Tw: borderline smut, cussing, fluff
A Charming Detour - Part 24
You carefully brushed away the last stray hairs from the newly shaved sides of Juice’s fauxhawk.
"All done," you murmured, inspecting your work.
Juice stayed still, shoulders relaxed, trusting.
And without really thinking, without even hesitating, you leaned down and pressed a soft, feather-light kiss at the nape of his neck.
Just the warmth of your lips against his skin, a brief moment of affection—automatic, unthinking, natural.
His hands clenched into fists, his breath caught in his throat, and his brain—
You didn’t even notice at first.
You just straightened up, oblivious, setting the razor down on the counter, tilting your head as you admired your work.
"You look good," you said, sounding proud.
And that’s when you finally noticed.
Then, very carefully, he cleared his throat.
"You, uh," he started—except his voice cracked like a teenager going through puberty.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Yeah. No. Yeah. I’m good. I’m fine. I just—"
He turned around so fast he almost tripped over his own feet.
"You kissed me," he blurted, way too loud.
Juice pointed at his own back.
You frowned, tilting your head.
"I dunno," you admitted. "Was it bad ?"
Juice.exe had stopped functioning.
Juice ran a hand down his face, physically trying to reboot his brain.
"Right," he said, nodding to himself. "Cool. Yeah. Normal. I'm totally normal."
Juice let out a too-loud laugh.
"Pfft—what?! No! I’m—pffft—babe, I’m fine!"
You crossed your arms, giving him a suspicious look.
Juice immediately folded.
"Okay, look," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "You kissed me, babe! I just—what am I supposed to do with that?!"
You blinked, tilting your head.
Juice groaned again, dramatically slumping against the counter.
"Babe," he mimicked, mock-annoyed—except his voice cracked again and his ears were turning pink.
The knock at the door was sharp. Impatient.
You barely had time to open it before she was there—Agent Stahl.
All cold smirks and predatory confidence, eyes scanning the apartment like she already knew every single thing inside it.
"Mrs. Ortiz," Stahl greeted, tilting her head.
"What do you want?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.
Stahl hummed, stepping inside uninvited.
"Just a friendly chat," she said, looking around. "Checking in on your happy little marriage."
You fought the urge to fidget.
"You already checked in last month," you said, forcing a small, polite smile.
"Well," she said smoothly. "Forgive me for being thorough. You know how it is with immigration fraud—"
"Relax," she purred. "If there’s nothing to hide, you don’t have to be so nervous, right?"
Your grip on the door tightened.
And Stahl was circling you like a shark.
"So," Stahl continued, stopping in front of the fridge, eyes flicking over the shopping list stuck to it, then to the counter the photos stuck to the pinboard you kept by the front door.
You. Juice. Silly, little moments frozen in time.
But to Stahl, they were just props.
"Let’s talk," she said, turning back to you. "How’s married life?"
"It’s good," you said, nodding. "Really good."
Stahl’s expression didn’t change.
"Red," you answered immediately. "Obviously."
Stahl sighed like she was disappointed you hadn’t fumbled.
"And how’s the romance?" she asked, voice dripping with fake curiosity.
You fought the urge to freeze.
"We’re… really happy," you said, voice quiet. "Juice is—he’s sweet to me. Always."
Stahl didn’t look convinced.
"Yeah," you nodded. "Really sweet."
Stahl hummed, unconvinced.
Then she leaned in, voice going sharp.
By the time Stahl left, your hands were shaking.
Tried to settle yourself.
Juice stood in the bathroom doorway, towel slung low around his hips, damp skin still dripping from the shower.
You hadn’t even realized how tense you were—
Juice noticed immediately.
His whole expression shifted.
Something tightened in his jaw, something serious flickered in his usually soft, playful eyes.
"Who was at the door?" he asked, voice lower now.
"She was just… checking in," you said, forcing a small shrug, trying to downplay it. "Same questions as always."
Juice’s hands curled into fists.
"She scared you," he said flatly.
You opened your mouth—then closed it.
Juice exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face.
"Fuck," he muttered, stepping closer. "Baby, I swear—if she tries anything—"
"Juice," you said, softer now.
His eyes snapped to yours.
And just like that, all that tension—all that sharp-edged frustration—
"Baby," he said, and his voice was softer now, so different from before.
"…You’re not gonna get deported," he blurted.
His arms were around you.
Pulling you flush against him, still damp from the shower, still smelling like soap and faint traces of his cologne.
You let out a small, surprised noise.
"I got you," he murmured into your hair. "I got you, babe."
Your fingers curled agasint his chest.
"Yes, I do," he said, squeezing tighter. "You scared me."
Juice pulled back just enough to look at you.
"You flinched when I called out," he said quietly. "I’ve never seen you do that before."
"I don’t ever wanna see that again," he muttered. "Ever."
Because you had tilted your head.
You had leaned up, just slightly.
And then, before you could overthink it,
You pressed a kiss to his cheek.
The room was dark, except for the dim glow from the streetlights slipping through the blinds. Shadows stretched across the walls, making everything feel still, quiet.
Juice should’ve been asleep.
Pressed up against his side, your smaller frame tucked perfectly into the space beneath his arm, cheek resting against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Juice was losing his goddamn mind.
His fingers twitched against your back, his free hand resting on your waist, careful, still. Like if he moved too much, you’d wake up and realize he was having an internal meltdown.
And fuck—the way your body just fit against his—
You shifted slightly, sighing in your sleep, and shit—his whole body went tight, muscles locking up because for a split second, he thought you were waking up.
Your breath evened out again.
Like he was afraid to say it too loud.
Juice knew he should sleep.
But his mind kept wandering.
His fingers brushed over your back, tracing light, aimless patterns against your singlet.
Just breathed soft and slow, lost in sleep, completely oblivious to the fact that Juice was watching you like you were some kind of goddamn miracle.
His eyes flicked down, lingering on your face.
The things he wanted to do—
He wanted to tilt your chin up.
Wanted to brush his lips over yours, slow, just to feel how soft you really were.
Wanted to feel the way you’d sigh into him, sleepy and pliant, how you’d probably hum all sweet and drowsy before melting into him like you belonged there.
Even if the whole marriage thing started off fake, even if this wasn’t supposed to be real—
And that scared the shit out of him.
His hand shifted, fingertips skimming over your hip, light as a whisper.
You stirred slightly, making a soft, sleepy noise, and—
Juice had to force himself to be still.
Because fuck—he could feel it, feel how your body molded to his like you were made to fit against him.
Juice was so fucking gone for you.
"Baby," he whispered again, voice barely more than a breath.
You made a soft noise in response, curling into him more.
Completely aware of the fact that you were still curled against him, warm and soft and perfect, that your leg had slotted between his, your breath fanning over his collarbone.
And fuck—his brain was malfunctioning.
Because he could feel everything.
The little sighs you made in your sleep.
The way your fingers had curled into his shirt like you didn’t want him to move.
Christ, he needed to calm down.
Made a tiny, sleepy noise.
Your eyelashes fluttered open.
Juice went completely still.
Like a deer in headlights.
You blinked up at him, eyes drowsy, soft.
Juice swallowed, his heart hammering.
"Baby," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
You hummed in response, still half-asleep, shifting slightly against him.
And fuck—he didn’t even think.
Didn’t give himself time to spiral.
His lips brushed over yours—soft, hesitant, a barely-there press of warmth and nerves.
holy shit, I actually did that.
Waited for you to pull away.
Waited for you to wake up fully and realize what he’d just done maybe you'd freak out.
You made the tiniest, sweetest noise against his lips—somewhere between a sigh and a hum—and Juice swore to God his heart stopped beating for a second.
His fingers twitched against your hip.
He should wait till you where fully awake.
He peppered soft kisses at first. Careful.
Juice wasn’t even sure how it happened—one second, he was panicking, overthinking, staring at the way your lips parted in sleep, and the next… he was tasting you.
It was barely more than a brush of warmth. A slow, hesitant press of lips.
But then—then—you sighed against his mouth.
Your fingers flexed against his shirt, tiny and barely there, but fuck—it sent a shock straight through him.
Juice could feel his heart pounding, his pulse slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break free.
His fingers dug into your waist slightly, not even thinking, just reacting—because Christ, you weren’t pushing him away.
That was enough to completely destroy him.
His brain stopped working.
His body took over, instincts kicking in—years of croweaters, wanting, holding back, touching, using, being used, crashing down all at once.
Juice deepened the kiss just slightly, tilting his head to slot against you perfectly.
His fingers flexed at your waist again before slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, just enough to brush warm skin.
The tiniest noise escaped your throat—somewhere between a sigh and a little hum of surprise—and Juice swallowed it down, his lips parting slightly against yours.
God, he wanted to touch you.
Wanted to explore every soft, delicate inch of you.
Wanted to make you sigh like that again.
His fingertips moved slowly, barely tracing along the dip of your waist, feeling the heat of your skin, the delicate curve of your hip.
He wanted to explore more, wanted to touch—but he held back, forcing himself to stay gentle, to stay soft.
His lips broke away from yours, trailing to your jaw, moving feather-light, his nose brushing against your cheek.
His mouth hovered just at the edge of your pulse point. He could feel the way your heartbeat had picked up, matching his, erratic and unsure.
In the soft, little noises you made when he kissed a little lower.
His lips brushing your collarbone, next to the strap of your singlet.
"Baby," he whispered against your skin, voice rough, barely-there.
He didn’t even know if you were awake enough to understand what you were doing to him.
And—fuck—if he didn’t stop now, he wasn’t sure if he could.
Your voice—quiet, uncertain—made his body go rigid.
His hands stilled, frozen against your waist.
He pulled back immediately, his brain blue-screening as he searched your face in the dim light, heart pounding.
"Baby," he breathed, voice laced with concern. "Did I—fuck—I didn’t mean to—"
You shook your head quickly, a tiny smile playing at your lips, still soft, so damn sweet.
Juice pulled back just enough to look at you properly, his breathing uneven, his lips tingling from the kiss.
You were flushed—cheeks warm, eyes dazed, breath coming in the same unsteady rhythm as his.
"Baby," he murmured, voice lower, rougher. "You sure?"
You nodded, biting your lip, fingers still curled against his chest. "Yea ..."
A little unsure, but not scared.
Juice exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
This wasn’t just some random hookup. This wasn’t just something to pass the time.
The girl who had managed to make a mess of his heart without even trying.
It had to be perfect, like you.
Juice swallowed, then hesitated before reaching down, grabbing the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head in one quick motion, tossing it somewhere behind him, not caring where it landed.
He felt your breath hitch.
And fuck, when your fingers hesitantly moved to trace along his ribs, he shivered.
"Baby," he rasped, voice strained.
He barely recognized himself.
Your touch was so soft—barely-there, but damn, it set every nerve in his body on fire.
And when you looked up at him again, all wide eyes and parted lips, still a little unsure—
He shouldn’t be this nervous.
But the way you were looking at him?
Like he was worth something?
Not the kind of silence that felt empty—but one that was thick, charged, humming with unspoken things.
Juice swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his heart still hammering, because fuck—you were still looking up at him like that.
His fingers twitched against your waist.
His brain was moving a thousand miles a minute and short-circuiting all at once.
You were still here, still curled up against him, still looking up at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes that made his stomach clench.
And fuck, when you tilted your chin up, lips parting just slightly—
His body moved before his brain could stop him.
Your lips were soft, warm, so damn sweet, and when you sighed against his mouth, Juice thought he might actually die.
His fingers flexed again, then slid beneath your shirt—slowly, carefully—ghosting along the dip of your back, just enough to feel the heat of your skin.
Every little movement, every tiny shift, every slight press of your body against his was wrecking him.
And when your hands hesitantly curled against his chest—touching him—
Juice felt like he was running a fever.
Your touch was so light, so hesitant, and yet it sent a full-body shiver rolling down his spine.
Your fingertips ghosted over his ribs, tracing him without thinking, without realizing what it was doing to him.
He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but feel.
His hands were still resting against the small of your back, but he wasn’t pressing, wasn’t pulling, wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t. Still, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms was enough to make him dizzy.
And fuck—you were looking at him.
And Juice didn’t know what to do with that.
Because he didn’t get things like this.
Things that weren’t just some cheap distraction, some quick fix to make the loneliness go away.
And it scared the absolute shit out of him.
Juice swallowed hard, his breathing uneven, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
Jesus Christ, stop just staring at her like a goddamn weirdo.
Because fuck, his brain was not working.
His hands twitched against you, fingers flexing against your skin like they wanted to pull you closer, wanted to learn every dip, every curve, every little reaction.
And God help him—he wanted it.
More than he’d ever wanted anything.
You shifted just slightly, the soft brush of your thigh against his making him tense.
Your eyes flickered up to his.
Curious. Open. A little nervous.
Not in a desperate way, not in a reckless way—but in the way a man did when he realized he was so completely fucked.
He didn’t know how long it lasted.
Seconds. Minutes. An eternity.
Time didn’t exist when you kissed him like that—when your hands smoothed over his shoulders, when your fingers curled against his skin like you wanted him to stay, when you made those soft, breathy little sounds against his lips that made his head swim.
And fuck—he wanted to keep going.
Wanted to push just a little further, to let himself fall, to let himself have this.
To give you this, to take his time, to memorize you.
Not away, not in a bad way—just enough for him to feel the hesitation in your body, the nervous edge in the way your fingers trembled against his skin.
"Juice—" You swallowed, cheeks warm, fingers resting agasint his back. "I’ve never…"
His brain completely fucking shut down.
Juice’s brain snapped back online.
His grip on you loosened.
And when he pulled back just slightly, searching your face, his stomach dropped.
Because you were smiling.
Soft. Sweet. A little dazed, a little nervous—but still smiling.
And fuck, you were beautiful.
"You—wait—you haven’t—" Juice whispered barely audible.
You nodded your head, looking nervous but not upset. Just—shy.
Juice ran a hand down his face.
And if there was one thing in this world he never wanted to do, it was rush you.
"I didn’t—shit, baby, you didn’t tell me" he said quickly, voice slightly higher than usual. "I wouldn’t have—I mean, I should’ve—"
You laughed softly, biting your lip.
"I like kissing you," you murmured, voice small, like you were almost embarrassed to admit it.
Juice short-circuited again.
His hands flexed against your waist, heart still racing, but—
That nervous, little almost-confession—
It made something in his chest go soft.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
Juice stared at you for a second, then sighed, pressing his lips to your forehead.
Juice swallowed, forcing himself to slow his breathing, to calm down, to stop being so fucking selfish.
He let out a shaky breath.
Then—carefully, gently—he pulled you against his chest, tucking you under his chin, his arms wrapping around you like he needed you there.
"We—uh, baby we got all the time in the world" he murmured, voice softer now, steadier. "Don't let me push you"
You hummed nodding sleepily, your breathing slowing, your body settling against his.
Even if he still felt like he was one more kiss away from falling apart completely.
