier," Gaz mumbles as he slinks through the tunnels under the city.

"I know, but-" You're picking up bad habits, draping yourself over his shoulder as he moves, "-I guess I just want to give you a miracle, y'know."

"You've given me plenty already," He tells you. You suppose you have, but nothing that deserves any praise. You want him to tell you, you did something spectacular. Not that you can tell him. It's already heaven enough being able to sit and talk to him like this, you don't want to taint it with false compliments.

You sigh and content yourself with just touching him, something you never could've enjoyed before. Every breath he takes is a small reward for your work. You could never regret contracting yourself to him, not when he's so warm and sturdy under you.

"Tell me about that book you've been reading," Gaz whispers when you've been silent too long. You smile, and duck your head against his shoulder, shy even though you know he can't see you.

"You'd like it," You tell him, murmuring the most recent plot points you've read until you see him smile in the low light. You like how well Gaz seems to have adjusted to you, you hope that means he likes you too.

He holds up a hand and you quiet down, sinking into the shadows so he has full range of movement. You can hear the buzz of radio in his ear. He and Soap are supposed to be sweeping the city for weapons caches, sabotaging what they can before they meet in the middle. So far Gaz has been lucky enough to destroy the caches he's found without being detected. More easy luck, nothing worth kicking up a fuss over.

Gaz keeps his gun at the ready as he goes up a flight on concrete stairs. Back to the fresh air of the city. The night is thick with dark silence.

You're starting to get a little itchy, things are going almost too well. You've been keeping enemy combatants away from Gaz, eager to not have a repeat of the IED that bound your contract. You think it's starting to make him a little nervous, because he lets out a held breath when he spots Soap. It's a short reunion, a solid bump of knuckles between the two men.

"Easy," Soap tells him, "Barely saw a soul."

You frown, you don't like the sound of that. That was supposed to be your luck. Unless those caches were meant to be found. A spotlight clicks on, marking Soap and Gaz's position. Around them guns raise, and safeties flip off.

They both freeze, surrounded and in open air. It's lucky they haven't been shot yet. Must be looking to use them for intel. Soap swears under his breath. Gaz grits his teeth, you can see his jaw clench tight. Overhead a helicopter hovers, the spotlight on the back focused on the two sergeants, keeping them visible.

You feel yourself tremble a little, such a clear and serious threat to Gaz's life making you uneasy. You're really not used to combat, it's unfamiliar to you, a thing you used to watch with no dreams to ever experience it yourself. You don't know what to do, all you know is that you have to protect Gaz. You can't shoot knives out of the shadows, or remove organs with surgical precision, you can't do anything that would make you useful to a soldier. What you are though, is lucky. Miraculously so.

One of the enemy's guns misfires, knocking them off balance. They bump into another combatant, who's itchy finger pulls the trigger on an automatic that swings its spray of bullets skyward. Gaz glances up and watches a few stray bullets hit the helo with precision aim he wouldn't even dream up. Making the hovering chopper smoke and spin out, crashing into a church steeple.

The helo explodes, the noise loud enough to draw the attention of the men who still have their aim on him and Soap. Suddenly, miraculously, the blades of the helicopter fly from the explosion and spin towards the AQ agents. Gaz grabs Soap to duck just as the blades chop off the head of every man still standing.

"Steamin' hell," Soap breathes, as the blades thunk into a wall and stick there.

"That was-"

"A fuckin' miracle." Soap finishes for him, standing back to his full height.

"Luck," Gaz grins, "You are a fuckin' wonder." You preen as he glances down at his excitedly bubbling shadow. You can't help the little popping hearts that rise to the surface, quick bursts of your affection before you can rein it in. He presses his fingers to his lips, then to the dark shadows at his feet before standing.

"No one is going to believe this," Soap looks around at the carnage, blissfully(luckily) ignorant of the demonic activity at Gaz's feet, "Shit I don't even believe it."

"Gonna be a hell of a report," Gaz tells him. He glances around the scene as Soap radios position back to Price. The absolute absurdity of the entire situation making him laugh a little. "Bloody hell," He shakes his head, lets out another bark of laughter, "How'd you even manage this love?"

"Just lucky I guess," You mumble, trying to keep from blowing out every light on the block in your excitement. Love... You could scream.

#cod x reader #x reader #kyle garrick x oc #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle garrick mw2 #gaz x oc #gaz x reader #oc: Luck #I think Luck's magic works a lot like Domino's luck in deadpool #probability manipulation #Most of the time you don't need big luck #but when you do? Oh they've got it in spades #Luck is cute Gaz thinks they're cute #demon!darlings au

231 notes · View notes

buckyarchives · 1 year

Text

the trials and tribulations of getting Bucky Barnes a second date.

summary: Bucky hasn’t kissed someone since the 40s and he needs a little… practice.

words: 2.1k

tags/warnings: tooth rotting fluff, gender neutral reader, bucky being old and reader being horny

a/n: small drabble i posted on ao3 awhile ago. i need to post more on tumblr so here’s this.

read on AO3

—♡—

Boredom was going to eat you alive.

Bucky Barnes had fallen into a depression since his last date, it had probably been the tenth one this month because you and Sam were oh so determined to get James Buchanan Barnes back out into the dating scene. And the dating apps were definitely not working. So he opted out. Bucky came through the door of your shared empty apartment and declared he was destined to be alone and threw himself on the couch– and it seems he hasn't gotten back up since then.

“So like, Steve is an asshole.”

You hummed, eyes glued to the television screen. “Wait until you figure out that's not even his real name.”

“Jesus.”

Having been there on the whole failed-date-depression thing, you joined Bucky on the couch and decided to help him catch up with the 20th century. So you introduce him to netflix and your favorite series– shameless. It was trashy and loud and nothing like Bucky had ever seen. He described it as a train wreck that he couldn’t keep his eyes off. You agreed. He likes it.

Anyways, that was about 2 or 3 days ago, give or take. Sam had been texting and calling you both, in his words, to get off your lazy heartbroken asses before he had to come over and rip the television off the wall. Sam also texts you in big capital letters.

FIX HIM.

You scoff at the message and grab another piece of pizza from the coffee table. You glance at Bucky on the other side of the coach, lying parallel to you. His 5 o'clock shadow had grown darker, as well as the bags under his eyes. Bucky is wearing one of his many stupid red henley shirts and some sweatpants, your eyes travel down his body, and his foot is nudged between your side and the couch. You poke it. He flinches, Bucky’s a little ticklish. But don't tell anyone that.

“Alright, Buck.” You snatch the remote and pause the show. “What's your problem?” He looks offended, like he wasn't expecting this conversation at some point.

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” he sends a glare to you, the reflection from the tv makes his eyes glossy and bright. He looks pretty good, for being couch-ridden depressed. “You know what im talking about '' you snark back. Bucky turns, his face lands flat into a pillow. A muffled and pained-groan escaped his lips. Swiftly, you reach across the man's body and grab the pillow.

“Gimme that!” bucky reaches, but you’re quick.

“Not until we fix your… dating problem.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Jesus. You make it seem like I'm some loser.” he sits up, scooting to the edge of the couch. You tilt your head and give a teased look. He notices.

“I know, I know…'' Bucky trails off, eyebrows furrowed close as he dramatically falls back onto the couch. Pick a spot man. Bucky sighs and continues. “I just keep overthinking everything, like Steve always told me about how I used to be, y’know? That charming, romantic boy from brooklyn that swooned girls everywhere he went.”

You punch his shoulder softly, to lighten the mood? You were so not going to let Bucky go all doctor raynor therapy sessions on you, especially over your pizza. “Dude, don't brag.”

“Seriously,” bucky says your name, seriously. “I've come to face the fact, that boy is gone. But, i just overthink, and it gets awkward and then they start nagging me about me and my past–”

“Nope!” you interject. “That is not nagging, buck. That's called getting to know your date.”

“And, we had the talk about if you were going to try dating that mean having to tell people about your past.” you speak, matter-of-factly, your finger pokes his chest.

“Whatever. I just tense up and get nervous, it's hard talking to people. It’s not like you or sam!” he waves his hands around, motioning to you. Your mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. You close your mouth. “Its just so stupid, dating is so different now. When did getting flowers become... weird?”

bucky looks confused, you could have sworn that sam and sharon gave him the run down on dating in the wonderful year of 2022. Guess not. “It's not weird, the standards have just gotten lower for men and dating.”

“More of a reason for me to be good at dating!”

“Oh poor you, old man!”

You throw his pillow back at him, Bucky grabs it before it hits his face. Almost, you thought. The room goes silent again, you lean back against the couch next to bucky. Your head turns to look at him, his eyes are shut. You take notice of his features, not your first time though. Your mind darts back to when he first came to the tower, when he was still recovering (i guess bucky still is recovering now) and barely spoke a word. But, you were, well– still are, a horrible insomniac and he had his night terrors that left him screaming awake. And Steve knew when he was awake and Bucky cared too much to keep Steve awake at night.

So, call it fate or call it a weird coincidence, you two found yourself in the commons room on late nights, which turned into sharing a bed. Two friends, sharing a bed to comfort each other. Totally platonic! And if the shoes fits. Bucky never had nightmares when he slept in your bed, maybe it was your brand of sheets? That was years ago and he still hasn’t told you that, maybe that was one of the reasons he agreed to buy an apartment with you.

Those nights, when you slept close to him (platonically!) you also, slept better and fell asleep much faster than normally. Which was a plus, but god– you could stare at him for hours. You wished to trance your finger along his jaw, or the curve of his nose, or maybe even just feel this skin on his cheek. You never indulged, you were scared you’d wake bucky and have to stop staring, is that creepy? Maybe, but he looked like he was sculpted by the gods so you’re sure they'd be very flattered knowing you were admiring their work. You’ve been doing that for years now and have yet to tell him about his beauty.

A quiet, breathy nose-laugh comes from bucky. You’re snapped from your thoughts and you see his eyes are open now. He didn't see you staring, did he?

“What?” you’re still looking at him. Bucky shakes his head, waving off your question.

You grab at his hand, the cold metal meeting your warm flesh, a comforting feeling. He doesn't flinch like he used to. You smile to yourself. “No! You can't do that and not tell me!”

“I can't say, really. It's kinda embarrassing.”

'`Oh?” you give him that look, that look that says ‘tell me or i'll cry.’ or maybe it's ‘tell me or i'll hurt you.’ whatever, it works.

“Don't give me that look, doll.” the nickname lulls off his tongue. You smile again. “Fine, okay. It's just… this last date. She– uh, she tried to kiss me and she was so close and i got nervous and tensed up, i panicked, really. Because i dont think ive actually kissed anyone since, well, the 40s.”

Your mouth gapes open. You don't mean to, really, but damn. No wonder he can't get a second date, the old man is practically a 13 year old boy when it comes to girls. Bucky glances over to you and sees your face. He screws his eyes shut in embarrassment and goes back to head in pillow mode. Maybe you'll tease him a bit more. “Buck, your virginity has practically grown back by now.”

“Oh, will you stop with that.” he playful smacks your leg. You laugh to yourself. And bucky swears he felt just a little bit lighter. Just a smidge.

Bucky sits back up again. Seriously pick a position to lay! He looks at you. Shifts his weight, shifting closer to you. He lays his head on your shoulder. You loved it when he did that.

“I'm never going to get laid.” he jokes, is he joking? You both laugh.

“You are shit out of luck, bucky.”

Suddenly, you had an idea. One that would go terribly wrong or terribly right. Maybe even wonderfully right.

You gulped. “Hey, bucky?”

He hums. bucky turned to look at you and you almost, just almost backed out on this very stupid and slightly self-indulgent idea. “I have an idea, to help you… get out of your shell. You can say no and hate it or me, and walk away and be mad at me for even suggesting this but…” you trailed off, slightly fiddling with your hands. Bucky's eyes brows furrowed slightly as he gave you a confused look.

“You can kiss… me. If you want, just to get you out of your shell, you know? And to make you more comfortable with the whole motion… of kissing.. Someone, anyone.” you keep talking, rambling. God, you need to stop talking. Finding the right words seemed so impossible. This idea sounded much better in your head, you fiddle with your fingers more.

He doesn't respond. Fiddle with fingers more. You screw your eyes shut and expect him to get up off the couch, finally, and be depressed in his room.

Bucky thinks for a moment, sucks in his lip. “Sure.”

Your eyes shoot open. ”what?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck–

“Only if you're comfortable with it, sure.” Bucky said. It was your turn to panic now, had you really thought this through? Did you really want to do this? Spoiler, yes you did. But you really didn’t think he’d actually agree to this, you assumed he’d say no and you two would, hopefully, just laugh it off and continue watching shameless.

“Doll? You okay in there?’ he smiled at you like this idea wasn’t crazy.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just thinking..” you stopped yourself from speaking out your thoughts. You faced him. “You really wanna do this?”

Bucky just nodded and moved to face you. His eyes landed on you and just like that, a flip switched and you couldn't stop the word vomit.

“Seriously, I don't want to force you to do this or make you uncomfortable, also I really don’t want this to change anything between us, you know? Because i really like being your friend and if this jeopardized it that would be really bad-”

“Just shut up and let me kiss you.”

Then, suddenly. His lips slant against yours and bucky swears he’s in heaven. Swears that you're an angel. Bucky's hand instantly grabbed the back of your neck to quickly close the gap between you two. You sat there still under his grasp for a second, before snapping back to life and slowly beginning to kiss back. You'd never imagined being in this position years ago, hell even 30 minutes ago. Your hands raised to the sides of his face, this moment was so sensual and sweet it could rot your teeth. Bucky's lips were so warm and soft against yours, this felt like heaven. His tongue grazed your lips, you let him in and soon he danced in your mouth. It was all too sweet and hot. You had to cherish this moment while you could because this could, and probably, will be the only time you get to kiss him.

Pulling away slowly, your eyes made contact instantly. Surprise and… lust, flashed in Bucky's eyes. You were both breathing heavily and you glanced at his lips, they were pink and wet, even a little swollen. He had yet to say anything and it was getting harder to resist going in again. He sucked his bottom lip in and his eyes shot to your lips for a moment.

“Fuck it.” you breathed out.

And you dove into him, pushing him down onto the couch so you were on top of him as you connected your lips again. Your hands latched around his neck as he gripped your waist, pulling you even closer into him. The kiss was more aggressive this time, his hands were all over you as you started to trail yours down bucky's body, feeling how solid his chest was under his henley shirt.

“It's always been you.” bucky pulls away just far enough to murmur against your lips. Your body feels incredible hot. “I just wanted you.”

the world went quiet, your brain short-circuited and all you could focus on was his icy eyes and his hands holding your face. Was this a confession? or were you dreaming? oh my god. your mouth gaped open slightly.

“you’re telling me we could have done this months ago?”

Bucky's eyes crinkled and he laughed. you feel like you're on fire. and he dips down again.

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

395 notes · View notes

bottomlouisficfest · 6 months

Text

We hope you’ve enjoyed the fics from weeks 5-6 of the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2023! Every two weeks, we’re compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

splash me across the silver screen

A fic by pleasinglouis on AO3 | @pleasing-louis on Tumblr | @pleasing_louis on Twitter

23k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry shrugged. “Maybe you just need to get even more outside your comfort zone. Maybe we need to try something a bit more… adventurous?” Curiosity successfully piqued, Louis tilted his head and toyed with the fringe dangling from his lace shrug. “Like what?" “We, uhm—maybe we try filming you in more compromising positions,” Harry suggested carefully. He kept his tone low and even as he studied Louis’ expression, hands skating over his curves soothingly. If Louis didn’t know any better he might have thought that Harry was talking about filming him naked. But that couldn’t be right—could it? “Like porn?” Or Louis is a struggling actor who gets nervous when he's being filmed and Harry comes up with a plan to help him relax when the cameras are rolling.

Spiders Don't Fly But Gods Do

A fic by SunshineBoy742 on AO3

7k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis Tomlinson is an underpaid photojournalist in NYC. He leads a pretty average life, getting shots of town heroes, dodging flirtatious remarks from old coworkers and being the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when a sex god comes to crash in his apartment?

i've got something to confess, i keep you in my pocket to use

A fic by babylwt on AO3 | @finelineangie on Twitter

17k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"You made Harry Styles practically swoon over you, admit you’re beautiful to basically the world, he asked for your number and you said no. Like, you have to be joking.” Bella tsks as she sits up straight, grabbing Louis’ computer off his lap and putting it off to the side. Louis moves to reach for it, sighing in defeat as he leans back against his pillows. “You know how it goes with those sports guys. They’re just after having a good time before they have to go to the next city and play another game and find another person to swoon.” Louis explains. “It just wouldn’t have worked and I’m too busy right now.” Louis shrugs. “Too busy to fuck Harry Styles?” Bella asks with a raised brow. “Yes, even too busy to fuck Harry Styles.” Or Prompt 251: Harry is a hockey player and he's in the middle of a press conference when Louis, a journalist, asks him a question. Harry sees him ans says something like "oh my god, he's so beautiful" to his teammate and only realized his mic was on when the pretty boy blushes and the room breaks in a laugh

The Knothead Neighbor

A fic by Kbbean on AO3 | @Kristen09924842 on Twitter

8k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

This was my prompt: Prompt 3: Neighbors AU, preferably ABO! Harry works evenings/nights (maybe like a surgeon something that requires him to be gone for long hours) and has a cat. The cat has a little kitty door at the back so that it can explore and such. Louis just moved next door and the cat seems to always end up at his door. Eventually, Louis lets the cat in, as he’s new and he’s feeling quite lonely. They become fast friends, so much so that the cat prefers to stay with Louis rather than go home. Harry gets concerned that the cat starts to stay out all day/night so he eventually leaves a note attached to the cat’s collar with its name and phone number. Louis texts him telling him he’s his neighbor and not to worry, the cat just likes to hang with him as it might be lonely. Harry gets pissed that this stranger is stealing his cat so he goes to confront Louis and tell him to stop stealing his cat. Of course, as soon as he sees Louis, he falls in love with him and the rest is history. (If ABO could be cute that both Harry and Louis like to cuddle with the cat because it holds the other’s scent)

I found an angel so divine

A fic by april_iris on AO3 | @april_kmm on Twitter

31k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Arishem should have abducted a human instead, to fiddle with their memory. Would have been more effective.” Thena, who had been staring into space for a few minutes, looked up. “Why don’t we just bring a human with us?” Everyone turned to stare at her. “What?” she retorted sternly. “Why not introduce him directly to a human being, so he can see how special the human race is?” Pip, who had dozed off against a wall with his pint still in hand, woke up with a start, while Druig tried to make sense of Thena’s words. “Not a bad idea, but what human being could be worthy enough to represent the rest of humanity?” Angel. Eros thought. “Louis!” Pip shouted. Or Eros/Harry is a dreamboat with singular powers who loves love more than anything and longs to feel it one day, and Louis is the kind human who shows him the way.

always had that heart of mine

A fic by localopa on AO3 | @voulezloux on Tumblr

8k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

louis is nesting, though he won’t admit to it. between being ill, the stress of uni, and near drops, the only thing keeping him afloat is harry’s scent. the fact they don’t get along is neither here nor there

you know it ain't fiction, just a natural fact

A fic by anditsonlyforthebrave on AO3 | @HARRYSC1NEMA on Twitter

13k | Not Rated | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Look, Lou” Harry whispers, “I can’t do it, and as much as I like having dinner with you, and hanging out, I think we should just do it without the tutoring part because I am not smart enough for school.” “That’s bullshit,” Louis answers quickly, “what do you like?” he asks, “I mean, other than football and asking me stuff about my family. There must be something else you’re good at.” “I play football and fuck, Louis. That’s it.” Louis definitely doesn’t flinch at that. He does not. --- Harry is the golden boy of the college football's team, Louis is their professors' golden student and they definitely don't have anything in common. Falling in love would be dumb.

The Bluest war and peace

A fic by Hazzaslittle28 on AO3 | @hazzaslittle28 on Tumblr | @Hazzaslittle28 on Twitter

27k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

For centuries the Black Haven pack had a tradition where the first born omegas and alphas were to be introduced to each other. The pups were barely ten, dressed in their finest clothings and made to look presentable. That's when he first saw his ruins and he knew that he was never going to be the same.

could start a cult

A fic by nouies on AO3 | @nouies on Tumblr | @_nouies on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He lowers down the top that Louis is wearing, successfully unclasping his nursing bra as well, letting Louis’ tits bounce at the sudden movement. Harry massages both breasts to stimulate the milk flow, and he can feel his cock hardening inside his pants. or...Harry can’t get enough of Louis’ breast milk.

Deleted Scenes

A fic by Stria (Asia117) on AO3 | @nooradeservedbetter on Tumblr | @Striaaaaaaaaa on Twitter

34k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Do you trust me?” asks Louis in a whisper, mouth pressed on the crown of Harry’s head. His voice has that raw quality to it that Harry has only heard a few times, and he takes a deep breath. “I do,” he responds, and he could add something to keep up the charade, tell Louis that of course he does, he’s here for him, to support him, but he doesn’t really feel like doing anything. He’s going away in a very short while, after all. He can’t find the strength to keep up the farce. “I told you everything would be alright,” says Louis. “I told you we will be alright. Do you trust me on this?” Harry hesitates. He feels Louis’ arms tighten around him, and he brings one of his hands over Louis’. He doesn’t want to lie, he doesn’t. Agent Harry Styles was injured on the job a few months back, and gets roped in one last mission before he can retire prematurely: playing house with Louis, a widower who has amnesia. The assignment seems simple at the beginning, but soon enough Harry's twisted in a web of his own making, and can't get out anymore.

Remember to give these fics kudos and comments, and spread their fic posts!

All roundups will be linked here:

Weeks 1-2 Roundup

Weeks 3-4 Roundup

Weeks 5-6 Roundup

Weeks 7-8 Roundup

Weeks 9-10 Roundup

Week 11 Roundup

#blff 2023

42 notes · View notes

alycosworld · 1 year

Text

Torturous

John Constantine x Batfam!Reader

A/N: somebody tell me why the only cartoon john constantine gifs i could find were this one AND THE KING SHARK ONE 😭😭 bloody hilarious man. anyways, this is for the anon who asked for john x batfam reader recs and i found tumblr LACKING. here u go ladies and germs. Gender-neutral reader, no physical attributes included, they/them pronouns.

also, john is like ?? old asf ?? so let's just say he's a solid 32 and reader is 27. for context, dick is 28 and Jason is 24, tim case duke and steph are like 17-19, damian is 14. and Bruce is somewhere around 50. btw not proofread.

soz for the long a/n, thank u for reading and enjoy!!

KEEP READING (im on mobile and it's not working so ill add it in later)

How did it come to this?

It had been torturous enough working with your family and John Constantine, but now you were sure he was trying to tease you.

Batman didn't like calling him for cases involving magic, he'd much prefer Zatanna, but she was away for whatever reason and there was no time to waste waiting for her to get back from god-knows-where.

But you guarantee you were more annoyed by John's presence. Merely seeing him pissed you off, and his laidback, flirty nature made it all the worse.

And no, it wasn't because you hated him. In fact, it was the complete opposite.

Sneaking around behind your family's back to see your Romeo was a chore, and not something you had the liberty of doing often with your myriad of vigilante duties and commitments to adult life. Visiting John and spending time with him was rare and something you treasured. Whether it be in some nostalgia-ridden English pub, staying at his house that still didn't quite make sense to you, or going on regular dates that you planned like restaurants and carnivals, you and John had the time of your lives. And after all the adventures you had been on, he finally admitted that he loved you, just as you had admitted it before.

But loving John Constantine was no simple feat. It came with challenges like murderous monsters, various being from Hell, and most recently, your family.

You knew Bruce would be less than approving. He knew how much of a troublemaker John was, and his self-proclaimed bastard status did not help. Bruce knew he was trouble, and frankly, so did you, but he was too sweet and loving in the end for you to care. He was more than some troubled magician with alcoholism issues, severe gambling debt and the ability to fuck a shark. He was also probably the sweetest guy you had met and he cherished you, showering you in unconditional love, as uncharacteristic as it seemed.

Which is why this particular case was so difficult. While John took every opportunity to flirt with you, you had to refuse every advance and bury the urge to grab him by the collar his stupidly overused coat and kiss him silly. But no, one of your siblings or Bruce was around at every given moment. Alfred had already known you and John were a thing and promised to keep things quiet.

"Are you listening, love?" John asked, specifically looking at you. You felt singled out between Damian and Stephanie, as they, Bruce, and a few of your other siblings stared at you in confusion. You had been listening, briefly, but couldn't for the life of you remember what John had said. It's not like it mattered, this was just John wrapping things up. The case was virtually over.

"Don't call me that," you hardened your gaze instead of smiling and swooning as you normally would when he looked at you with the same intensity as he was now. The subtle changes in your mannerisms towards each other had miraculously not been noticed by the others.

"That's not an answer, love," oh he just loved pissing you off, didn't he? When all this was over you were sure you would make sure he paid for his actions.

"Yeah, I was listening," you folded your arms as he narrowed his eyes at you.

"Y'know what? I don't think you were. You've been giving me attitude this entire case, and frankly, I'm done with it," John shot back with a smirk.

"Excuse me?" I asked, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

"Excuse us, is more like it. You can finish things up here, Bats, I'm sure. I'd like to have a word with them, if you don't mind," John began to walk towards you.

"I don't see how this is important to--"

"Great! We'll only be a moment, just carry on with the debrief," John placed a hand on your lower back, escorting you out of the batcave and upstairs to your room. You saw Dick and Cass along the way, starting at you two oddly but John just smiled and ushered you into the room.

"John, what the hell do you think you're do--!" he cut you off by pinning you to the wall and pressing his lip to yours, pulling away with a boyish grin.

"Oh, I have missed you, love," he smiled, about to dive back in but you pushed him back.

"John, you can't just pull me out of a debrief to make out--"

"We're gonna be doing a lot more than make out, sweetheart," he said, grabbing your hips with both hands. You rolled your eyes slightly before placing one hand on his waist and the other on the side of his neck, quickly flipping him around so he's against the wall. You grin a little at his flustered state.

"We're gonna get caught, hon, please don't do this. I love you but it hasn't even been that long--"

"Seconds without you are too long, sweetheart," he replied, and you chuckled.

"That's very sweet, J, but if you keep this up I'm not gonna be able to control myself. Bruce will kill me, and then wait until the others find out--"

"Too late," Damian stood in the doorway of your bedroom and you nearly jumped out of you skin.

"What sorcery is this, Constantine? What have you done to them?" Damian produced a dagger out of seemingly nowhere and you sighed.

"Dames--"

"What? I'm sorry, (Y/N), but I can't trust your words--"

"Damian, he didn't do anything. No magic, no tricks, nothing. We've been seeing each other for a while," Damian continues to stare at you, not believing you. You sighed, walking up to him and ruffling his hair, "I promise, Dames. John hasn't enchanted me or anything, I just-- I'm in love with him," you finished, staring back at John. Damian looked between you and him before sighing.

"You're really in love with him? Him, of all people? You know how badly Raven speaks of him," Damian folded his arms.

"Raven? She talks about me behind my back? Bloody hell, I'll be having words with her--"

"John,"

"Right! Yes, uhm, Damian, I swear I haven't cursed them to fall in love with me. Really, it's a miracle they love me at all--"

"Don't say that," you smiled.

"What? Its true! And if you're worried about me hurting them or something, you shouldn't be. I'd rather kiss Nergal than even try hurting them," John rolled his eyes.

"And you know I'd kick his ass if he tried anything, Dames," you smirked.

"Well, I just might enjoy that, love--"

"Fucking hell, John, he's fourteen!" you covered Damian's ears as John laughed loudly. Damian eventually swatted your hands away and glared at John again.

"I really do love him, Dames. And nothing you say is gonna change that. We've been dating for almost a year and I still love him, so clearly that counts for something," you assured him.

John bent down slightly to be eye-to-eye with Damian, "I would never do anything to harm them, squire. And I can't get rid of 'em, even if I wanted to," John chuckled.

"You know you love me," you grinned.

"Yeah, I do," John replied, sincerely, making you tense up.

"Fine, I approve," Damian said decisively.

"No one needed your approval, Dames, but thank you," you chuckled, pressing a kiss to John's cheek, "now, just please don't tell Bruce about this--"

"I already know," Bruce, now in casual clothes instead of his suit, rounded the corner and stood next to Damian as you blinked in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? No, don't tell me--" you peeked out of your room with John to see pretty much the rest of the family was listening. You sighed dragging a hand down your face as John chuckled nervously.

"Bollocks,"

#john constantine x reader #john constantine fluff #john constantine x you #john constantine fanfic #john constantine #john constantine x batfam reader #gender neutral reader #batsis reader #batbro reader #batfam reader #batfamily #john constantine x y/n #WOOOOO MY FIRST FULL FIC IN AGES LETS FUCKING GOOO!!

401 notes · View notes

nerdieforpedro · 2 months

Text

Do you know that hippo?

Part Three of the Rock & Doc Series

Tim Rockford x plus size OFC - Doc

Rating: Explicit for ending

This blog is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 5.5k (things are moving along)

Summary: The engagement party of Doc and Kim's friend leads to some surprising discoveries. Gold it seems is Doc's color and keep an eye on those hippos. They've got major clues. Big things are happening at the precinct.

Warnings: disco, drinking, hippos, family dynamics, mutual pining, swooning, bad pranks, panic/anxiety, trench coat mention, blood, fatal injury, murder

Notes: We've got the more to the plot in this one! Keep an eye out for a mention of a Pedro character and the introduction of another. I've gotta thank @lady-bess (on Tumblr) for beta reading for me. Bouncing ideas off of @maggiemayhemnj always leads to good things. I hope everyone enjoys the twists. 😘

Main Masterlist/ Tim Rockford Masterlist / Rock & Doc Series

Saturday of the engagement party:

You already want to go home. You’ve just been dropped off by Tony, Kim’s beau of two years. She’s wearing a blonde wig, orange star shaped shades to match her orange strapless dress that she’s pulled up at least the fourth time after complaining that she doesn’t have enough to keep the dress up. The orange complements her mocha skin and since her dress is strapless, she was happy to show off her rose tattoo she had on her right shoulder. The heels of her white thigh high boots click as you both make your way to the large double doors of your mutual friend’s home. Samantha had gotten engaged to some producer who was filthy rich or had enough money to rent a space like this.

You didn’t need a wig. Your hair, when not slicked down with grease and tied with two different scrunchies, expands enough on its own to look like a seventies wig. It’s just not curly, your hair never did hold a curl to save its life. Kim thought it would be a good idea to pin a gold disco ball in your hair and wear tiny gold disco ball earrings to match. She also did your makeup which included gold eyeshadow, soft pink cheeks and a vibrant red lipstick. You wore a shimmering gold dress that tied behind your neck and had a gold chain that connected from the tie in the back down to where the dress hit your shoulder blades. The back of the dress was longer than the front with it hitting the back of your ankles. The front stopped mid-thigh and your gold bangles that donned both wrists jingled each time you attempted to pull it down. Thankfully, the dress wasn’t bunching anywhere that you felt. Kim told you to stop fiddling with it and to let the people see since you wouldn’t let your cherished detective see anything. You pinched her arm and the two of you bickered until you met the guests of honor.

Sam and her producer fiance were happy that you came and that you brought gifts, though you weren’t sure if they really needed a stand mixer since you were sure Sam didn’t know how to boil water. Maybe the producer…whose name you did hear three times but it never stuck, cooked or baked. The party ended up being fun though, there was delicious food, excellent music and the other costumes were a sight to see. At one point there was a disco ball that came out of the ceiling and everyone did the electric slide.

After the dancing when things took a weird turn, you stepped outside to get some fresh air. As the night went on, you started smelling weed and some other substances you usually tested for. You thought maybe you inhaled too much of the air inside but it called you miss a few times ... a man-sized hippo.

“Hey Miss! Lady! Ma’am!” The hippo keeps trying to get your attention and you scan the area to see if there's anyone else out here and if there’s anyone else they could be talking to. You see no one. Just you and this hippo, at least you can tell that it’s a costume. This has to mean you don’t have more than a contact high right? You’re just slightly dazed you hope.

“Yes sir? Or ma’am? How can I help you? I specialize in humans and not animals.” The hippo fails their arms and groans at your answer. You weren’t sure how else to put it without coming out and saying you’re an ME. You don’t know this hippo, they don't need to know that.

“You’re not too high right? I’m not an actual hippo. I need help getting this damn head off. You’re the first person I’ve seen who isn’t high as balls. Help a guy out, yeah?” You nod and watch as the hippo bends forward so you can reach the head. You pull and it comes off with some force with you stumbling back but thankfully not falling. The owner of the hippo head has fluffy brown hair and is shaking his head. “That feels so much better! Thanks! Fresh air! I missed it!” He has a beard that’s patchy but it doesn't quite have the gray that you like. He looks like he could be Tim’s younger cousin. The mischievous grin is one you’re sure you’d never see of the detective’s face though.

“You look familiar. Do you know-”

“Now just because you helped me get this head off, doesn’t mean I’m going to give you an autograph. You seem nice but you gotta pay for those. I have back taxes.” You cackle at the last part of his sentence and he raises an eyebrow. “That's not funny. It’s why I have a new manager and accountant. I hated that my damn brother was right. He’s always right, damn perfectionist. Like his shit doesn’t stink sometimes. That’s why his wife left and all he has is murder. Whatever lady.”

“No, no. I was going to ask if you knew a homicide detective, you look like him. A lot. I work with him so I was curious.”

The Tim-look-alike runs his eyes up and down, a fuzzy mitt on his chin. He seems to be thinking something, you're not exactly sure what. Some people just look like others and they’re not related. You could be wrong.

You adjust your glasses nervously and he points at them. “They’re blue! He mentioned a woman with blue glasses! So you’re her…he’s mentioned you quite a bit. You do the autopsies right…medical…specialist…something like that? Mentioned something about pens and menus. I didn’t really get that part.” You close your eyes. He told someone about the pens? Who was this guy? “You’re sexy. My brother’s an idiot or maybe he’s not. He loves his job too much is the damn problem. You’re already a lot nicer than his ex-wife, you single pretty lady?”

Blinking is your initial reaction. So this man…is Tim’s brother?! Your hunch was correct and he was related. You were thinking of a cousin maybe but not his brother. “Did you just ask if I was single? You’re wearing a hippo costume and couldn’t get out of it.” Your hands are raised like you’re pushing away the very idea of him hitting on you. The man in the hippo is not amused.

“That was a design flaw in the costume. Wait, I’m Dieter Bravo, I don’t need to explain myself. I see why he likes you, the sense of humor matches up. If you’d ever like to get to know the more fun of the two Rockford brothers, you should look me up. But definitely watch my movies, I need those royalties. I might paint about what happened here tonight. Thanks again sexy MD. My brother is a bit of a stick in the mud, but he is very nice to the ladies. Wait, what’s your name?” A fuzzy arm wraps around your shoulder and it’s not bad considering the cool night air. You tell Dieter and he comments that it’s sexy for a sexy lady. Your eyes roll as the pair of you decide to head inside where there’s heat and grab some punch. It’s warming you both from the inside out. Dieter and you chat about Tim and Dieter’s lives when they were both younger. Dieter took to the arts early while Tim focused on police work like their dad.

A fun fact you did learn about Tim: he enjoys photography.

Dieter explained it’s a hobby he enjoys because he can’t paint like he can. But he also admits that if his brother wanted to, he could have been a photo-journalist, but the call of shield was too great and it went on the backburner. Apparently one of the many reasons Tim and his ex-wife split was due to him wanting to make one of the half baths into a darkroom and expand it a bit. Bravo also informed Doc that his ex-wife was about as fun as putting on a wet blanket while you watch grass grow on a cool spring morning. That made Doc give Dieter a solid belly laugh.

You mentioned that you’d heard rumors of how this woman was but never really asked about her directly to Tim or anyone else. Bravo shrugged and sipped his punch taking stock of what you’re saying. It appears you don’t just like his brother but you respect him by leaving his personal business alone. As smart as he knows his brother is, he’s kind of an idiot. The fact that he knows something his brother doesn’t is a wonderful feeling. Bravo will make sure to remember this.

Dieter explains that he took his passion for art from their mom. She also taught English part time and loved Greek mythology especially which led to his legal first name. He didn’t believe it fit him until he became older and really leaned into the latter part of the Greek god of wine and revelry’s purpose.

“I’ll tell you pretty lady if you agree to do something fun.”

You squint your eyes at the younger Rockford brother. “What do you consider fun for me?”

“I think you should send Tim a picture of yourself in your outfit. Show him what he’s missing out on by sitting at home in his boxers or sleeping in his office gazing lovingly at his murder board.” This elicited you to choke on your punch and put a hand to your chest.

“I-I- who is that fun for exactly?! What is wrong with everyone this week?!” Knocking back the rest of your drink and pouring yourself more, you’re holding onto the table to keep yourself upright. “First the damn notebook, a bone song, now I find out and meet…”

“Name’s Dieter. Don’t say my real name.”

“Tim’s brother Dion and now you’re telling me to…to…why won’t anyone just let me fantasize?!” You take out your phone and shakily text Kim but she isn’t answering. You want to leave. NOW. Dieter pats your shoulder.

“Hay calm down. I dunno what set you off, but I was half joking. I think you might wanna call someone to take you home. You’re a bit too drunk.” He suggests as he guides you to a quieter room with a couch. You’re able to sit down and call Kim but she’s still not answering. You lean your head back on the soft fabric of the couch and close your eyes. Who else could you call? Just an Uber? No…you’re not alert enough for that. You could doze off at any moment. Alcohol tends to make you sleepy. Your phone slips out of your hand and Dieter grabs it before it falls on the floor.

Bravo has a bad idea. A very bad idea and maybe a bit mean. He texts Kim who has sent four texts asking where Doc was, that she’s okay and she had liquid courage to call Tim. He’s going to pick her up. Kim then sent various emojis with eggplants, bones, water drops and peaches. The second part of his plan had Bravo texting Tim from his phone that:

Hey bro, I met a very nice lady, maybe a few years older than me. She seems a little shy but the punch is very good. She might want to hang out a bit more after a Power Nap. She’s got some full lips and thick thighs, who knows? She might make a pretty third wife, third time's the charm after all.

Dieter snapped a picture of a dozing Doc and sent it to Tim. He waited. Maybe the text was a bit over the top but based on her outburst, his older brother has likely been a huge closed off idiot. Sadly he’s been like that since he divorced his ex-wife, he should have put more laxative in that woman’s coffee the one time he made it for her.

Rockford was in his office finishing up reports. Did he want to be? No. But it was this or do it Monday and Mondays sucked enough without extra paperwork. Plus he didn’t have anything else going on, only that his small black notebook was missing. He’d turned his trench coat inside and out three times and searched his desk, office, car and where he thought it might be in his house. He was going to do another sweep of the office before he left tonight.

His phone lit up but he paid it no mind and kept typing, putting the finishing touches on the fourth report of the night. A small smile crossed his face when he saw Doc’s name for the autopsy of the victim. His mind is drifting to thoughts of you again. He remembers meeting you when you first came. Hands cup the back of his head as he leans back in his chair. Tim’s eyes drift to his murder board and his ear itches. That’s odd.

He hadn’t been sure about getting a new medical examiner three years ago after Old Loaf, the previous ME had retired. His nickname came from his van which he put bread stickers on (not ever the identifying ME logo though) and he usually played classic rock and his favorite artist was Meat Loaf. Weird man, but ME’s usually are. When Doc arrived, it was an adjustment. The precinct had been used to that old bread van riding around and arriving to crime scenes. When Doc started she was first confused for an intern and not the new medical examiner, to be fair, they weren’t told anything about gender or appearance. But they could have at least asked, Tim happened to hear about Doc from the Captain and his wife over dinner. They had him for dinner from the times he used to double date with them along with his then wife.

Tim interceded between a senior detective and Doc because he kept calling her ‘young lady’ and Rockford could tell with Doc’s hands on her hips and her in his face, something was going to happen. He was pretty confident it would be the senior detective hitting the pavement as she wasn’t budging an inch. Slowly she started winning over the officers with her humor and knowledge, she even kept the loaves on the ME van and added stars, a mermaid and a catfish decal to it as well. They enjoyed the new flair of the van.

Rockford had thought her to be confrontational from her interaction out in the field but quickly grew accustomed to spending extra time in the autopsy room and office. Asking her questions, bouncing ideas off of her and at times, watching her work gathering evidence in the field and her lab. Tim had long reasoned that he spent time with Doc because of work. Over the years they worked together, however, he denied that their relationship was changing.

They’re colleagues obviously, but he knows the times you’re most likely to be in your office, learning about your music, trying to make you laugh, maybe doing a quick check of a few databases to see if you had any skeletons in your closet. There was some threat you made against your medical preceptor which is why he knew the detective was in more danger than you were. That didn’t bother Tim though, he can have a violent streak in him too if pushed. It was comforting that you’d understand some of the darkness even if it wasn’t quite in the same context. The pen thefts were weird but he enjoyed your eyes on him, watching him to see how he’d react. Now you’re in his car half the nights a week and he should ask you on a proper date but… you seem wary of him and not in the same way he is of you. Rockford could be reading into it too much, he tends to do that a lot more now. Maybe you’re actually wary of him in the same way? He could review his notes he took if he could find his damn black book.

“Rockford! What the hell are you still doing here? Go home!” Tim sits up and looks in his doorway. His balding Captain is there with his crooked toupee. He should just shave it off. Now that he thinks of it, he could dress up like Kojak. His wife would need to pick out his suits though, the Captain puts too many patterns together. The man is wearing a zebra print button-down, red pinstripe pants and a yellow tie. That’s what the Captain wears when not in uniform. His wife might be helping her sister with her baby again, he clearly picked his own clothes again. Tim finds himself thankful that he can match his own clothes without help.

“Sir, I’m almost done with some reports. Didn’t want to leave them for Monday.” Rockford responds. He picks up his phone to snap a quick picture of the Captain’s outfit, knowing Doc’s eyes would go wide before ending up face down on her desk in tears from laughing so hard. Tim swallowed. A quick flash of another thought flashed in his head of Doc face down in an entirely different situation. “Shit.” He muttered. The Captain nodded and left as Rockford saw some text messages from someone he didn’t expect. “He better not be asking me to stream any more of his movies. I’ve seen all of them three times. I told you to fire those two con-artists….” Rockford has finally opened his messages and it didn’t have to do with any movies.

Tim’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. He called his brother, seething and confused. When Dieter answered, he didn’t allow him to speak. “You tell me right now where Doc is. What the hell have you done…” The detective growled, making Dieter reconsider his plan. He knew Tim might be mad but had only heard that tone come out when he broke a guy’s arm for stalking Dieter early in his acting career before he blew up and thankfully before Tim graduated the police academy.

“Now see…what had happened was…I had a bad idea. Which I realize the full extent of now.” Bravo paused. “Your lady friend is fine. It seems she’s a sleepy drunk. I was going to poke fun at you but you’re clearly not in the mood-,”

“Dion. Stop. The. Bullshit.” Tim stated each word in the same simmering tone. He shut down his computer, put on his coat, and headed for the door to his office. “Address. Now.”

“Ahh…Okay let me just ask someone real quick. I was dropped off, you know.”

“Two minutes Dion.”

“Yup. On it.” Dieter is fully aware that per his request Tim calls him Dieter even when it’s just the two of them. The last time Tim called Dieter ‘Dion,’ he may have had one dumpster full of compost dumped on Tim’s ex-wife’s lawn. It was a gift since she liked to garden and constantly prune his brother’s dreams. His card had said so. Tim did not appreciate the gesture at the time. He did later though.

Bravo sent Tim the address and he plugged it into his phone. He knew the neighborhood, on the richer side of the county. Why was she there? How did she meet his brother? Why is she drunk? Now he knows she’s a sleepy drunk, and that picture… He’d seen it. How could Tim not think about it, sure she was asleep but she looked radiant in the gold against her skin. It would be a lot better with one of his cameras he had at home instead a stupid phone camera. Not now Tim you need to drive. Dieter can barely care for himself, how is he going to look after Doc? He can’t fight at all, no matter how the stunt team tried to work with him. Let’s just hope she’s only drunk. What kind of party would she go to where he would be there too?

Your head is spinning a bit but you see the fluffy hair and the hippo suit. You’re sitting…that’s right! You fell asleep. With all these people, at a party.

“I'm an idiot.” You groan sitting your head up, your body still feels heavy.

“Sleeping beauty is awake, your trench coat knight is coming. Could you tell him not to maim or murder me? Please? I gotta go to Milan to meet this screenwriter who might be able to get me in a Nic Cage movie he’s doing. It helps if I’m not dead.” Dieter gives you very pathetic looking eyes, but you’re not sure why.

“I don’t know who my knight is. What did you do?” You’re not entirely sure what Dieter is talking about. The room is still spinning a bit. You’ve sat up but you’ve hung your head to help with the dizziness.

“Why did I have to do something? You don’t even know me Doc.”

“Doc? You don’t call me that. It doesn’t sound right.” Your entire face contorts and Dieter holds his arms out whining.

“Tim calls you that. That’s your title, you’re a doctor. Or is it like a weird pet name between you two? I’m gonna ask him when he gets here. If he doesn’t harm me.” You pay no attention to his head tilt. Your body goes rigid, you’re hoping Dieter is just talking out of his ass.

“Wait…Tim is coming here? No, no, no,no,no!! What did you do? You insane weirdo hippo! Why haven’t you taken that off? You’re wearing something under that right? You’re not one of those….I mean. I’m not into it, but you do you Dieter.” Your surprise masks your panic for a few moments before it returns and to shoot to your feet. “Forget that, I’m not…I can’t see him like this. This isn’t…wait there hasn’t been a murder here has there?” A second wave of panic sets in, if Tim is coming here, there’s been a murder. You’re at a scene of a murder while drunk, wearing less clothes then you might wear to bed most nights and you’d have to explain not only to Rockford but the other detectives and officers why you’re here. Not a bad reason, but they don’t need to see you dressed like this. You’ve finally got everyone to call you ‘Doctor’ or ‘Miss Doc’ instead of ‘young lady.’ They’d never let you live this down.

Bravo rocks himself up off the couch and places his hands on your shoulders. You can’t take him seriously in that hippo suit. “You spun pretty fast. I sent him a picture of you while you were dozing and he’s coming to pick you up. Your friend Kim knows you’re going with him. He’s not happy that I took a picture of you so could you just, make sure I live? I mean think of it as doing your brother-in-law a solid.” You’ve closed your eyes while he’s talking and are shaking your head.

“This is…a nightmare…a damn nightmare…” You start laughing at the absurdity of it all. You almost wish Kim was here to sing her bone song and it would be a perfect nightmare. Dieter mentions that you should meet Tim out front, that way he won’t need to look for you and it may earn him a point or two. He also put the hippo head back on. If all else fails, he tells you to pretend to not know him as a hippo and he’ll just watch and then waddle away. You decide it doesn’t matter what Dieter decides to do, this is going to be so weird.

On his way out, Tim went down to Doc’s office where he got a spare key from the maintenance guy Joe six months ago. He had told him at the time it was for when Doc was off and that had a sub-ME come in who he had to double check behind. Or course, that’s not at all what Tim does, but Joe bought it because like his younger brother, Tim might be able to pull off some acting when he needs to. Based on what she was wearing, she needed something to put over herself. It’s way too cool for her not to and despite the alcohol she drank, she’d feel it when she got a cold later. On the drive over, he tried to plan what he would say, sure he was pissed at Dieter and he’d yell at him later about that. Would Doc be weirded out that he’s coming to pick her up? Should he have called Kim? She's Doc's friend but he can’t stand her. Kim’s good at her job and keeps things organized, but she’s a damn…well he wouldn’t say block. Just, she always interrupts with that smug look like she knows how he feels about Doc and makes little comments. Doc’s oblivious but eventually with enough of Kim’s words, she’ll understand that he likes her as more than a work friend. He’s sure he can’t have that conversation with her, especially if she didn’t feel the same.

Dieter leads Doc through the house, getting lost in a few rooms before they finally reach the main entrance. In full hippo costume, Bravo waits near the double doors, just in case Tim comes at him, he can hide behind one. He knows the stairs will slow him down. Doc stands in front of the stairs and holds her breath as she sees the brown Crown Victoria she consumes large amounts of Chinese food in pulls to a stop next to her. She walks toward the passenger side door, but Tim puts down the window. “Hey Tim.” Your voice is hushed.

“Wait. Don’t get in yet.” Something unexpected happens. It’s not that he gets out and opens the door for you or even that he has your lab coat, though you are curious how he has it since you lock your office before you leave every night. Tim says your name softly before helping you put your arms through the sleeves and he pulls on the collar so it’s a bit snug around your neck and by extension your chest. You’re left to look up at the man you’ve admired for the past few years, the same one you keep lying to yourself that it’s only admiration you feel for him.

“Tim…I’m sorry you had to come. I-I’m not usually… Thanks for coming. And don’t kill Dieter, just rough him up a little.” You give him a weak smile, you’re ecstatic that he’s driving out to pick you up, but feel horrible that you’re hungover and in a flashy gold skimpy disco dress when you see your detective outside of work. You wanted to have seen him in a more elegant outfit or at least something that didn’t have all your thighs and breasts out. Why couldn’t you have heard him say you name over a nice dinner? Hell even some Chinese food in your office would have been better than this, you’ve got the beginnings of a hangover and it’s not how you wanted Tim to see you outside of work. You’re not sloppy, messy and a tad obsessive sure, but not sloppy.

“Don’t apologize Doc. You’re entitled to fun after-hours. Just keep it safer next time. I was worried.” Rockford tells you quietly. His hands are still on your collar and run down to pull the lab coat snug around your middle which you flinch from his knuckles grazing your stomach. He calls your name again in the same soft tone as he smiles, “I’ve got one too. Not as soft as yours, mine’s a hard spare tire. Um…” Tim realizes he may have said something odd. He shouldn’t be referencing your body in any way but he has now. He feels like he put his own foot in his mouth, it’s not what he meant to say. “I..the gold looks perfect on you.” Rockford is making an effort to focus on your face, but his eyes drift to your lips, a bright shade of pink and even though he’s pulled your collar tight, he can still see your cleavage. There was more of it than he assumed was under those scrubs of yours. “I didn’t mean to mention…You’re a beautiful woman. You look good in anything, let’s get you home.”

If you could melt and fade away you would, where is this tender side of Tim Rockford coming from? Is it from pity? You could care less. It’s clear that he was looking at you, seeing past your usual scrubs, his eyes had scanned your form. Maybe this outfit wasn’t as bad as you thought and he’s seeing a fair bit of the goods as Kim would put it. Tim’s staring at them in fact after calling you beautiful. Does he… Is he attracted to me? I don’t think I ever thought this far ahead…dammit I’m thinking of that stupid bone song again. But I mean…

As Tim motions his hand for you to get in the car, the hippo who supposedly was worried about life and limb has a sudden outburst, “For the love of..?! What is this? You suck Tim!” A waddling hippo is coming toward the both of you continuing to berate his brother, “You’re going to do all that with her coat you damn tease? You didn’t even hug her or kiss her! No wonder Doc drank so much punch!” Dieter then turns to you, his large stuffed head bobbing about. “Is this how he is all the time?! I thought maybe you were being dramatic but I see you weren’t. This is swoon-worthy but you need to make it count big bro. Like she’s right here!” He points his gray mitts at you, your face feels like someone has put it under a lamp and it’s burning.

“Dieter, Shut up! Now!” You scream and get in the car, slamming the door. “Tim, we should go. Take me home please.” You’re mortified looking straight ahead in the car, hoping that he won’t ask. Tim’s a detective, of course he’s going to ask. What will you tell him? He ruined the moment…can I get another take without the damn hippo?!

Rockford shakes his head and pushes Dieter’s hippos head enough so he stumbles back but doesn’t fall. “Go back to the party, dumbass. This isn’t one of your movies.”

Dieter regains his footing and yells at Tim as he gets in his car, “You’re right it’s not! In one of my movies, she’d be a lot more satisfied than she is right now!” Tim flips the bird toward Dieter out of his driver side window and over the hood of his car.

As Tim drives off he sighs and turns on the radio. He has questions, but knows you're way too uncomfortable to answer any of them now. ‘I’m In Love’ by Evelyn “Champagne” King plays and Tim mumbles under his breath, “Of all the times…” Any other time I’d enjoy this song. It’s way too on the nose.

“Tim, I don't want to go home.” You’re watching the houses pass by as you speak. It could be the rum you drank, the fact that you spoke at length with a hippo who said he’s your ‘brother in law’ or that you’re now aware of how Tim sees you, at least in this outfit. “Can we stop and get something to eat? To soak up the alcohol, unless you’re not hungry?”

Rockford squeezes the steering wheel tighter, “Yeah we can. You feel up to talking while we eat at the usual place or you have somewhere else you want to Doc?” He’s keeping his eyes forward. If he looks over, his eyes will linger again and he needs to focus on driving. Supposedly.

“Where we can get a burger and milkshake.” Is your request and Tim agrees, making a few turns toward the diner you’ve both talked about going to but haven’t been yet. It was supposed be for when another big homicide case came through but, well this could be considered a large case of a different nature.

Back at the precinct, there are a few officers on the night watch milling about and taking calls. Things are calm, they’re looking forward to eight in the morning when their shift will end. One officer notices that the mascot for their precinct, ‘Sergeant Roderick Hipops’ named and gifted to the station by the Captain’s daughter when she was four, isn’t on the podium in the command room where the Captain will give updates and assign cases for the day. A couple of the officers decide to track the hippo down so they won’t be the ones that lost it. Their search leads them to the corridor outside of the morgue, where they find Sergeant Hipops, but he’s dipped in red paint. He’s wearing a navy police coat and a small hat in his permanent seated position. One officer points out that it’s too thick to be paint, it’s blood. Their search expands and crimson drops on the floor lead them to the morgue, where they discover a body.

Stevenson, Detective Tim Rockford’s partner, had a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead on the slab where Doc normally performs her autopsies.

Part Two Part Four

Peeps who would let Tim take their photo 📸: @alltheglitterandtheroar @sin-djarin @morallyinept @yorksgirl @bitchwitch1981 @heareball @megamindsecretlair @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @yorksgirl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @avastrasposts @clawdee @pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing @rhoorl @inept-the-magnificent @pamasaur @agentjackdaniels @pedroshotwifey @tinytinymenace @anoverwhelmingdin

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #Tim Rockford x plus size OFC #Rock & Doc #trench coat #A Nerdie fic #pedro pascal characters x plus size

9 notes · View notes

panda-puma · 6 months

Note

oh, I've had a hunch that Sanji got... cranked up to 11 in the anime. after OPLA I became manga-only reader, as I wanted the rawest possible OP experience and also bcuz reading is quicker than watching the anime 😅 (I'm still not even halfway through -- recently started Impel Down -- but it is such a great story, I already love it so much!!!) but I also started dipping my toes into the fandom. and I saw people hating Sanji for being a gross pervert. but while reading the manga, this man gave me more of a love-sick puppy vibes??? all the swooning and fussing over Nami and Robin seemed almost sweet (him running towards them with flowers in Skypiea or cotton candy in Long Ring Island? c'mon, that was adorable) he has his moments but they aren't even that bad, tbh. I wondered that maybe it was a misguided hate towards his special treatment for women (chivalry?????) rankling feminists, tired of men treating women like wilting flowers in constant need of man-help but no, people seemed very dead-set on him being a straight up pervert and I realised... oh, those are anime fans... oh, no... what happened here, and I got discouraged from trying to watch the anime, since if it changed Sanji, one of the main characters, it was very likely to change other things, especially given how old the anime is. and then I realised that it already changed things even in the first episode and I kind of... stuck to the manga for now. maybe I will watch some movies just to see the One Piece world prettily animated 🤔

(Long post) First of all, some recommendations for you so you can enjoy the animation ^^ If you want to enjoy One Piece animated with an "Oda feel", watch the movie "Strong World". The script is written by Oda and you can watch it after finishing Thriller Bark. Like with the rest of the movies, the content is not Canon content, so what you see on them doesn't really happen in the real One Piece story (even if some of the enemies pasts are canon), but this one is the best and more on character we can probably see.

After that, Oda was executive producer in "Film Z" (supposed to be after FishMan Island Arc, but preferably after Punk Hazard Arc to avoid spoilers) and "Gold" (watch after Dressrosa Arc). His involvement with these movies is not so big, tho, so watch them with that in mind. (For example, in "Gold" Oda only rewrote the script of the climax of the story, because he was specially unsatisfied with how that part was done. They had to redraw the last 10min of the movie OvOu)

Also he was a producer in "Red" (watch after Wano Arc), and he made a lot of interesting comics and things that are canon pre-Movie... but the Movie on itself is weird. They changed many things of his initial notes and the characters are very "out of character" in my opinion. It has very good music and animation, tho! But yeah... watch with caution ^^U

(I was not gonna mention it at first, but why not... there is also "Stampede", but "Oda stated that he would not have allowed the movie's story to be produced if it was not a commemoration of the anime's 20th anniversary." So... I wouldn't watch it if you expect anything that makes sense in his world or characters xDU)

(You also have the OVA "One Piece - Defeat Him! The Pirate Ganzack", which pre-dates Toei's Anime adaptation. Oda took a lot of interest in this OVA, and he praised it a lot when it came out in 1998) ----------- And second, in my opinion, you made the right decision going to the Manga! As you say, it is the best way to get the rawest version of the story. And also way faster to read it than to watch it xD

I'm glad you love it so much! ❤️ It is really an amazing story, and I hope you keep enjoying it ^^

And now, oh boy, about Sanji... (this is gonna be a very reduced and fast thing I'm gonna write, but I plan on analyze the differences between the Manga and Anime in this other tumblr, if you want to see more eventually):

Your hunch is completely correct. Sadly Sanji's character is completely obliterated in the Anime ^^U

He is reduced to his perverted side (and very veery amped up), or to being mean and fighting all the time. He has nothing of the kindness he shows in the Manga, only the things they can not exclude for the story to make sense. The many fillers also show a different Sanji than the one shown in the Manga. The Anime also shows Nami completely disgusted by him very often, which influences the way we see him as viewers. She just treats him like a slave when she is being "nice". (Nami is also very different in the Anime. They all are different people in the Anime, honestly u_uUU)

So yes, I think most of people who hate him for being gross and a pervert mainly have their first and only contact being the Anime. And it is understandable feeling like that, because it is seriously a bad representation of the character. He is not himself at all.

The Anime reaches an even more unpalatable degree after the time-skip. ---- [((Little Spoiler of right After Time-Skip: Sanji comes back more sensitive to pretty women in the Manga, which translates into many nosebleeds until he recovers. But in the Anime they had always shown him in that level of pervert, or even worse! So they had to amp it even MORE and show him harassing random women and everyone being disgusted around him... something that doesn't happen in the Manga! It makes the character really stand out in grossness))] ----

As you say, Sanji in the Manga is a sweet guy, and only shows as a real pervert sometimes... but it is shown in a funny way. And Nami and Robin react in a non-negative way, mostly just amused that he is such a dummy. But everyone knows he is just harmless.

He totally acts like a love-sick puppy and has those sweet romantic outburst, but he can be a normal human being. And most importantly, treats them mainly as friends and human beings. Anime Sanji could never xDU

Please, feel free to make more asks ^^

#ask #one piece manga #one piece movie #sanji #black leg sanji #nami #cat burglar nami #one piece anime #comparison

18 notes · View notes

jakekiszska · 2 years

Text

guitar pick

jake kiszka x female!reader

a/n: i hacked tumblr so hard to get this fic back, the most popular gvf fic i ever posted. dedicated to my sweet @bluevelvetgvf for the request that inspired this nearly a year ago. i hope you all enjoy this one again. 🥹

warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni! teasing, dirty talk, penetrative sex, horny for pick in mouth jake.

tags: pls let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. @alwayzthere @strangersingold @garbagevanfleet @harmonyhous @obetrolncocktails @godlygreta @gardenvanfleet @singingmangoes @tripthelight-fanfic @theweightofstardust @teddiie @gretavanfleas @brokenbellz @jordierama

you’d just been hired on as a roadie for one of your favorite bands, greta van fleet. it felt so surreal to finally be working in your dream career, and having your first tour with a band you loved made it that much better.

you’d instantly bonded with a few members of the road crew, they’d taken you under their wing, and for the first few days you learned the ins and outs of the boys equipment and how to get them rigged.

after about a week you’d gotten the hang of it, and you loved to watch the boys play. you didn’t get to stay and see it all very often, though you wanted to, but what you had seen live was just as good as their studio recordings.

right before the tour kicked off, some of your fellow roadie friends and the boys decided to have a few drinks, and they invited you along, to which you happily agreed. you dressed simply for the evening, and you were excited to get to see how they were off stage and in person.

you rode along with your friends, and they took you to the boy’s apartment. you stepped inside and the four of them greeted your crewmates, and then turned to you. josh was the first to speak up, asking your name, and after you told him he gave you a tight hug.

“it’ll be nice to have you join us on tour,” jake said, running a hand through his hair, “it was impressive to see how quickly you learned everything.”

you tried your hardest not to swoon at his words— jake was your favorite member of the band by a longshot. you loved all four of them indefinitely, but there was something about him. he had a certain je ne sais quoi— you couldn’t put your finger on it. all you knew was that he was probably the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on, and he was talking to you.

scanning the room, you noticed everyone having separate conversations, and when you looked back to jake he had a smug look painted on his face. he leaned in slowly and whispered “pick your jaw up off the floor” before walking across to the kitchen to grab himself a drink.

as you watch him walk away, you feel a blush creep to your cheeks, but you try your hardest to play it cool. you walk over and join into a conversation between sam and a few friends, and you find that his laugh is just as delightful in person. he tried to include you in the conversation often, and you appreciated that.

you suddenly had the sinking feeling someone was watching you, so you looked up from your conversation and made eye contact with jake. he shot you a wink as he blew out the smoke from the cigarette he’d been puffing on, so you rolled your eyes in response.

you hear him laugh from his place in the kitchen, but you can’t be bothered to look at him anymore. you just ease back in to the conversation around you and try to pretend that you aren’t getting bothered by jake’s teasing demeanor.

about twenty minutes later, some of your friends begin to beg the boys to play something for them, so they reluctantly agree. you walk down the hall and see their studio room. you watch as sam and jake get ready and hook up to their amps, and daniel pulls out a box drum and takes a seat on top of it.

they begin to play and josh starts singing, and you can feel serotonin wash over your body. it’s been amazing every time you’d heard them play, but in this setting it was even more incredible. you bobbed your head along to the music, and you were happy to see everyone was enjoying themselves.

once they were done, everyone except jake left the room, and he asked you to stay back with him. he said he needed to show you something involving his rig, so you walked back into the room and over to where he was.

he smiled at you, and to your surprise he did have to show you something. you tried your best to memorize what he told you, and you made a mental note of it. when he was done explaining he walked over to a couch against the west wall of the room, and sat down on the edge of it. “you seemed to enjoy the music a lot, i saw you mouthing the words. were you a fan before you got to come on tour?” he asked, and you shook your head yes.

“hmm… interesting” he teased, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees. “who’s your favorite?” he taunted, and you felt the back of your neck get hot. “you are, jake” you say reluctantly, and you see a sly smile spread across his face. “oh yeah? that’s cute.”

suddenly, feeling bold, you decide to tell him you’d wanted to come see them on tour before, but you’d never been able to. “i’d always fantasized about being at the barricade, being one of those girls who screamed ‘i love you jake! can i have your pick please?’”

he smiled at your confession before laughing and digging a pick from the front pocket of his jeans. “like this one?” he asked, and you told him yes. “you want it?” he questioned again, tone still cocky, and you respond “yeah, you gonna give it to me?”

“you can have the pick,” he says, leaning back on the couch and putting his arms behind his head, “but you have to come get it.”

“uh, i-i” you stutter, unable to form a coherent sentence at the boldness of his words. “okay, look,” he begins again, “maybe i read the tone wrong. if you don’t want me like i think you do, say so. in that case i’ll hand you the pick and we can be done with this. but if i didn’t read it wrong, and you do want me, then come and get it.”

he flicks the pick between two fingers teasingly and then places it in his mouth, holding it with his teeth.

you move towards him, though the actions feel foreign to you, and when you approach him you reach out to pull the pick from between his teeth with your fingers. he catches your hand, rubbing slow circles into your wrist with calloused fingers, and uses his free hand to pull the pick from his mouth. “if you want it, you gotta get it the way it’s being given” he says, and places the pick back into his mouth.

you suck in a sharp breath before leaning in to him, attempting to grab it from his mouth with your own. before you can close your teeth over it, he lets it fall into his mouth, and you see it laying on his tongue. you realize he isn’t going to play fairly, so you bite the bullet.

you climb over him, straddling his body with your thighs on either side of him, and you connect your lips to his. you feel him press the pick against your lips, and you let him push it into your mouth and onto your tongue. once it’s in your mouth, you reach up and grab it, taking it out and slipping it into your pocket. you look down and make eye contact with jake, and you decide you’re already here, so fuck it.

you connect your lips with his again, this time with a purpose, and you smile as you feel him run his hands along your sides. a soft moan leaves his lips as you push yourself forward into him, and you slowly tangle your fingers into his hair as you deepen the kiss.

he prods his tongue against your bottom lip and you allow him entry, so he licks a hot stripe against the roof of your mouth before rolling his tongue around your own. he slides his hands up the back of your shirt and unclasps your bra, so you work to quickly remove it so that he can continue his plan of action.

he slides his hand beneath your shirt and uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch one of your nipples and then slowly roll it. you moan into his mouth and he swallows the sound, continuing to kiss you fervently. without realizing, you begin rocking your hips into him, desperate for some friction.

“you okay baby?” he asks, breaking the kiss. “you getting worked up?”

you blush, but you don’t let him take the upper hand this time. “i don’t know, jakey. judging by the tent you’re pitching in your pants it seems like you’re getting worked up too.”

“those are bold words you’re using, young lady” he quips back, and then stands without warning. he lifts you effortlessly and places your back against the seat of the couch before getting on top of you, his body hovering over yours. you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into you, kissing him again, and you feel him laugh into you.

“what’s so funny?” you question, arching up into him to gain more friction, and he laughs again before asking you, “don’t you think they’ll be wondering what we’re doing in here?”

at this point, you didn’t care, and you made that known to jake. you felt him slowly work his hands down your body before reaching the clasp of your jeans, and you nodded at him to signal that it was okay. he undid them and pulled them swiftly down your legs before chuckling at the panties you’d chosen to wear. “i like your flowers,” he said, kissing your jaw, “they’re so cute. you’ll have to let me keep this pair.”

you smacked his arm and reached down to pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they were around your ankles. he moved off of you so he could rid himself of his pants as well, and then he returned between your legs. “you wanna just go for it?” he asks, and you reply, “just fuck me already.”

he slowly drags his length through your folds, teasing you, and taps the tip of his cock against your clit before he enters you agonizingly slowly.

the stretch of him burned, but the pain faded quickly to pleasure as you adjusted to his size. he rocked into you slowly a few times before grabbing your hips and beginning to set a ruthless pace. you brought an arm over your face and bit into your wrist to stifle your moans, and when you looked at jake his cocky smirk had returned. “what’s wrong, princess? you don’t want everyone else to hear who your favorite band member is?”

at his words, you almost scream, biting into your arm as hard as you could. he removed a hand from your waist and pulled your arm from your mouth, and you whimpered as he continued to drive into you. “jake, please,” you whine, “i’m gonna cum, please.”

he leans down to press a kiss to your throat before telling you “cum for me baby, let me feel you.”

you curl your toes and arch your back as your orgasm hits you, and jake presses his lips to yours to help you keep quiet. a few seconds later he pulls out of you, and uses his left hand to hike your shirt up your front while his right hand strokes his cock. moments later he’s shooting hot strands of cum all over your stomach, and your jaw drops at the sight. he moves from above you to go grab some tissues from a table in the corner, and helps you clean up.

you both get dressed together and you reach into your pocket to grab at the pick, stroking at it softly. “this is gonna be an interesting tour, isn’t it?” he asks you. “i don’t know,” you say, and this time your tone is teasing, “you tell me, pretty boy.”

#greta van fleet #greta van fanfic #greta van fleet fic #gvf smut #jake kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet smut #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake gvf #jake smut #greta van fleet blurb #gvf fanfiction #gvf imagine #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka gvf

273 notes · View notes

amusingmusie · 2 months

Note

I am in love with your writing. You have captured Alastor's dark charm so perfectly- the comparison to feeling like prey? I get chills, omg. And the tension between these two fools-- *swoons*

Like many other readers, I devoured YT in almost a day (with lots of audible reactions to occasionally startle my animals lol) and I was very excited to see you had a Tumblr! You have inspired me to try my own hand at writing Human!Alastor. Amazing work so far- I cannot wait to read more from you!!

Thank you! Good luck with your writing, Alastor is a confusing mess of a man to write for, but the challenge is very worth it. May the muses be with you :)

#my asks

12 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 1 year

Note

Hello spn georg! I have a question requiring your deep knowledge. As much as I swooned over Carlos's holy water hair commercial, I was confused because I thought damage by holy water was just a demon thing in the spn universe. It burns vampires too?

Hello! I have to start this off by sobbing, because I had written out a VERY long and detailed response to this, lost track of time, had to run an errand with a split second notice, and left this open and unsaved. And then returned home to find my laptop had rebooted itself and ate the entire post. So. I have to recreate an hour's work that was VERY THOROUGH, and therefore this will never feel like a good enough answer to me... hopefully it'll suffice for you :'D

(honestly this is what i get for writing directly in tumblr. you'd think i would've learned this lesson by now, but nope... i'm back writing this response in tumblr too lololol... hopefully it goes better this time >.>)

I mentioned at the top of my original post that I had another anon venting about folks review-bombing the Winchesters ratings on imdb and other ratings sites, and agree with the anon that these are awful people with nothing better to do with their time, because THE SHOW HAS BEEN TELLING US FROM THE BEGINNING THAT IT WILL EXPLAIN WHAT HAS BEEN GOING ON IF WE JUST WAIT UNTIL THEY'RE READY TO REVEAL THAT IN THE NARRATIVE. They've been telling us they are dropping CLUES as to what the "trick" of this story is-- like how Dean is exploring the past, how directly this affects the canon of the original show, and what is actually happening-- and I see all of these head-scratchers like holy water suddenly affecting vampires as exactly those sorts of clues. Let me explain.

What did established canon have to say about vampires and holy water? NOTHING! ZIP! ZERO! Established canon has never mentioned holy water in conjunction with vampires in any context-- either as being effective at repelling or slowing them down, or as being useless against them. For all we know, Sam and Dean could've had another weapon in their anti-vamp arsenal all these years, and just never thought to give it a try. They had dead man's blood and beheading as their go to weapons, maybe they felt they didn't need anything else? Either way, they never even TRIED it.

So established canon never DISPROVED holy water as an effective vamp repellent. Introducing it in such a gloriously fabulous way now doesn't break anything.

Oh, and we've often learned that unexpected things are effective weapons against various monsters over the years... i mean, wood chippers trump everything, right? LOL!

And can we just pause for a moment to discuss that? Because this is the sort of thing fandom has been clamoring for more of in canon for years. There have been many posts over the years that are basically lists of Awesome Hunting Tools that canon never even considered, like filling hula hoops with salt to play demon ring toss with, stuff like that. Because that hair flip? Have I mentioned how much I love Carlos? Okay, now I have. I honestly don't care if it broke canon even a little if it gave us that scene :'D

BUT! Even if holy water always could've been an effective weapon against vampires in original canon, it's easy to handwave with "Sam and Dean couldn't have learned it from John because John was too busy being dead inside (LOL sorry not sorry) while Carlos was busy being amazing with that little trick outside." Maybe John just never even knew holy water would do anything.

And if none of that is enough to handwave it for you, I'll jump back to the top of this essay and vehemently point at what should be incredibly obvious based on everything we know about how this show is being constructed. WE ARE *SUPPOSED* TO NOTICE THE INCONSISTENCIES. THEY ARE THE CLUES AS TO WHAT IS HAPPENING.

There are SO MANY wtf head scratch moments for me in The Winchesters. So many things are are just ~ever so slightly off~ based on everything we know. And that's not even mentioning the Big Obvious WTF of John supposedly knowing all about hunting, the MoL, monsters-- all of it, that doesn't line up at all with what we have SEEN of John and Mary's life in original SPN canon.

I mean... Samuel has hair now? LOL!

There is SOMETHING going on that will hopefully provide an AHA! SO THAT'S WHAT'S GOING ON! moment for us. There is a twist, a turn, a peek behind the big curtain that will show us what's been going on. WE HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT WILL HAPPEN IN EPISODE 13!

So saying at episode 9 that it's all crap and invalid because it doesn't line up with established facts is just... such a boring stance to me. Like, enjoy the mystery! Piece together the clues!

For my other anon again, I can see how it would be fun for folks who have no idea about original canon, who don't even know they're even looking at clues because they haven't memorized every last detail about original canon, you know? But for those of us who know enough to pause and scratch our heads over this stuff, golly isn't it fun wondering how it all fits together? Because I'm having fun with it. :D

But hopefully that at least covers your question about holy water and vampires.

even if I'd typed up a much better reply before tumblr ate it...

#the winchesters #spnwin s1 spoilers #spnwin 1.09 #also i see your long post note-taking anon... i haven't had time to even look at tumblr this week let alone reply #i see you though! i'll get to it soon!

55 notes · View notes

felicitywrites · 2 years

Text

fragments | jimin x reader [special #1]

synopsis: your heart sank to your stomach as you stepped out of your room, and right there in your kitchen was the last person you ever wanted to see again. he acted as though he still lived there with you, knew each and every corner like the back of his hand and you blinked harshly trying to convince yourself you were dreaming.

impossible. this is impossible.

what was park jimin doing in your apartment, in your own loose bathrobe, pouring you a cup of coffee as he greeted you with that stupid smile on his face, when three years ago, you were certain he was out of your life forever as he left you here on your own and run into the arms of someone else? this should be a dream, you repeated.

until you figured out it actually wasn't -- because this was that day, the one before you confronted him about his affair.

unfortunately, you were about to relive the same day over and over again, and you had absolutely no idea as to why.

pairing: professor!jimin x author!reader

genre: 70% angst, 20% smut, 10% fluff

warnings: an emotional rollercoaster, infidelity, betrayal, self-destructive behaviors, unhealthy coping mechanisms, pining, toxic and abusive relationships, self-blaming, gaslighting, smut

word count: 12.8k

status: COMPLETED

song recs: milk & honey - billie marten (alt version) | the butterfly effect - before you exit | the other - lauv | who - lauv ft. bts

taglist: @mickmoon @mawwnsterr @peanutbutterjm @sweet--catastrophee @loljrau @bri-mal @christiandosworld @park-jimin-isnt-real

a/n: someone evil requested this so here you go. anyways, i'd like to point out one thing though, you need to read this without prejudice. it may not be enough to make sense of the ending but this is where maybe you get to see why things happened the way they did. hopefully.

[fic masterlist]

“Quick question, if I ask you out on a breakfast date, how would you feel?”

“Huh?” your mouth hung open, not knowing how to process the question itself - and the fact that this was the first time someone had asked you such a rhetorical question.

How was Jimin expecting you to answer?

Of course, any kind of date would make the butterflies inside your tummy go wild.

“Have you ever been on a breakfast date before?” he added, and the look on his face told you he was clearly anticipating a very specific reply, something gratifying.

You smiled, shaking your head as you twirled the pasta with your fork, eyes downcast on your plate you’d been dying to wipe clean but this man before you was too much of a distraction.

“To answer your first question, I would be happy. But… Why breakfast?”

To that, Jimin excitedly hummed, as if he’d been waiting for that moment. He straightened himself, placed his fork and knife back on his plate and looked at you. His eyes were full of life, and you needed a breather. Why were there stars in those eyes? You mentally questioned.

He grinned, resting back on his chair. “Ah, well, you see… I’m a professor, I work from 8AM to 5PM, on Thursdays and Fridays, I have evening classes so I won’t be home until 11PM. Which is why breakfast dates have become my thing. Lunch is okay, but it’s a bit uncomfortable because I’m usually under time pressure then.”

“And lunch is when you cram grading papers for your next class?” you joked, remembering a certain time in your university years when you met and liked one of your female professors who said not everyone in the field is best at planning and journaling. There are a few like her who were spontaneous, or most times, were extreme procrastinators.

You wondered which kind Jimin was.

“Excuse me, miss?” he scoffed, as if offended. “I don’t ever procrastinate. Ever. Namjoon can vouch for me..” he proudly tilted his head to the side, and you fought all odds not to swoon.

You could swear this man was going to be the end of you.

“Okay, guess I can consider that as… Me having no other choice than to go on an early breakfast date with you? That’s what this is, right?” At that point, you were dreading to run to the restroom and either take a breath or dig a grave for yourself, or both.

His shoulder relaxed, hands reaching for his fork and knife again to get back to his steak before giving you the most beautiful smile on a man you’ve ever seen.

“We’re going on a date then, at 6AM, I’ll pick you up…” he said so casually, without offering you a chance to decline. You never could, anyway.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention solely on your food, ignoring whatever he’s still on about. Trying your best not to smell how good Park Jimin’s perfume was from your seat, you kept your gaze on your ruined plate, and his fond stares at your face went unnoticed.

He was about to mindlessly say, “You’re really pretty, do people tell you that a lot?” but caught himself before he did. It was easy, and he’s confident you wouldn’t feel uneasy since you’d been there with him for hours. You’ve had plenty of chances to leave and call it a night but you didn’t.

You were enjoying his company and it was obvious to him - just not to you.

By the time your first date ended and he drove you home, you were halfway through your skincare routine, masked up, hair-tied, watching a late night variety show when Namjoon interrupted your alone time with a call.

You winced at his goofy face on your screen before picking it up, putting him on loudspeaker.

“I know why you’re calling… It was great. Thanks, by the way.”

He laughed, and you heard shuffling, instantly recognizing the possible chaos in his office. “I told you, he’s nice. And hot, right? I’ve tried hooking him up with other colleagues but this is the first time I didn’t have to shove it into him. Just one picture of you with me and he’s nodding his head like a giddy child. He really likes you, Y/N.”

Even from the aloe vera mask on, you could feel the heat rising onto your cheeks. You had to slam the remote to switch off your TV and lay on your back on the bed, eyes at the ceiling.

You fiddled with the soft material of your pajamas and sighed, “He’s not overbearing, is he? A narcissist? A secret pathological liar? A serial killer? A hardcore–”

“Y/N,” Namjoon choked on his tea, pushing the cup back across the desk then he clutched on the armrest tightly. “He’s always been that sassy and confident. I lived in the dorms with him for years, he’s not a psychopath although he could be a little too assertive and it did annoy me sometimes.”

You nodded, shutting your eyes momentarily to picture his face again. Yeah, he seemed like the type to be confident about himself. And it’s even harder to resist how charming that made him because he’s a professor.

He’s good with words, articulate when he needs to be, smart, hardworking, funny… You stopped listing down his qualities, hearing the doorbell and a couple knocks on the front door.

“Joon? Someone’s here… Wait..”

“At this time of the night? Don’t open yet, look through the hole first. Tell me if—”

You skipped towards the hall and halted at your door, leaning over to peek into the peephole Namjoon himself requested the management for. He’s overprotective like that.

“Oh?” you gawked at the man standing behind the door, hands within his pockets. You held your chest with your hand before turning around to go full-on panic mode.

“Kim Namjoon!” you whisper-yelled, “Jimin’s here again! I mean, he went up and he’s right outside the door!” you were running into your room, tossing the device across the bed but it landed on the floor. You rushed to take off the mask and wipe your face, pulling at your tied hair so some of the strands would fall loosely on the sides.

“This will do,” you muttered, and dropped the call, leaving Namjoon speaking nonstop to himself. Inhaling deeply, you faced the door and swallowed as you unlocked it with your body stiffening.

You were greeted by the cold air of midnight, brushing past your skin through your thin cotton pajamas. Park Jimin stood a few steps away from the door, holding a small box in his hand.

It’s not a ring, is it? Impossible. He’s not that type to take things at a full speed, is he?

Your thoughts rambled in your head, eyes glued to the box while he’s staring at you with a smirk growing on his face. It took you a while to recover and when you did, Jimin was stepping closer to you, then slowly reached out to hand you the mysterious box.

He’s opening his mouth before you could even start asking questions after questions.

“I forgot to give this to you earlier. I saw it in my car and… it’s nothing much, but Joon told me you’d been finding it hard to organize your workload and–” you then cut him off, taking the box and harshly tearing it open, revealing a small digital timer in white, covered in bubble wrap.

“How much did he tell you about me? Even that part? Ridiculous…”

Anger started fueling inside you, internally cringing all the while staring at the timer that reminded you of when you started working at Kim Publishing.

“Have you heard of the Pomodoro Technique?” he suddenly asked, face gleaming with curiosity, and your stomach fluttering at the sight of his heavy breathing, telling you he ran all the way back to your apartment unit, sweat running down his jawline.

You’re on a deep-end and it was starting to feel batshit crazy.

You blinked, gulping down the chance you might drool right then and there. “Yeah, in college… Also from a few coworkers. I assume that's what this timer is for?”

He grinned, then nodded hard like a little kid. With his cheeks puffing up, added to the pink blush tinting them, you almost fell to the floor but held yourself straight and managed to take a step forward - for reasons you didn’t want to overthink not doing it when you get to bed.

“Thank you, Jimin.”

Jimin wasn’t sure if he was taken by you when he arrived at the restaurant that night, or in that moment when you were looking into his eyes with that gorgeous smile on your gorgeous face. He badly wanted to do something he’d thought of doing after some more dates with you - just to be certain you’re on the same page, but you were leaning in before he could gather his thoughts.

You’re going to kiss him on the cheek, somehow wishing it would send him a signal that he’d just passed another stage at getting you - because then you realized you liked him too. Maybe it wasn’t that bad to do it, right? You were on a date with him a few hours ago, if Namjoon told you his friend liked you, should it mean you–

An alarm suddenly went off in your head, the tune similar to your morning alarm tone of your mother singing, and as Jimin’s lips hover over yours so close you could feel his breath, you happened to hear your mother’s voice like it was your subconscious stopping you.

So you did, and you immediately backed away, hearing a teeny tiny gasp from him. Was he going to kiss you back? You harshly bit your lip and looked down, the air thickening around you and Jimin was in utter shock, both by you wanting to kiss him, and you stopping before you could.

“Sorry… I’m sorry, it’s quite late, uh… See you tomorrow? Thank you for this, I truly appreciate it…” you stammered, hands on your sides fumbling over nothing while he was at a loss for words.

If you had access to his mind, you would’ve seen the images he’d put in there about you, which he didn’t want you to know of course, at least not yet - but oh boy, his body’s taking him somewhere and it was tempting–

“Goodnight, Jimin! 6AM, right?” you burst out, and it was a squeal more than anything else. You don’t sleep with guys you’ve just met, not even kiss. It wasn’t a rule, in fact, there were times when you’ve thought about it, especially with that man standing before you.

It had just been a couple hours, Y/N! You scold yourself, whilst gripping the door tightly. You were losing and you knew you couldn’t. Either way, though, he’s letting himself release the possible stress he’d about to lose sleep over.

“Right, uh. I um.. I should go..?” he brought up an ‘OK’ using his thumb over his shoulder, awkwardly looking at you, and you felt like somehow, he deserved to hear your reason as to why you couldn’t kiss him yet. The last thing you wanted was for him to misinterpret it as something else.

“Wait, Jimin–” you held out for him as he turned around, your arm flailing in the air. He peered back and widened his eyes, and you cleared your throat. “It’s not that I don’t want to… you know,” you whispered, darting from his face down to your feet.

“Hey,” he smiled, “I get it. I understand, really… Don’t worry about it.”

“I just… I would like it if we take things slowly, I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

Uncertainty swirled inside you, and you were wondering what he was possibly thinking then. But as you scanned his expression, he spoke even before he could process his own thoughts. He spoke through the surge in his chest, the rapid beating of his heart.

“That would be nice. Let’s do it.”

He’s beaming, crescent eyes shimmering in the dimness of the hall outside your apartment unit. There’s the line you had to keep yourself from crossing, but you’re glad that you could see the willingness in him to follow your own pace.

Jimin liked you. He really did, and considering breakfast dates as your everyday thing didn’t sound so bad for you anymore, even if you had to wake up a little earlier than normal.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll be here…” he glanced at his watch, then back at you. “In 5 hours..” he grinned, shoulders raised as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

You chuckled softly then slowly shut the door when he turned back around and headed for the elevator, waving a hand at you once before entering and you waited until he’s gone.

Your breakfast date with Jimin for the first time was one for the books.

And it got better and better, the more breakfasts you spent together.

It didn’t take long for you to admit it to Namjoon, how you’ve started developing feelings for his friend. He was more than happy to help you with it, although you weren’t confident that he felt the same at that point.

That was, until Jimin came back home to his childhood home, to his parents – their persistence in pushing him to ‘pick’ any successful woman to marry, as if it was that easy… Marriage, that is.

“Remember that girl you dated in high school? What was her name? Well, we heard she’s a doctor now. Some type of surgeon? Why not find her?”

Jimin’s eyes twitched, his fingers went pale as he gripped his fork tightly. What did she just say?

“Mom,” he gritted his teeth, looked up and stopped chewing. “You’re joking, right?”

Look who he’s kidding. Jimin knew his mother wasn’t joking. She did want him to settle as soon as possible, and to be a very successful woman – like Yoojin. Yes. Like that woman who broke his heart.

His dad interrupted, wiping cloth over his mouth. “The Min’s… I think they’ve forgiven their daughter for what happened. Have you talked to her?”

“Okay, this is it. I’m done. I’m getting out of here…” Jimin slammed his hands on the table and pushed back his chair, clearly upset. Wishing their son a good marriage with an amazing wife is one thing, but wishing him to be wed to the same person who destroyed him is another.

Jimin hated hearing her name. Just remembering Min Yoojin was like a hard punch in his gut. If they knew the extent of what she had done to him and their relationship, maybe they would have understood – maybe not, because his parents only cared about what they wanted.

And what Jimin wanted? It was to meet someone who wouldn’t simply make him happy, but someone who would hold him, when things weren’t. Someone who’s a little bit stronger than him, but still vulnerable as he is. Someone who would be willing to see the end with him, not leave him hanging in the tracks… Someone permanent.

He’s in the midst of breaking down as he drives back to his apartment when you called, just right on time to offer him a hand.

“So… I made some cannolis. Ever had those? They’re amazing. Okay, are you busy tonight? Uh, I saw this old video shop down the street and wouldn’t you know, they still sell DVDs! There’s your favorite, what was that again?”

No answer.

“Jimin? Oh… Sorry, am I interrupting.. Sorry, maybe next time–”

“Five minutes. Be there in five,” he barely let out. You seemed to notice the distraught, the silent cries, the faint sniffles. “Something’s wrong? You want to talk about it?”

“I’m here…”

Colors drained out of your face, that was fast. You hurried to the door, fixed your sweats and hair before opening the door. You were right, something’s definitely wrong.

You wanted to jump in and wrap him in the warmest embrace you could ever give, but the look on his face as he stared at you was causing a roar within you. It felt like he was about to tear you down, maybe call it quits – whatever this thing was between you, or as if he was about to confess something horrible you haven’t heard in his life.

The cannolis were probably cold by then, you’d spent hours thinking if it was alright to invite him over. Ironically, words aren't your love language, perhaps it was a very long time ago… but with him, it’s…

Jimin left all his frustrations out the door, the thoughts of Yoojin, his parents who were never satisfied with him despite having achieved everything for them…

He pushed them out and stepped inside, swiftly removing his shoes and then walking towards you like the clock’s ticking faster by the second.

Your body was pulled into his firm arms before you could even blink, and it was then you realized that in that moment, you didn’t need words to tell him how you felt.

He was crying and smiling all the while smelling roses in your hair, and you were rubbing your palms behind him in comfort, chuckling at how strange her plans had turned out.

“It’s okay… Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“You… smell so good,” he blurted out of nowhere. You laughed harder, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Just say I smell like dough, it’s okay.”

He pulled away, still holding you like you were about to run off. The seconds that came after were longer, especially for you. You were thinking a lot – of cold cannolis, of the mess in your kitchen, of whether you showered… How could you forget about that?

Jimin caught the little shifts in your expression, the way your eyebrows could tell when you’re happy or worried, or when your cheeks would change in their color depending on the level of your anger or excitement.

There’s a whole story just written all over your face, and oh, he would do anything to read through it over and over if he could.

If you would let him.

Which you did.

“Would you like to come in? Or.. are you here just for the food and the uh—the DVDs?”

“If it’s The Notebook, then yes. But I’d love to experience the pastries you made and maybe sit through any movies you picked, with you so…”

You grinned, and maybe it was a bit of a bad timing to do it – but something about the silence tugged and pulled at his heartstrings, and Jimin did what he’d thought of a million times since that first night he met you.

He kissed you.

The world around him drifted, and as he slipped his hand around your neck gently, head tilted to the side, your fears and worries dissipated into the air, into the narrow opening that closed shut as your lips met his and his other hand on your forearm.

It was the kiss that unlocked the lifetime you were going to share with him.

And maybe in seven years, you would regret that moment, wishing it didn’t happen… Maybe in the next forty years, you would smile through the tears because there were things you should’ve done first. Say, for example, give yourself more time - give him more time to open up.

Maybe you would have known the truth of why he was hurt, or who he was running from.

Maybe in three years, you would have given him a chance at saving you from your nightmares that turned into fears in the day.

Maybe.

But that moment was infinite. Like a thousand galaxies coming together, you and him were witnesses of a love that could bend and break, but also stay above all else hereafter.

Your mother fell in love with Jimin on the first day they met.

You’d never seen her that happy in so long. It almost felt like a daydream. The two of them faced each other, sharing stories of the war and the greatest movies of all time.

Jimin glanced over at you, expertly cleaning your aunt’s kitchen counter. You caught his stare, giving him half a smile before rolling your eyes at your mother whose arm was around him, clinging to him like he’s her grown-up child.

“I won’t be surprised if you’d once hoped I were a boy when I was a kid…” you joked, yet it sounded off. She shrugged it off, turning to Jimin. “Oh, did you hear that?”

He laughed along, and if you weren’t distracted by his crescent eyes and that crooked little tooth that you’re sure your mother had been obsessed with as well;

Then you wouldn’t have noticed how he’s beyond enamored by the relationship you had with your mother. He was happy seeing the two of you act childish together, lose the mother-daughter bond and become best friends who bicker over nonsense.

He silently envied you, for having a mom like that. Someone you can be completely honest with about everything, someone who treats you like the imperfect person you are – and is always open to teaching you the ways of life instead of shoving you into the world without a knowledge of anything, and then expecting you’d learn and adapt as fast.

He envied how your estranged relationship with your father, though it may have been a thorn hooked into your heart, became a reminder for you to take things as carefully as you can.

Jimin invited you to see his parents the week after that, and as expected, his parents weren’t that welcoming. Still, he admired how you handled their animosity towards you.

Or as they labeled it, ‘women like you.’

Your mother had asked you about Yoojin once when you were at the kitchen with her, you never told Jimin. You lied to her, saying you knew her even though you never did.

“She’s a college professor now, just like him…” she bragged, and you nodded, deciding not to seem interested in knowing the woman Jimin once loved in his life.

“It didn’t work out for them, I don’t know what my son did—”

“She cheated on him,” you mumbled, glad that the faucet’s running as Jimin entered the kitchen, making the tension disappear. “Mom? Dad wants you..”

You inhaled deeply when she excused herself, placing the last plate on the rack before wiping your hands on the apron his mother forced you to wear, saying Yoojin gave her that as a gift.

“Hey, what did she say?”

You swallowed, whipping your head with the smile you’ve plastered hard enough that he knew immediately it was forced.

“Nothing…”

He frowned, “Nothing?” He's quick to reach for your hand, “Pretty sure I heard that name again..”

That’s the thing. Jimin never liked saying her name. Min Yoojin. He told you about her, in bullet form, if you had to describe it. It was as if he listed down information on the woman he dated in college, memorized it and then recited them to you.

You never asked anything more.

Not even Namjoon heard anything from you.

You just know that he loved her, that it was almost like a fairytale, until she ran away into the arms of a much older man… Disappointed at how simple Jimin was becoming.

You always thought she’s a perfectionist, someone who was raised in a strict household, rich and powerful – people who believed mistakes shouldn’t have room in a person.

Maybe Yoojin didn’t like how heavy Jimin sleeps?

Or how he gives out retakes on his practical tests to offer his students a chance at passing?

Or when he’s being himself.

It didn’t matter, though. She’s not there anymore.

But you were.

Jimin didn’t care if it had only been three years. He was going to propose anyway.

He wanted a future with you. And the way you’d welcome him at home seemed obvious you wanted that too. You told him about having kids of your own, of living in a house on a farm when you grow old.

Though you never mentioned him in those little dreams of your future, a part of him knew at one point you pictured him in there too.

You wanted to be honest, he did appear on that porch sitting next to you.

Or that he cried on the day you’d given birth to your child.

Or that the ring he gave you had stopped being lonely in your finger… As he himself said it, one day he’ll add two more.

When Jimin called his parents to tell them what he wanted to do, they didn’t sound pleased, but they let him – though silently hoping it wouldn’t end the way he said it would.

Cruel. Life’s cruel.

He didn’t get to say it, not even get down on one knee because he learned the truth the hardest way possible. You’re never sure of him.

That you saw him as a reflection of your father, and that image turned your hopes into dust.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin. She’ll eventually realize how wrong she is about you… It’s our fault she’s like this…”

Or is it Jimin’s fault to believe there was a future for him, with you?

For the next two weeks, you were different.

You rarely ever spoke a word to him, and you started writing again. But you still sent him short love letters in his email, more than enough to get him through the rough day at work.

And whenever he’d come home in the evening, you’d sit on the couch with the saddest smiles he’d seen, but it'd shift into the biggest as soon as you saw him coming in.

He watched you sleep – something he used to do when he still had the energy to spare and keep his eyes open until you drift into your slumber.

Jimin watched and watched, each night, caressing you, searching the answers through the sound of your breathing. What made you feel uncertain of him?

What did he do wrong?

When did everything begin to feel… out of reach?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it since. Coming home was the best part of his day, until the thought of you leaving him would haunt him on his way back to your apartment.

The days felt longer than ever, and coming home scared him then, what if he opened the door and you’re not there anymore?

It sure felt like time was running out.

Three months later and you’re… on an invisible, thin thread.

“Hey love? Uh, did Namjoon call? We might have to stay in for another two hours. It’s the next edition. Anyways, we’ll catch up at 12?”

Pressing a thumb on the side of his forehead, Jimin swiveled in his chair, deep in thought.

He’d been thinking about a weekend with you, maybe a trip somewhere and it could be a way for both of you to bond and make up for the time when things were hectic.

Hours ago, he was on his work computer searching for places fit for a weekend getaway, imagining a perfect Sunday where you would walk down the stairs with him on your way to the beach, or you on a dress standing at a balcony looking out in the ocean, him by your side feeling content in your presence.

He believed you needed it too, even more so when he knew you’d been working triple times harder than ever, giving no time to come home and lay in bed with him while he’s still awake, and have breakfast the next morning.

The thought of asking Namjoon about your day instead would often pass him by, but he never did, not when your distance could mean so much more than what anyone would imagine, and Jimin didn’t want to pressure you on anything.

Hovering over your text on his phone screen, his finger quivered at reluctance. He could leave his paperwork and head home, maybe pick you up on his way so you could grab something to eat, but would that be alright with you?

Since when did it feel so odd to ask you how you felt?

Either way, Jimin had to try, otherwise he wouldn’t figure it out.

He texted back, “Do you want me to pick you up at 12? I’m still in the office but I can leave this work for tomorrow and drive home, should I wait for you to finish?”

Jimin felt a knot in his stomach as he sent his text, as if he could already feel the fall before it even happened. Those days were just him bracing for something devastating, it physically hurt.

Pushing his phone across his desk, he laid on his back and shut his eyes for the umpteenth time that day, seeing your face in an instant and the tight pull at his insides caught him breathless – choking almost.

He recalled the last time he felt suffocated, it was when he still lived with his parents. His mother would barge into his bedroom uninvited, listing down opportunities she wanted him to seek.

Jimin used to be a single-minded person, someone who silently craved simplicity but with a taste of perfection. Unlike his parents, he wanted great things – yet his way of getting them wasn’t sacrificial, he didn’t like too much pressure.

But he had to endure, as he felt it was the only road for him to find his escape one day. If he were to succeed like his parents wanted, then that would mean he could leave and be on his own.

Suffocating – love was like that for him, if he was to speak of his parents’ love. However, Yoojin’s love was something else. It was indescribable, more so like a whirlwind of passion and freedom.

Yoojin became his reason to leave his parents ultimately, the grip they had on his neck fell off when he told them he was going away with her.

He was free as soon as he held her hand.

Not knowing how choosing her would make everything even harder for him – staying with her would potentially get himself back to where he came from, how he was with his parents.

His phone rang and he was shaken, eyes narrowing in at the device vibrating across the wooden desk. It’s you. You were calling him, your face lit up the screen as the door to his faculty flew open.

Getting up, he grabbed his phone and answered, his head towards the doorway where someone stood by with a pile of books in both hands, panting heavily, short of breath.

His entire face drained all its color, one hand holding his phone right up by his ear while the other was on his side, seeking refuge on the hem of his pants.

“Hello? Love? Hi, uh, well.. We’re having coffee and some snacks Sooyoung bought, it’s crazy in here, you know? Namjoon is okay driving me home, you don’t need to, okay? Please come home and rest. We’ll catch up, I promise. Hmm? I’m so sorry, but you know how important this is for me. I might get that chance to pitch in my ideas and—”

“It’s okay, I understand… Let me know when you’re on your way, alright? I’ll see you at home.”

His words ran seamlessly, as though they were rehearsed. He had expected it’s possible that you wouldn’t want him to pick you up, or that there could be some other reasons why you couldn’t make it in time to talk to him.

It was the kind of fall that Jimin had learned to anticipate, to brace himself for.

“Bye, babe. I love you…” Your last three words sounded more of a question to him, but somehow, he seemed to have accepted that too. That perhaps, loving him and being with him didn’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe you did see your father a lot in him, that’s why.

Your voice resonated across the room, heard by another presence still shell-shocked at the door. Jimin didn’t say it back, and instead, he swallowed back the lump and locked his phone, slipping it into his drawer before taking a long, harbored breath.

Then there was silence.

A deafening one.

On the other line, you placed your phone back at the table, and you stared at the screen feeling rather empty. You couldn’t say why, there were no words to explain the numbness in your bones.

Sooyoung leaned over behind you, eyes on your phone where a photo of a lone house stood in the middle of a land, snowed in and cold. She shivered at the sight, at the feeling it evoked.

“Where’d you get that photo?”

You blinked as fast, recovering yourself. Looking up, you saw her sitting down beside you, reading your face. “It’s from a book. Anyway, should we go back? It’s been ten minutes.”

Sooyoung couldn’t read your mind, but she could feel the avoidance, the missing air around you for a while. Weeks ago, your wallpaper was your boyfriend. Then it was that depressing photo of a farmhouse covered in white.

Something was clearly wrong and she wished you would trust her with whatever you’re going through. What she didn’t know then was, you were beginning to feel something you’ve never felt before.

Out of place. You were feeling out of place. You never knew why, until it was too late.

The most impossible thing he once thought happened right in that moment.

Min Yoojin stood before him, looking just as he had last seen her, except that her hair’s different. She used to shine with her hair, she would spend a lot on caring for it so Jimin could still remember how annoyed she would get when chunks of it failed to cooperate.

He couldn’t process a word or two, not even a single “Hi” as something creeped at the back of his mind. What was she doing there? How did she end up in the same university as him?

He was certain Yoojin left him broken, swore she’d never appear in front of him anymore. She hated him at the very last day, for reasons she still hadn’t explained herself.

There really were no explanations, she just didn’t want someone simple in her life. Someone content like Jimin was becoming. She wanted someone who was out for perfection, and more.

Someone who wouldn’t stop at anything to achieve their dreams of success. The pressure took a toll on him, and Yoojin hated weakness on men. He was becoming weak, she needed more.

It didn’t seem like that though, as Jimin stared at her, mind filling with more questions he wished it was easy for him to ask.

“Park Jimin,” his head instantly lifted at that familiarity in that voice that laced a woman he once dedicated his whole life to. “They’re right, you work here. Wow…” she shook her head.

His eyebrows raised, wondering why there was sarcasm in her tone. “I.. I do. I work here. You–why are you here?”

She let out a chuckle, a rather dry, almost bitter one and he flinched at that. “What are the odds, well, I work here too. Since last month…”

Jimin’s brows fell and then creased, in disbelief of how he never heard of such news that she had started working there. “Hm, I didn’t know…”

Yoojin shrugged, lifting her hands that carried a pile of documents and for whatever reason, Jimin found himself skipping towards her, as if on autopilot. He took everything in his arms and she watched, a little surprised but she kept herself collected.

Mumbling a low “Thanks,” Jimin hurried to place them on top of his desk as he scanned each with curiosity. Yoojin reluctantly stepped closer, hands clasping behind her in caution over something she couldn’t explain.

“I found them in my office, uh, right in the drawers and… I thought of throwing them away but they–” Jimin turned around, facing her with one two-paged paper in hand. “They’re survey forms from last year.”

She nodded, smiling a bit. “Yes, from Kim Publishing? That’s… Namjoon’s company, isn’t it?”

He corrected her, “No, it’s still his parents but.. Yeah. They hold surveys here annually, at Liberal Arts. Mostly to figure how many are still interested in print magazines and physical books like–”

“L/N Y/N…” she’s now inches away from him, taking another set of paper from the pile and looking at it, then at Jimin. “She’s…” she stopped herself and glanced around, catching a frame sitting on a shelf. It’s one of your pictures with him, from a winter trip to Gangwon-do.

Jimin trailed her gaze, widening his eyes as he caught your face smiling back at him and Yoojin. The lump he forced to swallow minutes earlier came back, and his heart tightened at a pull it had on him.

Yoojin exhaled deeply, sitting herself on a chair in front of his desk, crossing her legs. “I’m assuming you met her through Joon? No?”

Heaving a sigh, Jimin licked his lips and returned to his chair, resting his back trying to find comfort amidst the tension in the air with Yoojin in the same room as him.

“I did,” he replied casually, looking at a distance. Yoojin was silent for a moment, searching for something in his eyes, his demeanor, there… there’s the sparkle lost somewhere in his face. The way his eyes glimmered, probably thinking of you as he answered.

There was no question if Jimin loved you, Yoojin could see it right there. She could feel it, even in between the gaps that separated his reaction to his worded reply.

If there was a problem, she knew it didn’t matter to him. He loved you. Perhaps, that was enough at that moment.

Against her better judgment though, Yoojin urged him to tell her more about you, intrigued by how much he had changed over the years. “What does she do? Is she a writer?”

Jimin sat upright, taking his glasses before pulling out a stack of papers Yoojin brought. He felt the need to distract himself while he talked. “Yes,” he said, reading onto the words from the forms before setting them aside.

“Is she good?”

“Yes, she is.”

“I see. She seems kind, too.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

He gulped, tilting his head to meet her eyes that pierced through him. She’d moved her chair closer, head laying on her arm. Her hair fell across her face, blinding her sight a little but Jimin could see the pain rising on her skin, tears threatening their way any second.

“Three years..” he replied, “Tell me.. What are you doing here, really?” patience as thin as her willpower to keep herself composed. Three years. Jimin had found her replacement in a year.

Replacement. That was what you were to a woman like Min Yoojin. An insult, almost, to the woman who had everything she ever wanted in her life.

She wondered if you knew about her, if Jimin told you how much he worshiped her then, how everything he did – he did it for her.

Did Jimin love you the way he did with her?

Did he give you the world, and more?

Not realizing what he’s doing, Yoojin winced as she felt a grip on her shoulder, and Jimin stood beside her, glaring at her pathetically. He hated her still, she could feel that too.

Why wouldn’t he? Yoojin destroyed him. She made him feel like he wasn’t enough. She stomped on his pride, on the things he worked hard for. That’s not love, was it?

You loved him. Not once did he feel any less of a person when you were there. That woman in his office, she broke him, turned him into an empty shell of a man that he swore he would never become.

Jimin should be home waiting for you, not anywhere else.

He should be home, to you.

“You should leave, it’s late and I have to go home. Leave those files here, I’ll handle them.”

“I looked for you everywhere, Jimin. It’s how I got here.”

He scoffed, a hand on his hip as he turned away. “What a joke.. Go home, let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”

Yoojin got up, frazzled, “You thought you could just push me away, hm? No. Now that I know where you are, you will never get rid of me, you get that? Whatever it is that you’re going through with her, it’s most probably your fault. She must have seen how you–”

“I’m leaving, Yoojin, you should rest.”

Walking out wasn’t the best option for Jimin, but hurting Yoojin wasn’t either. He pushed off the words she’d thrown him, taking deep breaths on his way to the parking lot.

She could never get into his head, not anymore.

What he needed at that second as he stepped on the gas was to get home as fast as he could.

Home, to you.

The doors unlocked, the hallway to the living room was dark. Jimin blindly pressed on the lights, the yellow shade warming his presence. You walked out the elevator, seconds away from the front door shutting.

“Wait!” you yelled, catching the door before it automatically locked. Jimin peered over his shoulder, eyes darting from the bags in your hand, then to your face.

“Hey, we were calling you. Namjoon saw you exiting your car but you didn’t answer. I thought you’re already home–”

The bags fell to the ground as Jimin lifted you in his arms, in a tight embrace, one that made your heart flutter. Like it was the first time you were in such proximity. How long has it been since you hugged?

Has it been that long?

Buried in his chest, you smiled at the faint scent of his perfume. His tears ran down his cheeks, and they fell over your hair that smelled like roses – he’s home, at last.

You heard a small sniff and you’re pulling away instantly, holding his face in your warm hands. “Oh no no no why are you crying? What happened?”

He obliged as you dragged him to the couch, sat him down before running to the kitchen for a glass of water, forgetting about the bags by the doorway.

Jimin wiped his tears with a chuckle, and you returned with a frown, handing him the glass to drink. Sitting on the coffee table in front of him, you inspected his face closely.

It was then when you concluded that indeed, you haven’t spent much time with each other in a long time. His features seemed blurry in your memory, and you battled with the thought that it’s either you’ve been forgetting things a lot frequently those days, or both of you just hadn’t been around that close in a while.

It could have been either of the two, but Jimin left you no time to think as he pushed the empty glass next to you, leaning forward and pressing his wet lips onto yours.

Hands finding his chest, you remembered the four shots of soju Sooyoung offered you after work, when you were left in Namjoon’s office with them. You clearly tasted like soju and kimchi and everything else that you had that day.

Jimin didn’t care. His hands go around your neck, pulling you towards him and you begin to feel hyper-aware of how ridiculous you might have looked like. Still in your work clothes, you felt so grossed out by yourself, yet you couldn’t find it in you to object.

Kissing you fervently, Jimin’s hands traveled down on your sides, pausing at your hips before giving you a chance to breathe. You were already spent, disheveled when you caught the look on his face.

This was it.

Your eyes narrowed at the growing smirk he was purposely showing you, and you almost forgot how you were straddling him until he winced beneath you when you moved an inch to the side.

“Stop doing that,” he groaned. “What?” you asked innocently.

He stared directly in your eyes, into your soul. His hands reach back upwards again, to the side of your cheek as he narrowed the distance between you, as though they weren’t enough.

“Nothing, I… I just missed you… a lot,” his forehead touched yours. “Can’t we stay like this forever?” you sighed, threading your fingers into his hair while you whispered, “Something’s wrong, and we need to talk about it, yeah?”

Just a second ago, Jimin wanted another distraction. Something to keep him from thinking about what had been bothering him since his supposed proposal to you. He believed making love could ease the thunder roaring inside of him. The silent cries he wept, overthinking why you’d been distant.

You’re right. Something’s wrong and he needed to tell you all about it.

And you noticed his surrender, his shoulders slumping as he inhaled, fingers fixing loose strands of your hair. You reached for his hand, squeezed it gently, “When was the last time we held each other like this?” you asked.

He bit his bottom lip, “I can’t even remember…” he was being honest. He didn’t know how or why neither of you initiated a move, a sweet kiss before you’d leave for work, a hug after a long day.

Jimin was at a complete loss. All his overanalyzing led him astray, while all your overcompensating made you lose track of things – even the most important part of your life, you’ve unconsciously taken for granted.

Since your last argument with your father, you turned to isolation. You did it many times before, shutting down when issues come crashing on you.

Part of your coping caused a rift in your relationship with Jimin, and you had no idea until that moment he was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do anymore.

It’s your fault. It always was.

“It’s all my fault. I.. I did this, I should have been there for you. Have I been too… distant? That’s it, right? Since… since my father—”

“It’s okay. Nothing’s your fault, love. It’s not like I don’t miss you every day anyway, it’s just – work that’s been stressing me out.”

Lies. It was always easier to lie than having to face his fears. Jimin thought at the last second, that if he told you what was worrying him, or if he confessed to having planned on asking you to marry him, your answer would’ve been something he could never absorb.

If he asked you what made you uncertain of him, he was afraid to hear you disagree – and end up blaming yourself for feeling that way. It would hurt you, worse than how you seemed to be as you were going on and on about how guilty you were for avoiding him.

“It’s my problem. When it comes to him, I didn’t want anyone to feel the weight that I chose to carry myself long ago. Especially you, I can’t just add that to the burden you already have. With your parents, I mean. It’s not… fair.”

“Hey,” he called, following you when you stood and started pacing. “Your problem is my problem too. Didn’t we agree that we’re in this together? I told you, I want to be able to hold you when it gets too heavy, I want to be there for you. My parents, they don’t matter to me as much as yours do and I knew that since we met. It’s alright with me, I just need you to trust me… I’m here.”

That was another problem. You knew he was there. Always. But you tend to fight your battles on your own, not because you couldn’t trust him, but because you couldn’t trust yourself.

You couldn’t trust that you’re not going to ruin him because of how scared you’d been your whole life. Scared that if he held you and told you everything will be okay, you’d believe him… but something kept gnawing at you, telling you nothing will work out the way you wanted them.

Jimin’s a good man. He was so good to you that sometimes it felt too good to be true.

His presence in your life was permanent – and you figured that one out when a few months after that night, you saw him entering your floor at the office, looking dashing in his work suit.

Sooyoung was pushing your chair as she giggled, your hair was a mess, bags under your eyes.

“He looks so gorgeous, damn, the interns are asking for a beating from you..”

You shot her a glare and she laughed. “This is embarrassing, what the hell,” you muttered, standing up to meet him as Jimin walked over to your desk, nodding at Sooyoung before she dashed out to call Namjoon on his phone.

“What are you doing here? It’s 3PM???”

Jimin cracked a smile, boastful as he handed you a card. “We’re going to a party tonight. Just wanted to give this to you to rehearse.”

“Rehearse?”

He nodded, “Mm, your speech. I’ve been promoted as Broadcasting Head and… Hoseok wanted you to say a few words… for me.”

You glanced at the card, a paragraph in his handwriting. Scoffing, you read the words out loud.

“To my beloved–” he cut you off, awkwardly chuckling as he looked around, catching pairs of eyes ogling him and you. “Hey, you told me to rehearse!”

He grabbed your arms and walked off, and you screamed, “My beloved Park Jimin has been promoted! This is my proudest moment ever!!!”

Namjoon and Sooyoung halted in their steps, eyes wide open. Jimin’s face was beet red as people caught on to your screaming. He stopped when his friend appeared in his vision.

“You’ve been promoted?” Namjoon asked, and Jimin did his best to hide his blush. Sooyoung grinned beside you, “We should celebrate, right?”

You shook his hand that was still holding you, “Why don’t we go out tonight? For drinks?”

Jimin turned to you, “N-no, we can’t. The party! What about—” he side-eyed Namjoon, “Friday?”

Namjoon smiled, “Sounds great, Sooyoung?” and Sooyoung was halfway into the hall when she yelled, “Count me in!!!”

The speech Jimin prepared for you to memorize was full of passion. He sure knew how you admired him not only as your significant other, but him as a teacher as well. It was like you wrote everything yourself.

It was a beautiful Wednesday night and all eyes were on the two of you since you arrived at the venue. He picked out the dress you had on, and you thought it was pretty. You’ve exchanged greetings with his coworkers and a few student council members he was close with.

If not for the blinding lights and indistinct voices of people surrounding you, with the pounding in your chest as you walked on the podium to make the speech; you would have met Yoojin for the first time up close.

You didn’t even notice how close she was to Jimin, standing side by side with him while you stared at him when you began.

His smile was alluring, though it was scripted, Jimin was beyond ecstatic to see you up there talking about how proud you were of him. You got rid of the speech he wrote and instead improvised your own, surprising him yet all he could think about was how badly he wanted to run to you and propose right then and there – in front of everyone.

But a pull on his suit and a tap on a microphone swept him away, and you were beaming with joy, thanking everyone as you proceeded to walk off the stage while Jimin glanced to his right where Yoojin was waiting for him.

“Congratulations on becoming Broadcast Head. You’re going to kill it…” she grinned, long, soft curls cascaded her torso, she had the perfectly-fitted lace dress that hugged her figure gorgeously. If you didn’t call out his name, Jimin would have acknowledged how breathtaking Min Yoojin was that night.

“Was I alright up there?” you inquired, popping up behind him with a tug on his clothed arm. “Love?” he looked around immediately, nearly bumping into you. He breathes heavily, forcing out a chuckle that comes out rather tense. You didn’t see Yoojin walk away when you called him, but she saw you.

The entire night, Yoojin had her eyes on you and him. Like a hawk, she guarded herself in the shadows of the people, poised and proper as expected of the daughter of one of the biggest founders of Jung University. She was indeed breathtaking despite the sternness she showed, the undeniably forced smile - calculated and rehearsed.

To everyone, it was as though she was born for prominence, for immense success and pride. To Jimin, she’s beyond the name and reputation Yoojin was born with.

So, when he cheered and congratulated you for that amazing speech, expressing his own gratitude to you and your kind words; Jimin thought of excusing himself as he caught sight of his mentor, a then retired professor who’s friends with Yoojin’s parents.

Yoojin was exchanging pleasantries with the mentor, whilst side-glancing his way, as if calling him over. She knew how important Professor Kang was to Jimin. She’s a great influence to him as an educator himself, perhaps a figure he took inspiration from his lectures and practices.

He told you about Professor Kang, but to ask you to accompany him to where she was while Yoojin was there caused a strange feeling in his chest to surface.

Jimin would have to introduce you formally to Yoojin, his ex-girlfriend, and somehow that didn’t sit right with him. Which was why he diverted his attention elsewhere, to you, yet you’ve found an interest in one of his students.

In the end, he excused himself, and you nodded - too engrossed in a conversation with a couple of Communication majors on the relevance of print industry in the modern-day setting.

When he’s out of there, headed towards a corner table where Professor Kang, Yoojin, and two other board members sat down, a student of his asked you.

“Ms. L/N, how did you and Professor Park meet?”

Your eyes shimmered, “Oh, uhm, through a friend I work for. I mean.. I work with. They’re college friends and… you know..”

The student nodded, “I see. Would you mind if I ask how he is as a boyfriend? It’s okay if you don’t want to! I just want to know.”

You didn’t see any harm in that question, sure it was just out of pure curiosity amongst his students. Besides, you’ve been aware of his image around campus, added by Hoseok’s exaggerated stories on Jimin’s students forming a fanclub for him.

You answered, “Professor Park is a passionate man. He works hard, loves hard, I think in the classroom he’s the same? No? But he is thoughtful and loving. And, he talks a lot about his students like you with so much concern.”

The proud smile on your face was unwavering, and his student could only sigh in relief at how similar the professor is outside of the classroom. It made them think of him even higher than they ever had. It was the truth - he loved teaching as much as he loved you.

That’s what you had always felt about him.

“It’s saddening to hear you two did not work through your partnership. It would have been a huge deal to our community that both of you represent the institution together.”

Professor Kang had her arms crossed over her fuzzy scarf wrapped around her, and Yoojin’s face contorted into somewhat of a frown, but relieved as soon as Jimin looked at her with a smile that’s more of courtesy and respect.

If not for the thoughts of you lingering in Jimin’s mind throughout the conversation, he would’ve been bothered by the term the professor used.

She called his former relationship with Yoojin, a mere ‘partnership,’ as if the two of them were nothing but coworkers on a project together.

That’s one of the things that let Jimin down, the fact that he was casted more like a shadow of Min Yoojin - someone who supported the perfect daughter, held her hand through her endeavors while he had to silently battle his own.

He walked on eggshells around her and the teaching community, and the most upsetting was how it was worse around her family.

They created an alliance, sort of, with Jimin’s parents, yet it didn’t help him in any way in his career. All he achieved was the fruit of his hard work, maybe Yoojin did pull plenty of strings for him, but his skills were always considered second best to her and everyone in their league.

He was anticipating the similar response Yoojin had in such a statement, but that night was the first time in a long time she surprised him.

“Jimin and I may have chosen different paths but we’re both killing it in the game without a doubt. In fact, he’s been promoted as Broadcast Head. Haven’t you heard?”

“Oh, of course! Well, congratulations Jimin. I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up leading the rest in the future, perhaps alongside President Jung’s son?”

He swallowed, expecting another name to slip out as if he needed connection to survive, but Yoojin reached out for his elbow and put the professor in her place.

She didn’t know why the older woman would treat Jimin that way after everything he helped her with, and the fact that for years, she had been his influence and mentor.

A part of her once tolerated the harsh treatment everyone had for Jimin. She believed that love was enough to keep him from feeling isolated, however, that reason alone caused Yoojin to feel trapped - eventually leading into her decision to leave him altogether as she thought he wasn't going to strive for more. It was the most selfish thing she’d done, especially to him.

And she deeply regretted that over the years.

Seeing him again as someone beyond the man she had once imagined was rather fulfilling. She felt the power Jimin had all over him then, in her eyes, he became that perfect man she was obsessed with dreaming about.

She wanted him even more than she did before.

Even with your existence.

“He could be the next president without anyone’s help, Professor. I’m certain Professor Jung and his family would agree with me. He’s an important contributor in this university, and will continue to be one, regardless of what everyone says about him. So if you’ll excuse us, I just saw a few of our co-faculty members who have just arrived. It’s been so lovely to see you, Professor Kang. Enjoy the rest of the night!”

All Jimin could do was bow and let himself be dragged by her, who was beyond exhilarated. Professor Kang clenched her fists around her scarf and frustratedly downed a glass of champagne in defeat.

When the crowd settled and they were outside the suffocating ballroom, Yoojin let go of his wrist and fixed herself, standing meters away from him on one side of the large, empty hallway.

Jimin watched her adjust her dress, pushed her hair behind, and the moment reminded him of his university years, when he was still in the beginning of his relationship with her.

He couldn’t explain why, but there was a split second where he recalled the ring deep in his pocket, the ring he was going to propose to you with - and imagined Yoojin wearing it.

That thought would truly haunt him for decades to count, but the minute Yoojin finally gazed up at him with that familiar smile he was more used to than the practiced one; the world around him froze.

The doors swung open, voices echoed through the walls and the movement was quick to comprehend. Yoojin hurried and grabbed him yet again, pulling him towards the nearest hiding spot she could find.

A dark, waiting lounge filled with displays of Renaissance art and decoration. The only light source were a few electric candle lamps in each corner of the room.

Catching her breath as she cautiously peeked into the space in between the doors, Jimin choked on his words he was thinking of saying.

He wanted to thank her for what she did, and maybe apologize for how he treated her on that night she came into his office. No words dared to spill.

Jimin didn’t even realize their hands were still together and Yoojin seemed to not have any plan on letting go. She’s facing her, quietly breathing as her head’s lifted up at him. Not able to see her face clearly, he blinked repeatedly to adjust to the dark.

Yoojin wanted him - there were a million ways she could show him that, and she would, if given an ounce of opportunity to chase.

And there it was, that little chance. So little, none of them could barely feel it.

But then, a phone started ringing.

Jimin was the first to step back, whole body spinning around to run a hand through his hair. What just happened? What was wrong with him?

Yoojin’s chest ached when he pulled away, her reality hitting hard all at once. She felt hot tears above her cheek, and it didn’t take long for them to stream down when Jimin slipped his hand inside his pocket and took his phone, its ringing sounded like roaring thunder within her body.

His phone screen lit, showing you snuggled into the crook of Jimin’s neck.

For another second, he looked at her, as though asking permission - she hung her head low and stayed silent. He swiped his thumb and brought the device to his ear.

Your voice drowned out the sobs Yoojin let out, too loud and too distracting for Jimin to ignore. He was drawn back to you - as he should, and it hurt more than anything else.

That little hope disappeared into the night as Jimin apologetically bid his goodbye of a nod before exiting the room, choosing to forget about whatever he felt in that space with Yoojin;

Choosing to push it under the rug like he would always do from then forward.

If not for the news you told him when he returned to your table, you would have smelled the perfume - the unmistakable scent of a woman’s perfume that’s not hers, but you didn’t.

You informed him you two had to leave as your mother was sent to the emergency room for a stomach pain, and you were in tears as Jimin held you on your way to the car.

Watching you weep for your mother even with the good news that it was caused by a mild food poisoning and nothing more, Jimin felt the guilt washing over him.

He never spoke to anyone about Yoojin and that night - especially to you.

That was easier than the truth anyway.

Two years passed by in a whiff, and everything was smooth-sailing - you were happier, healthier. Your mother moved near your aunt’s place and started helping her out with her small business, and you’d been promoted once, while Jimin remained the head of his department.

You worked extremely hard to match up your work schedules with his, wanting to solely dedicate your weekends with him.

Short travels around the country and there were several round trips Jimin booked himself for you. He’d been encouraging you to go back to writing, since you’ve paused to focus on your job as Namjoon’s secretary and your weekly concept-building with your team.

You appreciated the effort he was pouring out of him just to make you write again, and you really did try - though you ended up on a journal instead, opting to document your daily life with him.

Everything was aligned - seamlessly almost, until the conversation of marriage was brought up during a family dinner with his parents.

The way your face morphed an indescribable expression which Jimin’s mother interpreted as utter refusal on your end, felt like a strike onto Jimin… harder than the first time you unconsciously rejected the idea of marrying him.

He still defended you though, making up an excuse that you’ve been talking about it with him but it may take a while for a decision to come because of work.

Jimin’s father spoke of his grandchildren he wanted enthusiastically, and your stomach twisted at that. He was looking directly into your eyes as he said it, how he wished he would still be alive by the time you gave birth to them.

He wanted two grandsons, if possible. You took note of that, seeing how Jimin seemed delighted as much as him. You’re not as hesitant with having children as you were with marriage, yet you haven’t honestly discussed it with Jimin.

You never opened the topic, nor did he, so you figured he wasn’t that interested then. You were wrong, but you never knew - not until it was too late.

He went home with you, depleted as ever, his limbs felt ripped inside and out. You didn’t look so concerned - conscious of his dilemma.

That night he was going to propose but failed resurfaced as he kissed you good night. He waited until you were far off to sleep, before he sneaked out and drove to the campus, hoping to find peace within the quiet halls of his department building.

Five years into his relationship with you - and he still didn’t feel enough. Not even deserving for you. He still loved you anyway. Even when he saw a lone figure standing by his office door, facing him, he thought of you all the time.

“Oh, I was just about to see if you’re… Wait, hey… Are you okay?”

He cried on his drive there, messed his hair and smacked his fists onto the wheel - and Yoojin could see the agony in him the second he was close to her.

She took his hands, they’re cold, shivering like the midnight. Without another word, she unlocked the office door for him, using his keys that he had in his other hand. She walked in, pulling him as she moved like she memorized the room.

Sitting him down on the small couch, Yoojin looked for a bottle of water. Jimin always had a few everywhere he went, and she was right. She found one in his bookshelf, and she rushed in twisting it open before handing it to him.

“Drink,” she mumbled, and he did so, eyes far away - out of her reach but she didn’t mind. “Did you forget something here? Were you… cramming the tests?”

He gulped down the rest of the water and crumpled the plastic bottle, tossing it into the trash can. Laying his back against the couch, Jimin brought his arm over his eyes and covered them.

“No. Why are you still here anyway?”

“Good question. I’m checking essays.. Hundreds of them. Wanna see?”

He scoffed, still with his eyes closed. “No thanks. Well, you should go back now. I need some time alone.” she raised her brows, “Why? I can stay here..”

Sitting up straight, Jimin pushed his arm out of his eyes and opened them, immediately catching her round eyes staring back at him. “I need to think…”

That’s the thing, it felt almost surreal - natural for Jimin to be honest with her. Whatever he was thinking at the moment, he would say it, no matter how harsh or real it may be. With Yoojin, his deepest, darkest secrets, the hidden corners of his mind were like an open book.

A part of him would dismiss it as something of a mistake. Yet there’s a bigger part that agreed. Yoojin saw the younger version of him - that little boy who dreamed big, so big he suffered reaching for it. She witnessed him grow, watched the world go smaller and smaller with him.

She may not have seen it then, since she left him to be with someone else, but Jimin held onto that for a long while. Perhaps, until that moment, he still remembered.

Outside the walls of the classrooms they’ve practically lived in since college, their perfect little world was not as pretty - but they made it as one somehow.

Maybe Yoojin forgot about that, he thought.

He felt for her nonetheless. Because he believed she saw him, the ugliest parts of him.

In the next four hours, you didn’t belong anywhere inside Jimin’s mind. You were tucked away in the crevices of his heart, asleep - lost in the daunting midnight.

The dawn was when Jimin came home. It happened once, then twice a week. And then you were assigned to lead a feature story on a recording artist and producer, you had to travel back and forth to two different locations every single day for two months.

It was easier to shove the dust underneath the rug, and Jimin would do just that each time he was faced with his troubles with you.

You never spoke about the dinner, or the talk of children that he knew you would prefer than a marriage that could end up in flames like your parents had.

He was disappointed, but it’s his fault too. He should have been the one to reach out and discuss it with you. Jimin knew that, yet he never had the guts to do it.

A coward and a cheat. He would hide in the safest possible space he could find, in Yoojin’s inviting presence that reminded him he mattered.

They would spend hours in either his office or hers, just sitting down and laughing over nonsense. Drinks were bought, food was made in advance - Yoojin did most of the work, like a guardian angel ready to save him from another despair.

It became a norm - a routine, a habit Jimin could never break. Not even when you finally came home after two months, excitedly jumping and telling him about getting promoted yet again.

You told him about the praises, the endless compliments you received - the potential deal off of an international publishing house happening because of you.

You never saw the indifference in him, or the scent of another woman’s perfume in his suit. If you did, he would have confessed - that it was Yoojin, but he would be honest.

Nothing more than a shared laughter and infinite conversation happened, at least not yet.

Jimin somehow wished you would figure it out, maybe that way he could find the strength to tell you everything. To admit how lost he’d been - how your crippling fear of a failed marriage consumed the life out of him.

What he didn’t know was that you never even knew that yourself. It might have slipped out that you’re not sure of him before - but it never meant that you didn’t consider settling down with him.

You just needed a push, a reminder, a tug on your sleeve - like the tug on his sleeve Yoojin kept giving him once he’s at the door, ready to come home to you.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this but, why are you still with her despite all this?”

Back then, Jimin had a definite answer. He loved you. But that felt more of a lie than ever.

He shrugged her off, ignoring the pain in the pit of his stomach. He’d still come home to you - until Yoojin took a bigger risk that Jimin was too weak of a person to ignore.

“I ran into her at a bookstore the other day.. I think she knows who I am,” she told him. It shifted the gears inside his head, putting on his best suit for impact. He needed another escape, another way for you not to catch him.

From running away to leave his problems for a fun, interesting night with his ex-lover, to running away from you. He knew you would hate him. You would laugh and tell him you were right.

That he was the image of your father.

He’s not - at least that’s what he wanted to believe in.

Yoojin convinced him to drive her home, made him think you probably had started to suspect, when all you did was work and try to write. You never had a clue.

What started out as a fun conversation filled with childhood banter and genuine laughter, turned into a reckless escapade of lies, deceit, betrayal.

The sleek movement, of stolen glances and playful stares - caught on by someone who always stood on the sidelines, admiring the likable professor, charismatic and effortlessly beautiful;

There watching the affair gets fueled by the risk of breaking rules and bending morals, was Hyejin. She liked her mentor - from the day he called her name in class, praising her paper.

She knew about the girlfriend for six years at that point, even greeted her at a function where the professor brought her with him.

Hyejin thought you were as strict and unnerving as Professor Min, but you were far from that. You were beyond what her mentor, the enigmatic department head Park Jimin deserved.

She couldn’t believe how you were able to put up with that man.

But that’s a poison Jimin began to carry around him since he began his illicit affair with Yoojin.

He learned how to deceive everyone around him, worse, including you.

Living a double life was easier than having to keep searching for reasons why you wouldn’t want to marry him, or have children with him.

If only Hyejin wasn’t the stubborn kind that she was, she would have told you everything. She would have shown you how evil that man had turned into.

Yet up until the seventh year of your relationship with Jimin, no one had come to share the truth with you - despite the signs being there all along.

You had to find out on your own, without anyone to hold onto - in the worst, possible way.

It was a countdown to the end - clock’s ticking, and it was loud inside your head. You walked up the stairs to his office, greeted by the warm smiles of students and fellow professors. It was a normal weekday, and you were surprising him with a gift.

You held your head high, but not enough for you to stand out - maybe because the majority of the people you came across thought your relationship with Jimin was over.

The last step before reaching his floor, you bumped into someone. Taller than you, pale-skinned, slightly muscular build, in formal, corporate suit. You apologized, and he did too, crouching down to your level as he took the bag from the ground with Jimin’s gift inside.

A silver necklace with a crescent moon pendant.

You looked up but the man was already staring at you.

“Oh.. I, I’m sorry again.. I didn’t see you…” you stammered, bowing your head at the stranger whose face changed into different expressions so fast in three seconds. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes, wait.. Do I know you? Sorry, I mean, I’m not really good at faces..”

“Min Yoongi,” he extended a handshake, you reluctantly accepted, confusion all over your face. He sighed, “You’re here for… Professor.. Park?”

You slowly nodded, “Oh, how did you–”

“I’m a psychiatrist, speaking of which, you should go home. It would be better for you…”

“Excuse me?”

“Believe me, in the end you’ll thank me for it. Giving my sister that satisfaction wouldn’t change anything. Go home and think about your life, yourself, your relationship. One day you will remember this moment and realize this isn’t for you.”

This was never for you. He was never for you. Because you were… you were always meant for you - and you only.

You listened and went home, watched as time turned and turned, reaching its breaking point.

A month later, you picked yourself up and let him go. Let yourself go despite knowing how difficult it would be to fall out of love with someone like Park Jimin.

You’ll have reasons to keep the love flowing out of you for him, a beautiful child who’s the image of you in every sense. But more so, you’ll have reasons to keep the love coming for you and the life you’ve chosen.

Something about time made Jimin feel frozen in place, while you were hours away, speeding like a bullet train ahead. You’re meant to learn things the hard way, but he was meant to learn much harder.

Something about time told you an hour in the future before you passed, that even then if you were given the chance to go back and experience a time in your life;

You wouldn’t have wanted to, at least not anymore - when the course of your life happened because you maneuvered it the best you could.

You lived through the fleeting, little moments of your existence, with the love not even time can measure. It’s endless, infinite - and only yours.

[previous] [next]

#bts fanfic #bts jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin #jimin smut #jimin angst #park jimin angst #park jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine #cheating au #exes au #time loop #butterfly effect #park jimin fanfic

278 notes · View notes