nyan

Morning, muggle. Today's mission... figuring out how to get you into Hogwarts.

You stared at the page for so long that the words began to blur at the edges, like they might slide off entirely if you didn’t keep them pinned down with your half-awake, bleary eyes.

Getting into a school for wizards - as if it were that simple; as if you hadn’t already lived fifteen entirely non-magical years without so much as a whisper of owls at the window, mysterious letters, or Scottish castles.

You reached for your pen, sighing. This isn't how you pictured your Saturday, but you weren't complaining.

I think I'm about four years too late for that. Plus, what are the job prospects like? Do wizards have exams?

You dropped the pen and got up to brush your teeth and run a hand through your hair, still tangled with sleep. When you returned, you read:

We have NEWTs and OWLs, not that I plan on sitting too many of them. Anyway, since when is magic on a schedule?!

Scoffing and trying not to spit toothpaste on the diary, you wrote:

Since I’m fifteen. Didn't you start at eleven?

You frowned at the hesitation.

You're right

Tapping your pen against the margin you wrote back:

Then why didn’t I, if I'm a witch?

The silence that followed felt like he was thinking, not like he had just wandered off.

Maybe it got lost. Happens sometimes. Owls aren’t exactly reliable...Errol once delivered me a package for a Jorge Weslei — from Spain.

You breathed out softly, imagining the poor owl. George continued:

I mean, it's always possible that—

But before you could finish reading the message, your bedroom door creaked open and your head shot up.

“Are you up already, Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped and you slammed the notebook shut - too late, too loudly; your mother had already laid eyes on the diary.

She stood in the doorway with one hand still on the handle, frozen. "What... is that?"

Your blood ran cold as you feigned a smile and a stretch, "oh- it’s just a notepad I found in granny's attic.” You tried to sound casual.

Something in her face changed, transforming into an expression you had never seen before. "Y/N—"

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, pulling it slightly closer to your chest. “Thought I could take notes—”

“Y/N, I know what it is.”

The words landed heavily between you before she tentatively reached out to pick the diary up from your messy desk, flopping back to sit on the edge of your bed. For a moment, she stared at the cover, at the worn edges, her thumb brushing over your grandmother’s name engraved in silver.

“I didn't know this was still... around,” she murmured. "I should've made sure this was all sent back."

You couldn't stop the flurry of questions that spilled from you. “Why? Back where— what do you mean?” You consciously tried to even your breathing, afraid she would take the diary away from you.

She didn’t answer straight away; instead, she opened it. For one horrifying second, you thought she’d see everything: George’s writing, the rude drawings, the conversation that had begun to rewrite your entire understanding of reality. Thankfully, the pages remained innocently blank; your lungs emptied in a shaky exhale when you remembered it was enchanted to 'disapparate' all communication. You fought yourself not to snatch the diary back.

She flipped through a few pages, her expression tightening until you thought she was about to cry; she shut it with a sudden snap, bringing you back into the heavy room.

“You were never supposed to find this." She raised her eyes reluctantly from the cover of the notebook toward you. You saw something on her face that you had seen many times when she talked about your grandmother, but that you couldn't put a name to until now: it was fear.

“You got a letter,” she announced, as though she really didn't want to, but had to rip the band-aid off.

The room seemed to tilt, like you had water in your ears. You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head to dispel the feeling. “A letter?”

Her grip on the notebook tightened. “From this school,” she tapped the logo on the diary, “when you were eleven. But I— I burned it straight away.”

“You what? Why!?”

“I couldn't have you going there,” she said, her voice panicked and firm. “I wasn’t going to let that place take you, too!”

Take you? A chill crept up your spine.

“I had a right to know what I was— what I am,” you said, the words sounding weak even to your own ears. "I should've decided for myself!"

"You were eleven, Y/N!" she shouted, slamming her fists onto her thighs.

"But I'm not, now! Were you even planning on telling me?"

Your mother scowled at you, something between rage and terror in her eyes. “Your grandmother went to that Hogwarts,” she snapped, "and it made her a cruel, vindictive, power-hungry woman, Y/N. All my life, she was mad with the idea that her daughter would be the next great witch, a rival even to her own powers. So, when I came out normal, she—” your mothers eyes clouded over, "she considered it the end of her bloodline, as good as if she hadn't had a child at all."

Your mind reeled: George’s jokes, the warmth of his words, all clashing with the fear in her voice.

It took you a minute to speak. "But— that doesn't make any sense. If she were so desperate for another witch in the family, she would've told me what I was, wouldn't she?"

Your mother scoffed. "As if I would tell her that you had inherited her magic. She didn't know, or else she would've tried to mould you into the next great 'Heir of Slytherin', like she did with me until she realised I was just..." She stopped and gripped your hands, her own skin cold with anxiety against your own clammy wrists. "I did it for you, Y/N, to make sure you could live without the pressure of being someone you're not."

"But that is what I am. I am a witch, aren't I?"

Her eyes glazed over again. "Yes. I suppose you are." Her hands didn't drop yours, but they went slack. You suddenly felt very sick and sorry for the woman in front of you, who resembled more so a little girl than your own mother, homesick and dejected.

You at once felt that you understood why she had made the decisions she did, so you gripped her hands back, and nodded. A silence settled between you, until you broke it.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"As much as I wish I could tell you to stay, I'd be naïve to try that with you." She squeezed your hands and leaned in. "You're not your grandmother, and I was stupid to think that I could keep this from you. If you're going to become a person you like, then that means being the person you actually are, and that means being with people like— well, like you."

“You mean it?” you asked quietly, scared that saying it too excitedly might snap her back to reality and she'd realise what she'd said.

Your mother let out a breath that sounded like it had been sitting in her lungs for years— for decades, maybe. “Yes, I mean it,” she said, reluctantly. “I don’t like it. I don’t trust it. But…” her voice faltered and she took a moment to steady it. “I trust that you are made of tougher stuff not to go mad— even if you're the best witch they've ever seen. Which wouldn't surprise me, knowing you."

"You have to say that, you're my mum," you smiled.

She smiled back, the tension finally lifting from the room.

“You’re not her,” she said, almost fiercely now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as you. “You’re nothing like her. And if I try to keep you here, pretending this isn’t part of you…” She shook her head. “I’ll only turn into something just as bad.”

You swallowed hard. “So… I can go?” you asked.

A small, humourless smile tugged at her lips. “If they’ll still have you at your geriatric age of fiteen.”

That thought hadn’t even occurred to you, and now that it had, it hit all at once. You didn't have time to smile before the worry drowned you.

“They have to,” you said quickly, though it came out more like a plea than a certainty. “I mean—I got in once, didn’t I? They can’t just un-magic me because you burned a letter. Can they?”

Your mum smiled. “No. I suppose they can’t."

She stood then, brushing her hands down the front of her clothes like she needed something to do with them. “I don’t know how it works,” she admitted. “I never had to deal with it, being a…non-witch. Letters and owls and whatever else. It's not my territory." Her mouth tightened slightly. “But if there’s a way to reach them, you'll find it.”

You nodded, even though your mind was already racing ahead.

Owls. Letters. George.

The diary!

“I think— I think I might already have a way,” you said slowly, chewing your bottom lip.

Her eyes flicked to the notebook on the bed, and she half-laughed as she headed for the door. "Of course you do". She stopped in her tracks as she reached for the door-handle: “just… be careful,” she said, quietly. “Please.”

“I will.”

She turned to leave the room, closing the door gently behind her. The silence she left behind felt completely different than it had when she entered: you were electrified with nerves, disbelief, confusion— excitement.

“Right,” you muttered under your breath, crossing the room. You dropped onto your bed and flipped it open, grabbing your pen with slightly shaking hands.

For a moment, you just stared at the blank page. Then, you wrote the only thing you could think of:

You there George?

It took a moment.

Bit rude, disappearing mid-sentence, you know! You muggles have no manners...

Joy flooded through you so quickly it made you dizzy.

You have no idea what just happened.

You began to write, trying to explain everything that just happened: your grandmother, your mother, the letter, you...

A hefty paragraph later, you dropped your pen, sighing in relief and massaging your writing-hand as you waited for a reply. It came,m scrawling across the page:

Bloody hell. So she's letting you come?

And there was the problem. You sighed and wrote back.

If I can find a way in, again I don't even have my letter.

If you got a letter, they’ll know who you are. They have records of everyone that's magic in the country.

Your heart thudded. They might be expecting you, still.

So what do I do?? Send an owl? I don’t have one! Do I just stand outside and hope someone notices me?

The reply came quickly, like George was genuinely worried you’d do this:

Please don’t do that. You’ll look mental

You huffed out a laugh.

Helpful.

A pause. Then:

There are ways to get to Hogwarts without a letter.

Your entire body froze as your eyes shifted between the words.

Like what?

This time, the hesitation was unmistakably longer than before. When the ink finally appeared, it came in shorter strokes.

Like not official ones. Look, do you ever make anything weird happen? Make things move or

You thought carefully.

There have been weird things, but I’ve always written them off.

Like?

Like, weird dreams about stuff that ends up happening. Oh, and last year, I was sure a car was about to hit me and I suddenly ended up on the other side of the street. Everyone said adrenaline does weird stuff.

Adrenaline doesn’t make you teleport

You could smell the sarcasm from here.

Yeah, I realise that now. How is this going to help me get into Hogwarts?

You sighed as he wrote back:

Look, you’re not allowed to use magic until you’re 17, and you’re doubly not allowed in front of Muggles. So, if you can cause enough of a scene, the Ministry of Magic will have to intervene. Believe me, I would know. They’ll know you’re using magic, and see that you’re not enrolled in Hogwarts, and they’ll be forced to take you!

You stared at the sentence, your pulse loud in your ears. You never were the type of person to want to cause a scene, but for this cause, you would have to.

WINTER, 1994

Now that the dust had settled following your grandmother’s passing, it was time to disturb it again - literally, since you were going into her decrepit attic.

You climbed up the rickety ladder slowly, as the rain beat down hard on the eves as if to make its presence known. You looked up at the leaking roof and sighed: hopefully the flooring would hold whilst you explored. On a whim, you'd decided to go looking for an old coat that she used to wear, before the unclaimed items were given away to charity. She won't make much use of it now, you think, better in my wardrobe than rotting away up here. Luckily, your family had already started the lengthy process of sorting through decades of her belongings, so there wasn't too much to wade through as you heaved yourself over the final wrung of the ladder and into the cramped room.

Now...if I were a beautiful fur coat, where would I be? You roll up your sleeves and begin digging around boxes full to the brim of yellowed lace doilies, broken teacups, and moth-eaten clothes - until something catches your eye. Tucked behind a stack of dusty hatboxes was a small, moleskin notebook; above what looks like a school logo for a 'Hogwarts', engraved in silver cursive, is your aunt's maiden name - it must be at least fifty years old, then. As you picked it up, the rusted latch that once promised security to the owner fell to the floor with a clatter, allowing the diary to practically spring open.

God, you really hope this isn't her erotic memoir. As you flip it open, you're pleased to find the notebook is completely blank: your mother said she wasn't the academic type, so it would make sense if this was from school. Flicking through the pages, you notice the charming thickness of the paper and how it warms slightly beneath your thumb: it's impressive how well this diary has held up.

With a final glance around, you decide to rescue the notebook from the damp of the attic. Coatless, you descend the ladder.

Life trawled along at a begrudging pace; by April, you couldn't remember the last time it was sunny, leaving you yearning for summer and a break from your studies. Your grandmother’s old notebook, however, had proven a handy ally at school: you wrote shopping lists, class notes, doodles...anything that came to mind when you had a pen in hand.

Today was no exception, and so you found yourself flopping down at your desk, in front of your family computer, to start writing your third essay of the week: it was relentless. As you resignedly flicked through the notebook, searching for the notes you had taken in class, you paused: you could've sworn that that drawing wasn't there yesterday. In the top left margin was a small, smudged depiction of what looked like an old, grumpy man and an even older, grumpier cat. This looked nothing like your own penmanship, and you had never seen this unlikely pair in your life.

Am I finally losing it? Is this what a nervous breakdown looks like? Rubbing your eyes, you scribbled over the drawing and shake off the incident as exam stress.

That is, until faint black letters began to appear next to the struck-through drawing, as if someone was revealing invisible ink.

Oi! That was my drawing!

You blinked and your heart plummeted into your stomach. What was happening to your notebook - to you? You flew to your feet as a chill of adrenaline pricked your skin; you gawked at the page for what felt like an eternity, until more letters settled on the page:

Come on coward, write back.

You snapped out of your trance, and grabbed your pen from the floor. There was only so long you could reason with yourself not to write back; if you'd actually gone insane, you may as well have fun with it. You began to write shakily the only question you could muster:

Is this real?

The words vanished almost instantly. A few seconds later, more of this new handwriting appeared:

Probably. Who knows? I’m George Weasley. May I ask who I'm speaking with, and why you hate art so much?

You stared at the page for a long moment. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank - invisible-ink that reacted to pressure or temperature. You played along, dumbfounded.

My name is Y/N. I found this notebook in my grandmother’s attic. How are you writing in it?

Once again, your ink began to sink into the page as more unfamiliar writing appeared.

I have the other half of her diary I suppose. They come in pairs at Zonko's. Found it in my school locker at the start of the year, so whoever’s locker it used to be must’ve known your grandmother. Forgot about it till exams came round and I actually had to write stuff.

Your grandmother's old school: ‘Hogwarts’, according to the logo on the front of the notebook. You’d never heard of it before you first saw the notebook: your mother always seemed to freeze up when you asked about her own parents.

Still, George wouldn't know about her. You decide to start with some easier questions:

Connected how? Internet?

You get the sense he's laughing at you in the few moments it takes for him to start writing back:

Internet? So you’re a muggle? That’s weird. Didn’t expect that.

You scoffed under your breath. Muggle? You went to write, but George carried on before you got the chance.

Well, Y/N, it’s your lucky day. Sounds like your granny was a witch, so you probably are, too. Magic likes to skip a generation, as all good things do. Apart from cancer and balding.

You didn't have time to laugh: your eyes were fixated on the word 'witch'.

??? Explain please

And explain he did.

I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your grandmother clearly went here too, if she had the other half of this diary. Keep up!

You flipped the notebook over to double check the logo on the front: it still said ‘Hogwarts’ on it, next to her name. Turning to your chunky computer, you punched in the name; the World Wide Web revealed nothing about a school, only ‘home wart removal’ - not what you were looking for right now.

The notebook says Hogwarts, but I call BS on the ‘witchcraft and wizardry’ part.

George's next words were written with a scrawl, indignantly.

You really don’t believe me, even thought we're talking via an enchanted notebook? Alrighty...ask me something only a wizard could answer!

You thought for a moment, then realised:

I don’t know anything about magic - how am I supposed to ask you something about it?

A pause.

Oh yeah. Fair enough. Ok, how about this.

You watched with anticipation. A drawing appeared below his latest message: a rather poorly proportioned boy (Hogwarts was obviously not an art school) sat atop what looked like a broom. To your amazement, the drawing began to move: the boy and the broom rotated up and down, as sparks flew out of the back end of it. A small arrow with the word 'me' at the end of it pointed toward the drawing, helpfully indicating that this was supposed to be George.

You took a moment to stare at the moving drawing. You were impressed, if not in denial about your discovery of an entirely new world.

...do you all really fly brooms?

The answer appeared almost immediately:

Only if you're as skilled a sportsman as I.

And so you were convinced.

You spent the next few hours writing back and forth, finding out more about each other. You were the same age; he was a foot taller than you; he had a twin called Fred. He asked questions nobody normal - 'muggle', George termed it - would ever think to ask: whether you had a telephone, whether your cars could fly yet, and if you’d ever caught a train from Kings Cross. He asked about muggle school, and you told him about crowded hallways, exams that felt pointless, and how sometimes you wished life before now had had a bit more wonder in it.

His reply was gentle:

Plenty of wonder up here, if you ever want any extra.

You traced his ink with your fingertip, a strange warmth blooming in your chest.

I think I've had enough mind blowing discoveries this evening without actually enrolling in a wizard school.

You rubbed your tired eyes and waited for his reply.

Write tomorrow? I've got potions and so I'll need major cheering up.

You smiled to yourself at the absurdity of being upset for having to study potions.

You couldn't pry this thing from my cold, dead hands!

You went to close the diary, then pulled it back open hastily, chewing your bottom lip:

What if I wake up tomorrow and this wasn't real?

George took a moment to reply - so long, in fact, that you thought he'd closed his diary, until more ink saturated the page:

Then I'll magic you here.

You suspected that that wasn't how magic worked.

The next morning, the first thing you did was open the diary; you half expected the diary to be blank again, or for it to have disappeared from your room entirely. Cold relief washed over you when you saw that new words were already waiting for you, written in that now-familiar slanted hand:

Morning, muggle. Today's mission: figuring out how to get you into Hogwarts.

The groan is what catches you off guard, the loud, guttural sound that erupts from Travis’s throat so suddenly almost shockingly.  It is so loud and unexpected that it tears through the apartment, bounces off the ceiling, and echoes against the wall. It is undeniable; the sound of a climax. It is desperate and premature, very premature. But a climax nonetheless.

He is slow to pull out and his cum splatters onto your thigh, tickling your skin slightly. The sensation causes you to jolt. Your eyes dart down to your bodies, they warm and pressed together. It is a strange assortment, limbs meshed together in the dim light. You have to squint to see, but you notice it quickly. Your eyes widen at the sight of his thick, white seed on your leg.

He’s done already? But we’re only two pumps in?

“Travis did you-” Your question is cut short but a flurry of stammers from Travis. His voice shakes.

“Just give me a second.” Travis pulls away from you and sits up on his heels. You feel your pussy instinctively clench around nothing. The wave of dissatisfaction is instant and any chance of an orgasm is killed. Your eyes flicker towards Travis, you feel a stab of irritation but it mingles with curiosity and confusion.

Travis has his hand wrapped around his now softened cock, jerking furiously. His forehead is creased, the veins in his neck bulge.

“I’m sorry, just give me a second, I just need to-” Travis chokes on his words. He jerks himself off harder. 

You wince. The sight looks painful; the furthest thing from pleasure. The lingering irritation in your body dwindles completely. It is replaced by worry. You sit up and grab the sheets from his bed. You wrap them around yourself and run a nervous hand through your hair. “Travis, give it some time.” You say.

Travis shakes his head and continues his assault on his cock. “That was an accident, I’ll get it right this time, I just need a moment.” The desperation in his voice is just as palpable as it is on his face. However, his efforts bear no fruit as he groans, and he eventually lets his limp cock slip from his hand. 

You remain silent as you watch. You wait for a moment to speak, afraid that a singular word or sentence could chip away at his masculinity. “We can try again?” You speak softly. “Travis, honey.” You creep closer towards him. You tentatively place your hand against his. “You know this is completely normal.”

Travis flinches and bolts right up off the bed, almost appearing as if he is stumbling back. You curse internally for saying the wrong thing. You open your mouth to quickly rectify the comment, perhaps say something else that will calm him but Travis marches to his bathroom. His bare booty cheeks clapping as he reaches the door, slams it, and then locks himself inside.

“Fuck.” You say as you flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. A wave of guilt hits you, perhaps you could have handled the situation better, or perhaps it was doomed from the start. How could one even react to their boyfriend cumming after only two pumps?

“Perhaps my kitty is just too good…” You muse, trying to find humor in the situation but it falls flat. It’s dry and offers no comfort in the silent apartment. You close your eyes and wallow in the awkward and odd atmosphere. After forty minutes and no movement from Travis, you fall asleep. The sounds of the passing taxis and swearing from the junkies outside the apartment act as your lullaby for the night.

By 2.AM the bathroom door unlocks with a soft click. Travis steps out and stalks towards the bed. He’s covered now, in shorts and he slides onto the small mattress beside you. His hands find their way to your hips, his body presses against yours. He grasps you with shaky hands. “Y/n?” He murmurs softly, trying to gauge if you are asleep. You stir almost instantly, you weren’t sleeping that deeply.

“Travis.” Your hands find his, you squeeze the hands that are glued to your hips. You hesitate to speak, fearing that you will misspeak once more.

It takes a while but Travis finally utters a few words, his voice is quiet, hesitant, almost fearful.

“I watch a lot of peep shows, you know. It’s just what guys grew up watching…. I watch a dirty film here and there.”  He stares at the discolored, white walls. His eyes focus on the speck of dirt on the wall. He feels his throat tighten; the inadequacy is clear in his voice. 

“I actually, watch a lot of dirty films… I think more than the average New Yorker. I have a problem,” His eyes rake over your frame, and the shame engulfs him, almost threatening to make him sick. His shoulders tighten. “It’s why I can’t please you…”

The confession seizes you almost immediately after it is uttered. You stammer, you blink, you’re speechless all in one. You could have never imagined this. Your mind was racing. 

Dirty films?

Dirty films were for creeps, horndogs, wankers! They were for the sleazes who hung outside the diner you worked in, asking for your number,  Not Travis. Travis was odd, awkward but he was no creep, was he? Perhaps he was. A part of you wanted to pull away and sit up, a part of you wanted to leave through the door and not have to deal with this… mess. But the vulnerability and rawness of his voice kept you firmly rooted beside him, it tugged at your heart. You swallow.

“It’s alright,” You say again. “We’ll figure it out.” You say nothing more after that. You resume the night in silence. Travis moves and places his head in my lap and you welcome him, you weave your fingers through his hair and touch the ridge of his nose.

You’ll figure it out.

You didn’t want a child yet at all, still only in your early twenties. The job you had wasn’t too bad either. He leaned on doorway to the bathroom, scratching his hair.

“Travis, I don’t want to keep it.”

His demeanor seemed to change, the way he stood up and coughed. “It’s my child too, you know. I’d like to keep them.” The smile that followed afterward was sickly sweet. He hadn’t ever made you feel even a bit worried until now.

Remembering that case called Roe v. Wade that had been passed a few years ago, you had the idea to maybe go and just get rid of it. Having a child is a big commitment, and maybe in the future you could. Right now though? Yeah, no. “I’m not ready, Travis.”

He didn’t like that. The fact you wanted to just get rid of his seed, his child. His little baby boy or girl that was now growing inside of you. Getting rough with you is not also something he wants to do. But if he has to, he will.

He walks towards you and kneels, getting onto your level. “We’re keeping the baby, okay? We are. We can handle this.”

The look in his eyes was one of instability. It was right to question him sure, but he talked crazy sometimes, and you didn’t want to trigger that.

—

You had tried to leave him soon after. Living a life with a child you didn’t want was a nightmare. Might as well prevent it from happening.

It was when you were packing your bags that Travis had gotten home from work early and caught you in the act.

No words had to be exchanged, he knew. His heart was broken, just like that. You weren’t allowed to give up on him, to leave. So he had grabbed you by your shirt, twisting it as he slammed you against the wall.

“You aren’t fucking leaving us,” he panted.

Sobbing and fearing for your life, of course you caved. “I’m sorry Travis,” you managed to get out between tears.

His face seemed to soften, and he lets go, causing you to slide down onto the floor of your shared bedroom. “I love you, I’m sorry.” You said, trying to give him what he wanted.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting my hands on you, but, our child…” He paced around the room. “I’m gonna have to put restrictions on you baby, so you don’t leave.” He said so sweetly, as if he was talking to a child.

After that, he didn’t allow you to keep money. The rest of the pregnancy was miserable as well.

But for him it was amazing. You didn’t try to run, and kept that pretty little smile on your face. Though he missed the old you, the one that he had fallen in love with. But caging you didn’t make him fall out of love even one bit, because he’d love you whatever way you were.

There was less force after that too. When he forced himself onto you afterwards a hard day of work, you only sobbed. He could ignore that.

—

Travis as a father is interesting. He’s so gentle with your little girl, and he genuinely adores her. When you had came home from the hospital he took care of everything. “No baby, get some rest.”

He’d say, and then when you woke up the house would be neat, and he’d be fast asleep on the couch, the baby in the light pink bassinet he had bought with excitement.

But still, you couldn’t live like this. That deep seated feeling in your stomach of dissatisfaction, danger and worry grew more with each day. He’d be too protective of the child, wouldn’t give her a proper life. You knew it.

So you tried again.

Packing only what was needed and with the baby wrapped in your arms, you went for the door. He was fast asleep and you had taken money from his wallet.

You had tried to leave him again. It broke him even more, because he’s what you need.

If you could just accept that instead of constantly trying to run. He pulled the hammer back on his Magnum, and you knew not to even try running.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you, so please, just turn around.”

After getting the baby, he put her to sleep before coming back to you on the couch in the living room, head in your hands.

He still had his revolver in his hands. “I just want to feel like you love me again.” He took a seat right next to you.

“Just a single blowjob where you don’t cry, please?”

The lump in your heart expanded. You hated him, but you hated the idea of dying more. So you got onto your knees, getting his penis out of his boxers.

“Good, good…” He groaned as you licked the tip of his penis. “I love you so much.”

He took his left hand and pushed your head down onto his cock, almost enjoying the way you seemed to struggle. “Fuck, baby…”

Putting the gun to your head with his right, he whimpered. “I’m already so so close…”

Thankfully so. You could feel him buck into your throat, breathing out of your nose for air. “I love you, so so much. Just the best woman I’ve ever met…”

After that, he orgasmed. You could feel his semen go down your throat, and you wanted to gag. Cry in a corner and until you couldn’t anymore. But you held those tears in due to fear. He finally go of you, enjoying the faint pleasure he got from just watching you cough.

“You love me baby?” He put the gun down beside him, looking at you with nothing but pure love. That’s what scared you.

As you stand in front of the mirror, your head spins from the morning you've already had. Women everywhere, whizzing around you doing your hair and makeup, getting you into your wedding dress. All that to make you a bride.

And you do look like a bride, you think as you stare into the mirror.

Behind you, you hear a familiar voice, "Ahem, ladies, could I get a moment alone with our bride?" Jimmy. He's being extra charming today, as many of the women left the room giggling because he spoke to them.

"Wow... (Y/N), you look gorgeous..." he creeps up behind you and delicately places his hands on your sides, as if he might break you. He looks at you in the mirror, before gently placing a kiss on your shoulder. "You're gonna stop traffic when you walk down the aisle. I can't wait to see it," he moves your veil and hair to give you a kiss on the cheek.

You don't say anything, just stare into the mirror. After a small pause, Jimmy turns you around, "Hey, you alright?"

Finally, you get a good look at him in his tux: all black with an off white shirt and a deep green vest peaking out from the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, "Yeah, I'm okay, just nervous," you put your hand on his chest, looking him over again, "I'm glad you're here. You always calm me down, and you look great by the way."

You knew it was an unconventional choice, but you wouldn't have picked anyone else to be your Maid of Honor. And Jimmy was happy to do it for you, even with Tommy and Henry making fun of him for it, at least until they got asked to be bridesmaids.

These were guys that in another life, you never would've been friends with, probably wouldn't have even known. And truthfully, your dad didn't want you being friends with them, because he knows what they are: criminals, nothing but criminals. But they're the only family you have, and Paulie had to admit that it was so cute seeing you get into trouble with Henry and Tommy and then go to "Uncle" Jimmy to get you out of it.

Jimmy wouldn't have done that kind of thing for the guys; they needed to get pinched and learn what it was like, but he would do anything to keep your pretty face out of jail. Since you've grown older, old enough for your father to let you get married, you and Jimmy have grown to be best friends. He's not so much the Uncle he used to be to you.

"(Y/N)?" Jimmy starts, "we got something to tell you, honey."

Just from the man's tone of voice, you can tell something is terribly wrong; you just know him too well. At that point, Jimmy opens the door, and Tommy, Henry, and your dad Paulie shuffle in.

"What's going on?" you say sheepishly, taking a step back from the men before you.

"You may wanna sit down," Jimmy motions to the little couch in the room.

Your dad reaches for one of your hands and you pull it away, "What is it, papa?"

"Sweetie, let's sit down, so we can talk," he places a hand on your back, and you both sit on the couch together. Jimmy, Tommy, and Henry all stand around looking like tough guys: arms crossed, keeping an ear out for anyone who might be listening outside the door, their faces looking stone cold with a bit of worry in their eyes.

"(Y/N), that guy out there," Paulie starts, referring to the groom waiting to marry you, "he ain't the guy you think he is."

"What?" you ask quietly.

"Well, uh, the guys here-" he looks up at the three men standing around you, "Jimmy, uh..." He just couldn't say it to you.

"We've been keeping an eye on this guy, scoping him out," Jimmy finishes for Paulie.

"What? You were spying on my fiancé?" you ask, feeling hurt.

"You didn't think we was just gonna let you marry anyone, did ya?" Tommy pipes up.

"And I'm glad we did," Jimmy cuts back in, "that guy out there, (Y/N), he's a liaison for another crime family! They were using you for information, and now he's able to identify all of us."

"What? No... He's- he's... a union rep," you cast your eyes down as it dawns on you; it was all a lie and a great cover up so he could talk about his friends and you wouldn't even realize. God, did you feel stupid. If anyone was gonna catch him in that lie, it should've been you. "I'm so sorry..." you whisper as tears drop down onto your wedding dress.

Paulie immediately pulls you into a hug, "Hey, hey, it's okay, baby girl. It's okay. The guys here have a plan." He tries to comfort you as you cry into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, you know I'd never try to put any of you in danger. I'm sorry I was so stupid!!" You feel horrible and angry with yourself.

"Shhh... You gotta keep your voice down, honey," you feel Jimmy's hand rubbing circles into your back as he kneals next to you. "You're not stupid. It took us a long time to crack this guy. He covered his tracks well."

You turn to Jimmy, tears mixed with mascara running down your face. "Hey..." he says, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the tears from your face, "Don't cry, angel. You shouldn't cry on your wedding day."

"But-" you get close to him, "it's not my wedding day anymore."

"Still," he pulls you up off the couch and into a hug, "you look too pretty to cry, and besides, we gotta get going."

You give him a confused look, trying to get it together, "Get going? Where are we going?"

"Well, uh, you and I are going on your honeymoon; Tommy and Henry know the rest of the plan."

"Honeymoon? We're not gonna cancel it?" you question.

"Listen, sugar," your dad grabs your attention, "this is the one day we can get your fiancé alone. He didn't dare bring any of his associates; we would recognize them, especially after all the recon we've done. So Jimmy's gonna sneak you out of here, and you're gonna go away for a while, and we're gonna get rid of this crook and tie up all the loose ends."

Just a few moments later, Tommy and Henry go back into the church to make it seem like everything is normal. No one is gonna think anything of Jimmy and your dad being with you, because that's the order the ceremony will go in. Your dad waits out in the hallway, as if he's waiting for you to put the last few finishing touches on your dress, and as everyone clears the hall to go to the church, he signals to Jimmy that it's time.

You and Jimmy quietly sneak out of your dressing room to head to the car. Before you run off, you turn back to your dad, giving him a big hug, "Please be careful, papa. I love you so much, and I'll miss you."

"I love you, too, (Y/N)," he gives you a kiss on the forehead, before you turn to head out the back hallway of the reception hall.

On the way out, Jimmy grabs a huge plate of hors d'oeuvres and holds the door open for you. You make your way out to this random convertible (probably stolen), seeing your suitcase in the backseat.

"Mines in the trunk," he lets you know, before setting the plate of food in the back and helping you in the car. Seconds later, you're peeling out of the church parking lot.

• • •

You and Jimmy can't help but laugh as you get further and further away from your wedding ceremony. You can't explain why you're laughing so hysterically, but it feels like old times getting into trouble with Jimmy. Plus, it's a welcome distraction.

"Jimmy," you interject the laughter.

"Yeah?" he asks, coming down from his laughing fit. You've already reached the highway heading from upstate New York into the city to get to the airport.

"Jimmy, I gotta get out of this dress," there's a serious tone in your voice that tells Jimmy this is more urgent than you let on.

He quickly whips out his switch blade, "Okay, lean forward." And then you feel the cool metal of the blade grace your back as he cuts the ribbons corseting your dress.

The dress loosens around you, and you look over at the man, "Thank you," is all you say before sliding the dress down over your hips, then throwing it up in the air, letting the wind take it down the highway. Jimmy has an impressed look on his face as he glances at you with a half smile on his face.

He reaches over, placing a hand on your bare thigh, pulling your wedding garter down your leg before holding it above his head and spinning it around like a lasso. "WOOOOOO!!!!" he yells at the top of his lungs as he flings the little piece of lace. Anything to make you laugh, and it does get a rise out of you.

There's a pause for a moment as Jimmy takes in the view of you in your white lingerie; his eyes don't linger for long though, because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

Though, you can't help but feel sexy for moment before climbing into the backseat to change.

"Hey, bring that food up to the front seat when you're done," he says, looking at you in the rearview mirror. You smack his shoulder, realizing he can see you changing. He chuckles and flips the rearview up. You spend the rest of the trip leaning on Jimmy and snacking on the hors d'oeuvres on the tray, until you arrive at the airport.

Because you skipped the wedding ceremony and reception, you arrive way earlier than you're supposed to, but it's no issue, Jimmy already worked it out by moving your flight up. It also works out better, because there will be goons at the airport looking for you, but by the time they get there, you and Jimmy will already be gone.

• • •

After a few hours when you arrive in the Bahamas, Jimmy gently runs his fingers through your hair to wake you up from your nap. You were conked out on his shoulder, exhausted from this morning. "C'mon, sleepyhead, let's go have a honeymoon," he helps get you up and grab your bags.

"Mmmm," you yawn following him, "you say that like it's your honeymoon or something."

"Well, it is now," he chuckles, grabbing your hand to lead you off the plane. After a warm welcome from some locals at the check in desk, you head over to your private villa, right on the beach. Even though it's already dark, the island is beautiful. The warm breeze makes the palm trees wave; the sand is soft under your feet; and the sound of waves crashing is seriously so relaxing.

Inside your villa, it looks so cozy and clean, and you're so ready to get some dinner and go to bed. That's just what you do. Jimmy calls the office to order dinner to your little beach house, and you pop into the bathroom to take a shower and change.

By the time you're done, dinner is too. Jimmy greets you with a little side hug and pulls your chair out for you to sit down at the table. "Comfy? In your little robe and all?" he asks, eyeing you up and down quickly.

"Mm-hmmm," you moan, stuffing your face with delicious food. Jimmy chuckles at you before doing the same.

After getting your bellies full on tasty seafood, you decide that it would be a good idea to go to sleep, that way you can make the most of your time on this lovely island.

As you and Jimmy make your way to the bedroom, you're met with a reminder of why you're there in the first place: rose petals and candles littering the room.

Jimmy sees the way you pause, "Do you want me to get rid of this stuff?"

"I- uh, no... It's okay," you look back and forth between him and your bed.

"Here," he says, leading you to the couch, "Stay here."

He goes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. For a few moments you hear huffing and thudding as he blows out candles and throws them in the trash, and you hear his arms hitting the bed as he wipes the rose petals away. Jimmy exits the room with a trash bag in tow, tossing it out on the front patio before returning to the living room, breathing a little heavy, and holding his arm out, motioning you to the bedroom.

You stand up and put your arms around him, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, "Thank you, Jimmy."

He places his arm around your waist and presses a cheek to your head, "You're welcome, sweetie. Now go to bed."

"You're not coming?" you ask.

"I'll sleep on the couch. You have a good night, and sweet dreams," he gives your arm a squeeze before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As you settle into bed and try to sleep, it sinks in. Your relationship that you'd been so happy in is over... And here you are in another country for an undetermined amount of time while your ex-fiancé gets "taken care of." Even though his intention was to hurt you, you can't help but mourn what feels like the loss of your happiness. In fact, there's only one place you can feel happy right now, and you won't sleep until you're there.

"Jimmy?" you whisper through your sniffles. You stand before him as he sleeps soundly on the couch. "Jimmy?" A little louder this time, and that does the trick.

The man takes in a sharp inhale through his nose and his eyes pop open, "(Y/N), hey," he rubs his eyes, "you okay?" You just stand there quietly sniffling, and then Jimmy sees the redness in your face, "Hey, hey, c'mere honey, c'mere." He holds the blanket up for you to climb in, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, cuddling you in his cozy little spot on the couch. You simply bury your head into his chest, and let out a few tears. "Shhhh, shhh," he says as if cooing a baby, "it's okay, I'm here, everything's gonna be alright."

• • •

The sun brightly lights the whole open floor plan of your beach side escape, warming you and Jimmy in your bundle of blankets. You awake to the feeling of his fingers lazily combing through your hair, and when you crack your eyes open, you see him happily smiling down at you. You place a hand on his chest, and he covers it with one of his own, giving your fingers a squeeze.

"Morning, you hungry?" he greets you.

"Mmmm... Good morning, sweet man," you happily nuzzle into him.

He cups a hand on the back of your head, "Whaddaya say we get some breakfast, then ya wanna go swimming later today? Hm? We got that beautiful beach right out there." His head motions towards the large glass doors that look out onto the sand and sea.

"Only if we can stay here a little longer," you hum into his chest, perfectly content with just cuddling up to him all day long.

"Okay, princess, we can stay a little longer."

• • •

After a relaxed morning (yes, you both dozed back off to sleep for a while) and a nice breakfast of fresh fruits, juice, and pastries, you wait on the back patio for Jimmy to change into his swimsuit. When the sliding glass door glides open, you turn and see the man in swim trunks that hit about mid-thigh, short sleeve button up shirt that's unbuttoned, a gold chain, and a cigarette. Of course Jimmy dresses like that for the beach.

"Whaddaya think? How do I look?" he jokes at you.

You walk over and places your hands on his bare chest. "The view looks pretty good from here," you chuckle lowly.

Jimmy grunts, "You better watch those hands of yours," he warns, moving you off his chest before lightly taking your fingers in his. "Alright, let's go," he says, leading you towards the waves.

"Ya know, uh," Jimmy catches your attention.

"Hmm?" you chirp, hand still happily in his.

"How come you're still wearing this?" he asks, holding your hand up, and tapping his thumb on your engagement ring.

"Oh... um... I'm not sure, honestly," you look down at your hands, wringing them together and fidgeting with the little piece of jewelry. As you take your first few steps into the ocean, you slip the ring from your finger. "I guess it doesn't mean anything anymore," you ponder to yourself before chucking it into the water.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows in surprise, "You didn't wanna sell it?"

You turn around and pat him on the chest, "I know you and the boys back home will make me more money than that ring is worth. It wouldn't surprise me if it was fake, knowing what I know now."

• • •

Time got away from you as the two of you enjoyed your day in the sun. After walking along the beach and Jimmy dunking you in the waves a few times (don't worry, you got him back), it's already early afternoon. And boy, were you beat.

"Hmmm, I think it's time for a nap!" you yawn, "This sun has got me drained."

"Wanna go inside?" Jimmy points to your little beach house.

"Yeah, but I don't think I can walk another step," you whine playfully, giving the man puppy eyes.

There's a long pause as Jimmy gives you a serious look, but he's only kidding. "You want me to carry you, don't you?"

"Yes, please!"

And with that, your feet are swept out from under you. Jimmy walks you across the sand and through the sliding glass door, right to the bathroom.

"What are we doing in here?" you question as he walks right into the shower, "Jimmy?!"

"Gotta rinse all the salt and sand off," is all he gets out before the shower faucet sprays cold water on you and the man holding you. You squeal loudly and practically jump from Jimmy's arms! You hold onto him tightly for warmth; luckily the water heats up quickly though.

"You bastard!!" you yell and give the man a swift pop on the chest.

"OW!" he giggles and rubs the spot that is quickly turning red.

Your face forms a pout, feeling bad for smacking him, "I'm sorry." You take a step forward and rub your hand on his chest to sooth the spot. When you place your other hand on his chest, you look up at him. Suddenly you feel his strong hands gripping the back of your head, and his lips meet yours. Your back comes into contact with the shower wall, and you're completely surrounded. You feel the muscles of Jimmy's arms squeezing around you as his tongue urges it's way into your mouth.

You could hardly explain it: the timing and the situation feel so wrong, but he feels so 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, like everything you had ever wanted- no, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥.

Water soaks your hair, your face, your bodies as Jimmy fiercely kisses you. He's almost scared to stop.

But when you gently suck his bottom lip into your mouth and give it a nibble, it's game over.

Your friend-turned-lover rips open the shower curtain and starts walking you to the bedroom, his lips and his body never leaving yours. His tropical shirt slaps the ground in a wet heap, quickly followed by his swim trunks.

His lips find your neck, and you finally get a moment to catch your breath. Pressed against him as you step backwards, you feel his hands frantically working the straps of your swimsuit. You pull back from him just enough to see his face, and he freezes like a deer in headlights.

You simply look each other over, taking in the features of the other's face for a moment, before you lean forward and place your lips to his chastely, kissing him just once or twice. His rough hands gently caress your back, and then things turn passionate again when he slowly removes your top.

You always thought you'd be nervous to be with Jimmy, but after all, this is a man that you trust with your life. Wait- always? Did this imply you'd thought about being with him before?

In the heat of the moment you couldn't make sense of it. All you know right now is that Jimmy already has you naked and on the bed. It feels like your emotions are in a whirlwind, but Jimmy makes you feel good and you want more.

Your hands rake through his still wet hair, as he showers your chest in affection by kissing and sucking at your collarbone and breasts. He travels further down your body with his ministrations, until he reaches your soft inner thighs. You can feel his five o'clock shadow scratching at the delicate skin there, before he stops and looks up at you nervously. You'd never seen this man look nervous before.

His eyes beg for permission to go down on you and his hot breath passes over your center. You simply push down on his head a bit as a signal to go.

With his elbows buried in the soft mattress, forearms wrapped around your thighs, and eyes closed in concentration, his mouth surrounds that little bundle of nerves, lighting a fire in your belly. The sound of him breathing through his nose and your moans fill the room. Every hair on your body stands on end and your toes curl at the feeling of Jimmy Conway giving you head.

Oh God, Jimmy Conway is giving you head... Jimmy Conway your best friend. Jimmy Conway your Maid of Honor? You quickly push that thought away, then raise your head to look down at the man happily working away between your legs.

This is something you never thought you'd do with Jimmy, yet here you are, and oddly, it feels so... comfortable. You aren't nervous at all. Of course, you can't speak for him.

You lightly scruff up his hair, breathing heavily, "Jimmy..." The first word anyone had said in a while.

"Huh?" he says just after a loud slurping noise. His mouth hangs open in a relaxed way as he catches his breath and looks up at you from under his brow bone.

You let out a laugh in the form of a puff of air and a smile. Jimmy returns the smile; it's a happy smile with a hint of playful mischief in his eyes. A giggle slips out of you, then you both start laughing. At what, you aren't quite sure... the situation, maybe?

Your lover crawls on top of you and cuddles you by pressing his chest to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. Your hands explore his back, lightly scraping your nails over his shoulder blades and the small of his back.

He lets out a soft but deep moan before moving to kiss you again. His fingers nestle in your hair as he softly shows you his affection with his mouth. Your hands rest on his cheeks as he centers himself on top of you, one of his hands gripping under your thigh.

"This alright, princess?" he says in a near whisper.

"Yeah..." you exhale.

"You ready?" He gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah," you repeat, "I am." You give him a warm smile, cupping a hand on his face again, as if framing it to take a mental snapshot.

His next actions are incredibly gentle, but it makes everything all the more sensual. He plants a few kisses on your neck and collarbone before sitting up on his knees. His arm wraps around your thigh, holding it up in the air, as he aligns the head of his member with your entrance. The tip slides in pretty easily because of your wetness, and you can see Jimmy's breathing deepen; after that, the man moves slowly entering you, making you feel every inch of his length.

You had barely started and you're already both a mess. The pleasure is almost too much to take. Once Jimmy starts to move his hips, he leans forward once again, hovering over you on his hands and knees. You look up into his eyes, feeling his hardness moving inside you. Wanting to be closer to you, he drops down to his elbows and brings his knees up. His hands stroke some hair from your face while his hips rut into yours at a teasing pace.

After appreciating your how pretty you are, Jimmy moves his lips next to your ear and lowly says, "You feel incredible, baby. You feel so good..." He gives you a series of sloppy kisses on your jaw and earlobe.

You simply close your eyes, relax into the man on top of you, and give him an airy moan in response, "You feel good too, Jimmy."

"Mmmm, you like this pace? Or you want me to speed up?" You can feel his hot breath against your neck.

"Maybe, um, deeper?"

"Deeper, huh?" he whispers in your ear, "You wanna feel more of me?" He throws a little chuckle on the end of his question, and he readjusts by hooking a hand under your knee and pushing it up towards you for a deeper feeling while remaining close to you.

With each thrust you let out a grunt or breath of some kind, "Oooh... T-that's- Hnnng!"

"That the spot, baby girl?" Jimmy smiles to himself, happy that he's pleasing you.

A very shaky "mm-hmm" is all you can manage.

Jimmy speeds up his movements just a little, but still maintains a leisurely and romantic mood.

With a gasp, you start, "Jimmy, I- I'm-"

"Cum for me, baby," he coos, lightly sucking and nipping at a little spot on your neck.

"Fuck- Jimmy..." your climax hits you hard, making your head spin, and the only thing you can think about is the man before you, "Jimmy, I- I love you. I love you, Jimmy!"

Before you even have a moment to think about what you'd said, you hear, "I love you, too, (Y/N)," and several grunts and groans as he finds his release inside you.

Jimmy rolls off of you and trucks himself into your side. You hold the man in your arms tightly as you both come down from the high you just experienced. You turn your head to see him nuzzled into the crook of your neck, almost as if he's asleep. He cracks his eyes open at you and props himself up, putting his face close to yours.

You feel... shy for some reason as you press your lips to his, almost as if this is somehow more vulnerable than what you'd just done. You kiss each other softly, over and over, for what feels like a few minutes.

"You know, I didn't know you were close to finishing too," you tell Jimmy, trying to break some tension.

"Mm, well, I told you you felt good," he gives you a half smile, "I didn't know you loved me."

"Oh, well... It just kind of came out, but, uh, it was true. Still is." Another sweet kiss.

"You remember when I told you I couldn't wait to see you walk down that aisle? That was true too," he tells you.

You aren't sure where that came from, and it confuses you, "But... You knew I wasn't gonna get married that day."

"Yeah, but I am gonna see you walk down the aisle one day... when you marry me," he looks down and bites his lip.

You let out a flabbergasted little breath, "Jimmy..."

"C'mon, (Y/N)," he coos, "I love you. I wasn't gonna ever let you marry that other guy. Why do you think I looked into him so hard?"

"I don't understand. Why didn't you just ask me out years ago?" your question ends in a whisper.

"'Cuz I didn't realize what I had 'til I saw it in another man's arms," he tangles his fingers in your hair for another kiss, "but I'm not gonna let it get away from me this time."

• • •

Needless to say, you didn't see much of the beach or much of anyone the rest of your time in the Bahamas. You two already knew everything there was to know about another person, so you spent a lot of time exploring each other... in new ways.

So, it's bittersweet going home to Brooklyn. You'd been away a few months to let tensions between the two crime families die down. You would miss all of the alone time with your new man, but you're so happy to see your dad again.

"Thanks for driving us home from the airport, papa," you say, giving Paulie a side hug as he unlocks the door to the house not too far from the cab stand. You're greeted with hoots and hollers from Tommy, Henry and Karen, Tuddy, and a few others as you step inside. "What's this?!"

"Oh, uh, just a little surprise," Paulie chuckles, "A welcome home party for Jimmy and my girl."

Everyone starts exchanging hugs, giving you and Jimmy a proper New York welcome. As you put your arms around Henry's shoulders, you hear Karen from behind him, "OH no! I know ya not still wearin' your engagement ring," she grabs your hand and pulls you toward her to inspect the ring closer. Her voice lowers a bit, "No, this one's different. It's got pearls on it."

The room is filled with confused faces, until Jimmy takes your other hand in his, "Well, uh, we were on a little island for 2 or 3 months, pearls was all they had!"

Suddenly you're surrounded with Ooh's and Aah's and an "Attaboy Jimmy!" as it dawns on everyone that you're engaged.

"Hey, wait 'til they tell ya about how I'm gonna be a grandad!!" Paulie announces, and again the room fills with noise from everyone's surprise and congratulations. Any other family might have found it odd that you rushed into a new relationship, but this group likes keeping a closed circle, and everyone had their bets placed on you and Jimmy from day one.

Speak of the Devil, you feel his arms slip around you and a hand rests on your baby bump. He whispers in your ear, "I love you both so much. This is the way it always shoulda been."

───────

You don't even remember how you got there. Between fuzzy flashes of streetlights and passing cars. Songs on the radio that played in the background. Tony's cashmere sweater pulled over your long-sleeved shirt for warmth. He'd forgotten it one of the times he'd come over last winter.

Fingers playing and thumbing at the hem resting on your jean-covered thighs. If Tony were to walk down the long driveway right now, your presence would be undeniable — not a chance in hell you'd be able to drive off without him seeing.

But it's late in the afternoon, and quite frankly, you're not sure if he's alive or dead. The house seems relatively quiet, which doesn't soothe your anxiety about his lack of presence. Carmela hasn't driven past you, leaving or returning, and you're not willing to get any closer to try to see if the Chevron is parked up at the front of the house.

This is dangerous. Extremely dangerous, and you're every bit aware, sitting in the quiet of your car. Letting frost and snowflakes decorate your windshield.

What if you just backed up into the wooded area and let the elements take you? Would Tony find you? Or Carmela? Would Tony have to pretend he had no clue who you were when questions started popping up about some random dead girl in the woods adjacent to his house?

Your teeth grind, and you worry the pad of your thumb between your teeth. Unwrapping and wrapping your cashmere-covered hand around your steering wheel.

Another rule broken. You know you're in for it if Tony ever comes back around — if you even allude to your being here. You can't even imagine what he'd say, let alone do, if he found out you were sitting outside of his driveway for the better half of an afternoon.

You don't remember the next thirty minutes of yourself sitting there in the quiet. Watching and shivering and biting your lip raw.

And you sure as hell don't remember getting home until you're clicking your key into the front door lock and falling onto your couch in heavy sobs.

Time moves fast, but the pain of Tony's absence and the wound that's left heals over slowly. It's not often that you find yourself not thinking of him.

Tonight, is no different.

You're sitting at your kitchen table, messily coloring in a page you'd ripped out from a coloring book you had stored away, nursing small bites from a bowl of strawberries.

The microwave dings, and you make your way into the kitchen, retrieving your plate of warmed buttered toast; the timer on the screen of the appliance catches your eye.

4:00 minutes.

And suddenly you realize it's been four months since you've heard anything from anybody about Tony. Your head feels heavy.

You'd found out he wasn't dead around the five-week mark of his absence. After your little visit to his house, you showed up at Bada Bing! and sat in the lot one night. Watching men and women filter out of the building.

It's around 1:00AM when you see the white Chevrolet pull around the back.

Immediately, you're sinking further down into your seat to try and conceal yourself when you see Tony get out and make his way through the back door of the building.

Relief floods your system at the sight of him. To know he's okay, that everything will be okay. But a heavy flood of sadness drowned the moment of quiet just as fast.

Tony was alive, but Tony wasn't seeing you. He was alive and choosing not to call you; he was fine and choosing not to visit you. As a matter of fact, Tony was so unbothered by anything that he was hanging out at a strip bar.

It was a miracle you made it home that night with the way your tears flooded your vision. When you lay in bed that early morning, you didn't even care if he'd seen your car or not. You weren't sure you ever wanted to see him again.

You shake your head from the memory and shuffle back to your dining table, picking up a pink crayon to finish the highlights of the auburn mane you'd colored in of the lined horse.

Just as you take a bite of your messy toast, a knock pounds at your front door. So aggressive and fast that you nearly jump out of your skin.

The chef's clock in your kitchen reads 9:00PM.

Who the actual fuck is at your front door right now?

"Just a minute!" you shout towards the entryway, pushing your dessert off to the center of the table and making your way to the door of your apartment.

You're not even sure why you didn't look through the peephole. Tony always got mad at you when you neglected to do so. One time, he flicked the back of your head and gave you a thirty-minute lecture when you opened the door to a deliveryman without looking.

When you get the door open and come face-to-face with Tony, your heart literally shatters, and you immediately break into tears.

"No." You go to shut the door, but he stops it with the toe of his shoe.

"No, you don't get to do this, Tony." You try to shut the door again, but this time he stops it with his hand, pushing the door all the way open and stepping into your house.

"Tony!" you cry, trying to shove him out without having to touch him too much. You're not sure you're gonna survive this.

He catches your wrists in one hand and shuts the door behind him with the other.

"Hey, hey!" He holds you there, watching your mascara smear and trickle down your cheeks, "The hell's the matter with you?"

Like an impetuous child, you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp, pulling back against him and crying so hard that you're hyperventilating.

"Let me go!" You stomp your foot and throw yourself about, but he keeps you steady with his hand on your wrists. "I'm serious, Tony!" and you almost can't even recognize your own voice with how broken you sound. Your throat's raw already, and your cries sound shattered and torn.

You just feel like giving up. It's not fair.

Tony just holds you there, like a parent disciplining a child, waiting until you tire yourself out.

Eventually, you stop fighting. choking on your own tears and hyperventilating and trying to catch your breath.

Tony's grasp relaxes a bit. The pad of his thumb strokes just below one of your wrists. He shushes you softly. Not patrenzing but just grounding.

"Alright, there y'go." he lowers your hands slowly, still soothing you. "That's it."

───────

There's something intrinsically haunting in your appearance; the amber light of your den illuminating your fatigue.

You're visibly smaller — thinner and more frail as you cower in on yourself in the corner of the leather couch. You're fucking trembling and pulling the knit of his sweater over the tops of your knees. Looking up at him with wide and wet eyes, dark circles rimming your lashes, and your cheeks almost gaunt.

He knows what this is. He's been there — in that inescapable pit of anxiety that just drowns you no matter how hard you fight to stay afloat.

Tony's staring down at you expectedly. Hand stuffed in his pockets and lips pulled tight, he glances around the living room. As though he expects you to explain why he's shown up at your house at 9pm.

You sigh shakily and fiddle your hands between your chest and your tucked knees.

"Tony..." your voice is so raw, "Tony, I don't want to fight with you." Your tears are still there

───────

"Do you hate me?"

A light scoff. He shakes his head.

"No, God no."

You've never heard him so quiet.

Tony strokes the backs of his knuckles over your cheek softly.

Poor wounded animal, comforted by its devourer.

He runs the pad of his thumb over the plush of your bottom lip.

"Sweet girl," his eyes drop down to your lips, and he looks you over, leaning back into your couch, "...c'mere."

And when he helps you crawl into his lap, pulling your thighs onto either side of his, he tucks you into the thick of his chest and presses a kiss to your hair.

He lets you cry. He doesn't try to quiet you. He just lets you work through it. Let's you use him to hold onto something. To keep yourself afloat in the heavy fog.

It's only when he feels the tension rooting you simmer and your sobs reduce to sniffles that he nudges you in that oh-so-Tony way, urging you up to look at him.

And you do, eyes wet and rimmed with red, with lashes thickly strewn together.

Tony smiles softly at you, trying to ease the wrought tension. He taps the wrinkle on your chin. "There she is, eh?" He hums, pinching the soft apple of your cheek.

Still hurt, you push his hand away with a sniffle.

He catches your hand almost instantly. The display of power isn't lost on you. Nor is the dominance he deliberately shows you in his decision to not be more aggressive. He's giving you an out.

"And don't give me that face neither." Tony points at you, crow's feet wrinkle at the corners of his eyes where he's narrowed them at you. "I oughta put you over my knee for what'chu did."

Immediately, you're visibly tense. Your heart drops into your stomach at the thought of what he's exactly referring to.

"M'sorry." Though you're not entirely sure which part of what you've done in the past four months you're apologizing for. All of it, you suppose.

"Know that was your car outside the bar." Tony lowers his hands from your wrists to stroke up and down the length of your thighs. This is his way of apologizing to you; you know it's never been easy for him, the nature of admitting his wrongdoing. He has his ways. He knows he's been neglectful.

Relief floods your body. You drop your eyes to where your hands find the fabric of his shirt. Playing with the buttons and fiddling with the fabric.

"Are you friggin' stupid? Y'tryin' t'get y'rself killed?" His voice rises just enough to make a fresh round of tears rise. "Those men out there are not people y'should be hangin' around!" He points away from you, his expression furrowed and hurt.

You don't even know why you say it. Maybe to get a rise out of him all this time. Just to get under his skin. To make him work harder despite everything.

"You're there."

Tony doesn't entertain your behavior even for a second.

"You watch your mouth with me, young lady." And by the tone in his voice, you know it's not something that's suggesting play time. This is serious, and he's expecting that you treat it as such.

The urge to push back at him is heavy. You settle for narrowing your eyes at him. He does it right back.

"The hell is up wit'chu?" He squints at you so much that his eyes disappear and his brows furrow.

You're guessing he's about thirty seconds away from shoving you off his lap and fucking you on the floor — that's usually how nights where you misbehave go down. No pleasure for either of you. He fucks you until you're swollen and raw, till you've got carpet burn from the floor and till you're sobbing and can't breathe and he's gotta put you back together again. Neither of you are allowed to cum on nights like that. He's just as much of a masochist as you've figured.

Shaking your head, tongue clicking to the roof of your mouth.

"Tony..." a deep sigh, "you disappeared for months, I, I-I didn't even know if you were alive or dead. It scared me."

Tony's always had much too expressive eyes. They reveal everything he's thinking and not saying. And as he eyes the painting on your wall behind where you sit on his lap, you know it's his way of acknowledging that you're right.

There's a quiet that settles over the den of your living room. Your head is all fuzzy from the crying and the woodsy smell of his cologne and the way his shirt feels in your small hands. The way he's so warm and big underneath you, meaty hands soothing you at your hips as he runs them up and down your skin from under your sweater.

"... I," Tony shakes his head some. There's something occupied in it that you can quite catch, "I've been workin', y'know." Jersey accent thick on his soft lips. He gives you a sheepish look, one that suggests the conversation is over, whether you like it or not. He's embarrassed and even revealing to you why he went M.I.A four-month period manifests as his way of apology.

The hurt still simmers beneath the surface, but you nod nonetheless, sniffling a bit.

Tony tucks your head up by your chin, his thumb and forefinger holding you there to look you over, pouting at your teary eyes.

"D'awh, c'mere."

You've always loved it when he holds you. He's so much bigger than you that the rest of the world disappears under the safe blanket of his arms, and the warmth of him seeps into your skin through your clothes.

Large hand stroking your hair, he coos to you and presses gentle kisses to the top of your head.

"Missed you, Tony." You kiss his chest through his shirt, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder.

He runs the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "Look at me."

And of course you do.

You drag yourself up to meet his eyes again, your hands placed on the thick of his chest.

His knuckles still stroking the soft of your cheek, moving lower and lower until his thumb presses against your plush bottom lip.

His digit slips past your lips easily, resting against the warmth of your tongue.

"There's my good girl." Tony's eyes are set on you.

You break away to moan at the praise, lashes fluttering against your warmed cheeks, and tongue wrapping around his salty digit.

He chuckles at your reaction, running his tongue over his lips. "Missed that, huh?"

You nod, wrapping a hand around his wrist to hold his hand there. Free hand twisting into the fabric of his shirt.

Tony maneuvers a bit under you, pulling your hand away from his shirt and weaving his fingers with your much smaller ones.

He's so warm. So big. Your mind is flooded with his smell and his everything. You think you might die right here in his lap with his thumb on your tongue and his cock pressed up against your panties.

He's unusually patient with you tonight. You know why, you both do. He's letting you lead while still showing you he's there if you need him to take over. Tony knows what it's like to just need control some days.

You pull off of his thumb but keep a hold of his wrist, panting and pressing kisses to the pad of his thumb and down his wrist to the crook of his elbow.

"Tony," you hum, pushing at his shirt before attempting to pull at it to get it off of him, "off." It's all you say, eyes lidded and mouth heavy with drool.

Tony sits up, holding your face in his hands. Your small hand is still wrapped around his wrist.

"Hey, hey. You sure you're alright?"

You nod, closing your eyes and leaning into his warm palm, rolling your hips into the thick bulge of his cock.

"Want you," you slur, lips parting in a breathless sigh and brows furrowing when he drops one of his hands from your face to cup your cunt through your panties, thumb circling your clit through the soaked fabric.

Tony holds you firm by the base of your jaw. Stroking the curve of your jaw gently.

He slips your panties to the side, smearing your juices over your folds and up to your clit before pushing a thick digit past your folds.

You're immediately rising up on your knees, chasing and trying to run from his touch all in the same.

"Sh-sh-shhh," he coos, curling his finger inside of your heat, cocking his head just a bit to watch the way your juices coat his skin.

"Tony–" you choke, looking down at him with watery eyes. He thinks you look so pathetically his, so needy and all perfect for him.

Tony moves without a word, sitting up to pull you into a hot and messy kiss, adding a finger to your cunt in the same motion and pumping into you.

He tastes like cigars and mint. You run your tongue along the roof of his mouth and over his teeth, and he chuckles into your mouth.

You break the kiss when his fingers graze that spongy patch inside of your heat, pressing your forehead to his and letting soft moans fall from your swollen lips.

The squelch of your cunt is pornographic — so vulgar that you quiet yourself, pulling your lip between your teeth and whimpering behind your lips.

Tony presses kisses to the side of your face, licking a fat stripe from the curve of your jaw to your ear before biting at your lobe.

"Know it feels good, lemme hear ya'." He murmurs into your skin.

You whimper softly, wrapping an arm over his shoulder, digging your fingers into the fabric of his shirt to keep you steady.

He helps rock you, large hand on your hip, guiding you to grind against where the soft of his palm meets your swollen clit. You're fucking soaked, juices coating his hand and wrist, dribbling down his skin and chasing after his silver pattak.

God, you missed him so fucking much. You're already so close.

Tony rips his hand away from you, and you gasp, dropping your head onto his shoulder with a wanton moan, your thighs trembling on either side of his from keeping yourself upright so long.

"On the floor. C'mon." He pushes you a bit, but when you stand on shaky legs, he's quick to drop the facade and steady you with a big hand holding you up at your hip.

You swallow with a shaky breath, "M'okay, I got it."

Tony watches you as he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down just enough to pull his heavy cock out of his briefs, the swollen red tip heavy in his hand. a bead of pre dribbles down the girthy length. Your mouth waters.

he spreads his thighs for you, slipping his large hand into your smaller one, resting on the top of his knee. You take him into your mouth so easily, plush lips spread around the girth of him, and the weight of him heavy against your tongue.

You both moan at the same time. He squeezes your hand at the vibration, dropping his head onto the back of your couch.

You struggle to take him any deeper than halfway, coming up every so often for air before swallowing him down again. Tears stream down your cheeks, leaving smoky rivers of mascara. You're struggling to breathe, your hand falling somewhat loose in Tony's hand.

He pushes you off of him at one point, dropping your hand onto his lap and holding you up by your forehead, his other hand stroking the length of his cock.

"Take it easy, okay?" he narrows his eyes at you when you take a deep inhale, bumping your knees against his calves as you work the tingles out of your legs, having resorted to squating instead of kneeling.

You nod at him.

"Get down, why're you sittin' like that?"

You drop yourself to your knees without a word. The carpet hurts, and it must show on your face by the way that Tony grabs one of your decorative pillows next to him and drops it between his legs.

With your knees pressed into the soft fabric, you swallow him down easily, holding your hands at the index of his thighs, trying to take him all the way.

Tony hisses against his teeth, sweeping your hair into a large hand to hold away from your face.

"Christ."

You pull off of him and press a peck to the pink, swollen head, tongueing his slit. He makes a noise you know far too well, and you're immediately off of him. wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and trying to catch your breath.

Tony brings his hand to your jaw, pulling you towards him to straddle him again and pressing his tongue past your lips. He presses his cock up against your folds, running the fat tip back and forth.

Breaking away, you press your foreheads against each other, moaning when the head of his cock slips into your heat. You stay like that for a moment, dropping up and down slightly on the head.

It always takes you a bit to fully fit him inside of you. He's always been so much bigger than you in every sense of the word. And it's been so long that you're tensing and tightening at the intrusion.

Tony kisses up your jaw, whispering against your skin, "Y'okay?"

You nod, eyes shut and focused on trying to take him. "Are you okay?" you ask, throat dry and lips swollen. You're getting frustrated that it's taking this long. All you've wanted in these past few months is to have him fuck you, and now you can't even do that.

He nods against you, so aware of you.

"Relax, sweetheart."

You huff, whimpers bordering on tears.

"Tony—" your voice breaks, and he's already pulling you into a kiss, letting you sob and rock against him. He's holding everything for you, letting you unravel the hurt and the pain and the frustration; he just takes it, makes it look so easy.

Tony hums into your mouth, dropping his hands to squeeze and spread the plush of your ass. You moan at his touch, dropping your head to his shoulder and rocking against him until you feel the girth of him resting heavily against your warm walls.

You sit there a moment, sighing and stealing kisses.

Tony gives an experimental pump under you, wrapping an arm over your waist and sinking deeper into your cunt.

chants of 'uh, uh, uh,' spill from your lips, lips messily pressed against each other, and his hands warm and heavy on your soft skin.

"My sweet girl," Tony whispers against your lips, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth before tucking you into him and pounding up into you.

His name is a broken whimper on your tongue, wet and choked when you cum around him, walls flexing and contracting. Tony fucking moans beneath you, pushing you up so that his cock slips from your heat before he's guiding you by the neck onto the couch, forcing you onto your hands and knees as he stands above you.

He keeps his hand on your throat, not squeezing, but a reminder enough of who's in charge. His other hand strokes his cock beside you.

"You're so fuckin' hardheaded, you know that?" he hisses, pressing his nose into your hair, "Thought I wouldn't see you hangin' around outside the club. Thought I just abandoned you, the hell is wrong with you?"

You sob, sinking into an arch that Tony follows, getting up behind you on the couch and slipping his cock back into your heat. You shriek when he sinks all the way to the hilt, heavy balls pressed up against your folds.

"Tony, oh fuck." You try to reach back for him, dropping your head onto the couch, looking at him from over your shoulder. "Tony—" you cry.

He grabs your wrist and tucks it against the dip of your back.

"No."

His cock stretches you deliciously.

"What're the rules?" he growls, balls tapping against your soaked cunt. You can hardly fucking think.

You struggle to find the words for a moment.

"Not to..." a broken moan, "Not to bother you when you don't come around — haaa,"

Tony rewards you with a generous rub to your clit.

"If you know the rules, then you can follow 'em."

You nod, drool spilling from your lips onto the couch. Your juices stick to your thighs, slipping down the length of your legs.

"Was that a 'yes?' "

You cry, nodding again, "Yes, Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you sob pitifully.

Fully shaking and warbling beneath him, Tony takes mercy on you and presses himself against you; thick chest to your back and a large, meaty hand woven with yours.

He pulls your hair away from your face with the other, still pumping into you, pressing soft kisses to your wet skin.

"Oh my— oh fuck" you shiver.

"Thaaats it, sweetheart." he presses a kiss to the back of your ear, "C'mon, you're right there, I can feel it."

"Want you to cum with me," you manage, turning to meet him in a sloppy kiss.

Tony's breath hitches softly against your lips. You both mold into one another when you cum. His warmth seeps into you and spreads a ring of white around the base of his cock as he pumps into you, riding you through your orgasm.

You almost fall under the weight of him, but he's quick to roll the two of you over, slipping beneath you and holding you to his chest. Both of you still trying to catch your breath.

You feel like crying again. The overwhelming emotions flood your head, and you catch your breath in your throat.

"Hey," Tony strokes the top of your head, "hey, c'mere. Quit poutin'."

When he wraps his arms around you, shielding you from the scary and dark and all-consuming world he's had a part in thrusting you into, for the third time that night, you feel yourself break apart in his hold. And he doesn't ask anything of you, he just holds you and whispers soft apologies into your hair, massaging the back of your neck with his rough hand.

You fiddle with the gold chain of his necklace, pulling it in and out of your teeth while rubbing yourself against him.

"Daddy's sorry."

You whimper. That word holds more weight than you care to admit in the moment, and part of you knows that's why Tony chose to pull that card while you're a mess in his lap, shrinking in on yourself, hurt in all the wrong ways because of him.

"I forgive you." You mumble. Voice small and quiet. He pulls your head away from his neck to press soft kisses to your lips.

"Yeah? Y'forgive daddy fr'bein' a jerk?" He tickles your sides teasingly.

You shriek, giggling and nodding and trying to escape his hands.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You're squealing, and leftover tears are streaming down your face.

Tony stops and pulls you back into him, smushing your cheeks together with a big hand, pressing kisses all over your face.

"How'd daddy get so lucky?"

───────

When you wake up, you're cold and still in Tony's sweater.

Tony's not there.

You can hear a window or door open somewhere, so you wander throughout your apartment until you find him on your balcony. Leaning out and over the railing, blowing puffs of smoke into the chilled night air.

You stand beside him, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep warm. He's only in his wifebeater, but he wraps a big arm over your shoulder and tucks you into this side, and you're suddenly all that much warmer.

It's so quiet. The road is clear, save for the occasional car that drives by. It's too early in the morning for people to be leaving for work and too late for people to be coming home.

"Y'are a real good girl, you know that?" Tony says, running his hand up and down your arm.

"Tony—"

"Whadd'ya do with the money I give you? You still goin' ta' college?"

You nod against him, eyeing the cigar.

"Almost finished. Took an extra semester 'cos I added another minor."

Tony blows a cloud of smoke, and you can feel that he's looking down at you, so you turn and meet his eyes. He watches you for a moment — one that's so gentle and so sickeningly domestic that you almost let yourself live in it. Live in it as though he were truly all yours.

He holds the cigar away from you and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You press your tongue against his teeth, and he lets you in, groaning when you suck his swollen lips.

His hand on your arm slips down to hold your waist, guiding you to lean against the railing. He traps you there, an arm on either side of you as he presses kisses to your lips, the corner of your mouth, and down to your jaw.

"I gotta get up early in the morning."

You nod. The tears well, but you push them down.

"Will you stay the night?"

He nods, pulling back to take another puff of the cigar before smashing the embers into the steel railing. Tony slips his hands under your thighs and picks you up, carrying you into your bedroom, where he gently lays you on the bed the way a father would. A hand cradling the back of your head and the other at the dip of your back.

He climbs into bed with you, pulling your back into his chest. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. You know he's watching you — he does it sometimes when things seem too big. Like he hasn't had any control. Maybe that's what this whole disappearing act was. You pretend to sleep until you slip unconscious.

───────

In the morning, you play house.

Tony's already up, dressed, and reading the newspaper while sipping coffee from one of your Garfield mugs.

"Your paper's old."

You shrug and slip into the chair beside him.

"You're old."

"Watch it."

You giggle and hide your face in his side.

"Y'want food? I think I have cereal."

Tony gives you a pointed fatherly look.

"Are you friggin serious? I take care of you, and you use what I give you to buy cereal?"

Another shrug.

"My classes are early, I don't feel like cooking at seven in the morning." You whine.

"Jesus Christ." Tony rolls his eyes.

You pour yourself a bowl and make your way back to the kitchen table, but before you're able to sit down, Tony scoots his chair back and pulls you by your pj shorts.

"C'mere."

And so you sit on his lap, lying your head against his chest while taking small bites of your lucky charms, offering him a spoonful here and there, which he takes with a muffled 'thank you, sweetheart.'

"The birds sound so pretty."

Tony hums, readjusting his hands that are scooped under you to keep you upright and held against him.

"Yeah, they do... You got class today?" He dips his head to meet your eyes.

You take another spoonful of your cereal with a nod.

"Ya like your classes?"

Another nod.

"M'talkin' t'you, y'know." There's no bite behind it, but you know better than to push back. It was a warning of sorts.

"Yes, sir. I like my classes." You mumble around the sugary marshmallows.

He bounces his knee under you and checks his watch once before pushing your hair behind your ear and pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

"I gotta head out pretty soon. Got some work I gotta finish up."

You nod.

"Can I walk you out?"

Tony nods, "Of course, y'can."

He helps you stand, pulling the hems of your PJs shorts down when they've ridden up from your seat on his lap. He takes your bowl and places it on the table too before slipping his hand into the dip of your back, walking side by side towards your front door.

You're not really even sure you're expecting anything, but he cups your face in his big hands and pulls you in for a soft kiss, the pads of his thumbs smoothing gentle circles at the curve of your jaw.

"You needa brush your teeth. Y'taste like nothin' but sugar. Next m'gonna be paying for a dental visit, huh."

You giggle and pull away, face flushed.

"Now you be good, you understand me?" He taps the tip of your nose.

You nod, and his brow arches just a little.

"Yes, sir."

Tony strokes the curve of your jaw and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.