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beardedjoel · 3 months

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pretty little wife | crazy 4 u

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨

summary: valentine's day special! joel has historically made sure that valentine's day is special for his pretty little wife, but this year he's gone above and beyond. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, pre-established relationship/dynamic, sub/dom relationship, soft dom! joel, free use kink, orgasm denial if you squint hard, unprotected piv, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple play, choking/breath play, pet names for reader, praise kink, romantic as fuck husband joel this chapter, some domestic fluff, alcohol consumption, maybe maybe maybe there is a breeding kink moment, reader has hair that can be pulled a/n: they're so in love it makes me SICK!!! thank you so much for reading and loving this couple along with me, and happy galentine's and valentine's day my loves! 💋💗💌

reminder i have no taglist anymore, follow @beardedjoel-updates to hear about my new fics!

You quietly squeal to yourself as you start to tear open the newly delivered package on your way back inside from the mailbox. You look down at the assortment of pale pastel candies, all strung up on thin strands, waiting to be devoured. Your own curiosity and lack of self control nearly has you reaching in the box to break one off for yourself, but you hold back, reminding yourself just who you bought this for and why.

Valentine’s Day is in two days, but you’d wanted to get a jump, giving Joel a more playful vibe today considering you know he’ll have gotten you something sexy and downright depraved to wear on the actual holiday. Your skin tingles at the thought, recalling all of the things he’d had you wear in the past. Your most memorable being crotchless panties under a skin tight dress at dinner one Valentine’s Day, so he could finger fuck you under the table at one of Austin’s finest restaurants. Keeping your face straight during that had been painstaking, but you’d loved every minute of the debauched public display. When you’d asked Joel why he hadn’t just had you go sans underwear that night, he’d smiled devilishly. ‘Adds to the forbidden factor, don’t y’think?,’ Joel had replied, ‘So premeditated I had to get my baby somethin’ to weep onto while I knew I’d be shoving my fingers so deep in her pretty pussy.’ Those naughty words from Joel still send a shudder up your spine to this day as they ring in your mind. He hadn’t even waited until you two were home that evening to use that same hole in the panties to fuck you dizzy, until you’d screamed in the back seat of his car for him. Even then, he hadn’t relented until you came too many times to even remember the count now, leaving his seats a soaking mess.

You sigh, bringing yourself back to the present, brushing the memories away for now to get yourself ready to make some new ones with your husband. Once you’ve changed, you take a quick moment to admire the scant pieces of lingerie, almost laughing at the absurdity, but wondering how in all these years you’d never thought to buy candy underwear for Joel to devour off of you. You preen yourself for a few more quick moments before heading downstairs, wanting to set yourself up to act casual for Joel when he arrives home. Sometimes you do this on purpose, knowing he gets off on interrupting what you’re doing just so he can take you, fuck you however he pleases. And even when you really are in the middle of something, you get off on it too - being of service to your husband, helping him feel good while knowing you’ll be well taken care of, too.

On the dot at 5:00, you hear Joel’s car pulling up and smile smugly to yourself, continuing to wipe the counters down. A prompt pop of your hips to push your ass out follows when you hear the front door open and close.

“Doll? Where are ya?” Joel calls out, voice slightly muffled as he bends down to put his shoes away.

“In here!” you call out, voice high and sugary sweet, imitating the lingerie plastered to your body right now.

“How’s my pr-” Joel starts, freezing the moment he enters the kitchen. He takes in the sight - you slightly bent over, only a tiny string between your bare ass cheeks, pink high heels, and straps of candy running over your shoulders and across your back. You whip your head over your shoulder, rotating your body just enough to give Joel a peek at the lines of candy also covering your tits. He laughs, head thrown back in playful amusement before stepping towards you, predatory and slow, his laugh fading into a contemplative smirk.

“What do we got here?” Joel says quietly, hands immediately pressed tightly to your hips, his body pushing you forward into the counter. You whimper when the edge of the counter starts to dig into your stomach, Joel’s massive form locking you into your spot. “A little snack f’me to enjoy after workin’ so hard all day?” Joel can barely contain himself, blood running hot as he contemplates how grateful he feels right now.

“Mmhmm…” you whine out, already feeling any semblance of tension leaving your body at Joel’s gentle but calloused touch, this feeling of home. You giggle when Joel leans down to where the straps come around over your shoulders and takes a bite out of the candies, a little groan leaving him as his lips also catch on your skin, mixing the taste of you with the sweetness of the candy.

“Delicious, baby,” he hums in your ear, then goes on to kiss your earlobe. You melt, head falling back slightly with a docile smile plastered on your lips. “How’d a man get so lucky?” He takes another bite, kissing along your shoulder as he does so.

“Thought we’d get a jump on Valentine’s Day, darling,” you coo back, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

Joel freezes, his eyes going wide and body rigid. “Fu-” he murmurs to himself, lips still practically attached to your shoulder.

“What?”

He tears himself off of you with the most disgruntled groan you may have heard from him yet. “Baby, we gotta get movin’. You… fuckin’ little candy underwear, god damn it…” he starts muttering, grabbing you tightly and spinning you around. He grasps your hand in his and starts leading you upstairs. “You gotta change, honey, we’re…” he trails off, looking guilty and a bit flustered.

“Joel, what the hell is going on?” you ask, stopping and pulling back on his hand.

Joel sighs, calming himself for a moment before finally meeting your eyeline again. His gaze softens and he smiles. “Had a whole thing planned, darlin’. A surprise. C’mon and see for yourself.”

You trail after him, suddenly feeling ridiculous in your candy underwear given the change in mood. He takes you into the bedroom, opening his closet and yanking out your suitcase. Your brows furrow as you watch him pull it to the center of the bedroom, then going back for another suitcase of his own. Your mouth drops open slightly before curling into a smile, realizing that Joel had planned a trip for the two of you. He’d mentioned to keep your schedule free around Valentine’s Day, but you’d figured it was just typical plans - dinner, a picnic, or a fancy hotel room, nothing this big.

“Joel… baby…” you breathe out, clutching a hand to your chest. You feel suddenly filled with warmth, like sunshine has started filling you from the belly outwards, making your entire being feel light and tingly. Effervescence. That’s what being with Joel is like.

He gives you a lopsided smile. “We’re leavin’ tonight. Planned it all, flight is at eight so we can wake up there ‘n get a jump on everythin’. An’ then you had to wear that,” he huffs, gesturing to your entire body with a wild movement of his hand. “An’ scramble my brain right up.” His eyes linger along your entire midsection, sincerely considering throwing these plans away just to sate his hard cock, but he shakes his head and looks you in the eyes again.

“A jump on…. what’s everything?” you ask, placing an impatient hand on your hip.

Joel reaches into the built-in shelves in his closet, pulling out a soft, cashmere lounge set and walking it over to you. “Jus’ get dressed an’ I’ll explain as we go. God damn it, this was s’posed to be so much more romantic.” He sighs, a hand repeatedly running through his hair during your entire conversation, looking flustered.

“Aw, honey, it is, promise,” you assure him with a kind laugh, starting to peel off the candy underwear, bringing it over to your dresser to deposit it for another time.

“Mm-mm,” Joel chants with a smirk, squatting down to unzip your suitcase and holding out his palm to you. “Those are comin’ with us.”

You’re over 31,000 feet in the air now, the sky dark outside the plane windows as you peer out. Joel had planned an entire long weekend to head to Aspen, where he’d booked you both skiing lessons and a cozy, romantic room at a lodge there. Your heart swelled as he explained it all on the ride to the airport, remembering how it was on your bucket list to learn to ski, but being from Texas there hadn’t been too many chances to learn locally.

You stretch your legs out, admiring the leg room in the first class tickets Joel had gotten you two, bringing the complimentary glass of champagne to your lips.

“Baby, this is too much,” you say with a slight frown, despite feeling overjoyed at everything about your current situation.

“Never. I’ve been plannin’ and savin’ for this for a while. Wanted to surprise you big time,” Joel says with a toothy, proud grin.

“Well, you did. Makes my candy underwear feel kind of… well, wimpy in comparison.”

Joel’s pointer finger flies to your lips, pressing down before your glass can reach your mouth again. “Not a chance, little doll. That’s all I need from you - skimpy little outfit to keep your husband happy.”

Your lips curl into a sly smirk and you part your lips, nipping the end of Joel’s fingers. He shoots a brow up, challenging you, but you back down. You and Joel don’t always have the most public decency, but you decide it’s not worth getting kicked off the plane just for an orgasm you could wait a few more hours for. You nearly roll your eyes at the thought though, your cunt aching from the unresolved moment you two had shared in the kitchen earlier. You can tell by his wide pupils and rosy cheeks that Joel must be feeling a lot of the same way and having the same conflictions.

“If we wait a few hours… it’ll be even better…” you lean over and whisper to him, voice betraying you as it escapes in a breathy, sultry tone.

“Plane never stopped us before…” Joel says, brows raised again.

You tut, but then smile at the memory of your one sexual adventure on a plane with Joel, when you two were on your way to your honeymoon. A discreet handjob and fingering in first class under blankets hadn’t been the most romantic start to your married life together, but it suited the both of you. “Aaand…” you trail off, placing your palm on his chest. “We almost got caught like five times, big guy. Promised ourselves we wouldn’t do that again.”

Joel grumbles quickly, and you know he understands, but you feel an anxious twinge in your stomach, like you’re breaking the rules. Your face falls a little and you turn towards him, more serious this time. “I know we have… an arrangement, and you know I love our arrangement.” Joel gets what he wants, whenever he wants - the words agreed upon by the both of you within your marriage, and you were all for it. “But just this time I think we shouldn’t break the law for it.” You raise your brows, stomach turning again as you wait for his reaction - Joel is always understanding and patient with you but as usual, you find yourself desperate to please him.

Joel bites the inside of his cheek, then he leans over to plant a peck on your cheek while he reaches down to squeeze your hand in reassurance. “No, baby, you’re right. Probably should be an exception ‘bout planes in there, huh?” He tilts his head playfully and you feel your tension dissipate immediately. “Always the rational one, ain’t you, honey.”

“Barely,” you tease, chuckling in relief. “I just don’t want to ruin the trip before it’s even started. Let’s just watch a movie or something?”

Several hours of keeping yourselves occupied and dozing off had you finally arriving in Aspen, where Joel gently nudged you awake as the plane landed. You rubbed your bleary eyes and made your way through the plane and airport half-awake, just letting Joel guide you with one of your hands gently grasping at his sleeve the entire time. You two get outside the airport with your suitcases, now bundled up in an adorable puffer jacket Joel had packed for you, along with a new pair of fuzzy earmuffs. You were starting to have a sneaking suspicion that there was a lot of new clothing in your suitcase.

Standing next to an impeccably shiny black car is a well dressed driver holding a tiny sign that makes you do a double take.

Mr. & Mrs. Joel Miller.

You tug on Joel’s sleeve with eager excitement as he starts towards the man and your mouth hangs open.

“Joel, you did not hire a fancy driver,” you scoff quietly in disbelief. Joel stops in his tracks, screeching the two of you to a halt before turning to face you.

“If you’re already questioning me at the airplane seats ‘n the driver, it’s gonna be a long few days, honey,” he says sweetly, his voice crackling and gruff with tiredness from the long day. Your open mouth turns to a smile while you tut and shake your head.

“You’re too much, Joel Miller…” you muse, following him to the car. The driver, Randy, takes your bags and stuffs them in the car, offering you an open car door to climb inside. Your stomach flips with butterflies, not having realized just how romantic of a weekend Joel had planned for you. You fight off a quick mist of tears as it pops up, trying not to get emotional at just how overwhelmingly thoughtful your husband could be sometimes.

When Joel sits next to you, you clasp onto his hand tightly, giving him a watery smile that he returns with a sympathetic one of his own, reading that you’re feeling overwhelmed. Sure, since Joel had become more and more successful in his business you’d been treated beyond your wildest dreams, but sometimes it all hit you hard in one big moment like right now, filling you with gut clenching gratitude for your life. Life with Joel oftentimes feels like a dream, something you’ve stumbled into somehow that you aren’t sure you deserve. Joel would never let those thoughts slide, always reminding you how lucky he feels to have met you in that bar, that fate intervened so spectacularly in his life.

You lean your head on his shoulder for the duration of the ride to your accommodation, feeling sick with nostalgia and gratitude as you get lost in your thoughts. When the lodge comes into view, you pick your head up, mind suddenly empty as your jaw drops while you take it in.

It’s dark out, the sky black against the warm, glowing lights peeking through window panes throughout the lodge. A mountainous backdrop is still visible despite the dark night, and you can’t help but ogle at everything, imagining how stunning it will look in the daylight. The lodge is huge, ornate despite the fact that it’s meant to look simplistic and cozy with its wood siding. Joel marvels quickly at the construction out of habit, being in the business he’s in gives him a certain preclusion to commenting his two cents on every place you stay. You’re stunned silent as the back door is opened by Randy and you step out underneath a large overhang, greeted by yet another person who offers to take your bags. It’s all fuzzy, your brain tired and overwhelmed by what you’re taking in right now, the fact that just hours ago you’d been at home, content to just stay in with your husband tonight. You blink back to reality, about to speak when Joel gets to it first.

“Please. Thank you kindly,” Joel drawls, quickly slipping them a bill from his wallet and then turning back to you, offering you his arm. You take it, practically ready to squeal loudly with excitement as you two enter the building. You admire the expansive lobby while Joel steps away to check in - high ceilings and wood beams, roaring fireplaces surrounded by cozy seating and tall, full but neatly arranged bookshelves. A winter dream if there ever was one.

You’re gazing around, tired, slow blinking eyes, too lost in it all to notice Joel come up next to you, his hand finding the small of your back. He leans close, lips and rough beard brushing your ear with a soft kiss.

“Room’s ready,” he practically growls, and your gut clenches at his tone, your thighs pressing together. Suddenly, your body feels alight, nerves buzzing and goosebumps peppering your flesh. Sleep is a far away notion now, recalling the way you’d begun this evening, only to have it go unfinished for the both of you. You smile, soft and docile like your husband likes, your voice a dulcet song so close to his ears.

“Lead the way.”

Your ass stings red hot from another harsh slap laid against it. Joel’s hungry mouth devouring you, your hat and coat discarded on the floor right next to the door to your room. Hair tangled from the way Joel is hanging on to it for dear life as he pounds into you. Your only view is the cream colored walls, your face pressed up against the cool, smooth surface as Joel’s body pins you there. The door had no sooner shut than Joel had thrown you here, as much clothing ripped off as he could stand before his cock was inside of you. You’d cried out, whimpered at the sudden heavenly intrusion despite your pussy needing a moment to adjust. Joel had pushed through it, anyways, delivering the first spank of the night on your ass, pants and underwear hastily pulled down, halfway down your legs - enough room for Joel to slip his cock in was good enough for now, he’d thought hastily. The pain had melded into pleasure, your cunt squeezing his cock and starting to weep, easing Joel’s firm thrusts into you.

“F-fuck…” you whine against the wall, lips hanging open as his cock hits deep, your g-spot crying out already from all the stimulation he’s giving it. He’s not going easy on you, and you’d already known he wouldn’t the second he got you alone. All those hours, the silent teasing going on in both of your heads as you’d waited for this moment.

“Takin’ my cock like such a good girl… my obedient little wife,” Joel grunts out next to your ear, his teeth scraping your earlobes, sliding to your pulse point. You shudder, your hips spasming down onto him as pleasure starts to rock your body. You’re close… so fucking close to that perfect paradise only Joel knows how to get you to. “I’d’ve fucked you right in that lobby, right in that car or that god damned plane. Want everyone to see what I do to my pretty wife, what I’ve got right here… fuckin’ mess only for me,” Joel murmurs, rambling on as he grunts over and over, giving you everything he’s got. His hands tilt your hips, holding tightly while he anchors you there. And he’s right, you are a mess. Dripping slick, coating your thighs, disheveled hair and makeup now from the pleasured tears rolling down your cheeks, wet, squelching sounds filling the hotel room that you haven’t even had a chance to see yet as your face is turned towards the corner near the doorway. It must be a sight, indeed.

“Y-yeah? Wanna s-show me off…?” you breathe out, voice trembling as much as your body is starting to. Your knees are jelly, shaking and barely able to hold you up when Joel delves deep, hitting that spongy part inside of you again, making your eyes roll back. Of course he does, you know he does - nothing brings Joel more joy than letting the world know exactly what he has.

“Fuckin’ know I do… all lookin’ at this tight little cunt takin’ my fat cock, my pretty pussy, all mine.” Joel’s body presses closer, and you’re trapped even more, the both of you damp with sweat and almost incoherent as you near your highs.

“B-baby… I’m -” you whine out, “Please…”

Joel has waited as long as he could, knowing what you need. He’d wanted you desperate for it, so close, your climax just within reach, before he took you over the edge. His hand on your hip curves forward, finding your clit, and you moan loudly at the contact on the sensitive nerves. Your body moves of its own accord, bouncing back into his thrusts wildly, barely noticing that Joel’s other hand has left your hip until it connects with your neck, hand wrapping around your throat. You gasp, the noise cut off into a small choke while Joel’s hand tightens and you croak out a moan.

“Oh my g-god… please…” you whimper again in a strained voice, hoping, no, begging for permission from him. He plays with you a little longer, feeling his cock harden beyond what he’d think possible, aching even inside of you for more, as he toys with you, making you wait. His hand squeezes your neck once more, a little harder, keeping the pressure on. You’re feral, your body screaming at you but you concentrate, holding back, your mind doing gymnastics to try to deny what your body wants so badly.

“Come.” Joel speaks the one word with finality, and you let go, your body shaking violently. His hand releases and you breathe in a full, round breath as you come, your pussy creaming so hard on his cock that you start to feel dizzy from it all.

“God damn, good girl… comin’ so pretty right now,” he whispers to your ear, the noise tickling your mind in the best way. Joel holds you up as you moan and whimper, his name falling off your lips in the way it always does in moments like these - worshiping him. You flutter and squeeze his cock like heaven incarnate, and Joel finds he can’t hold himself back any longer, spilling into you on the tail end of your own climax with a loud grunt, pretty praises for you off his lips.

You both collapse against the wall, Joel leaning against you, and you both catch your breath, the need gone for the moment after hours of waiting. You sigh, smiling in satisfaction when Joel pulls off of you, gathering you quickly into his arms, kissing you all over your head.

“That’s better, ain’t it?” he says teasingly, and you chuckle, nodding in his grasp. You both readjust yourselves, Joel helping you situate the clothing he’d haphazardly pulled aside in his frenzy earlier.

“Much,” you say with another sigh, leaning into him. “What time is our lesson tomorrow?”

“Not ‘till noon. Had a feeling we’d be… up late,” Joel replies wryly, and you laugh again.

“Such a planner,” you poke at him, raising your brows before tilting your head to kiss his cheek. You slip out of his hold and start to meander further into the room, jaw dropping for what feels like the hundredth time tonight while you take in the vaulted ceilings with those same warm wooden beams and white painted walls, a stone fireplace roaring in the center of the room across from the massive bed, adorned with rose petals. More roses sit atop the small breakfast table in a vase near the windows, and when you venture over there, the view you’re taking in is beyond stunning - the mountains in full view, moonlight shining over the entirety of the landscape and your eyes start to tear up. Champagne in an ice bucket, boxes of chocolate, fresh fruit, the entire works are all laid out - such a lavish, gorgeous display for the traditional romantic in you. You turn around finally, meeting Joel’s gaze, where he stands, a smitten look on his face as he watches you take it all in.

“Joel… What can I even say?” you gasp out, throwing your hands up before letting them hang back at your sides, defeated in the best way. “Thank you…” you say meekly, turning to peer out the window once more before walking towards him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Thanked me plenty back there. An’ every day when you just be my good little wife, that’s thanks enough, doll,” Joel replies soothingly, stroking the back of your head. You lean your head against his chest, content to just listen to his heart beat for a few seconds, take in the memories of this moment. You lean back, tilting your head to give him a warm, grateful smile.

“Take me to bed?”

The next morning is far from the slow, romantic morning Joel had desired for you, realizing the both of you had forgotten to set any alarms and slept in well past 10:00 after your late night. It was barely giving the two of you time to get ready - a rushed shower and breakfast before hurrying to your skiing lesson. He’d dreamed about this hotel that he’d booked for months, the thought of waking you up with his mouth pressed deep into your cunt on that California King as he’d planned would have to be a distant fantasy as you two got on with your day.

Joel couldn’t help but stare at you the entire lesson, the way your face is lit up with pure joy in your ski gear as you fumbled to get the hang of things along with him. He’d gotten you ski pants, a jacket, gloves, and goggles - all the works that he knew was ridiculous for your first time on the mountain for that price tag. But he also knew you’d look just like this - adorable in your matching winter set, colorful goggles perched on top of your beanie and perfect lips curled into a never ending grin - and it made it all worth it.

Joel finds his own smile recounting the day as he keeps a steady hand on your back, the open back, low cut slinky dress he’d packed for you to wear to dinner tonight leaving plenty of skin for his hands to roam over as you two walk back to your room, full and contented. A candlelit dinner in the lodge’s shockingly expensive restaurant and a few drinks had you both feeling good as new again after your long day of skiing and mostly falling.

You two had laughed for hours as you’d fallen on your asses more times than anyone could count. Once you got the hang of it enough to get on the smaller slopes, you’d been unable to stop giggling the entire time, you and Joel catching up at the bottom just to ride the lift up again and again. You two flirted shamelessly the entire day like two teenagers, your heart swelling with so much love for your husband like it was your first date all over again. It was nice to have this uninterrupted time to just talk, get each other caught up on the other’s recent thoughts, feelings, and days that got lost amid the hustle of daily life.

Joel’s lips connect with the back of your neck as soon as the door to your room at the lodge is shut. “Like t’see those candy underwear again,” he mumbles to your skin, and you giggle a little too loudly, stumbling forward a bit.

Your brows wiggle as you try to crane your neck to look back at him. “That so, Mr. Miller?”

“Christ, y’only call me that when you’ve been drinkin’,” Joel teases, snaking his arms around to your front, holding you against him, the bulge in his dress pants becoming more obvious by the second as it hardens, pressing into you. “Can’t decide if it’s cute or jus’ makes me feel old.”

“No I don’t, Mr. Miller. And it is cute,” you demand, trying to hide the tiniest bit of a slur in your voice. Joel wasn’t wrong, you had been known to use that particular nickname for him after a few drinks, but you tended to be a bit of a bratty, indignant drunk.

“Thas right, ‘cause everythin’ you do is cute, m’little wife.” Joel says with a smile in his voice. His lips connect with your neck once again, trailing a few kisses down your spine. “An’ sexy…” he adds in a lower tone, one hand sliding to your hip, then your ass, squeezing hard before giving it a playful smack.

“Keep talkin’ if you want those candy panties to see the light of day again,” you reply, leaning back into him, your weight immediately welcomed by his warm, solid body.

“Oh, sweet girl, always gettin’ so bold with that wine, aren’t ya?” Joel’s hold tightens, one hand splayed across your torso and the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “You forgotten who’s in charge here? Hm, baby?”

“A-actually, it was champagne…” you strain out, starting to pant as Joel’s hold goes even tighter, his domination quickly getting your thighs sticky, and you lament the fact you don’t have any underwear on right now. All at Joel’s request, of course, that you forgo any underwear at dinner tonight. You just whimper out a quiet moan, knowing you’ve gotten Joel riled up enough to keep going on his own volition.

“Think I don’t call the shots suddenly, huh? My sweet, sweet wife, we both know,” he pauses, mouth moving right next to your ear. A small nibble, his breath warm and tickling you in the best way right on sensitive skin sends a shudder through you. “That if I say put those fuckin’ candy panties on right this god damn minute, you’re gonna do it, yeah?”

Joel’s teeth suddenly sink into your neck a little, a tiny bite followed by a suck, and you nod desperately, silently cursing yourself for giving in so quickly, not giving yourself a little more time to play with him, let that tiny bratty part of you out of her cage for one of her rare appearances.

“Ain’t that right?” Joel repeats, giving your hair a little tug.

“Y-yes, Joel, yes baby…” you breathe out, and he releases your hair, his hold loosening on your body before he gives a loving pat to your ass.

“Good girl,” he coos, satisfied, sending another wave of heat to the apex of your thighs to hear his praise. A tiny moan slips out at the two words, still so effective after all these years. Joel chuckles, a tiny little huff off his lips as he spins you to face him. His hand cups your pussy through your dress, pushing the silky material between your legs before he tuts.

“Soakin’ yourself jus’ from gettin’ called a good girl…” he murmurs, lips getting dangerously close to yours. “Good. Girl.” he says with a smirk against your lips before kissing you. It’s long and deep, reminding you that behind the play and facade is an infinite amount of care for you - his wife, his forever.

He tears himself away, leaning his forehead against yours. “Now, go on and change f’me.”

You nod against him, then step back when he releases you from his hold. Breathless, on shaky legs, you rummage through your suitcase to pull out the candy set, smiling when you hold up the pastel treats, strung up on what might be the world’s flimsiest string. One minute in Joel’s rough, domineering hands and these would be toast, you think, almost laughing to yourself.

You see Joel go towards the fireplace, sinking himself down in one of the plush chairs there and crossing his ankle over his knee, settling back as he unbuttons the top few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, watching you expectantly. You scurry off under his hot gaze, using the bathroom to change out of his eyesight before reemerging in his requested lingerie. You fight a giggle, wine still coursing through you while being reminded of the pure ridiculousness of this little stunt of yours.

Joel eats with his eyes first and foremost, sweeping them up your body as he finishes getting comfortable, unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves. You stand in front of him, thankful for the warmth of the fireplace right next to the two of you in your skimpy ensemble, and take him in right back. Broad, muscled, just starting to show his age with more grays every time you blink, and you love it. Love every inch of Joel.

“On the ground,” Joel says coolly, and you smirk, trying to hide it into a submissive, coy smile. Your knees go first, the plush rug under them a welcome relief, pure fluffy luxury in a weekend full of it. You start to lay prone, chest heaving with anticipation, mind spinning and reeling, wondering what torturous loving Joel has in store, how much he’ll milk it all out just for your tiny bit of bratiness earlier.

“Jus’ like that, thas’ right.” He leans forward and smiles, a little devilish and boyish in one, and you think you fall in love again as you watch him moving, looming over you now. He quickly palms the outside of his slacks, just the quickest relief before sliding his hand away, starting to circle you.

“Where to start…” Joel trills, and your body heats up even more while his eyes dig into you. When he’s standing at your feet, he starts to come down, leaning his entire body over you. “Can you be a good little doll and lay still while I have my treat?”

Breathless, you nod. Your eyes roll back a little when you blink hard, trying to catch your breath. Joel’s lifted brow and stare prompt you without him even having to say it - use your words, darlin’.

“Yes,” you say more confidently, and Joel smiles sweetly down at you.

“Good.”

He starts slow, lips moving languidly across your belly, up to where the candy rests on your tits, lapping at the sweetness there for a few licks.

“Mmm…” Joel mumbles. He’s back on you the next second, sucking the candies right on top of your nipples. The friction of the hard candies combined with the tiny licks of his tongue coming through to the hardened buds has your back arching, hips searching for him. You squirm, panting now when he bites through the candy, grazing your nipple with his teeth. Joel’s hands come down, ever so gently guiding your hips back down to the plush rug underneath you.

“What’d I say about bein’ still?” Joel teases, holding you there now before going back to bite again, crunching the candies before using his sugary tongue to tease your nipple with a few flicks as it pokes through the hole he’s just made. You start to moan, already a lost cause for your husband, the thought of trying to keep your body still already torturous.

“I c-can’t help it… I’m sorry, sir,” you pant out when your hips lift again, his mouth working harder and harder on your nipples. He grunts disapprovingly and continues on until both of your nipples are free, surrounded by the rest of the candy bra. Joel seems like a man possessed, lost in it all while he devours the candies, sucking and licking each new patch of skin, a sticky, sweet mess all over your skin.

You’re aching, body tense and in hot, hot need of him now as he teases you over and over. Your thighs clamp tight, trying to avoid bucking them up into where his hard, clothed cock hovers teasingly right above you. His hand grips tightly to your hip, the string of candy taut between his fingers. He’s eaten enough of the bra that it’s starting to droop, fall off of you completely, and Joel tears it aside, scattering the rest of the candies along the floor with a tinkling sound that pulls you out of the moment for a beat as you turn your head to watch the treats roll away.

“Good girl, bein’ so good f’me… such a sweet little thing…” Joel says, lifting his head off of your chest, giving you ferocious, unhinged eyes and candy tinted lips, puffy and overused.

“J-joel… please…” you whine out, the way he’s looking at you pulsing right to your already soaking cunt. His hand slips underneath the panties while he keeps his eyes on yours, watching them roll back completely as he fingers your clit. Your hips buck, finally, unable to stop it and you feel your lip quiver as a shaky moan releases from them. Joel leans forward, his lips finding yours and kissing you zealously, a glace mix of him and the sweets has your head spinning as you lap the taste off of his lips and tongue eagerly.

“So sweet…” you mumble into his mouth, going back for more and more, until you’re feeling just as sticky and sweaty as he is, the slow burn starting to gnaw at you, your core dripping while Joel rubs the softest circles over your bundle of nerves.

“You’re perfect, y’know,” Joel breathes out, lifting his lips off of yours just the tiniest bit. “My perfect girl…” You moan when his finger suddenly sinks inside of you, too caught up in the moment to even notice when he’d delicately slipped it from your clit to your clenching hole. You suck him in greedily, desperate for anything he’ll give you and whimper.

Joel contorts himself, sliding down your body, keeping his finger moving at a languid, steady pace as his mouth now meets the candy panties, nibbling along the top of it. You’re losing control, unable to take the teasing anymore, the slowness of everything, your rough and ready husband nowhere to be found right now.

Your moans become breathier, urgent and panting out of you more quickly than you can handle, your mind going a little fuzzy and light as the feeling of Joel completely takes over you.

“There we go… jus’ float on away baby, let me take you there…” Joel coos from your hip where his lips graze against your skin as another few pieces of candy come off. You give him an affirmative noise, barely registered even by your own mind as your eyes slip closed, your body warm and tingling, so desperately close to the edge. Joel’s finger hooks upwards inside of you and you gasp loudly, your body wracked with spasms as you start to come onto his thick finger. Joel lets you freely writhe and shake now, not bothering to have you lay still while he fucks his finger against your g-spot relentlessly while you ride out the waves of pleasure. You’re whimpering, a complete mess, chest, face, cunt, all feeling sticky and completely used by the man you love.

Your head lolls along the rug a bit before you blindly reach your hand for Joel, grasping his shoulder with your eyes still lazing shut. “F-fuck me, please… please,” you whimper, lightly clawing at his dress shirt.

You hear one more crunch of the candies before Joel’s fingers hook on the sides of the delicate string and pull your panties off. You can feel him, his presence hovering above you as he sits back on his knees and you hear him unbuckling his belt, imagining in your mind the sight of his hard cock coming free, readying itself at your entrance. You can barely think about opening your leaden eyes right now, still on the heels of your climax as your chest heaves up and down. You can feel the warmth radiating off of Joel as he climbs on top of you, hands gripping your calves to lift your legs up enough for him to fit snugly between them.

You grit your teeth a little, grunting out a gratified moan when you feel Joel start to push himself in, your cunt fluttering as it accepts as much of him as he’ll give. You’re greedy tonight, you can feel it, just needing everything Joel can give you, how far away from reality he could take you tonight.

He pumps in and out, almost uncharacteristic in his tentativeness, more of his thick length going in each time, and you finally peek your eyes open slowly, hands reaching to his shoulders and pushing underneath the collar of his dress shirt, finding his warm skin. He’s moving slower than he normally would, and you find his face looking down at you with adoration, just content to watch your face twitch and contort with each unhurried drag of his cock along your silky walls.

“Lookin’ like an angel,” Joel comments, seeing your face sheening and glowing from your climax, hair splayed around your head like a halo - pure angelic beauty, a work of art that Joel could never tire of gazing upon. You smile softly, one of your hands stroking his cheek lovingly, soft moans streaming out of you while he keeps up the same pace.

“Baby…” you moan, “I s-said to fuck me, please…”

“I am, little doll…” Joel teases back with a slow push of his dick into you, and you shake your head.

“You know what I meeeeaan,” you whine desperately, fingers itching to reach down and grasp his hips, pull him into you harder. Joel’s hips twitch a little faster, starting to roll into you with more force and you sigh, head thrown back a bit more.

“What, like this?”

Uh-huh. You start to go a little breathless, legs wrapping around Joel’s waist, securing your calves tightly against him.

“You want me to use you up again, hm? That it? My poor baby, she jus’ wants this tight little hole to be so fucked out she can’t walk, doesn’t she?” Joel says, patronizingly sweet with the drawl of each word.

You nod desperately. “Please, sir, t-that’s…” you stop to moan loudly when he bucks into you harder and harder. “That’s all I want…” you finally choke out, Joel’s cock hitting you so deep you nearly feel your breath stolen right from your lungs.

“What my pretty wife wants, she gets,” Joel practically sings to you, bringing his lips down to yours for a kiss, letting his mouth sloppily work its way to your neck, starting to bite and suck while he crashes into you harder with each thrust. You can only make tiny noises, clutching him as your hands snake around his neck, holding him close to you. Joel grunts loudly between sloppy licks and sucks on your throat, his hips moving more clumsily as your walls squeeze him to the point he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back.

“God damn it baby, this little pussy wants me in there so bad, she’s so greedy,” Joel punches out right next to your ear. You shudder, hips spasming and only tightening you around him further. Joel groans loudly.

“Please…” is all you can whisper, out of breath as he hits deep inside of you with each new movement.

“Fuck, c-can’t… need to fill you up, darlin’, need you fuckin’ full of me…”

“Pleaaaase…” More urgently this time, lips dry from the way you’re sucking in oxygen in quick gasps, starting to feel your orgasm clawing at your belly, tingly and hot.

“Fuckin’ full of me… gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. Give you my f-fuckin’ baby right now… m-make you swell up,” Joel pants, his face buried in your shoulder, biting down. You gasp, completely lost to the moment, fingers digging into his skin as you pull him in tighter, legs and feet crushed against his back. There are no two bodies here, only togetherness and sweat and breath - two people so lost in the moment and pure pleasure that they’re outside of themselves, becoming one frenzied movement to climb higher and higher to that sweet peak of relief.

“F-fuck… yes, yes, baby, yes…” you moan out. “Fill me up… d-do it…” you whine. With a stunted grunt Joel’s hips stutter forward, burying himself deep. The power, the emotion of it all as he starts to paint your walls tips you over the edge, fluttering tightly around him as you milk every bit of his seed into you, spasming and moaning as you reach another high.

“Oh my god…” you breathe out as you come hard, Joel’s ragged breath right in your ear softly moaning for you. The both of you fully collapse, Joel rolling to the side, clutching an arm around your chest. The crackling sound of the fireplace start to come back into your consciousness, the stillness and warmth of the room hitting you all over again while you lay back, feeling the stickiness of the two of you steadily leaking out of you. You’re speechless now, barely able to catch your breath, let alone process what Joel had hummed into your ear in the heat of the moment.

A baby. Did he really want that with you?

You two hadn’t discussed having children very often just yet, wanting to wait and enjoy being married, being just you two for a few years. But you felt your heart flutter a little, the thought of a little life inside of you, yours and Joel’s, a beautiful loved baby that you’d grow and nurture together. You can scarcely breathe at the thought, the love your heart swells with for this faraway notion, this unconceived child, already imprinting themselves onto your heart.

“Joel…” you murmur. His head turns towards you, and you watch light flickering around him from the shadows the fire is casting along his golden skin.

“I-” Joel stutters, seeing the look in your eyes. For once, he’s not sure he can quite read it. He knows he said something so much more tangible this time, beyond all the dirty talk the both of you love to get lost in. It was too much, surely, he’d scared you with it. “I’m sorry, honey, that was… jus’ caught in the moment, maybe…”

Your face falls a little, eyes dropping to peer past him with a sad look. “Were you?” you ask timidly, hands coming together on your belly and wringing nervously.

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, soft now, none of that feral fire that was there only minutes ago. He shakes his head slowly.

“N-no, no I wasn’t, doll,” he replies quietly. Your lips twitch a little, a small smile that you’re not able to hold back now.

“I, uh, I wasn’t either,” you tell him, and Joel’s eyes flash, lighting up a bit.

He turns completely on his side, and you do too, facing each other and scooting even closer. Joel drapes a hand over you, starting to rub lazy patterns onto your back. “So should we… uh, talk about this, then?” he asks, giving you a half, lopsided smile.

You give him a nod and a toothy grin, resting your forehead against his. “Get me those chocolates on the table over there and then we’re in business.” Joel moves without hesitation, winking at you as he pulls himself off the floor.

“Anythin’ f’you, darlin’."

You have no idea what hour it is, how long you’ve even been asleep when you feel Joel’s warm body pressing into yours, his chest now up against your back. The room is still nearly pitch black, making you take a moment to recall exactly where you are. You sigh, smiling softly at the memory of your trip thus far and you see a tiny sliver of light coming in around the blackout curtains in the room, clearly doing their job well by keeping you two asleep for god knows how long.

“Baby…” Joel whispers in your ear. You roll over slightly, your ass now rubbing into his crotch. Your eyes flutter slightly when you feel his cock, already half hard for you. Your insatiable husband, fucking you within an inch of your life for two nights in a row, and still coming back for more - a rare man of his age so voraciously consuming you over and over, never seeming to be satisfied.

“Hmm?” you murmur in reply. Joel wraps an arm across you, snuggling you closer, all warm heat against his broad, naked chest.

“Mornin’...” he mumbles back, lips pressed to your neck. “Sweet girl.”

“Morning, handsome,” you say, reaching an arm behind you to cup Joel’s cheek, running your fingers through his beard. He hums in pleasure, dipping his lips down to kiss your neck again. You shudder, digging yourself deeper under the plush comforter as you feel goosebumps covering your entire body. Joel’s hands start to roam, sliding over the skimpy, half see through pink slip you’d discovered in your suitcase last night.

Joel is suddenly shifting in the bed, and you feel the sheets rustling next to you before he’s bumping your legs as he climbs over them, settling himself underneath the comforter right in between your thighs. His touch just grazes over your plush thighs, soft and gentle, how Joel tends to be first thing in the mornings before he descends into the rough, possessive man that you’re more used to.

“So soft, little doll…” Joel murmurs from between your legs, his breath hot on your inner thighs while he leans down to kiss the outside of your panties. You just mumble incoherent noises of affirmation, still half asleep. Joel makes quick work of your panties, a pair to match the slip, of course, and pulls them down your legs, discarding them in the mess of sheets.

Your hips buck, a louder moan escaping you when his mouth finds your warm center, already wet and wanting for him.

“She’s ready f’me, ain’t she… waitin’ on her mornin’ wakeup,” Joel teases before running his tongue up your slit another time, flicking it on your clit a few times. A gentle suck there has your whining ramping up, hips begging him for more more more already. You’re barely even lucid yet and Joel is on the precipice of pulling yet another earth shattering orgasm out of you.

“J-jesus… please…” you beg, already feeling the familiar warmth pooling tighter in your core, your knees wobbling as they curl up, giving you some leverage to lazily push your hips against Joel’s tongue as it moves along your pussy.

“C’mon baby, fall apart f’me, s’okay it’s so fast…” Joel pulls back to murmur to you, kissing along your inner thighs as he speaks.

Your hand snakes below the sheets, burying your fingers into his lush, gorgeous curls, letting them massage his scalp as he dives back into your cunt, licking in just the right way he knows makes you go crazy with need, that makes you come within minutes, sometimes even much less.

You moan loudly, hips spasming as your climax surprises you suddenly, the waves of pleasure hitting you while Joel lets you ride it out onto his face. Your eyes roll back and you whimper quietly as you come down, flopping onto the bed with a content little sigh, body going limp. Joel kisses his way up your stomach, chest, and finally your lips, where you taste that primal honey of yourself on his lips. You quickly fall back into a dozing, lazy state before Joel wakes you again with his lips on your neck.

“Gonna order us room service,” he whispers near your ear, and you nod, finally opening your eyes to see your husband’s rugged, handsome face hovering above yours. Sharp smirk, stress lines, wild bedhead and all - he’s perfect, and you can’t help but smile sleepily in return.

“There she is,” he teases, giving your forehead a smooch. “One mention of breakfast and she’s all bright eyed ‘n bushy tailed, huh?” You stick your tongue out teasingly, waggling your head at him.

“How about we eat, then we can go explore the town, do a little shoppin’ f’you, see the sights ‘n all that, hm?” Joel asks, and you nod tiredly but excitedly.

“Mmm, sounds good,” you agree, blinking slowly as you try to wake up, finally coming to enough to recall the conversation the two of you had last night. The dreams you’d shared, hopes you had for having a child, all the ways your lives would change but also stay quite the same. The way your love would stay the same, deepen even, with seeing the other become a parent. Weighing it all carefully but with hopeful hushed voices, wondering if this was the right time for that next step for the two of you. When you’d both tearfully agreed that you’d start really trying in a few months after some more planning and thought, your heart soared higher than the clouds, than anywhere you could even conceive in your mind, chest tight with anticipation for all of it.

This morning that same feeling persists as you look upon Joel - so steady, so assured - everything you’ve ever dreamed of right here in this one man.

“How about we get some practice in while we wait for the food…” you suggest with your raspy, sleep laden voice, raising your brows at him as you feel his cock brush against you again, clearly hard and wanting.

“Baby makin’ practice?” Joel teases, scooping you up into his arms and peppering kisses all along the side of your face. “That kinda practice, hm? Not just an excuse to get me naked again?”

You laugh, turning your head to kiss him back, relishing in the familiar plumpness of his lips, the taste of your husband, all of it like a map you’ve traced your fingers over hundreds of times now, knowing every route, twist, and turn, filled with such a deep appreciation for the landscape laid out in front of you. You smile again as you two look at each other, feeling your cheeks starting to hurt from the way you’ve been grinning practically non-stop for the last two days because of your gruff but secretly so soft husband. Your hand moves upwards to cup his cheek, sincerity written all over you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel.”

Joel smiles back, the same unspoken thoughts and deeply rooted loving care for you penned all over his features, entrenched in every weathered line, nook, and cranny of him.

“Happy Valentine’s, little doll.”

dividers by the amazing @/saradika-graphics <3

#fic: pretty little wife #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #x reader #the last of us fanfiction

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whimsyfinny · 3 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 668

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

——————————————————————

I’m Not Your F*ckng Maid

-Prologue-

Dean was awoken with a slam inches from his face and he sprung to life, almost losing his balance before he realised where he was. He’d fallen asleep at the table with his face in a book and surrounded by heaps of paper - many of which he hadn’t even started to read through yet. Blinking awake and gaining his bearings, he heard a familiar voice ring through the room.

”You boys are disgusting, how do you live like this?” The older Winchester finally looked up to see Charlie lifting a plate of half eaten, day-old pizza whilst kicking several beer bottles aside so she could pull out a chair and take a seat next to Dean, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

”Yeah well, we’ve been a little busy recently if you haven’t noticed,” his voice was gravelly from the sleep. Charlie put down the plate of old food and sat down, worry crossing her face as she looked at the man next to her. She knew they’d been under a lot of pressure lately with their work, so much so that the brothers were starting to neglect themselves. It had been months since they’d eaten proper food that wasn’t instant or take-out, they rarely went outside, always locking themselves away in the bunker to do research and the bunker itself was getting cluttered with bin bags and pizza boxes. Not to mention the piles of laundry that she’s noticed slowly starting to form its own ecosystem in the washroom.

“Yeah I get that, but you really have to look after yourselves. When was the last time you ate a vegetable?”

Dean scoffed.

“Yesterday, obviously,” he gave her a look like she was from another planet, and she rolled her eyes.

“The pizza sauce doesn’t count, Dean.”

He looked puzzled, raising an eyebrow, “Why not?”

Before she could even humour him with an answer, Sam emerged, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh hey Charlie, when did you get here?” His voice was equally as gravelly as Deans, so she assumed he’d also just woken up.

“Five minutes ago.”

“She called us disgusting Sam. And she said the sauce on pizza isn’t made from vegetables,” Dean gestured to Charlie like she was the fool as he looked up at his younger brother who now stood across from him on the other side of the table. Sam went to open his mouth to respond, but closed it again quickly and furrowed his brows, clearly unsure how to reply to his older brother without opening a can of worms. Charlie huffed.

“You guys need to sort yourself out. I only dropped by because I hadn’t heard from you for a while and thought you might’ve worked yourself to death. I can’t stay long because I’m meeting a friend for a drink. She’s already at the diner waiting for me”

“A friend?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and the redhead smirked.

“I wish, sadly she’s into dudes,” she paused, a thought crossing her mind, “Come to think of it, she’s actually looking for work, you guys might be able to help.”

Dean and Sam shared a glance.

“She’s a hunter?” Sam asked.

“Not exactly. Her uncle was, so she knows about stuff, but from what I know she was just a research girlie,” Charlie peered at the mess of papers on the table, “and it looks like you could use the help.” She looked between the brothers as they stared at each other, like they were having some sort of unspoken conversation. A few moments passed before Dean slapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Sure ok, but we’re coming with you today to meet her,” he went to grab his jacket from the back of his chair, an eagerness in his movements before Charlie put her hand out to stop him.

“Great!” She grinned, before raising her eyebrows and pointing to them both, “but first you guys have got to shower, because I can taste your BO from here.”

——————————————————————

Up Next

Chapter 1

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #Dean Winchester x reader smut #Dean Winchester x you smut #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x female!reader #dean winchester smut

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sailoryooons · 9 months

Note

alright fuck it somebody's gotta ask for some fluff around here. i want in the soop vibes !!! but it's just you and yoongi settling into the place you've rented for a weekend away bc you're forcing him to take a break. you share expensive whiskey and he cooks for you and it's domestic and CUTE (and like it could get smutty if you waaaaant idk idk). ok love you you're doing amazing sweetie !!!

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: A cozy trip to the woods is exactly what you and Yoongi need to manage your stress. You especially love the moments when Yoongi gets to enjoy you right by the fireside.

❀ Word Count: 2,352

❀ Genre: Fluff, established relationship, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Teeth-rotting fluff, Yoongi and reader are really touching but in a cutesy way, recreational drinking but no one gets drunk, explicit language, explicit sexual content including nipple play, vaginal fingering, a little bit of overstimualtion, light teasing, and a lot of WAP.

❀ Published: August 1, 2023

❀ A/N: It’s cool it only took me an entire year to finish this request for the literal love of my entire life. And the best part? They’re now back to read it! Thank you for being my best friend and my light in the dark and the moon to my stars and also for picking oral or fingies even though I don’t know if you knew what you were picking them for skdjgndfigdh te quireo mas, mi vida.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Yoongi squeezes the back of your neck gently, making you look up from your book poised in your lap. Smoke from the grill catches on the wind and blows south, carrying the smell of sizzling meat. Yoongi doesn’t look at you, flipping pork belly with one hand while keeping his other hand on you.

“Will be ready in five,” he informs you, eyes inspecting the grilling vegetables on the top layer of the grill. “Better finish your chapter.”

You smile at that, pleased that he knows that you won’t want to get up from the chair you’ve drawn across the porch to sit next to him until you finish your chapter. Nodding, you dive back into your book, determined to finish before Yoongi’s done grilling.

It’s hard to concentrate, though. Dinner smells amazing, the smoky scent of meal and glazed veggies filling the porch. The weight and warmth of Yoongi’s hands as he kneads the muscles of your neck is comforting, Yoongi determined to keep his hold on you despite cooking.

Moments like this are few and far in between. Instead of reading, you take a second to soak it all in. Around your rented cabin is a stretch of evergreens and mountains, the blue sky turning liquid gold as the sun sets somewhere beyond the peak of the mountains.

Evening blankets the woods around you, urging the crickets to start up their nightly hymns and birds to flit from tree to tree as they head to their nests for the night. It’s not quite autumn yet, but there’s a chill in the air at this elevation, chased away by Yoongi’s closeness and the smoking grill.

“Come on,” he urges gently, giving you one more squeeze. “Ready.”

“I didn’t finish my chapter.”

“With all that staring into the trees, I’m not surprised. You looking for bears out there?”

“I was living in the moment. Plus, maybe a werewolf will appear.”

“Hmm. Come live in the moment with this pork before you turn into a werewolf from hunger.”

Dinner is spread out on a picnic bench table, platters of meat and vegetable skewers and steaming sides. Yoongi slides on the bench next to you, bumping your shoulder. He leans and gives you a gentle kiss on your head before turning to the food, reaching for skewers.

You flush with warmth, smiling over at him. Having him to yourself like this is wonderful. He’s warm and calm, smelling like cedar and smoke. Leaning into him a bit, you load your plate, both of you eating in silence as you watch the sky shift through layers of gold to pink and purple.

String lights on timers buzz above you, lighting the porch in warm, gold light. The air is chilly by the time you finish your meal, full and satiated. Together, you pick up what’s left and head inside, a shiver crawling up your spin from the breeze.

“I’ll start a fire,” Yoongi murmurs, smacking your ass as you head to the kitchen full of plates. You squeal and he laughs, deep and throaty.

When you’re done with the dishes, you pour two glasses of whisky. You stop just behind the couch, watching him as he stretches to spread out the corner of a blanket. There are piles of pillows surrounding him and extra blankets, a nest of his own creation in front of a warm, crackling fire.

Yoongi looks cozy. His nose is a little red from being outside and his long hair is tucked under a beanie. He’s shed the flannel he had on earlier, now in just sweatpants and a t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders. You don’t remember when he got so broad, but your stomach does a flip as you watch him, taking in all the things you’ve missed in the last few, very stressful months.

Sensing your stare, Yoongi looks up at you. His face brightens immediately, a small smile appearing on his face. “Hi.”

“You look cozy,” you tease.

“Missing the main ingredient.” He sits down and pats the space in between his legs. “Come on.”

Giddy, you hurry over to Yoongi, who takes the glasses from your hand and sets them to the side. Yoongi leans back against the rows of pillows he’s wedged up in front of the couch, legs spread for you. You sit down gently between them, your legs kicked out in front of you as you lean back into Yoongi’s warmth.

Cedar and smoke wrap around you. You can feel Yoongi’s heart beating through your back as you melt into him, sighing. He brings his arms around you, lifting one of the glasses for you to take.

“Better,” Yoongi hums, voice like velvet. “Much better.”

Leaning your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, you tip your glass back, swigging the smoky, burning whisky. You make a content sound, drawing a laugh from Yoongi. The sound rumbles against you.

“Let’s stay here forever,” you mutter, gazing at the crackling flames. “We don’t need to go back.”

“Okay.”

“Really, just like that?”

You feel him shrug behind you. “I’m always down to do what you want. If you’re a bird, I’m a bird and all that.”

“God did you watch The Notebook with Jimin again?”

Yoongi’s laughter is louder this time. “Maybe so.”

Night stretches on and your whisky glass empties. It’s not enough to make you feel buzzed, but you feel snug in Yoongi’s arms, turning your head to press your nose against his neck. He shivers behind you and you giggle, nuzzling him further.

Yoongi nudges the glasses further away. His hands wrap around your middle and he squeezes you, turning his head so that his mouth rests against your forehead. Your skin buzzes where his lips are pressed, warm and wet as his tongue slips out and across your forehead.

“Ewww, Yoongi!”

He laughs. “What do you mean ‘ew’? You weren’t saying ew last night when my tongue was in that pussy.”

Yoongi’s words are heavy. They sink right through you to your core, a lick of arousal hot in your stomach as his hands drift from your waist to your thighs. Even through sweats, your skin heats up as his palms skate gently over the fabric, fingers squeezing as they go.

You squirm in his lap and Yoongi tuts, making you go boneless. Burying your face in his neck, you let his hands brush back up and under the hem of your shirt, jumping when his calloused fingers make contact with the softness of your stomach. A small sound escapes you, his tough featherlight and sending chills up your spine.

Every drag of his touch across your skin makes you feel hotter than the fireplace in front of you. You suck in a sharp breath as he drags his fingers on the underside of your breasts, soft-slow touch driving you mad. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your back into him as you arch a little, unable to sit entirely still.

Yoongi just laughs, the sound like honey dripping in your ears.

“Kiss me,” he says softly, nudging you with his head.

It feels like your head weighs a ton when you lift it to look up at him, your world spinning. His gaze is dark, smile lazy as he leans forward, pressing your lips to his. Yoongi’s mouth is slow and decadent, sucking at your bottom lip gently before pressing his tongue against your lips.

Years ago when you’d kissed Yoongi for the first time, you knew that no one else could kiss you like this. No one else could brush their tongue against yours, making your thighs squeeze together with just the simple melding of mouths. Now, you can’t get enough of his wet mouth on yours, leaning up into him as he hum-laughs at your eagerness.

Distracted, you barely realize that his hands are cupping your tits now until his thumbs brushing gently over your hardened nipples. You gasp into his mouth and he doesn’t let up, turning the slow kiss into something a little more demanding, a little hungrier.

Yoongi could swallow you whole and you’d let him. He could burn you up from the inside out after taking you apart piece by piece and lighting you on fire.

He pinches your nipples, pleasure rippling through you. The effect reverberates to your aching cunt, thighs pressed together to relieve the throb between your legs. Too easy for him. You know it’s easy and you used to hate it, but now, as Yoongi keeps one hand tweaking a nipple and the other slides down, you love it.

Love that he works you up like this. Loves that he knows how. Love that he can give you what you want without making you beg too much for it.

Tonight, Yoongi is indulgent. His hand is sure as it slips beneath the waistband of your sweats. You part your legs for him, placing them on the outside of his spread knees. He lets out a hum of appreciation, fingers slipping between your sticky folds.

“Good girl,” he whispers. You don’t know if he means because you’re dripping for him or because you open yourself up to him without command. Maybe it’s both. “Such a wet pussy, hmm?”

You nod, dropping your mouth from his lips to his neck, your lips messy and spit-slicked against his soft skin. Your tongue darts out, laving the tender spot beneath his ear and he moans. “Please,” you ask, kissing him there. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.”

He continues to drag his fingers up and down your pussy, careful to avoid your clit. You feel like you’re going to fall away into time and space, but it’s also not nearly enough. Your thighs squeeze, fighting the urge to shut your legs.

“You arrrre.”

“Only a little.”

Finally - finally - Yoongi applies pressure to your clit, circling it gently with the collected juices from your leaking entrance. You soften in his hold, complete putting as he draws fluttering gasps and breaths from you, pleasure blossoming from your pussy to your stomach.

Biting your lip, you squirm a little in his lap. Yoongi’s legs spread a little wider, pulling your legs apart further, the stretch in your thighs pleasure-laced pain added to the stimulation. Yoongi lets go of your chest, sliding his hand down to tug at your sweats.

“Help me out, baby.”

Lifting your ass for him, you help him pull your sweats down but not all the way off. It’s just enough to display your glistening cunt in the firelight. He doesn’t delay a second, hand coming back to use one middle finger to lazily trace patterns around your clit and the other to explore further, teasing your hole.

“Greedy,” he mumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy as he slips a finger in, making your hips buck. “Keep still.”

“It’s hard,” you shoot back as he slowly begins to fuck you with his finger, his other hand careful not to stimulate you too fast. “Feels good.”

“Better than your own fingers when I’m gone?”

“Yes.”

“Better than-”

“Not better than your cock,” you gasp as his finger brushes against your g-spot. “Stop asking stupid questions, Yoongi.”

He just laughs but concedes, setting a pace matched with both of his hands. Your eyes roll back as you sink low against him, hips sliding down further to chase his thrusting hand. He pulls you apart so easily, knowing exactly the speed and depth to press, knows exactly when to add another finger, the stretch and pressure maddening.

Flames lick at the logs in front of you, heating up your skin even more. Yoongi is relentless, pulling you toward your orgasm at an agonizing pace. After years of practice, no one knows how to lure you better than him, no one knows how to string you up on the edge of a precipice, breath stilted, body shaking.

“Come on,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “You want it so bad.”

And you do want it. You’re a writhing mess, feet digging into the blankets beneath you, legs straining against the waistband of your sweats that are pulled to the knees, nails digging into Yoongi’s forearms. The wet sound of him working your cunt makes the room spin, your arousal loud and messy and so so so good.

“Fuck,” you growl through gritted teeth. You clench up around his fingers, leg muscles twitching, shoulders pulling in as you start to seize up. “I’m gonna-”

You can’t finish your sentence. He thrusts his fingers harder, pressing right up against your soft spot, the pressure driving you to the edge of insanity. You think you’ll break in his hands, shatter to pieces with the force building in your gut.

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, as he slips a third finger in, fucking you hard, leaning forward and bending you in half as he uses the leverage to thrust his fingers upward. “You’re fucking gonna.”

“Shit!”

Between the angle, Yoongi’s knowing hands, and the sloppy, all tongue and teeth kiss he places on your shoulders, you break. You come around his fingers hard, wet, hot and screaming his name. He keeps going, the soaked sound of his fingers fucking your hole bracketed by your cursing as you squeal and lean away from him, trying to escape the grip of your orgasm.

Yoongi doesn’t let you. He pulls every drop of it out of you until you’re seeing white, your body filled with static. He goes until you’re boneless once more, useless in his lap as you gasp raggedly for air. Sweat-slick, overheated and mindless, you lay in his lap for a second as he slowly pulls his hands back. You feel empty without them, whining.

“Hush,” he admonishes, biting your arm lightly. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #halis happy agust #yoongi fluff

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

Domestic Adonis (Steven Grant x Reader)

Author’s Note: I mean really, this fic kinda came about because I couldn’t get this gif out of my head and wanted a way to use it somehow. He just looks so damn fine and Daddyᵀᴹ (I literally hate that I just said that but there is no other way I can put it) therefore proves I’m a slut so🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ C’est la vie, non? And we just love to see Steven confident, comfortable, and adventurous😏Enjoy! :)

Summary: Steven gets some new reading glasses that make your heart skip a beat and make you think of something. One night in bed as the two of you read, you voice this opinion to him. When you get back from a work trip one week later, boy are you in for a treat.

Warnings: Fluff, smut (doesn’t the gif say it all? LOL. Oral–f/m!receiving, penetrative), swearing, mentions of babies

Other Characters: Marc Spector (It’s a primarily Steven x Reader fic, so where Marc does make an appearance and it is a Steven x Reader x Marc kinda deal, but where he’s just there for a bit is why I’m classifying Marc as an “other character”)

Word Count: 3,058

You honestly don’t know how long you’ve been staring at Steven. You usually sneak glances when you read together before bed. The face of concentration that he has as he reads makes your heart flutter—a mix of contentment and fierce interest. Steven usually sneaks glances at you when he hits a section break or a new chapter, and you can’t help but blush when you both look over at the same time. You love seeing him and knowing that he has chosen you just as much as you have chosen him, and you’re positive that Steven feels the same.

And his glasses. You love his readers. The rectangular specks make him adorable, but he got new glasses, and it has been putting dirty images in your mind since. You don’t know what it is about those specs, but you simply cannot stop looking at your boyfriend of two years.

“What are you thinkin’ about, love?” he says with a small smile as he pulls his attention from the pages in his book to you, his chocolate eyes sparkling in the moonlight that comes in through the window, the beams clashing with the warm lamplight. Incoherent sounds escape your lips. How do you tell him what you’re thinking without sounding like you’ve always wanted it? Because it isn’t true. It’s just with the curls of his hair, the vibe of the new glasses . . .

“You,” you hum simply.

He gives you a tired smile. “Anythin’ beyond that?”

You shrug. “Don’t get mad?” you ask.

“At you? I don’t think I could, but, okay.”

“Have you ever thought about growing a beard?”

“What?” he asks with a lithe chuckle. “A beard?”

“See? Silly question,” you say, trying to return to your book. “Forget it.”

“Hey, hey, stop,” he continues to chuckle, pushing down your novel by its spine. “You think I could pull one off?”

“You don’t think you could pull one off?”

“Not without lookin’ like a ragamuffin, I don't.”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking, I mean, you have great hair on your head all pretty curly like that, and the, uh, t-the glasses . . .” you trail off, swallowing hard and providing him with a gentle shrug. “It could work, that’s all.”

He gives you a soft smile. “I’ll talk with Marc about it. It’s his face too, after all.”

“No, really baby. You don’t have to—It was stupid of me—.”

Steven plants a kiss straight in the middle of your cheek and then on your lips.

“Nothin’ that could ever come out of your mind or mouth is stupid,” he tenderly chastises. “Just different, that’s all. And sometimes, different is bloody brilliant.” He dog ears his page and places his book on the nightstand. “Now, I don’t mean to change the subject, but since your flight leaves while I’m at work tomorrow, I want to make sure my girl’s got everythin’ she needs. I know you have clothes and shoes and jammies since I helped you pack all that earlier, but you have your computer?”

“In my crossbody by my luggage."

“Brilliant. Passport and ticket?”

“In my center purse pouch, all zipped.”

“And your phone is chargin’?”

“Affirmative, captain.”

“Jacket?”

“By the door.”

“Well, that’s all I can think of.”

“Well, I can think of one more thing. I’m going the need . . .” you purse your lips to the side and playfully tap your chin. “Eight kisses from you before you leave tomorrow morning.”

“Eight?” he beams.

“Eight,” you confirm.

“That many might get you somethin’ a little more than you hope for, love.”

“It’ll just be a bonus, then,” you smile. “Unless, you want to preemptively secure that bonus now?”

“You see, as much as I would love that—and I really, really would—I feel if we do that tonight or tomorrow, I’ll only miss you more when you go.”

You look at him with nothing but adoration. “You are just too sweet. I swear, one day, you’re gonna give me a cavity.”

“I’d hate myself if I ruined that smile of yours,” he says with a playful smirk.

You can only smile at Steven as you pull him down for a kiss, moving your head to rest on his chest afterward as you each resume you reading until you both fall asleep.

“Hi hon!” you greet as you push the apartment door open.

“You’re back early!” you hear Steven call from the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan.

“Yeah, well, turns out all the flight switches from the airline worked out in my favor,” you tell him as you put your luggage next to the table by the door and hang your coat up. When you see Steven, you lose all control of your mouth. It hangs open with a shocked, Cheshire Cat smile as you look at your boyfriend. He stands there in the living room, wiping his hands on a cloth towel with his hair slightly disheveled and a luscious beard on his jaw. He looks like a domestic Adonis. It takes all of your willpower not to rush over to him in this moment and jump his bones. Holy shit.

“Surprise!” he says.

“Oh my,” you giggle as your cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so big. “I didn’t think I was gone for that long.”

“This is almost a week’s worth of me not shavin’,” he blushes. “Do you like it?”

“Oh wow,” you repeat as you move towards your boyfriend. “Do I like it? You look so handsome! I mean, you always did but . . . Well, I mean, do you like it? It’s on your face!”

“It’ll take some gettin’ used to, but, it does make me look quite distinguished, don’t it?”

“Can you . . .” The words catch in your throat as you feel a blush and heat spread throughout your entire body.

“Can I what, love?”

“Can you put on your reading glasses for me?” you ask sheepishly.

His brows furrow momentarily as the corner of his mouth pulls into a confused grin before he moves over to the desk and slides them on.

Boom. Right there. Panties flooded.

Steven was always undeniably sexy to you, but seeing him like this elevates him into another category of hotness. He looks like an older, sexy professor that everyone has the hots for.

“Just give me—,” you say as you hold up a finger, turning around briefly so you can let out a silent scream before you turn back to him, more composed this time.

“You know I saw that in the mirror, right?” he chuckles.

“I’m sorry, but this is really doing something to me and for me,” you breathe, still stunned at his appearance.

“Ooh,” he coos as he walks over to you with a spring in his step, placing his hands on you waist. “Someone is in a cheeky, saucy mood, isn’t she?”

“Uh, she was before she came home and now she really is,” you nod, draping your arms across his shoulders. Steven leans down for a kiss, and it sends your head into a spin. You knew the beard would probably tickle, but you are slightly taken aback at how soft the hairs are. You moan into his mouth and do what you can to deepen the kiss. Steven’s hands roam down your sides and squeeze the flesh of your hips. Your fingers comb through his long hair and tug at the roots, your body needing to get as much of Steven near you as possible. He grunts as your noses smush together and his hands move up your torso, scrunching up the cotton of your sweater in the process, the cool London air in the apartment tickling your skin. Steven’s fingertips graze the band of your bra, teasing you as you embrace and act on your desires.

“Mm,” you moan, your fingernails raking against his scalp. Put a baby in me.

After a beat, Steven’s hands unbunch the fabric of your sweater, pulling a whimper from your lips as he moves away.

“Is something burning?” you ask, trying to glance over to the range. You completely forgot he was cooking—he must smell something you don’t.

“No, no,” he says, his fingers gently pushing your gaze back toward him. “What did you just say?”

“If something was burning?”

“No, before that.”

“I don’t know. What did I say?” you ask genuinely.

“You said ‘Put a baby in me.’”

You look at him with wide eyes. “I said that out loud?”

“You didn’t mean to say it?”

“Um, not out loud, no,” you blush profusely. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but, we haven’t really talked about it seriously or in-depth about it past the ‘Our kids would be so cute’ or ‘I want our kids to have your eyes’ stage. Marc and I haven’t really talked about it, either.”

Steven looks at you so tenderly you could fall apart. “I want to have a family with you,” he says softly. He looks over to the mirror, letting out a breathy chuckle as he grins and nods. “So does Marc. But we both agree that the beard might have made you a bit loopy and want to know if you’d be okay with delayin’ that for the moment.”

You smile and nod, bringing your lips back to his for a tender kiss. “Yeah, we can do that part later. When we talk about it more and decide if and yes, I’ll get off the pill and we can go from there.”

“Yeah,” he says warmly. “Yeah, we’d love that.”

“But, until then, uh, I do think you should turn off the stove and come to the bedroom.” You create some space between you as you remove your shirt. “The seats on the plane were really uncomfortable, and I have knots all over my body that need to be worked out.”

Steven’s eyes light up. He moves so fast across the apartment, you’re afraid he’s going to crash straight on his face. As Steven rushes back to you, his hands snatch your waist and lift you up and onto the mattress, his body serving like a cage has he hovers over you. You slip off his glasses and put them on the nightstand before his lips attach to the sweet spot on your neck, eliciting a moan from you. Not only does he know what that spot does to you regularly, but the sensation of his beard drives you wild as the hairs scrape against your skin.

Like well-rehearsed actors in a play, you shed each other of your clothes, your hands caressing each other’s body while Steven’s lips take extra liberties along your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you breathe as Steven’s lips latch onto your breasts, worshiping the supple, fatty flesh. You squeak as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, giving each boob careful and devoted attention before his lips place sloppy, wet kisses down your stomach. Steven spreads your legs open, places alternating, lingering kisses on the inner flesh of your thighs before he reaches your middle.

“Tap my hand if it feels uncomfortable, alright?” he tells you.

“I promise,” you affirm.

You take a sharp breath in as his tongue licks along your folds before his lips capture your throbbing nub as he sucks on it. The beard isn’t as uncomfortable as Steven probably anticipated—his hair is just so soft, it feels nice and plush, ticklish at most. Your body is too focused on other sensations to process the tickle, as your hips squirm at the movements of his mouth. The way that Steven moves from increasing his pace to slowing it down makes your head spin, and he leaves you on edge the entire time, pressing one fat kiss on your throbbing clit as he moves away.

“Oh, damn,” you chuckle breathlessly as he slides up from between your legs, the evidence of my extreme arousal glistening in his beard. Just as you think he’s hovering over your body to kiss you and let you taste your arousal, he flips you over, his hands on your hips as he guides your ass into the air.

“Steven!” you giggle, completely surprised by the action.

“I’m trying somethin’ a bit different tonight, love,” he tells you, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Steven leans down over your back, kissing a line right down your spine from your neck to your tailbone. You can hear him drag his hand across his mouth moments before you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance.

“Ah,” you moan as he begins to press into you from behind. Every inch he puts in feels better than the last, and once he has bottomed out, he leans forward and peppers kisses all along your back and your shoulder blades.

“You look so lovely from this angle,” he praises, his hot breath and beard sending goosebumps all over your body. “So beautiful.”

“Steven,” you groan as he begins to rock into your body. “Oh my God.”

“Oh wow,” he pants, finding a steady rhythm. “Oh wow, you feel so good like this. Oh, you’re gonna be the death of me, love.”

His hands gently caress your waist, hips, and rear, unsure of where they should settle. Steven surprises you, keeping his left hand just above your hip bone as the other one gathers your hair in his fist. The slight yank at the roots of your hair is encouraging, causing you to tilt your head back just enough to arch your back and feel Steven in a new way. He must feel it too, because the groan that escapes his mouth is purely carnal. Letting go of your hair, he wraps an arm right under your bouncing breasts and lifts you up so your back is flush against his chest and he has access to the skin of your neck.

“Oh, Steven, yes,” you breathe, straining your neck to kiss whatever skin of his face you can find. “Right there.” The phrase turns into a chant, a chant into a prayer. With each utterance, he manages to hit deeper into you, and you relish the sensation. Sneaking his fingers down to your front, two of his fingers find your clit and begin rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves. You let out a high pitched moan as he kisses your shoulder. “Steven, I want to see your face. Please, baby, I want to see you when I come.”

Steven moves his kisses up your body until his lips hover just over your ear.

“I’m gonna lie you down, okay, love?” he whispers.

You pant as you give him sort, quick nods. He pulls out and you feel empty, your body aching for Steven. He carefully puts you on the mattress, spreading your legs wide as he lines himself up to your entrance. He doesn’t push as slowly in you as he did the first time, but slow enough so he can admire how you look below him. One of his hands caresses your cheek, and you turn your face into it to press a kiss to his palm. Your moans harmonize as he bottoms out in you once more, leaning down to kiss you and rest his forehead against yours as he resumes the pace from the position on his knees. His hand slips in between your bodies, the pads of his fingers once more finding your clit and giving it a good rubbing. With Steven touching you like this, looking at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes, and him looking like something straight from a fantasy is enough as you feel the band snap in your stomach, allowing you to come around him while he thrusts. Your grip and erotic cries encourage him to move faster towards his own release, and he continues to pound into you as far as he can as he finishes. You both stay like this catching your breath, how you always do after you find your release with one another.

“I missed you so much,” he hums punctuating each word with a kiss.

“I missed you more,” you counter, pressing a long kiss to his plush lips.

Steven chases another kiss, a hand holding the side of your face to keep you there as he slides out and lies next to you.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, still panting slightly. “Is the beard here to stay?”

“If you want it to. The change is exciting, but I think I’ll miss that smooth jaw of yours eventually.” Steven presses a kiss to the juncture of your neck and jaw. “Although, if Donna ever gets that stick out of her ass and promotes you to tour guide, you might need to keep it. You ooze sexy academia right now.”

“Oh, is that it?” Steven laughs.

“Mm, yeah,” you confirm. “You look so wise and smart and sexy and smart.”

“You said smart twice."

“Because you are. And I would have said sexy more than once, but I think by virtue of me being naked in your bed in your arms gets that point across pretty well.”

The smile that pulls on Steven’s face makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Every time you think you can’t fall more in love with this man, he proves you wrong with things like this.

“I love you,” you tell him. “So much.”

“I love you, too,” he hums kissing you neck as he sharply inhales. “I second that motion.” Marc.

“Hi,” you chuckle as he continues to press kisses on your skin. “I love you, too.”

“Mm, I’m feeling a little more needy than that,” he whispers, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, dragging his beard along your skin in a way that he knows gives you goosebumps. “Did Steven tucker you out?”

You look over at his face, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“It’d be rude to reject the welcome wagon, wouldn’t it? Especially when it looks has handsome as my men do.”

Marc smiles briefly before his lips attach to yours, and the way that his hands grip onto your waist let you know that the welcome wagon will be making several stops with Steven and Marc as the conductors.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers

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chloeangelic · 9 months

Text

Reflection of the Moon,

Ch 6 - Eyes on me

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series masterlist

Series summary: An affair and resulting pregnancy with Joel in post-outbreak Jackson forces you both to reflect on what it means to forgive.

Chapter summary: You and Joel settle into your new roles and your new routine.

Warnings: Smut, age gap (reader is 28, Joel is 52), ass play, fingering, pregnant sex, creampie, fluff, extreme domestic vibes.

Word count: 4.5k Rating: 18+ AO3

A/N: This isn't very long, but it's my favorite chapter so far. I love when Joel is hot and overbearing and I love their dynamic.

All Joel seems to do is work; work to contribute to the community in Jackson, work to make his house a safe place for a baby, and work for your forgiveness, for your love, for you to let him be a present father, a good partner, even a husband if you let him propose to you. He made you promise to let him take care of you, feed you, keep you company, walk you places - overbearing already, not even a new father yet, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The thought of you having a lack of anything makes him incredibly stressed, incredibly worried and incredibly distracted when he’s out on patrol. He desperately needs to know that you have every little thing you need, whether it’s a safe home or a snack in your bag or a sweater to wear or someone to keep you warm at night. The same routine every morning you leave his house, your lunch, your books, socks, sweater, keys, and you’re coming over for dinner, okay? Come straight here when school’s out and if you ain’t here by five, I’ll come lookin’ for you.

And when you arrive at his house fifteen minutes late, saying you ran into Abby and Owen and got to chatting; the roll of his eyes, his head shaking, ”Out of control little lady, always got me worried about you”. You roll your eyes at him back, muttering helicopter husband, smoothing your hand down his shoulder while you look at the food he has cooking on the stove. His hand comes up to grab your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him with innocent eyes, batting your eyelashes and stifling a giggle. If you were a good girl and did as you were told, I wouldn’t have to be overbearing, would I now?

“It’s more fun when you chase me around,” you say, twisting and turning in his grip so you lean your back into his chest, and his hand falls to your stomach, rubbing his palm over your steadily growing bump and running his nose up and down the side of your neck, oh, I bet. You grab the spatula to free up his other hand, and stir around the pan a little, chuckling to yourself, “Imagine how hard your life will be when there’s two of me running around you gotta keep track of.” Don’t remind me, you hear him mutter into your skin, followed by a huff of a laugh.

Then, after a moment, “You know I’m gonna be the happiest man in the world, right?”, he whispers, and you can hear a little hint of a sniffle as he buries his face in your hair.

“Jesus, don’t tell me you’re fucking crying again, Joel,” you say, trying to sound surprised, annoyed, anything but painfully familiar with how much of a sap this man truly is.

You try to turn around to face him, but his strong arms have snuck under yours and wrapped around your belly, his face dug into the crook of your neck now, not letting you turn around, leaving you to no option but to stand there for a while, running your fingers through his hair, letting your nails drag through his beard on the way down as he kisses your jaw.

Despite having your class schedule written out and hanging on his fridge, Joel somehow manages to interrupt another few classes to drop off your lunch, his inability to remember when your lunch break is, now resulting in your students asking for Mr. Joel quite frequently, and being overjoyed when he comes in the door once again. You wave him in, reaching your hand out and tapping your fingers together like a crab, gimme gimme, gesturing at the lunchbox in his hand.

He seemed shy, very shy, the first two times he came in, but he seems to have softened over the last little while, opening up more and more, unable to hide his smile when the kids remember his name. You figure you might as well take a breather, and open the box on your desk to see a stack of pancakes, a little container of syrup, and a set of cutlery neatly wrapped up in a little cloth.

“How about-” you start to say as you drizzle the syrup, not paying your students or Joel any mind at all, smacking the tips of your fingers when you’re done pouring, “You all ask Joel anything you want, and I’ll sit here and eat my lunch."

And so you sit there, listening to their questions and his stories, enjoying your pancakes and looking up at this man, this beautiful and caring and responsible man, who is so good with children and teenagers, so attentive and patient and interested in everything they have to say. It makes your heart flutter and twist around itself, your baby refusing to stay still while you try to eat.

The girls in the front row, gossipy little chicks, giggle and look at you, then at Joel, then back at you, mocking you a little for how longingly you look at him. You don’t care, you could spend your entire day looking at him and listening to him talk, let his voice and his laugh fill your ears over and over. Your heart is about to burst when he tells a dad joke, a really shitty one, finally welcoming the role so warmly, excited about being a father again.

It comes especially close to bursting when he walks you home and those same little students from the interrupted classes come up and tug at his jacket, wanting to tell him a joke, or a little story, about them or the class or their family, talking to him as if he were their uncle.

He crouches down and entertains them as you stand and watch, hear him laugh as they say, “My dad thinks you're scary but I think you're very nice, Mr Joel.” Despite his size, despite his grumpy demeanor, most of the time, and his ability to be downright terrifying, he is so, so gentle with them, speaking in a voice you’ve never heard from him, one that makes your insides melt, verging on cooing as he speaks the youngest ones.

“Why are you such a dad?”, you ask as you walk away from the school, your hand locked in his, keeping you warm.

He shrugs, a careful smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “It’s all I know how to be."

Jesus, he mutters as steps inside, looking at himself in the mirror and running his fingers through his hair. “You mind givin’ me haircut?”. he asks, “I got scissors in the bathroom somewhere.”

You rummage around in the bathroom and listen to him starting dinner downstairs, moving to his bedroom when you’ve ransacked the medicine cabinet and cupboards to no avail. Your rummaging efforts move onto the dresser, carefully sliding a large drawer open to see a stack of baby books, parenting books, probably thirty years old, twenty at best. You pick them up one by one, flipping through to discover his bookmarks near the end of all four of them.

Your eyes flutter closed and you take a few deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay as they press up against your waterline. He’s not leaving, he’s not leaving, he’s not leaving. You think it over and over, whisper it to yourself so you don’t forget. He’s here, and he’s not leaving, and he’s going to be there for you just like he said he would. He loves you and he loves your baby and he’s not leaving.

Realizing you have to get these books out of your field of vision before you start sobbing, you carefully stack them where they were and move onto the next drawer, finding the scissors immediately. As you walk down the stairs and see Joel in the kitchen, you fight the urge to throw yourself at him and tell him that you accidentally snooped and found the books, that you’re so relieved and happy you want to cry, that you love him so much and you forgive him and you don’t want to be away from him for as much as a day ever again.

So you snip the scissors a few times as you enter the room and point them towards a chair, motion for him to sit down and position yourself between his legs. You feel his hands sweeping up the back of your leggings as you comb through his hair, sliding up and along your curves and coming to rest on the sides of your bump, his thumbs tracing over his own flannel shirt that you’re wearing. You straighten out one section at a time and carefully cut it, letting it go to make sure it falls into a perfect arrangement.

You can see his eyes on you the entire time you're combing through his brown and silver curls, trimming them one by one and wrapping them around your fingers to lay them down. Neither of you say anything, the scratch of the scissors the only sound in the room as you furrow your brow in concentration and his eyes soften as he looks at you, the mother of his baby, the love of his life.

There’s no way of telling how much time is going by as you meticulously make your way through all of those thick, beautiful curls, but you hear Ellie’s door open and close, then open and close again through the window before you’re done. Thank you, mama he murmurs, and you don��t get the chance to say anything before he gets a little kick to this hand in response. You can’t help but giggle and close your eyes, flustered by your baby always giving you away when you try to play it cool with their father.

“You know I’ll do anything for you, right, angel?”, he asks with a serious expression as you put the scissors down. I do, you smile, your voice barely a whisper as you twist your fingers through his hair. “I’ll give you anything you need, anything you want, you just have to tell me,” he says as his hands find your hips, pulling you down into his lap and resting on your lower back.

You look at each other for a while, nuzzling your noses together, touching each other's hair, shoulders, and hands in silence before he asks, “Will you move in with me?”

“You want me to?”, you ask in a lousy attempt at being sneaky, feeling your heart flutter at his proposal.

“I know things aren’t a hundred percent between us and I don't want you to feel like I’m pressurin’ you to forgive me, I just- I want to at least try to be a family, us three, and Ellie," he threads his fingers through yours and squeezes your palms, pulling you closer, “We can share my bedroom, or you can even get your own, I- I just need you to live with me so I know you're safe, so I can feed you, so I’m there when the baby comes.”

You look at the little wrinkles forming around his eyes as he smiles, and you avert your eyes in an attempt not to giggle. “And I know you're lazy with your meals on weekends,” he says with a chuckle, playing with your hair, “Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” He carefully wraps his hand around your jaw, looks into your eyes and gives you a kiss, not letting go as you part.

“Will you?”, he asks, sounding on the verge of concern, “Please?”.

You nod as you snake your arms around him, whispering your answer into his ear, of course I will, I’d love to, and feeling him squeeze you gently in response.

You find yourself awake in the middle of the night, the moon shining outside the window and the house completely quiet. You shift around a little and try to get back to sleep, sticking your foot under Joel’s wide back as you lay on your side, hoping that the warmth of his skin will soothe you to sleep, but minutes go by and you feel awake as ever, prompting you to carefully whisper,

Joel? Are you awake?

Yeah, you hear from his side of the bed, before he shifts around, finding you under the duvet and pulling you into him, wrapping your leg around his hip and resting your head on his bicep. “Couldn’t sleep?”, he asks softly, brushing the hair away from your face and neck, and you shake your head in response. “Me neither,” he says, putting his arm around your back.

You lay there for a few minutes, looking at each other, scratching his beard with your nails and giving a few soft kisses to the underside of his jaw. His eyes are heavy with sleep but his attention is on you, and you can tell he won’t allow himself to sleep again until you’re peacefully knocked out in his embrace.

“What animal would you be in another life?”, you whisper, twirling one of his freshly cut, bouncy curls around your finger while he brushes your spine with his fingertips, tracing all the way up, then all the way down, over the curve of your ass and along the back of your thigh.

“Maybe a pistol shrimp,” he responds after a moment of reflection. A ridiculous answer from a ridiculous man.

“What the fuck?”, you mutter, trying to keep it down even though you’re the only two people in the house, “Why would you want that? Seems like a terribly meaningless existence." The room is relatively dark, but the moonlight shining through the window illuminates him enough for you to see the unamused expression on his face.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with being a shrimp,” he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “What’s the matter with you? Don't judge.” He tickles your side and pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist and tucking your belly into the softness of his stomach, your baby seemingly still asleep despite the sound and touch of their father usually eliciting a barrage of kicks.

“How do you think they feel, huh?”, he whispers into your ear, chuckling a little under his breath as the words leave his mouth, “Knowing some lady out there is wonderin’ why anyone would wanna be a shrimp?”

Weirdo, you roll your eyes and he rolls his back, mockingly.

“What would you be?”, he asks.

You take a moment to think, “I don't know… Maybe a raccoon, they're pretty cute.”

He nods a little, “You act like a raccoon.”

“Ah,” you gasp, trying to sound insulted but knowing he’s probably right.

“What?”, he gently takes your hand and squeezes it, rubbing his thumb into your palm, “Grabby little hands all over my fridge and cupboards, can barely keep snacks in there, they always get stolen somehow.” He raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for you to defend your not-so-subtle thievery.

“It could be Ellie,” you finally say, blinking and biting the tip of your tongue, trying to give him the most innocent eyes you can.

“She's an honest thief, unlike you,” he scolds with false severity, looking at you with piercing eyes.

“Respect my hustle, god damn it,” you whisper through your teeth, “I'm pregnant and constantly hungry, do you have any idea what that’s like?” Your baby starts kicking at that, and Joel laughs, calmly and deeply in his chest, kissing and chuckling against your hairline as he feels the little kicks to the the skin of his stomach. “Someone agrees with me” he says and starts rubbing your belly.

“Mama’s a real thief, isn't she?”, he murmurs, looking down between you and caressing the side of your bump. “Steals my snacks, steals my heart, steals all my time. But I’ll give her anything”, he looks up at you as he slides his hand over your asscheek and squeezes, “Anything she needs, I’ll give to her. Cause she’s my world, I’m not sure if she knows that.”

You maintain a shared gaze for a while, his hand still following the tiny kicks and his smile never leaving his face. You’re so in love with him, so lost in the feel of his warmth surrounding you, keeping you safe.

You run your hand over his thick shoulder, down his arm, feeling his muscles bulging out and the soft veins running on top of them. He’s so warm, like your own personal furnace, and his face is so soft, the wrinkle between his eyebrows merely a crease now, but the little lines by his eyes are more apparent than ever from how much he’s smiling. You card your fingers through his hair, seeing how his eyes flutter shut at your touch, before he opens them again and you can see the fire in them all of a sudden. “What do you need, mama?”, he asks with his lips on your neck, leaving wet kisses up and down your skin.

“Just you, always you,” you purr as your hand traces up his arm to wrap around the back of his neck.

“I’m here, angel,” he whispers and rubs his nose against yours, “You gonna have my baby?”

Mhmm, you nod, keeping your face close to his. That’s right, he says under his breath, “You're so beautiful, I love seeing you like this.”

The hand on your belly finds the back of your head, his thumb reaching under your jaw to tilt your face up and back, letting him kiss you, letting him lick into your mouth deeper and deeper as you roll your hips along his thigh. He pulls you closer by your hips, and his hand moves down to the front of your panties, gently tracing along your seam, a little whimper coming from your throat, desperately pleading for him to touch you properly.

The sound clearly amuses him and he pulls down the front of the fabric just enough to slip his hand in and find your clit, starting to gently rub. “Feels good?”, he whispers as you dig your face into his neck, murmuring, very, as he finds the right spot and moves in slow little circles. He noses your hairline and your cheek as he dips into your opening, slides a single finger in, all the way to the knuckle, just to hear you whimper again when he retracts it, and uses your wetness to slide the pad of his finger around your clit, refusing to speed up despite your hips bucking and your moans getting more desperate.

“Calm down, baby, just relax,” he whispers, “Focus on your breathing. You’ll come, don’t gotta worry, just enjoy it.”

You take a deep breath and stop squirming, hear his voice in your ear, good girl, and just feel him gently rub you as your clit swells with arousal, getting more sensitive every time he gathers more slick and continues to stimulate you slowly.

“You’re gettin’ close, though, huh, baby?”, he murmurs, and you nod carefully, your eyes closed and your leg laying over his hip completely limp. It feels like every nerve in your entire torso is being stimulated, little waves of pleasure emanating from where he’s touching you, until you slowly reach your peak and your orgasm washes over your entire body, muscles tensing tightly then going slack and loose. Atta girl.

You pull back from the dark, warm space of his neck as he gently works his fingers inside you, and you kiss him softly, biting his bottom lip a little. “Will you fuck me now? Please?”, you plead, batting your lashes at him, “I did as you told me to, didn’t I?”

He chuckles a little as he slides your panties off and carefully opens your legs, removes his own boxers and places your leg back over his hip, teasing the head of his cock along your slit, lifting his head enough to watch your hips wind up against him.

“Eyes on me, angel, eyes on me,” he whispers as he wraps his hand around your jaw and angles it up, forcing you to look at him while he slides deep into you, hitting the very end of your pussy, watching your brows knitting and your mouth hanging open. He has you in a complete trance, his eyes dark as ever, somehow still visible in the low light of his bedroom, and you can’t look away as your gaze is lost in his.

You’ve never felt closer to him than you do now, completely wrapped up in him and filled by him, his overwhelmingly big and muscular body setting the pace, his thick cock rocking into you. You love being at his mercy, being soft for him and letting him touch and lick and rub and fuck any part of you he wants. He knows your body like the back of his hand, knows just when he's hitting the right spot, when you're getting close, and when you need him to murmur filthy little words of encouragement to make you come.

Just like that, he praises as he grinds into you, angling his body so his pelvis rubs your clit. Your little nub has been aching and throbbing for attention again already, fucking hormones and the mere presence of this painfully gorgeous man, finally getting relief as you feel the pressure from his groin pulling at your skin and exposing the most sensitive part of you to him. His thick hair tickles your outer lips and the constant friction on your clit gets you closer with little whimpers of his name. He keeps grinding, holding your jaw and looking into your eyes until your pussy flutters around him and you start squirming, hearing the rumble in his chest while you come on him. Such a good girl for me, huh? he whispers, and you moan, long and drawn out and guttural, his name somewhere in the mix but barely coherent.

You muster up the energy to say what’s been on your mind since you woke up, what you’ve been meaning to tell him for a while now, since it dawned on you that he isn’t leaving, that he isn’t scared anymore, that all he wants is to be with you and be exactly what you and your baby need. There they are, right on the tip of your tongue, the words he’s been waiting to hear, falling from your lips while you take him deep inside you, suck him in and squeeze around him, I forgive you. I forgive you, Joel. He watches you as you ride the waves, his face softening as he cranes his neck down to whisper I love you so much, my angel, I’ll always love you, for the rest of my life and forever, I love you while you shake and tremble and dig your nails into his back. You murmur a weak I love you too before you turn into putty under him.

“Can- can you fuck me deeper?”, you ask in the form of an exasperated whisper.

“You always want me deeper, don’t you?”, he’s so amused. He pulls you close, splaying his large hand over the small of your back, caressing your skin with his thumb. You giggle, mhmmm, and he pulls out of you, then uses both hands to gently flip you over onto your hands and knees, running his palms along the length of your back, stuffing a pillow under you to make sure you’re comfortable, and pressing kisses all the way down your spine.

He slides back into you, smooths his hands across the globes of your ass while you adjust to the angle, and waits to hear you moan into the pillow before he speeds up, starting to pull your hips back onto him while he slams into you. He pauses for a second, spits a glob of saliva down onto your asshole and rubs it in with his thumb before slowly pressing his finger into you, hearing you groan in pleasure as he pushes it further in. The stretch and pressure makes your clit ache and your walls clench around him, whining for him to go faster, faster, please, while you bring your hand to yourself and start rubbing.

“Fuck, baby, so tight,” he groans, “Rub that little clit for me, lemme feel you come around my cock." You try to moan in agreement, an incoherent mess at this point as you touch yourself with a shaky hand, feeling his cock hit just the right spot over and over and over, making you arch your back to take him deeper, as deep as he wants. My beautiful, good girl, so pretty he coos, pushing his thumb a little deeper, and you’re close, speeding up your movements until you come with a violent, full-body jerk, your asshole fluttering around his finger, and collapse onto your chest, legs only held up by Joel’s arm around your hips, folding you in half.

“Can’t get over how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, “The moment I saw you I thought you were the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen.” He squeezes the flesh of your ass with both hands, bending down to kiss between your shoulder blades while he sits back on his heels and pulls you into his lap, snaking an arm across your front to lift you up a little and wrap his hand around your throat while he fucks up into you slowly. You grab his thighs and lean your head back onto his shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying how deep he is inside you, right where you crave him.

“You feel so good, baby, so good,” he whispers, grunting and groaning as he slides his hand down your belly, coming down to right above your mound and pushing into your bump. You move together, feeling the energy circulating between you as you tilt your head sideways and catch his lips in yours, panting into each other while he pistons into you. “You’re gonna make me come, my love,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you squeeze as much as you can around him while he gives you a final thrust, and his warm, smooth load fills you while his cock throbs and pulsates deep in you, his accompanying growl creating goosebumps all over your body.

“Are- are we together for real now?”, you ask with a hint of a laugh, “Can I call you my boyfriend?”

Joel scowls at you, smiling as she rolls his eyes. “I'm insulted if you haven't already,” he says, and you snort in response.

“What?” he asks, looking at your lips and back up at your eyes.

“I kinda already did… To my nosy students,” you admit, no louder than a whisper.

“Of course you did,” he mutters as he starts wrapping the duvet around you, “I’ll go make breakfast, just stay here till I come get you, okay, angel?”

I have ditched my taglists, due to the majority of tags not working, and have created a notifications blog instead. Follow Angelic Notifs and turn your notifications on if you want my new fics served directly to you!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #the last of us smut #the last of us #joel miller x you

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 6 months

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the shed

lilac, chapter ten

a/n: the drama is here, folks. it has arrived. welcome.

summary: “he’s here,” you shuttered, your words barely above a whisper.

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, kinda mob!ex-boyfriend vibes, angst, crying, violence

word count: 2358

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“Hey, Otto,” you smiled warmly as the small town’s sheriff untangled his scarf from around his neck and marched up to where you were wiping a small table down with a damp cloth, “Donna should be here soon if you wanna sit with her during lunch.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” the seasoned man sighed longingly, “but unfortunately the stack of paperwork I left at my desk won’t allow me to hear the latest gossip. She’ll just have to fill me in tomorrow.”

“So, to go then?” the rag in your grasp finished up its cleanly dance across the smooth woodgrain.

“Yeah,” he nodded, thinking out loud as he glanced down to stuff as much of the scarf into his left pocket as it could bear, “right now I’m thinking a sandwich, unless, what’s your special today?”

“Uh, it’s a dahl,” you informed him, carefully folding up the wipe as you stepped closer towards the kitchen door, the sheriff shadowing the short journey, “got lots of spinach and stuff in it.”

“Oh, it’s dahl day? Well, then forget about the sandwich, I’ll have some of that with rice, just rice, and maybe if you could also fill up my thermos with some fresh coffee, that would be great,” he opened up his coat and conjured the nifty decanter from a roomy inner pocket.

“You got,” you uttered before he handed the flagon off to you and your feet carried you the rest of the way into the kitchen, “hey, dad?” you gently patted his shoulder as you walked past his stance by the stove to get to the coffee maker.

“Yeah, sweetie?” he halted his stirring and tapped the turmeric-stained spoon on the edge of one of the simmering pots before resting it back down on a little plate to the side.

Unscrewing the top off of the pastel yellow thermos, you gingerly streamed in some of the requested brew, “can you pack up a portion of dahl with rice for Otto?”

“Yep, yep,” he fished out a spatula from one of the jugs on the counter that simply overflowed with various utensils, “tell him it’ll be one second.”

Entering the dining space once more, you handed off the filled thermos to sheriff Nilsen, “here,” who now sat on one of the chairs, “he says it’ll just be a moment.”

“Thanks, kid,” he flashed you a warm smile just before you turned on your heel, “you have a great rest of your day, yeah?”

“You too!” you glanced back over your shoulder with a small wave.

As you strode towards the lobby and the thick stack of mail you still hadn’t sorted through, a voice began to catch your ear.

“Fiancé?” old lady Edith’s shrill tone cut through from around the corner, “well, I had absolutely no idea she was engaged,” as you entered the lobby from behind the front desk, your gaze seized to take in the individual the elder was conversing with as your fingers were too busy scooping up the stack of letters, “and to a fella as handsome as you? Well, isn’t she lucky.”

“Well, she just likes to be modest. One of the many qualities I adore about her.”

Your body instantly froze as the man’s low timbre filled the inn. The shuffling of mail halted as terror shot down your spine.

Slowly raising your panicked eyes, they only seized to grow wider as they glazed over the back-turned individual standing opposite Edith. Shifting his stance, he uncrossed his arms and lowered them to his sides, the crisply up-twisted black button-down sleeves framed in and nearly made it impossible for you not to take in the sight of the recognisable ink that slithered out from under the hem, curled around the honied skin of his forearm and ended right on the back of his ring adorned hand.

As the letters fell from your grip and casketed over the desk and onto the floor like a fallen jenga tower, the dull commotion managed to catch the pair’s attention as Edith’s hooded eyes trained upon your frozen frame and to your horror, the very reason for you being back here in the first place, turned around as well to spot you.

“Oh,” a chillingly perfect smile spread across Preston’s lips, “hey, doll,” his tone ever casual as if he’d just talked to you two minutes ago, “there you are.”

With your heart nearly bursting out of your chest, you didn’t even register that your feet had begun to move before you reached the backdoor out through the sunroom.

Ripping it open, you sprinted out and over the porch, your speed only increasing as the dewy grass stained your shoes.

Your eyes were wild, raking across the terrain, franticly attempting to come up with a plan as you went, but swiftly they locked upon where the thick forest began to bloom just beyond the patchy field that stretched between it and the inn’s garden.

But as you glanced back over your shoulder, the panicked plan of escape withered and died as you spotted your ex marching through the sunroom, his visage clear through the latticed glass of the door.

Whipping your head around, you spotted the small decrepit tool shed just a few paces to your left. Rushing to the rickety structure, you sucked in a sharp breath as your desperate push to one of the tattered double doors caused the faintest of clangs to reverberate from the rusty dinner bell that decorated the outside as an echo of the past.

Gingerly shutting the door after you slipped inside, careful as to not evoke any more alarms and ruin your hiding spot, the lack of a lock on the simple doors had completely slipped your memory as your blurry vision stared down at the rudimentary pull handles and nothing else.

Hyperventilating and nearly feeling like you’d faint, you instead pulled over a dust-covered table and pushed it up against the exit, a few screws rattling and rolling off it as it settled in its new place.

Eyes transfixed on the doors, your feet began to back up, not halting till the rough wood of the far side wall stopped you. Reaching into your pocket, you blindly fished out your phone and dialled up the only number you could think of.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” Frank’s contrasting tone flowed out from the receiver, “thought I’d maybe swing by when I'm done here in town–…” although his genuine words abruptly ceased as a shuttering cry trembled from your lips, “…Y/n? What’s wrong?”

Your body shook so fiercely that keeping a hold of your phone proved to be a daunting task.

“F-Frank,” you sobbed.

“What, what is it?”

“…he’s here. He’s here,” you uttered shakily through your tears, “I walked into the lobby and there he was, I–, fuck…” you squeezed your eyes shut a moment, “Frank, what do I do?”

“Alright, listen to me,” his tone changed in an instant, “did he see you?”

“Y-yes,” you tried your best to keep your voice hushed.

“Where are you?”

“I hid in the old shed out back, but, shit, I'm not sure if–”

Your fear then came to fruition as the doors suddenly rustled, bumping against the makeshift blockade before the attempt was dropped and a low knock instead found your ears.

“He’s here,” you shuttered, your words barely above a whisper.

“Doll?” Preston’s voice seeped through the rotten wood, “I know that you’re in there,” he tried to shove the doors open once more, the whole world seeming to quake at his attempt.

Eyes darting around the dim space, you spotted a small broken window to your left. Raising up your elbow, all of the adrenaline that pumped throughout your veins didn’t even let you register the pain as you slammed it against the remaining bits of jagged glass that were stuck to the window, as well as when the remaining short shards stabbed your palms and scratched up the screen of your phone as you desperately began to crawl out.

“Come on, just open up the door, I don’t have time for any childish games.”

The sudden sound of the door crashing open and the table scraping across the floor shot straight into your bones.

Already halfway out, your knee bent up to hoist the remaining half of your shaky form out of the narrow opening, but just as you twisted to do so, a bruising grip grabbed hold of the leg and tugged you back inside, sending you crashing down upon the concrete floor.

Motes of dust seemed suspended in the air as you coughed on the cold ground. Steadying yourself with your bloodied palms, your hazy vision found your phone by your side, shattered and completely dark.

Seizing the crown of your locks, he yanked you back up to your feet.

“Now why would you do something like that, huh?” he uttered in such a mundane tone that you’d almost rather have him yell. Dragging you with him towards the doors and still hung agape on the rusty hinges, he grabbed a petite shovel that rested on the messy table and jammed the wooden shaft through the loops of the two handles. Gliding his dominant hand up your frame as he backed you up, the long fingers swiftly enveloped your throat as your back slammed against a wall, “I just wanna have a little conversation with you,” like splintery sandpaper, the rough wood scraped against your spine, and your eyes squeezed shut, “uh uh,” the stinging grip he had on your hair loosened, drifting his knuckles down your cheek in a cruel caress as he demanded, “look at me when I’m talking to you,” your whole frame jerked as you felt him land a harsh slap across your cheek, “show me those pretty eyes,” and your bloodshot glare blinked open, “there,” he wiped the tears that trickled down your face, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” your gaze flickered down to the ominous ink that glazed the appendage clasped around your airway. The head of the snake that decorated the back of his palm nearly looked like it was about to come alive and bite into your jugular vein, “you know, if you wanted to go on a little trip back home, all you had to do was say so, we could have figured something out.”

Soon, your hands fluttered up to warily drift on either side of his, a shift that caused his jaw to clench.

“Doll,” he glared down at your lacking jewel, “where’s your ring? Did you misplace it again? If you keep doing that, then I’m just gonna think you don’t like it,” his head tilted to the side in an almost sombre manner, “what, was the diamond not big enough? If you want something more showy, you know all you have to do is ask, money’s just money. Maybe a sapphire? You could look like Princess Diana. Hell, if you want the real thing, I know a guy,” his face slowly inched closer to yours, “I would do anything for you, you know that right?” he proclaimed with an eerie smile upon his lips, “anything, that’s how much I love you. Even if you can’t always wrap your simple little head around the reasoning in the moment,” his free fingers moved to brush some of your dishevelled hair into place, “it’s always because I love you.”

“Preston, please,” your voice was low as you gasped, fretful fingers lightly tapping against his unyielding grip, “you’re hurting me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he warned softly, rage crackling in his fiery gaze, “you don’t do that,” ignoring your struggling, he went back to wistfully fixing your hair, “you just stand there, like the pretty doll you are and be perfect for me.”

“C-can’t breathe–”

“Oh, you can’t?” his brows furrowed mockingly, “is this better?” he asked as his ring-adorned fingers tightened around your throat and squeezed so taut that no air could reach your lungs, “you are mine,” he pressed his lips to your cheek as your eyes fluttered and your limbs fought against the inevitable fate of shortly passing out, “you will always be fucking mine.”

But just as the world began to slip out from under you, a loud crash found your ears. Forcing your eyes to open, you witnessed as the door got kicked in, the improvised lock shattering into shards from the blow and scattering across the dirty ground.

Glaring over his shoulder, Preston exclaimed, “who the fuck are you?”

Only looming in the doorway for a fragment of a second, Frank didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer as he rushed to rip Preston off of you.

As you crumbled to the ground, painful coughs escaped your frame. The shed still felt like it spun beneath you as your hazy gaze fluttered up to see Frank pin Preston against the wall. As if you were underwater, their voices seemed miles away as you watched Frank’s callused fist repeatedly collide with the side of your ex’s face.

This wasn’t how you wanted it to happen. Every thunderous crack prompted a dreadful pit to dig itself within your gut. You weren’t doubting that Preston didn’t deserve this, but you had also come to learn a fragment of the truth of just how few of those punches it took for Frank to have an individual no longer breathing.

Frantically casting your gaze everywhere and anywhere, past the garden, out in the driveway, the faint sight of the sheriff, lunch in hand, tossing his scarf around his neck and strolling back to his car, found your fuzzy vision.

Stumbling, you crawled out the door and weakly pulled yourself up enough to reach the short rope that hung from the old bell, the looming unconsciousness steadily catching up to you as you strained to do so.

Ringing the bell once, twice, and on the third time, just as you saw Otto whip his head around in your direction, your vision finally faded to complete darkness as you crumbled to the ground.

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle series #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle angst #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #lumberjack au

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wolfstarshipping · 5 months

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wolfstar wips

So I'm using the @hprecfest day 12 prompt "a WIP you're following" to post a short rec list of WIPs that has been sitting in my drafts for so long now I even had to remove a fic that had been finished in the meanwhile!

Something rotten in Grimmauld Place by @plecotusauritus (8,802 words, Hamlet AU) This is a wolfstar Hamlet AU, need I say more?? I've never much cared or thought about Hamlet since I read it in school but this fic (almost) makes me want to reread Hamlet and I can't wait to see where the story goes next, I love the atmosphere this fic captures, the lovely writing style and just seeing all these characters we know so well fit into the plot of Hamlet is so, so cool!!

the oldest recipe for parsnip soup by @eyra (10.639 words, modern AU, christmas fic) Getting another fic by eyra for the holidays has been such a wonderful treat! I love the whole setting and the characters of this fic so much already, especially Sirius!! And the writing and all the descriptions are so, so beautiful, as always, highly recommend checking it out!!

Welcome to Aphrodite by @de-sire-blog & @rhabarberjunge (18.957 words, magical AU, secret identities) this is one of those fics I've read a while ago, but I keep thinking about it because I loved it so much. I don't want to give away too much of the plot, but the premise is Sirius finding a hidden, adults-only club that makes people's secret desires come true, and of course Sirius's secret desire is Remus... It's hot, it's fun, and it's incredibly angsty, I love it.

Stitched into My Skin by @squintclover (19.297 words, canon divergent AU, memory loss) I love the heartache and all the bittersweetness that comes with memory loss fics so much already, and I am so obsessed with the way it's been done in this fic. The premise of the fic is Peter casting a memory loss charm on Sirius on October 31st 1981, which leads to Remus raising Harry and randomly coming across Sirius years later, only Sirius doesn't remember him. I'm so intrigued by the first few chapters already and can't wait to see where the story goes next!

Marauder FM by @hollyivydruzy (26.402 words, modern AU, radio AU, enemies to friends to lovers) I know I've recced this fic before but I will never shut up about it because I love it, and especially this fic's Remus so, so much! It's an iconic, funny radio AU set in London, and I wish the radio shows from this fic were real because I would listen to Sirius's radio show every morning if I could. I just love the vibe of all of them working at the radio station together and the slow burn enemies to friends (to lovers) is so delicious!

The Patchwork of Us by @tracingpatternswrites (27.502 words, modern AU, enemies to lovers, co-parenting Teddy) This is such a lovely fic about Sirius and Remus navigating the difficult situation of co-parenting Teddy after Tonks dies, I love the domesticity and the enemies to lovers vibe of this fic so much!

The Picture of Sirius Black by @lynxindisguise (30.049 words, Dorian Gray AU) okay anyone who has ever seen my blog knows how much I love lynx's writing, which is why I am also obsessed with this fic, even though it's a genre I'm usually not that familiar with. It's a Dorian Gray AU, it's gothic horror but especially the first few chapters are also giving victorian romcom with murder sideplot vibes (and I mean this as the biggest compliment), this fic will make you laugh and cry and want to murder some of these characters yourself maybe.

Only Fools Are Satisfied by grumposaur (@pancakehouse) (38.353 words, modern AU, tennis AU). I really love the exploration of Sirius's family dynamics in the context of him being a professional athlete in this fic, and Remus with his tanlines and freckles is everything!!

Neon Moon by @krethes (47.698 words, modern AU, cowboy stripper Remus AU, Las Vegas) I didn't know how much I needed Remus to be a stripper and a cowboy before I read this fic, but now I do and I love him!! The whole premise of them meeting at a strip club while Sirius is out on James's bachelor party is so iconic, and the vibes of the fic are just overall excellent, highly recommend checking it out!

on another ocean by @colgatebluemintygel (118.148 words, modern AU, backpacking/interrail, friends with benefits) Where do I even start? This is an incredible fic, one of my all time faves, I've reread some of the chapters several times now and am so obsessed with this fic's Remus in his socks and sandals, driving Sirius crazy with lust. Also I will not spoil it for anyone who hasn't read it, but the scene in the budapest chapter in the club bathroom features one of my favorite Sirius moments of all time, across all universes haha.

marginalia by @spindrifters (266.547 words, magical AU, canon divergent AU - Grindelwald won, slavery AU) I'm having a hard time trying to put my love for this fic into words in just a short paragraph. This fic is so unique in its setting, and it's so beautifully written and asks & answers the question "what if Grindelwald had won?" in such an incredible, highly political and also very immersive way, if you haven't read it already I really recommend checking it out (as well as the already complete Tedromeda spinoff set in the same world, history books!!!).

Staying Strangers by 3amAndCounting (319,368 words, modern AU, texting fic, university AU). This is one of my comfort fics, I love a good texting AU, this is quite a popular fic anyways but if you haven't read it and like modern AUs & texting fics (though it isn't all just texting) go check it out!

#hprecfest2023 #wolfstar wip #wolfstar #fic rec #wolfstar fic #wip #rec list #wip rec list #also i put these in order of their lenght because whenever i do a rec list that's not just chronological from doing daily fic recs #i have a small crisis over in which order i want to put them #also i just KNOW as soon as i post this i will remember another wip i've forgotten to mention so PLEASE feel free to reblog this and add #more current wolfstar wips (either ur own or someone elses!) if you want to!!! <3

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wheresarizona · 9 months

Text

Learning to Live Part 22

summary: Javier arrives home in a grumpy mood because somebody (you) decided to tease him before work, and now he’s going to get his revenge. Once that’s taken care of, it’s time to meet his family to celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) and pretend like you didn’t get fucked within an inch of your life earlier.

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, age gap (about ten years), soft Javier Peña, grumpy Javier Peña, dom Javier Peña, alternating pov, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, edging, light bondage (he uses his tie), dom/sub vibes, (1) pussy slap, spanking, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink (oh wow, are you told how good you’re doing), begging, spit mention, kitchen sex, I swear this chapter is really wholesome, domestic fluff, fluff, death of a parent/grief, emotional hurt/comfort, food as a metaphor for love, family fluff, family bonding, Javier and reader playing matchmakers, hanging out with Chucho and the fam, celebrating Día de los Muertos, Javier saying very romantic things)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 19.6k+ (in my defense, it’s a good time)

a/n: Hey, besties! Okay, so the general vibe of this chapter is good feels. Are there emotional moments that might make you tear up? Yes. But overall, we’re having a good time remembering Javier’s mom. A big thank you to @kilamonster, who helped me with the holiday info and double-checked what I wrote. Shoutout to @juletheghoul for making sure my Spanish made sense and always being by my side. And a huge thank you to @senorabond for betaing!

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

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The seasons had changed, and like a piece of twine, your and Javier’s lives had become so intertwined it was hard to see the individual threads—there was no you or him anymore; it was you both together always, a mated pair, making each other stronger and happier than ever.

Not only had your life melded with your boyfriend’s, his family, too, had taken you in, treating you like your last name was already Peña and happily including you in their get-togethers. Everyone was so warm and welcoming, introducing you to different aspects of their culture, which was important to you to know for your future children, Javi and you wanting them to be well aware and proud of their Mexican roots, both agreeing they’d be raised speaking English and Spanish.

After the first tamalada (tamale-making party), the two of you made it a point to go to his tía María’s on Sundays for the weekly family gathering where everyone ate delicious food, drank too much beer and tequila, and hung out for hours. His tías ushered you into the kitchen as soon as you got there to cook with them, their daughters, and daughters-in-law, Javi always close by and getting roped into helping, too, since he followed you around like a big, beautiful, brown-eyed puppy dog.

In the time that’s passed since first meeting your boyfriend’s extended family, there’d been a couple more tamaladas hosted with Javi happily included; the regular Sunday gatherings, of course; many birthdays; Día de la Independencia (Day of Independence or Mexican Independence Day) that ended up being a big party at Chucho’s where Javi’s primos (cousins) had gotten their hands on illegal bottle rockets and put on quite the firework show.

Now you were celebrating another holiday with them.

It was a Monday in November, Javi and you getting off work a couple of hours early, you arriving home before him while he was out running errands. You had changed into cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt to be comfortable while you cooked food for the evening, planning to get dressed closer to leaving.

Your recipe journal was open on the kitchen counter, showing one you copied from your boyfriend’s mom’s recipe cards out at the ranch—a covered skillet was on the stove with chopped-up flank steak simmering in a tomatillo mixture, figuring out in your head when you should work on the next step that wouldn’t take too long, but also couldn’t be done too soon.

The sound of the front door being unlocked out in the main room found your ears, hearing Javi coming inside, and shutting it behind him, followed by plastic rustling, assuming he was putting down what he bought on the couch.

Frowning, you wondered why he hadn’t called out to you, which was usually the first thing he did after arriving home.

“Javi?” you said loud enough for him to hear.

Soft footsteps were getting closer, turning your head in the direction of the doorway to see him walking purposefully, strutting, your way with his face pinched in a grumpy expression, his gaze burning when it locked on yours, making you gulp.

You were in trouble.

And if you had to guess, it was because of what you’d done that morning.

He’d discarded his grey suit jacket, half the buttons open on his white dress shirt, and his gold and charcoal tie undone, it resting around his neck on either side of his chest.

“What’s wro—” Your sentence was cut off when his mouth crashed against yours, kissing you hard, his hands grabbing your waist to turn you toward him, glad you weren’t holding anything.

His palms moved down to squeeze your ass, moaning when he shoved his tongue into your mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair's soft, thick strands. The way he was kissing you made arousal burn brightly in your belly, feeling it dripping into your panties.

Your lips were fused together until your lungs ached with the need to breathe, him nibbling on your bottom lip, then your chin as you both panted.

“What are you doing?” you asked through heavy breaths, gasping when he sucked on your pulse point.

His head came up to look you in the eyes, his eyebrows dipping low, seeing his frowning lips were red and shiny from spit.

“Finishing what you fucking started this morning,” he said in a deep rasp.

“Oh.”

“Yeah— ” He glanced over to the stove. “—how long does that need to simmer for?” he asked, meeting your gaze once more.

Checking your wristwatch, you answered, “Forty-fiveish minutes.”

The wheels were turning behind his eyes, imagining him doing math in his head until finally, he nodded once. “That’s enough time.”

Your eyes went wide. “Enough time for what? There are other things I have to do for the stew…”

“Fine, I’ll do it in thirty—pants off.” He crouched in front of you, pulling down your shorts to your ankles.

“Javier,” you exclaimed.

His head tilted up to look at you. “If you tell me to stop, I will.”

“I don’t want you to stop—I’m just really caught off guard.”

His eyebrow arched, still frowning. “You shouldn’t be with how fucking mean you were to me this morning, teasing me by wearing nothing but this fucking thong—” His fingers went into the waistband of it, tugging it down to join your cotton shorts. “—rubbing up on me, grabbing my dick, and then you got dressed and gave me one of those kisses that usually leads to more, and you just left me in the fucking kitchen hard as a rock.”

“I was running late for work?” you tried.

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit—you just wanted to fuck with me.”

A smile pulled up on your lips. “Yeah, I did, and look at how needy you are,” you replied, stroking your hand through his hair.

He freed your feet, standing back up with a grunt. His hands squeezed the globes of your bare ass then one landed on a cheek in a loud smack that had your breath stuttering. “I’m not fucking needy,” he said. “You got me horny on purpose and made sure I didn’t have enough time to jack off—you were a bad fucking girl—” He slapped your other asscheek. “—and now I’m gonna fucking give it to you.” A hot spike of arousal slammed into you at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Well, now you’re gonna fucking get it—hold up your hands.”

Doing as he said, you put your hands up in front of your chest, watching as he pulled the tie off from his neck, your eyes going wide at realizing what he was going to do.

“You don’t get to touch me,” he told you. The silky material was buttery soft as it went around your wrists, Javi moving quickly, wrapping them up in some practiced way that when he pulled on the ends of the tie, it cinched your arms together before he was knotting it. He stuck a finger inside to ensure there was a little gap so you didn’t lose circulation, nodding to himself when satisfied.

His gaze met yours, his eyes softening. “Is this okay?” he asked gently.

There was a double meaning to his question, him really asking if you were okay with his demeanor and being tied up—it was a resounding yes to both.

Smiling, you replied, “This is more than okay, babe. Be grumpy again. It’s sexy.”

Curiosity was why you decided to tease him that morning, wondering what would happen if you left him hanging. Honestly, you expected him to show up at your work unannounced to drag you into a supply closet, but he hadn’t; he didn’t even call you on your lunch break, which was very abnormal.

He huffed out a breath, a little smile on his lips. “Okay,” he said, his hand sliding along your jaw, cupping it. “But if it’s too much, tell me.”

“Of course—I trust you.”

“Good. I’ve got you, mi amor (my love).”

Grabbing your waist, his lips found yours once more, kissing you while he walked you to the opposite side of the kitchen until your ass was pressing into the counter. Gripping your thighs, Javi grunted as he lifted you to sit on the countertop, taking up the space between your spread legs, breaking the kiss so he could work open the rest of his dress shirt, it falling to the floor when he shrugged it off.

You leaned back, your shoulders and head resting against the wall cabinet, his attention coming back to you using one hand to lift your tied ones above you to hang them by the tie on a knob. Feeling the smooth wood under them, his other hand pushed one side of your t-shirt up your chest, pulling down the cup of your bra to free your breast. He pinched your nipple, his head dipping down to engulf it with the warmth of his mouth, making you gasp his name at the tingles shooting straight to your weeping cunt.

Coming off your hard bud with a wet pop, he straightened, a serious expression on his face, meeting your gaze with his darkened pools.

“Keep your hands up like this,” he said. “Understand?”

“Yes, Javi,” you answered, nodding your head. “Keep them up, and don’t touch you.”

You could feel your heartbeat at the apex of your thighs, so turned on by the idea of being at his mercy.

“My good girl,” he purred, rubbing his palms up your thighs, his words making you shiver.

He crouched down again, this time putting your legs over his broad shoulders, his big hands pulling your ass to the edge of the countertop, causing you to lean back further, the air biting cold on your wet nipple.

You could see him there between your legs, his eyes on yours as he sucked two thick fingers between his lips, expecting it when he easily pushed them into your pussy, your mouth going slack at the slight stretch. His head moved forward, licking a broad stripe through your folds, the pleasure causing your back to arch, his fingers inside you sliding against your top wall to rub over that one spot only he could find, making your toes curl at how good it felt.

There wasn’t time for him to tease you or to draw things out, he was a man on a mission to get you off as quickly as possible with the time constraints, and he knew exactly how to play your body like a goddamn fiddle.

His lips wrapped around the swollen berry of your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue side to side over it while his digits kept pressing into nirvana, again, and again, and again—the heat was building in your core, feeling the vibrations of his groans, moaning at the sensations that were getting you closer, and closer to your end.

Sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead, your hands above your head struggling under the restraints, wishing you could pull his hair, the knot in your belly winding tighter.

“Oh god, Javi,” you gasped. “I’m so fucking close—you’re gonna make me come.”

Suddenly he was stopping, his mouth and hand leaving you, eliciting a pitiful whine from your throat. Your eyes widened as you looked down at him with his mustache and the bottom half of his face shiny with your slick.

Pouting at him for ruining your orgasm, you panted, “Why’d you stop? I was almost there.”

“What?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t like someone working you up, then stopping just to be mean?”

You groaned. “Javi, I’m sorry! I didn’t do it to be mean. I just wanted to see what your reaction would be.”

“Yeah? Well, I was a real asshole at work, and now you don’t get to come until I say you can,” he said, lightly smacking your clit, the shock of pleasure pulling a moan from your lips.

He moved your legs off his shoulders so he could stand, and you wondered why you were so into this… Maybe it was relinquishing yourself entirely over to him and giving him all of the power in making you feel good, or him being a little mean which was very different—whatever it was, it had your pussy throbbing.

He continued speaking, asking, “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered, frowning. “No coming until you say I can.”

“Good girl,” he replied, his hands moving up and down your thighs while his gaze was on yours. His eyes went soft again. “I love you.”

That made you smile, thinking it was sweet he was still so loving after you’d frustrated him so much. “I love you, too.” His lips quirked up a little. “I don’t know why, but this is really hot. When I decided to try out my experiment this morning, I kinda thought you might show up at my work to rail me in a storage room or something—definitely didn’t expect getting tied up and you being all dommy, which I’m really into, by the way.”

Leaning in, his hands went beside you on the countertop, his head so close the tips of your noses were touching, smelling yourself on his face. “You wanted me to be so fucking horny that I’d fuck you at your work?” He nudged your nose with his, feeling the ghost of his breath on your lips.

“Maybe,” you whispered.

He smirked. “My dirty fucking girl—I knew you were testing me.” His mouth was a hair's breadth away from yours, wanting him to kiss you. “You teased the fuck out of me, and I’ve had all fucking day to think about how I was gonna tease you back.”

“Yeah? You gonna make me beg for you to let me come?”

All his weight went to his right arm as he lifted his left hand to read the silver watch on his wrist, his eyes squinting. “We’ve got time for me to make you beg.” His gaze met yours again. “I’m gonna go hard,” he said, standing straight up while his hands went to the front of his pants where they were bulging, hearing the clank of him opening his belt and him pulling down his zipper. “And I’m not gonna give in the first time you beg.”

Your cunt clenched hard around nothing. “Bring it on.”

Javi snorted, spitting on his fingers and stroking them over his hard cock to get it slick. “We’ll see if you still feel that way when I don’t let you come a couple of times, baby.” He shuffled forward, notching himself at your entrance, and wasted no time pressing inside, sliding all the way to the root in one smooth thrust.

Your mouths had fallen open, seeing his throat work as he swallowed hard, his cock stretching you open. It was truly fascinating that after the many, many times he’d been inside you, he still managed to steal your breath by how big he was on the first stroke.

Your legs went around his middle, locking at the small of his back, feeling the splay of muscles move as he pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in hard, setting up a brutal pace that had your body jolting from the pounding he was giving you.

His hand snaked between your bodies to press his thumb to your sensitive little clit, the pleasure dancing in your center—his thick cock was easily moving in and out of you from how wet you were, rocketing you toward your release, unable to keep from moaning.

It was embarrassing how quickly he was working you up, his face screwed up like he was in pain, mouth open panting breaths, his forehead starting to glisten in sweat with a gorgeous flush moving up his chest and neck to paint his cheeks—he was breathtakingly beautiful as he fucked you, your fingers itching to touch his skin.

“Can feel you fluttering,” he said through his teeth. “You close?”

The heat in your belly was getting hotter, wanting to come so bad, but also not wanting to give in so easily, swallowing thickly. “Yes, I’m almost there,” you answered around heavy breaths.

He came to a stop, pushed all the way inside you, his thumb moving off you, causing your teeth to clench, stifling your whimper from your orgasm dissipating.

His skin shone with a sheen of sweat, his bangs wetly sticking to his forehead, eyes so dark barely any brown remained.

His eyebrow rose, voice rough, “You gonna beg me to let you come?”

“Nope,” you defiantly replied.

“Right,” he said, not sounding like he believed you.

He started moving again when you relaxed, his thumb back in place, circling your bundle of nerves a little harder, his thrusts at the same punishing pace as before. He leaned forward, the side of his face pressed against yours, as he said into your ear, “I think you wanna beg me to come.” The fire in your core was starting to rapidly build again. “‘Cause you know once you go, I can, and you want me to fill you up—you want me to stuff you full.” Your eyes had squeezed shut, trying to stave off your orgasm, his words adding fuel to the flames. “You want me to work it so deep it finally fucking takes.”

Your brain short-circuited, it all too much. “Please let me come, Javi,” you whined.

Immediately he was stopping, and it made you whine his name louder.

“No.” He kissed your cheek, his hand rubbing soothingly over your back. “Not yet, baby.”

Your climax slipped away, the need to come starting to make you ache in your lower belly. You were breathing hard, your hands still over your head, wishing you could swat at his chest and settling with lightly knocking your head against his. “That was playing fucking dirty, and you know it,” you said, your body still coming down from the almost high.

He moved to look you in the eyes.

“Uh huh, says the woman who put on the thong l love and suddenly had to do a lot of bending over while I tried to get dressed for work. I’m the one playing dirty—pot calling the kettle, Cielito, and two can play your game.” He placed a loud smacking kiss on your cheek. “You good?”

Your skin was wet with sweat, Javi’s too, and you weren’t entirely sure how much more of this you could take, knowing if you told him ‘yellow’ or your safeword, he’d let you come immediately. You didn’t think this warranted either of those words… yet.

“I’m good.” You nodded.

“Atta girl,” he said, kissing your forehead. “You’re doing so good for me, mi amor (my love).”

He went back to doing what he was before, his cock pounding into you while he thumbed your clit, once again finding yourself close to an orgasm in record time, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter. His free hand came up to squeeze your breast, his fingers tweaking your stiff nipple, and it was like he had a direct line to your cunt, making you clench around him, Javi groaning as gasping moans fell from your lips.

The pressure was building inside you until he worked you up to your breaking point, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as you begged, “Please, Javi, I need to come—let me come. Please.”

“Come for me, mi Cielito (my little heaven),” he panted in your ear. “You did so fucking good for me—come, mi amor (my love). Such a good fucking girl.”

That was all you needed to hear, pleasure exploding inside you, coming with a cry of his name—electricity radiated outward from your center, your body hot, tingling, and tensing up so tight it made his rhythm stutter, a guttural noise coming from Javi’s throat.

He sounded wrecked. “‘M gonna come—fuck, I’m coming.” His face dropped to the crook of your neck, feeling his hot breaths, him thrusting faster, it sounding wet between your legs where you were joined. Finally, he pushed in to the hilt, bottoming out as he came with a strangled moan. His teeth bit into the meat of your shoulder, making you gasp at the sweet sting, feeling as he gushed inside you.

Seconds passed as you caught your breaths, his head coming up to tenderly kiss you, all slow and languid—he lifted his hands above your head to free your own, and you immediately pushed your fingers into his sweaty hair, him humming appreciatively in the back of his throat, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.

Everything was forgotten, losing yourself in him, feeling him beneath your fingers, your lips, against your body; smelling his spicy cologne, and something that was uniquely him, something that was simply Javi, making you think of home and happiness.

Panic slammed into you like a truck, suddenly remembering you’d been cooking before he interrupted, abruptly breaking the kiss.

“The stew!” you shouted, pushing on his chest to make him move, Javi hissing as he pulled out, stepping out of your way.

Hopping down from the counter, you ignored how his come was dripping down your inner thighs, rushing to the sink, quickly washing your hands, then moving to the stove, taking the lid off the skillet. A relieved breath left you as you used a large plastic spoon to stir the mixture, thankful it hadn’t burned and knowing you needed to work on the next step.

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Javier Peña,” you said, turning down the burner to low to keep the food warm and walking over to your notebook to read the instructions.

Arms wrapped around your middle, Javi kissing your hair, murmuring into it, “What did I lie about?”

“You said you could do it in thirty, and you used the whole forty-five—please, put your dick away and wash your hands. I need your help.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, kissing your head again, hearing him zipping up his pants and putting his belt on, finding himself beside you at the sink while he washed his hands.

“Wash your face, too,” you told him, grabbing some paper towels from a roll on the counter, Javi cleaning his hands.

“If you begged sooner, I could’ve done it in thirty,” he said, splashing some water onto his face.

“Right, it’s my fault.” You rolled your eyes, handing him the towels he used to dry himself off, throwing them away in the trash can under the sink when he was done.

He turned toward you, resting his hip against the counter while his arms crossed over his naked chest, and damn were they looking good, seeing the muscle definition. There were dark and faded marks you sucked over his pecs and on the column of his throat, one a dark purple right where his left shoulder met his neck from biting him while you rode him in the bath a few nights ago. Your eyes lowered to look at his soft belly and the trail of hair leading down into his grey slacks, knowing what they were hiding.

“I just fucked you,” he sounded amused, “and you’re undressing me with your eyes.” Your gaze met his, seeing him shaking his head with a fond smile. “It is your fault, Cielito, since you’re the one who started it this morning.”

He had you there.

“Fine, it’s my fault.” You frowned. “And, of course, I’m checking you out. You’re standing here looking sexy as fuck, and it’s like I can’t believe all this—“ You gestured at him. “—is mine. You love me. You’re going to marry me one day, and we’re going to have kids together, and as a bonus, you’re a goddamn sex god.” He snorted.

“I’m not a sex god.”

“Um, the absolutely ridiculous amount of orgasms you’ve given me begs to differ. You, sir—“ You poked the center of his chest. “—are a sex god, and I can’t be convinced otherwise.”

His large hand engulfed yours, bringing it up to kiss each of your knuckles and the center of your palm, his big brown eyes on yours.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he replied, pulling you toward him so you were chest to chest, his arm going around your back, his other hand cradling your jaw, seeing the devotion clear in his gaze. “And that you love me, want to marry me, and fuck, want to have my kids. Feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t all a fucking dream half the time.” He smiled. “And as a bonus, you’re so fucking beautiful and sexy and the best lay I’ve ever had, so I guess that makes you a sex goddess.”

“I am definitely not a sex goddess.”

He frowned, his eyebrows dipping together.

“Stop that shit. We don’t do that anymore—we’re kind to ourselves, and if you get to call me a sex god, I can call you a sex goddess ‘cause it’s a fucking fact.”

You smiled. “Fine, I’ll be your sex goddess.” That had him grinning, his dimple appearing. “And I’ll be kinder to myself like the therapist said, but the struggle is real.”

“I know, baby.” He leaned in to kiss you gently. “You’ve got me,” he said into your lips. “I’ll help you like you help me.”

After Javi had that panic attack months ago, he brought up seeing a professional, and you were more than happy to help him find one who happened to be a couple of towns over. It was such a massive step for him, and you wanted to be supportive and encouraging in him getting help, so you suggested the two of you try couple’s therapy, too. Not because there were issues in your relationship, but as a way to communicate better, and also help you through your own shit. Frankly, coming from a dysfunctional family that gave you an inferiority complex and low self-esteem really needed to be addressed, and he’d agreed to do it with you. He had weekly individual sessions, and the two of you went every two weeks. Both of you were noticing a big difference in him—he didn’t get caught up in his head as much and talked things out with you if something was bothering him. There hadn’t been any more panic attacks, and it felt like he was really healing and working up the courage to tell you about his past. That was something that still scared him a bit, but the therapist had said he needed to tell you when he was ready.

Pulling back, you looked him in the eyes. “I love you,” you told him.

“I love you, too.”

“We better finish cooking. Can you start heating the pinto beans on the stove? We just need them warmed up, and I already got out the saucepan,” you said, pointing toward the stove. “I need to go to the bathroom and clean myself up because it feels wrong cooking with your come coating my thighs, and I’m not digging the whole no underwear thing.”

He cupped your cheeks, looking at you fondly. “Go take care of yourself, mi alma (my soul). I’ll get the beans going and start chopping up the garnish.”

Smiling, you replied, “You’re perfect, and I love you so fucking much.”

He matched your look, his head coming closer to kiss you. “I love you, too,” he said against your lips.

An hour and a half later, the two of you had finished with the food, showered, dressed, and were making your way to meet Javi’s family.

The scenery was aflame with vibrant gold and pumpkin autumn leaves, the weather finally cooling down as it got closer to winter. It was balmy outside, the kind of day where you could wear your nice, new dress you’d gotten for the occasion and not worry about sweating from it being too hot or needing a jacket because it was too cold. The burgundy red A-line dress was embroidered with long green stemmed pink and white roses that were identical to the ones in Javier’s mother’s flower garden at the ranch, your boyfriend wearing a matching colored short-sleeved button-up sans the flowers, and his usual tight-ass dark wash jeans.

You were sitting beside him on the bench seat in his truck as he drove.

“Oh my god,” you started, turning your head toward your boyfriend, your fingers laced together on your thigh, “we were so busy, I forgot to tell you the hot gossip from work.”

His aviators were on, glancing over to meet your eyes with a smile. “Cuéntame el chisme, mi amor (Tell me the gossip, my love).”

“Okay, so Friday night, Robyn went to the bar and met some guy that she spent the entire weekend with, and as of this morning, he was still at her apartment, and Javi, that’s not the kicker.”

“What’s the kicker?”

“She genuinely likes this guy a lot. She actually blushed while she told me about him and was so giggly—she’s got it bad.”

“That’s such a big fucking deal. She hasn’t dated since—”

“Her fiancé cheated on her six years ago! I know! This is huge, and I’m dying to meet him.”

“Maybe we can all go out for drinks?”

“Maybe.” You chewed on your lip. “I’d worry about spooking her, though. Relationships have freaked her out since her ex, and I really think she’s scared to fall in love again—doesn’t want to risk having her heart broken.” He hummed in agreement, the blinker clicking as he turned onto another street. “Apparently, they didn’t leave her place at all, and he kept up with her in bed. I’ll save you the details, and just say it sounded so fucking exhausting and absolutely put our marathons to shame.” That made him frown. “Wait, have you heard of a Pop Rocks blow job?”

He looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “What the fuck is that?”

You giggled. “Something I learned about this morning. You know the Pop Rocks candy that pops and crackles in your mouth?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, so, with a mouthful of those, you go down on a guy, and I guess it’s a fun sensation for the person with a dick.”

There was a thoughtful expression on his face. “Sounds… sticky. I don’t know…” His attention went back to the road.

“I’d be more worried about choking on the excess saliva in my mouth—now, flavored lube I could get behind. Make your dick taste like strawberries.”

He chuckled. “We can go to the city and find a sex shop to get some,” he said, turning his head to kiss your forehead.

That had you thinking of the things you’d find in such a place, the truck's cab suddenly feeling hot even though the air conditioning was at full blast.

“Wait, find a sex shop?” you asked. “Don’t lie to me. You know exactly where one is.”

“If it’s still there… I haven’t been since college.”

“There’s so much stuff we could buy…” you mused.

He perked up in the driver’s seat. “Like what?”

You snorted. “We’ll talk about it later, babe,” you said, unlacing your hand to pat his thigh. “We can’t get horny right now.”

“You’re the one bringing up candy blowjobs…” he grumbled.

“It was a genuine question since, you know, you’re more experienced…”

A long sigh left him. “You just called me old.”

His fortieth birthday was on the horizon, and the closer it got, the more sensitive he was about getting older.

“No I did not, Javier. I said experienced. There was no mention of your age.”

His jaw flexed. “It was implied.”

“Javi, baby?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“Apparently, you need a reminder that I do not care about how old you are and that I find you and your experience very sexy. I mean, you literally just made me come so fucking hard, and I was immediately horny for you again—hell, if we didn’t have plans, I would’ve dragged you to the bedroom for round two.”

His chest puffed up, crookedly smiling when he glanced over at you.

“Yeah? Round two? How would that have gone?”

“Stop trying to make us horny!” you laughed.

His face went grumpy. “Then quit talking about sex!”

“Fine! A safe topic. You said you were an asshole at work today, and since it was my fault, I feel like I should bake your office apology muffins.”

He sighed again. “Yeah, that’s a good idea—we can make apology muffins.”

“Then we will.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, taking your hand in his and gently squeezing it. “Cielito?”

“Yes, my love?” you asked, leaning in to kiss his cheek, making him smile.

“¿Quieres saber un secreto (Do you want to know a secret)?”

“Sí, siempre (Yes, always).”

His hand moved from yours to press against his heart, the other squeezing the steering wheel's leather so tight it creaked.

“Eres el amor de mi vida y mi mejor amiga (You are the love of my life and my best friend). Te amo más de lo que puedo expresar con palabras y soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo porque me amas (I love you more than I can put into words, and am the luckiest man on earth because you love me). Eres mi mejor amiga y mi media naranja y no cambiaría nada (You are my best friend and my soulmate and I wouldn’t change anything).”

“Oh, Javi.” You couldn’t help it, smothering his cheek and jaw in kisses. “Te amo mucho (I love you so much).” Your voice was muffled against his skin, speaking between each kiss. “Mi amor, mi vida, mi media naranja, mi mejor amigo (My love, my life, my soulmate, my best friend). Quiero ser la madre de tus bebés (I want to be the mother of your babies).”

He chuckled, his head moving to kiss your lips.

“Te amo y quiero que tengas a mis bebés—quiero pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I love you, and I want you to have my babies—I want to spend the rest of my life with you).”

Pulling back, you were grinning. “Well, you’re in luck ‘cause you’re stuck with me until the end—we’re gonna be old as fuck and wrinkly, and I’ll still think you’re the hottest man alive.”

He laughed, focusing on the road.

“Our kids are gonna be so fucking disgusted by us.”

“Isn’t that nice, though? Them being disgusted ‘cause we’re so sickeningly in love with each other, but we’ll be a great example of what they should look for in a relationship—like your parents. That’s the kind of love we want to have.”

He raised your hand to kiss the back, turning his head to look at you.

“No need to want it,” he said. “We’ve already got it.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

It wasn’t long before you arrived, both getting out of the truck and grabbing what you’d brought, finding it truly impressive the number of full plastic grocery bags Javi could strategically hold in one of his big hands and how many bouquets of brightly colored orange flowers were in his other arm—at the same time, you carried a picnic basket in one hand and a large red and white checkered picnic blanket in the other, pressed to your chest.

The neatly cut grass cushioned your steps as you walked to your destination, a trek you’d become familiar with over the months you’d been together.

“Do you think we got enough flowers?” you asked, turning your head toward him.

He met your eyes, smiling. “Pop picked up some, too, and he brought some of mi mamá’s (my mom’s) roses.”

“Awesome.” Looking forward again, you spotted Chucho, saying, “Oh, good, he’s already here.”

“Yeah, the church service would’ve gotten out a little while ago.”

Approaching the older man, you found him on his knees with his back to you, a bucket of water next to him, and a scrub brush in his hand, scrubbing the wet grey stone in front of him. As Javi said, there were more flowers near his dad, along with a tote bag full of stuff and a small cooler next to a set-up brown and mustard-striped folding camping chair.

“Hey, Pop!” you greeted with a smile.

His straw cowboy hat was on, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “Hola, mis hijos (Hello, my children).”

Quickly, you were setting down the things you held near Chucho’s stuff. “Do you need help with that?” you asked.

“Yeah, Pop, let us help,” Javi added as you took the bouquets from him to set on the ground with the rest, having to do it a few times to empty his arm, the grocery bags getting put with everything else.

“No, no,” his dad, replied, waving away your offers with his free hand. “Me gusta hacer esto yo mismo (I like to do this myself). Lo he hecho todos los años desde que ella ha estado aquí y seguiré haciéndolo hasta que me una a ella—casi he terminado (I’ve done it every year since she’s been here and I will continue to do so until I join her—I’m almost done).”

The engraved inscription on the gravestone was something you’d memorized over the half dozen times you’d visited here.

Antonia López Peña

November 17, 1937 - January 31, 1991

Beloved Wife, Loving Mother, Greatly Loved, and Sadly Missed

A couple of days after watching the home movie of his mom making tamales, Javi brought you to the cemetery for the first time to introduce you to her. He admitted that before then, he wasn’t able to bring himself to visit her in all of the time he’d been back and that the last time he was there was the day she was buried—it was too hard for him.

With you joining him, he’d finally been able to go, taking beautiful white lilies to put upon her grave and giving Javi space while he talked to his mom through his tears, telling her about how happy and in love he was. He had turned to grab your hand and got you to stand next to him, while he introduced you to her, and it was your turn to speak with wet eyes, thanking her for bringing your media naranja (soulmate) into the world and raising such an incredible man, promising to love him and treat him right for the rest of your lives.

After that, you’d been back a handful of times with either Javi or him and his dad, having family picnics or bringing her flowers.

“If you’re sure, Chucho,” you replied. “Don’t think I forgot about you saying your knees were aching Saturday at the tamalada.”

The family had gotten together to make tamales for the holiday.

The older man chuckled. “I love you, too—you worry about me too much, Mija. I promise I’m okay. This is worth the pain, but the two of you will do all the decorating while I sit in my chair.”

You smiled. “To oversee us?”

He grinned. “Sí, tiene que ser perfecto (Yes, it has to be perfect).”

“Yes, it does,” you agreed.

“We’ll take care of it, Pop,” Javi said.

“¿Cómo estuvo su día (How was your day)?” Chucho questioned you both, going back to cleaning.

Your eyes went wide thinking about what had happened earlier in the kitchen, glancing over at Javi, who met your gaze with a smirk, clearly thinking the same as you.

“Pretty fucking frustrating,” he said, staring you down, and it made you playfully punch his arm, mouthing, ‘You asshole,’ while he looked beyond amused.

“His work,” you added, attempting the save and glaring at your boyfriend, who snorted, clearly trying to keep from laughing. “He had a really frustrating day at work, you know how it is, but we both got off early to get all the stuff done.”

“We did get off early,” Javi said, your mouth falling open that he’d say that in front of his dad.

Pinching his side, you continued, “Needed to in order to get the stew ready in time.”

Suddenly, Javi was on you, keeping you against him while his fingers tickled you, squealing his name as you struggled to break away from him, annoyed that he was getting the spots on your sides he knew were super sensitive.

You were laughing and writhing in his hold, batting at his chest.

“Stop!” you giggled. “This is so rude.”

Following your order, he hugged you to him, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss he was smiling into.

“Dios mío (My god),” Chucho said in exasperation, a groan escaping him as he stood back up. “Son peores que nosotros, mi amor (They’re worse than us, my love). No los puedo llevar a ningún lado (I can’t take them anywhere),” he chuckled. “Esto debe ser nuestro castigo por cómo actuamos cuando éramos adolescentes (This must be our punishment for how we acted as teenagers). Ahora entiendo por qué tu hermano mayor siempre estaba molesto con nosotros (Now i understand why your older brother was always annoyed with us).”

Javi’s tongue slipped between your lips, your fingers clawing at his shirt.

“¡Por favor (Come on)!” Chucho exclaimed. “Nada de eso aquí (None of that here). Se que te hemos educado mejor que esto, Javier (I know we raised you better than that, Javier).”

The two of you practically jumped apart at being scolded, Javi’s cheeks pinking up, his reddened lips turned down in a frown, and glistening under the sun’s rays.

“Lo siento, Pop (I’m sorry, Pop),” he said, scratching at the back of his neck while turning his head toward his dad. “I forgot myself.”

“You’re always forgetting yourself around her.” Chucho sighed wistfully. “To be young and in love again.” He smiled. “Your mother always had me forgetting myself, too, but let’s not do that here with all the niños (kids) running around, okay?”

It was then you registered the other people in the cemetery—a bunch of different families with children running around, some decorating graves, others eating food or sipping on drinks, seeing members of Javi’s family amongst them.

Javi grimaced. “Yes, Pop. Sorry,” he sighed.

You felt bad, adding, “We understand and won’t let it happen again. We’re sorry.”

The older man walked close to you both, clapping his hands onto each of your shoulders, looking between you.

“It’s okay,” Chucho said. “I’m just happy you’re here with me tonight—means a lot.”

“Like we’d miss it, Pop,” Javi replied.

His dad frowned. “You missed last year, Mijo, and you’d been in South America for so long. You haven’t celebrated Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) since the first time you left Laredo—I know it’s hard for you to come here.”

Your boyfriend’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“It’s… easier coming here, now,” he said, looking at you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

A small smile appeared on Chucho’s face, his hand squeezing your boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that, Javi. I know tu mamá (your mom) would be happy you’re here. Do you remember how we’d decorate tus bisabuelos (your great grandparents) graves when we’d go visit your mom’s family in Mexico?”

“Kinda?” he answered. “All the cempasúchil (marigolds), some pictures, candles, and we always brought their favorite food to eat, and mi mamá (my mom) and you would have the mezcal bisabuelo (great grandpa) liked.”

“Sí (Yes),” Chucho replied, nodding. “It will be the same with your mother’s; I just add a little extra.” His attention turned to you with a big smile. “And she’ll love that you made her favorite foods! Thank you for doing it, Mija.” His face went solemn. “After mi Antonia passed, my sisters took over decorating our parents' graves, so I could focus on my wife’s, and since I’m not a cook like her or you,” his hand squeezed your shoulder, “I’d bring food from her favorite restaurant to eat with her. I’m happy we’ll have the things she loved making herself tonight—feels really special.”

“I was happy to do it, Chucho—for you and Antonia. I just hope it all turned out well.”

He smiled. “It did. I have no doubt. Now, I’m going to sit down, and it has nothing to do with my knees.”

You laughed. “I’m surrounded by a bunch of lying liars who lie! Go sit down—” You shooed him away. “—we’ll take care of everything. Just tell us if we’re doing something wrong.”

The older man chuckled as he went back over to where all the stuff and his camping chair were, making a pained sound as he bent down to get into the tote bag to pull out a small handheld radio. Since he was already bending, he popped open the top of the cooler to grab a cold bottle of beer before taking his seat. His drink was put into the built-in cup holder while he turned on the little device hearing static, then quick snippets of songs or people speaking, until it landed on the channel he was looking for, music from his wife’s favorite Spanish station filling the air.

Javi took a step toward you, his head getting closer, knowing he was coming in for a kiss, and you dodged it, him pulling back with a look of betrayal on his face.

“No,” you said, pushing on his chest. “I’m not getting in trouble again.” His eyes rounded, looking sad, and it made your heart hurt. You groaned. “Not the eyes! You know I’m weak against the eyes!”

Chucho was laughing. “He gets them from his mamá! Javi o mi Antonia me miraban con esos ojos grandes y marrones, y yo nunca podía decirles que no (Javi or my Antonia would look at me with those big, brown eyes and I could never say no).”

“Son peligrosos (They’re dangerous),” you replied. Speaking to Javi, you said, “Sé que puedes esperar un beso (I know you can wait a kiss).”

His lips were turned down in a deep frown. “Sé que puedes esperar por un beso (I know you can wait for a kiss),” he corrected. “Y no (And no)—” He shook his head. “—no puedo (No, I can’t).” You wouldn’t have been surprised if he stomped his foot, which had you holding back a smile. “Necesito un beso ahora mismo y estoy molesto porque no me vas a dar uno. (I need a kiss right now, and I’m upset because you won’t give me one).” He grabbed your hands, holding them over his heart. “Me estás volviendo loco (You’re driving me crazy). Solo un beso (Only one kiss). Bésame, por favor (Kiss me, please). ”

“¿Siempre es así, tan malcriado (Is he always like this, so…)?” Chucho amusedly asked.

“What does the last word mean?” you asked.

“Spoiled,” Javi answered, the man pouting.

You laughed. “Yes, he’s muy malcriado (very spoiled) and gets super dramatic when I won’t kiss him—acts like it’s the end of the world.”

Your boyfriend loudly sighed, muttering, “I just want one kiss.”

Your eyebrow rose. “Uh huh, just one? You don’t have the self-control for just one.”

His face pinched in annoyance. “Yes, I fucking do.”

“Okay, prove it. One kiss—” You held up a single finger. “One PG-rated, won’t-have-your-dad-yelling-at-us-again kiss, and that’s it until we finish decorating.”

“Fine.”

“Deal. Lay it on me, babe.” As always, the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, grabbing a fistful of the cotton just below them to tug him toward you to crush your mouth against his in a somewhat chaste kiss. You felt his lips tip up after a few seconds, his arms wrapping around you to hold your body flush against his, pressing his mouth harder to yours like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you felt like it had lasted long enough, you broke away, him chasing your lips with a dreamy smile, and his eyes closed like a lovesick fool.

“God, you’re cute,” you said, pushing his bangs off his forehead. Leaning forward, you kissed the tip of his nose, his eyelids blinking open when you finished, moving his head forward enough to nuzzle your nose with his. “Feel better?” you asked, unable to keep from smiling.

He separated from you to meet your gaze. “Yeah.” His hands moved down to your hips, giving them a squeeze. “We better hurry up and decorate before I need another.” He ended the sentence with a wink.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled. “Okay—” You stepped away from him toward the bags. “What do we start with?”

“Pictures,” Chucho answered. “They’re in that bag.” He pointed at the tote.

Bending at the waist, you dug into where he indicated, finding two photos, bordered in ornate golden frames, that you carefully took out, one then the other, Javi ending up beside you as you straightened, holding them in each of your hands.

The first you’d seen before hanging on the wall in Chucho’s living room of him and Antonia at twenty-something years old with Javi as a smiling toddler in her arms standing beneath the ‘Peña Ranch’ sign at the driveway entrance. This was the first picture you’d seen of your boyfriend’s beautiful mother, easily spotting the similarities between him and her—same eyes, nose, and chin.

At the ranch house, you’d marveled at every photo hanging on the wall, and sitting upon tables, or stuck in albums, yet this second picture of Antonia was new to you. It was in color, and she was much older than in the other, slivers of silver hair amongst the same colored brown as Javi’s, standing in front of her cowboy-hatless husband. She wore a lovely cornflower blue dress, his arms around her middle, kissing the side of her head with her eyes closed, smiling delightedly in a way you just knew she was giggling at his antics. The thing that made your eyes get misty and the corners of your lips lift was how clearly in love they were, something that had never changed through the decades of photos you’d seen of them, knowing without a doubt it was a glimpse into your own future.

“That was taken on our 35th anniversary, not too long before she passed,” Chucho’s voice was even and soothing. “I keep it on the table beside my bed to see her smiling face first thing every morning.” Javi hugged you from the side, kissing your hair, feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears. “Don’t cry, Mija. This is a happy day where the ones we’ve lost come back to us for the night, and we celebrate them—there’s nothing to be sad about.”

You sniffed. “I’m not sad,” you replied, voice a little wobbly. “I promise they’re happy tears at the love you shared and how I can see us like this.” You finished the sentence by raising the photo.

“Oh, yes.” He smiled softly. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to see so much of us in the two of you.” He pointed at you both. “How relieved I am that Javi finally found his media naranja (soulmate).” His eyes were starting to shine, having to take off his glasses to wipe at them. “These are also happy tears,” he chuckled. “Mi amor (my love) would feel the same as me, and she’ll love having you here with us.”

“I’m happy to be here—do you have a preference for where you want these to go?”

“Against the headstone is fine. Javi can get the candles you brought.”

Speaking of your boyfriend, he cleared his throat, his voice rough with emotion when he said, “Sure thing, Pop.”

Turning your head, you kissed his cheek, Javi’s head moving so your lips met, accepting the tender kiss, knowing he needed the comfort, his arm tightening around you. After some seconds, you pulled away with a smile.

“That was a bonus kiss because I love you.”

He smiled big. “I love you, too, Cielito.”

“Good. Now get the candles. Let’s get to decorating.”

“Yes, mi alma (my soul).”

With that, you made the short walk to gently lay the two photos against the middle of the grey stone, your boyfriend joining you to place down a Virgin Mary votive candle beside them and three smaller red-waxed candles—one by the larger candle, the remaining two on the opposite side, Javi lighting them with a lighter from his pocket. Antonia’s resting place featured two flower vases dug into the ground in the middle, where you put bouquets of her roses, adding splashes of red, white, pink, and purple.

Finally, it was time for the bright orange marigolds, Chucho coming prepared with scissors to cut off the blooms, which Javi decided to do while you laid them out on the ground.

“We call those flor de muerto (flower of the dead),” Javi’s dad said as you placed the golden hues in neat rows a little wider than the headstone, the smell of them hanging in the air. “Their aroma attracts the souls of the dead, so they know where to go.”

“They smell so good,” you replied. “And back at the house, the display you have in the entryway, that’s called an ofrenda (offering), right?”

“Sí,” Chucho answered. “It’s an altar that most people put up for the holiday—I keep mine all year.”

The long, thin, weathered oak table had a thick, woven runner on it in rainbow-colored, stripes, sitting below the framed pictures of his wife, along with other family members who had long been gone—parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Javi had told you who each person was, some photos in black and white, most in color, and you hadn’t known the table’s significance until you’d gone over for the tamalada Saturday, finding it decorated with bunches of cempasúchil (marigolds) in vases, brightly colored tissue paper cut into elaborate designs called papel picado (cut paper) hanging on the wall behind it, and an old clay pitcher adorned with hand-painted flowers. A plate contained pan de muerto (bread of the dead) shaped like a bun with crossbones on top and dusted in sugar and Antonia’s favorite pan dulce (sweet bread), a concha, that got its name from how it resembled a seashell. Skulls made from sugar were atop the tabletop, along with a bowl of oranges, apples, and mandarins, a bottle of tequila, and a variety of differently sized candles.

The fiery blooms had been placed down to the first bouquet of roses, a pile of stems on the ground by Javi’s feet as he started to run out of flowers to cut.

“You said the marigolds attract the souls of the dead,” you started, continuing your work, “do the other items have special meanings?”

“They do,” he replied. “The ofrenda (offering) honors our loved ones and has what they need to come here. We use pictures and their things to help them cross over and draw them home. The papel picado (cut paper) has holes for them to travel through so they can visit. Agua (water) to quench their thirst after such a long journey. The candles help guide them, and we put out the food as an offering for them to enjoy.”

“I love that,” you said, putting down the last of the marigolds. “I also love how colorful everything is—it makes it feel so lively.”

“Because it’s a celebration of their lives—a happy occasion.”

“I can tell.” Dusting off the front of your dress, you got up to stand, Javi already putting the cut stems into an empty plastic bag to dispose of. “Is it time for food?” you asked.

“Yes,” Chucho answered, nodding with a smile.

Room was made beside his chair, where Javi spread out the picnic blanket, the basket put atop it. Delightfully, he sat down with his long legs crisscrossed, you sitting the same next to him with your dress fanning out around you. Two of the plastic bags held disposable bowls, plates, cups, and cutlery that your boyfriend got out as you emptied the basket—three large mason jars of stew, a dish piled with warm tamales under foil, a thermos, a bag of pan de muerto (bread of the dead) Javi picked up from Anna’s bakery, and a Tupperware container holding garnish (crumbled bacon, chopped onion, cilantro, lime wedges).

It wasn’t entirely true that Javier hadn’t celebrated Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) since the first time he’d left Laredo.

The apartments the government set up for him in Colombia were fully furnished and decorated, and he never bothered adding any personal touches.

Until his mom died.

Before returning to work after her funeral, he’d gone through one of his father’s many photo albums dedicated to her and taken two of the pictures—he had her rosary, and he needed more reminders as to what he lost while he’d been away and all of the time he’d never get back with the woman who meant the world to him.

It was the guilt of how much he missed, wishing he had visited instead of exiling himself away in the southern hemisphere in shame.

He needed the sacrifices he made to mean something, he needed to finish the job, and with her death, he was determined to do whatever it took to get it done—anything. Desperation had him doing the fucked up shit that got him fired and sent home, and maybe it was self-flagellation that made him go back, wanting a second chance to do things right, make up for his mistakes, and do something his mom would be proud of.

So, when he got back to South America after she passed, two framed photos found their place on a small table in his living room—one of him and her when he started college standing in front of the Texas A&M sign, the second of his mom and dad on their horses, Sombra and Caramelo. He’d gotten a colorful table runner with a similar Mexican serape-striped design, and he wasn’t religious, but a votive candle found its way with the pictures to honor her. Then at the end of October, a small vase of cempasúchil (marigolds) appeared, papel picado (cut paper) going on the wall, a glass of water on the tabletop next to a plate with a single roscón de bocadillo o guayaba (guava paste stuffed sweet bread) he thought she would’ve enjoyed. And, for some reason, it seemed like a good time to make his mom’s pozole; the recipe scribbled on the back of an old paystub and stuck to his fridge by a magnet of a bear wearing a top hat and playing a trumpet that he was pretty sure was already there when he moved in.

A bowl of the soup went on the table with everything else in some kind of hope that his meager ofrenda (offering) would help her find her way back to him. Talking to her rosary a lot during that time, he recounted all of his favorite memories of her while listening to a record she loved and eating his pozole. He did his best to celebrate the life she lived without letting his grief get the better of him and wasn’t embarrassed to admit the first few years, he cried himself to sleep.

His tiny altar was kept up year-round, always setting it up when he got new accommodations and doing the same thing every Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) while away.

When he came home, one of the pictures was taped to the mirror in his bedroom, and the other was kept in his wallet, unable to put them back in the album from which they came because he’d grown attached to them—they brought him peace, and he needed them close. The one of him and his mom was now framed and hanging on the living room wall at the apartment he shared with Cielito, surrounded by more photos of his parents.

It broke his heart that the only picture of her family she put up was one of her grandparents; no one else from her side deserved to be up with the people they loved and who loved them. Thankfully, she had his family now, who he sometimes felt loved her more than him with how often they invited her to do things with them. He didn’t need more proof than when they’d go to his dad’s for her to cook one of his mom’s recipes, and Javier would be left at the house while the two of them went grocery shopping in his father’s precious Mustang—that he always let her drive.

It wasn’t fair, but with how much fun they had together, it made him happy.

She fit in so well with them all, Javier realized it wasn’t blood that made you a family; it was the people you chose to love, and they’d chosen her, like how she chose them.

The previous year, Pop had decorated the ofrenda (offering), and though Javier hadn’t gone to celebrate at the cemetery, he’d spent hours drinking alone and going through the many photo albums at the house—remembering the stories his parents had told him about each and every picture with a sad smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

Things were different now; that lingering sadness that plagued him since her death was gone and replaced with comforting contentment at celebrating her with his father and the love of his life.

He wanted Cielito to see what the holiday was all about and what it meant to him and his family, overjoyed at how eager she was to participate and help. The first time it was brought up, his dad had happily explained the tradition, and without missing a beat, she was asking what she could do, offering to make one of his mamá’s favorite dishes for them to have tonight—she didn’t even bat an eye at them spending their Monday evening amongst the living and peacefully dead.

His heart felt like it’d explode from how fucking happy he was that she cared so much about him holding onto his heritage and family’s traditions—he could cry because she wanted their kids to grow up like he did; celebrating the same things, having loving, supportive parents, and raised bilingual.

He couldn’t imagine Lorraine even wanting to acknowledge their child being half-Mexican and was pretty fucking sure she wouldn’t have wanted them to speak Spanish—knew for a fact she wouldn’t have come with him to celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead).

And here was Cielito, the woman he was going to marry, pouring carne en su jugo (meat in its juices) she made into a bowl because his dad told her it was his mother’s favorite dish during the colder months.

Javier was so in love with her it was taking a whole hell of a lot of self-control he really didn’t fucking have not to ask his dad for his mom’s ring right this second; four words were in the question that had started blaring in his head whenever he looked, talked, touched, or thought of her, and he was truly getting worried it was going to come out on accident—he bit his tongue so fucking hard to stop himself from asking it when she said she’d make the food for tonight, it bled.

She didn’t have to tell him to put the toppings on the stew, having already opened the Tupperware and gladly accepting the first bowl he started garnishing.

“¿Jugo de limón, Pop (Lime juice, Pop)?” he asked.

“Sí (Yes). Más limón, por favor (Extra lime, please).”

“Está bien (Okay),” he replied, squeezing one slice of lime, then two, and tossing the rinds into a plastic bag he’d designated for trash. “Aquí tienes (Here you go).”

“Gracias, Mijo (Thank you, my son).” His dad took the offered paper bowl and plastic spoon Javier had grabbed for him. “A tu mamá le encantaba preparar esto cuando hacía frío (Your mom loved to make this when it was cold),” Chucho said, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. “En invierno, era su comida favorita (In winter, it was her favorite food).”

“I remember.” He finished garnishing another bowl, setting it in front of him on the blanket, and taking the next from his amor (love). “She always made caldo de pollo during the hottest month in summer.” He turned his head toward Cielito. “Caldo is a soup with whole pieces of chicken—drumsticks, thighs, breasts, and vegetables, but not like that Campbell’s Chunky Chicken Noodle shit. It has potato halves, whole leaves of cabbage, thick slices of carrot, celery, uh—“

“Those beans,” Chucho added, pointing his spoon at him. “Garbanzo beans, corn, cilantro, and onion—I liked to add hot sauce to mine.”

“So, good fuckin’ chicken soup?” she asked with a grin.

Javier matched her look, nodding his head. “Good fuckin’ chicken soup.”

His dad took a bite of his food, humming appreciatively. “It’s good, Mija,” he said after swallowing. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.” She visibly relaxed. “Javi, remember when you were away at college, the first year, I think, and you got that cold?”

Looking at his dad, he nodded his head. “Yeah, it was freshman year,” he answered, holding another bowl. Glancing at her beside him, he asked, “Baby, do you want everything on yours?”

“Yes, please,” she replied.

Carefully, he leaned over to kiss her shoulder. “You got it, mi amor (my love).” Going back to putting the toppings on her soup, he continued talking. “During freshman year, I got a cold. Keep in mind this was the first time I’d been away from home for an extended period of time, and I made the biggest fucking mistake of telling mi mamá I ate some canned chicken noodle soup—”

Chucho interrupted, laughing, “The condensed kind! Sin vegetales (Without vegetables). Mi Antonia was beside herself—made caldo and had me drive her the five hours to deliver it the next day!”

Javier had a fond smile on his face at remembering the frantic knocking on his dorm room door and being shocked to find his mom and dad on the other side, her barging in and fretting over him. “Yeah—” He discarded the used lime rind into the trash bag and set Cielito’s bowl down in front of him, taking the last one from her. “—she even brought bibaporrú, that’s the vapor rub stuff, you know, Vick’s? Bibaporrú and caldo were her cures whenever we got sick.” A memory came to him. “When I was little and had to stay home ‘cause I wasn’t feeling good, she’d put the vapor rub on me, have me eat the soup, and then I’d lay on the couch with my head in her lap. She’d play with my hair and softly sing until I fell asleep, and I’d always wake up in my bed.” He’d finished putting the garnish on his bowl, setting it down with the other two in front of him.

Arms wrapped around him from the side, Cielito squeezing him tightly against her body.

“Your mom loved you so much,” she said, kissing his cheek.

He rubbed her arm locked over his chest, his head moving to kiss her, saying into her lips, “I know.” He told himself he wouldn’t cry tonight, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat and pulling away, his eyes on hers. “Eat your soup, baby—you worked so hard on it.”

“Okay.” She let go of him to grab her bowl, Javier handing her a spoon.

He picked up one of the soups and leaned forward, reaching as far as he could to set it on top of the marigolds for his mom before picking up his own and digging in.

The flavors hit his tongue, and he groaned happily, the broth rich and flavorful from the steak simmering in its own juices and the tomatillo mix for so long with a little bit of spice from the serrano peppers. It was delicious and so similar to what his mom used to make, taking him back to days growing up when it was so cold she wouldn’t let him leave the house without a sweater and beanie to keep his ears warm—on the walk home from the bus stop, he couldn’t wait to have the carne en su jugo to heat himself up, knowing, without a doubt, it’d be waiting for him and his dad, along with a bowl of freshly cut fruit.

“It’s so fucking good,” he said once he swallowed his spoonful, quickly taking another.

“You like it?” she asked.

“Mhmm.” He nodded with his mouth full, saying when he could, “Love it. You made it perfectly, Cielito—such a good job.”

His dad’s bowl was almost empty, and he leaned over his armrest to open the cooler to pass them both cold beers. Javier set his soup down to twist off the cap, it cool and refreshing when he took a long pull. The glass bottle went into the space between his crossed legs, Cielito setting hers atop the blanket as she ate her food.

There wasn’t much talking with their mouths occupied, finishing his stew in record time, throwing away the bowl and spoon, along with his father’s trash.

“Tamales, Pop?” he asked, pulling off the shiny foil covering them.

“I’d love a couple—¿hiciste chocolate caliente (did you make hot chocolate)?”

“Sí (Yes),” he answered, putting two warm red chile pork tamales onto a paper plate and passing them to Chucho. “¿Quieres una taza (Do you want a cup)? Es la receta de mi mamá (It’s my mom’s recipe).”

When he was younger, and they’d go to the graveyard in Mexico to celebrate, his mother always brought hot chocolate to keep them warm when the sun set, and the temperature dropped. Her recipe was similar to traditional hot chocolate you’d make on the stove with milk, unsweetened cocoa powder, and granulated sugar—hers just also included some cinnamon, vanilla, and a pinch of chili powder.

“No, no,” he waved away the question with his free hand. “Esperaré a que se enfríe (I’ll wait for it to get colder).”

“Está bien (Okay).” He made another plate with one tamale he set next to the full bowl of stew over the golden petals, then served himself three. “I didn’t even need her recipe card,” he said. “It’s one I memorized a long time ago—liked to make it when it got cold in Colombia.”

“Did you make a lot of her recipes while you were down there?” Cielito asked, her bowl finally finished and ending up on the ground in front of her.

He’d unwrapped the corn husk from one of his tamales, putting his disposable dish beside him on the blanket to ensure he served her.

“How many?” he asked Cielito, holding an empty paper plate.

“Um, two,” she answered. He piled them on, then handed it to her.

“Thank you, babe.” She came in for a kiss that he happily reciprocated, all short and sweet.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he said when they broke apart with a smile, picking up his tamales again. “Your question: No.”

“Ate out a lot?”

“Yeah, or Connie fed me.” He held a tamale, taking a bite, his eyes closing at how good it was—they tasted like home and when things were simpler, but he was happy he got to eat them now, with the person who owned his heart.

Almost half of their freezer was filled with tamales, and he was very pleased about it.

Swallowing, his head turned toward her, meeting her eyes as he continued, “With my mom, she’d give me the ingredients and instructions, and we’d cook. I never learned how to tell if fruits or vegetables were good at the grocery store ‘cause she always gave them to me—which wasn’t her fault. I don’t think it ever crossed her mind, and I never thought to ask.” He shrugged. An amused breath left his nose, a smile curling up on his lips. “She also never told me measurements either. The hot chocolate, I can wing, but when I was gone and wanted pozole? I had to call her for the recipe from her card.”

“No radishes, right?” She smiled.

He chuckled. “Yeah, no radishes. I didn’t make many of her recipes because I had no fucking clue how to get most of the ingredients and didn’t want to ask anyone for help.”

“‘Cause you, my love, are very stubborn—” She bounced her shoulder gently against his. “—and if I hadn’t helped you find a good tomato, you would’ve forced yourself to eat a lousy BLT.”

He frowned, sighing, “Yeah…”

“You know what, though?”

“What?”

“You’re an expert produce picker now and make her recipes all the time, and I know she’d be happy you do.” Her face came close, pecking him on the lips.

“She’s right, Mijo,” his dad interjected. “Tu mamá (your mom) would love you making her food.”

It warmed his heart to hear them say that, his eyes beginning to burn, so he distracted himself by taking a big mouthful of his tamale, everyone else doing the same.

Music from the little radio was playing, hearing children's screams as they played, and people talking and laughing in the distance.

His dad finished eating. “Barriga llena, corazón contento (Full belly, happy heart),” Chucho told them, patting his stomach happily. He groaned as he bent over to get a napkin out of a bag to wipe his hands and face. “That was delicious,” he said, his garbage getting set down by his feet. “You outdid yourself, Mija.”

“Thank you,” she replied, her plate also empty. Javi was done and gathered all of their garbage to put in the trash bag. “How late do we hang out here?” she asked.

“As late as you want,” his dad said. “Some people stay until midnight. Others with kids leave earlier.”

“Remember what mi mamá would always say when I’d go out?” he asked Chucho, thinking about the words he’d hear every time he left the house for the evening.

“No podré dormir si estás fuera toda la noche (I won’t be able to sleep if you’re out all night).”

Javier smiled. “Yeah, and I’d always be home before midnight, and you guys were already asleep.”

They laughed.

“I promise she was worrying about you when she’d go to bed,” his dad said.

“Sure, she was,” he replied, taking a sip of his beer.

“She was.” His dad nodded. “She’d toss and turn and finally get up at about one in the morning to make sure you were home and come back to bed. She’d sleep like a baby when you were safe at home.”

His stomach plummeted. “What, uh—” He scratched at the back of his head. “—what about when I was gone…?” he asked softly.

A somber look came over Chucho’s face. “She couldn’t sleep until she prayed for you, and the days she talked to you and could hear your voice, she slept best.”

He remembered while he was in South America, she ended every phone call with, ‘Te amo, mi nene—que Dios y la virgencita te acompañen y todo salga de la mejor manera (I love you, my baby boy—may god and the Virgin Mary guide you and everything goes in the best way possible).’ Her praying for him nightly didn’t surprise him. It was the fact she couldn’t sleep until she did, and he felt awful for putting her through that, his eyes starting to water.

Cielito’s hand rubbed circles against his spine, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm went behind her back, the other around her middle, hugging her tightly while kissing her hair, holding her, soothing the twinge of remorse he was feeling.

“Javi,” his dad said to get his attention, turning his head to meet the other man’s eyes. “She was proud of you, Mijo, and knew you were doing good work—she’d tell anyone who’d listen that her son was going to catch Pablo Escobar and look at all you did; all the good. Sure, you made some mistakes and did things you shouldn’t have, but in the end, you helped make the world better, and I can tell you your mom would be proud of you and all you’ve done.” A tear rolled down Javier’s cheek, having to clear his throat. “You know your mother was a pious woman,” Chucho continued. “She found comfort in praying for your safety every night and lighting a candle for you at Mass—she just wanted to keep you safe in God’s light and knew you wouldn’t pray for yourself. She loved you more than anything, Mijo, and needed to make sure you’d make it back home to us.”

Another teardrop fell.

“I was too late,” he croaked out, thinking about how she was on her deathbed when he finally returned. Cielito wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

“For her, it was perfect timing—she got to see her nene precioso (precious baby boy) before leaving this world, and that was the greatest gift you could have given her, being the last face she saw and knowing you were safe.” His dad’s eyes were getting wet, him sniffling as he took off his glasses to wipe at them. “Now, this is supposed to be a happy day, and we can’t be sad. You should go see your tías (aunts) and tío (uncle)—your primo (cousin) Sebastián is back from Dallas, and you can finally introduce her to him.” He nodded at Cielito.

Sebastián was his tío Ángel’s eldest son.

He let go of his wif—girlfriend as she sat up beside him and got him to turn his head toward her. He smiled when she fussed over him by wiping away his tears with her thumbs and pushing his bangs off his face.

“Are you feeling okay?” she softly asked him.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice a little rough.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I know what will cheer you up even more.”

His eyebrows dipped together. “What?”

Her voice went lower, trying to mimic his as she dramatically said, “Necesito que me beses ahora mismo (I need you to kiss me right now). No puedo vivir sin tus besos (I can’t live without your kisses). No puedo respirar sin tus besos (I can’t breathe without your kisses). Bésame, mi amor (Kiss me, my love). Por Favor (Please).” She puckered her lips, closing her eyes.

Air escaped his nose, smiling big.

“No sueno así (I don’t sound like that)!” he laughed. “Eres tan linda y te amo mucho (You are so cute, and I love you a lot).” His hand cradled her jaw, moving closer to her. “Puedes tener tantos besos como quieras, mi amor (You can have as many kisses as you want, my love).” He pressed his mouth to hers hard, kissing her so tenderly it felt like he was melting into her.

She had him feeling better, knowing his dad was right and that this was a happy day, and they shouldn’t be dwelling on the sadness—they were here to celebrate his mom and their other family members who were no longer with them.

Seconds passed, and they were separating, both smiling at each other.

“Let’s go see everyone,” he said.

“Okay,” she replied. “This Sebastián, how old is he?”

That was a good question, Javier wracking his brain to try and remember. “Maybe early thirties?”

“Mhmm.” There was an inquisitive look on her face. “All of your male cousins in Laredo are either—” She held up a finger. “—married—” Another finger went up. “—in a serious relationship—” A third finger joined the other two. “—or are too young. I don’t know anything about this Sebastián. Is he… single?”

“What?” He looked at her funny.

Why did she want to know?

“Don’t look at me like that, Javier! You know I’m not asking for me!”

His eyes squinted. “Then who…?”

“Robyn!” She threw up her hands. “We’ve struck out on setting her up with any of your Laredo primos (cousins), and now a new Peña has appeared! Give me the deets, babe. Is he single? Is he into women? What’s his star sign? Is he cute—that’s actually a dumb question because all of your cousins are hot! Like no wonder they’re all married or in serious relationships and having a ton of babies. Sexy is apparently one of the attributes of the Peña genes.”

His dad was laughing, Javier’s cheeks heating.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m sorry, baby, but Seb is married.”

“Damn.” She visibly deflated, shaking her head.

“No, he’s not,” Chucho piped up, both of them looking over at him. “He got divorced last year—that’s why he’s back here. He needed a change.”

“Bachelor number one is back in the game!” Cielito exclaimed. “Oh my god, okay, so what’s he like?”

He was loving her excitement, smiling when he said, “We can go find him, and you can see?” His face fell. “But I thought you said Robyn met a guy she was into…?”

“Well, yeah, but this is a Peña, and she hasn’t stopped bugging us about finding her one of your cousins.”

That was true.

Just about every time she saw Javier, she asked if any of his primos (cousins) over thirty had become available and if this would get her off his ass…

“Let’s go find him, Cielito.” He kissed her quickly, then grabbed his beer from between his legs, chugging the little bit that remained, her doing the same, the empty bottles getting set with the rest of the trash.

Groaning as he got up from the slight ache in his lower back and knees, he put his arms out to his wife—girlfriend once standing. He frowned, helping to pull her up onto her feet.

She smoothed her palms down her dress.

“Do I look okay?” she asked, checking herself for any wrinkles in the fabric.

“You look more than okay, hermosa (beautiful),” he answered, taking her hands into his and bringing them up to hold against his chest, their gazes meeting. “You’re fucking gorgeous, and I love that you got this dress for tonight—it’s perfect, and mi mamá would love it.”

The dress had been a surprise, and when she came out of their shared bathroom wearing it, he’d forgotten how to breathe—she looked beyond beautiful, and it dazed him, not believing she’d chosen him to spend the rest of her life with.

Basically, Javier found himself falling even more in love with her from all of the thought she’d put into honoring his mother—the dress, the food, and celebrating with his family. Head over heels wasn’t accurate to how he felt; he was completely head over ass, so gone on her, he’d do anything for her, anything, and that included protecting her, too. He’d die for her. He’d kill for her. She was the air he breathed and the blood that kept his heart pumping; she was his life and the most important person in the world to him, and she chose him.

“El tiene razón (He’s right),” his dad added. “Te ves bonita con ese vestido, Mija (You look beautiful in that dress, Mija).”

She shyly looked away from them. “Thank you,” she replied.

His hand went to her jaw, making her look at him as he smiled warmly.

“None of that,” he said, knowing she was doubting the truth of their words. “I’m being completely honest, Pop is, too, and I wish so fucking bad you could see how I see you.” His thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “How beautiful you are, how incredible—god, I love you so fucking much.”

His lips took the place of his thumb, his arm going behind her back to pull her into him, trying to make her feel the love he felt for her in his kiss—her fingers slid into the short-cropped hair on the back of his head, Javier shivering when she lovingly dragged her nails along his nape.

“Estos dos están pegados por completo, Antonia (These two are completely stuck together, Antonia),” he heard his dad say. “Tú verás que en cualquier momento, nos van hacer abuelos (You watch, any minute now they’re going to make us grandparents).”

Cielito snorted, breaking away from him, while Javier sighed, pressing his forehead to hers and rubbing his hands up and down her spine.

“Pop,” he groaned. “Me abochornas (You’re embarrassing me).”

“¿Digo la verdad y te abochorna (I tell the truth and it embarasses you)?” Chucho asked. He clicked his tongue, dramatically continuing, “Es la maldición de los padres (It’s the parental curse).”

Javier turned his head, finding his dad sitting there with a shit-eating grin under his cowboy hat and a hand over his chest.

He rolled his eyes, ready to go.

“Nos vamos ahora (We’re leaving now),” he said, taking his girlfriend’s hand. “Quédate aquí con mi mamá y cuéntale cómo sigues molestándonos para que te den nietos (Stay here with my mom and tell her about how you keep pestering us to give you grandchildren).”

“Oh, tu mamá sabe (Oh, your mom knows).” He waved away Javier’s words. “Hablando de mis futuros nietos, tambien un día disfrutarás avergonzándolos (Speaking of my future grandkids, one day you will also enjoy embarrassing them). ¿Sabes por qué (Do you know why)?”

“¿Por qué, Pop (Why, Pop)?”

“Porque serás un padre increíble como yo y amarás a tus hijos más que a nada (Because you will be an amazing father like me and love your kids more than anything).”

Javier’s breath caught in his throat.

Emotion had his voice going gravelly. “Espero ser un gran padre como tú (I hope I will be a great dad like you).”

“Sé que lo harás (I know you will). Te amo, Javiercito (I love you, Javier). Ahora, ve a ver al resto de la familia (Now, go see the rest of the family).”

“Está bien (Okay). Estaremos de vuelta pronto (We will be back soon).”

“No voy a irme a ninguna parte (I am not going anywhere).”

That was something Javier knew without a doubt and could always count on—both of his parents were there for him, and no matter the mistakes he’d made, it had never caused them to love him any less. On the rough days in Colombia, there was always the thought in the back of his mind to just give up and go home to them, knowing they would’ve welcomed him with open arms. He’d kept going, though, the ranch a last resort, and when he was sent back to Texas after he horribly fucked up, all his dad asked was when he needed to pick him up from the airport, there was no question that he was coming back to the house for however long he wanted to be there.

Chucho wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, and Javier knew that, planning to plant his roots in Laredo and grow his family here, wanting to stay as close as possible to his dad and the place where his mother was resting.

He nodded at his father, leading Cielito away.

“So,” she started. “Who’s all buried here?”

He slowed down to have them walking next to each other, their hands linked, glancing over at her through his sunglasses as he answered, “My mom and my paternal abuelos (grandparents). My mother’s family is back in Mexico—her parents and my tío (uncle) are still alive down there, but I haven’t seen them since, fuck, her funeral? They all moved back after she married my dad, and we’d visit them a few times a year when I was growing up.”

“Were your dad’s parents born in Mexico, too?”

He smiled. “Yeah, but they immigrated here before they started having kids.”

“Good to know. Have you thought about visiting your mom’s family?”

Frowning, he replied, “Maybe? Some of my uncle’s kids live here in the US, I’m just not sure where, and he visits my dad occasionally. It’d be nice to see my abuelos (grandparents)…”

They were probably in their early eighties by now.

She got closer to his side, hugging his arm to her as she looked him in the eyes with a smile.

“Well, maybe we’ll just have to go visit them.”

That had him sobering up and thinking about the job he’d been doing with the Sheriff.

In the months he worked for Sheriff Arturo, the narcotics unit had managed to seize almost double the drugs and weapons than the entire previous year combined—not to mention all of the arrests they made. It was so substantial the DEA had set up an in-person meeting with him for that Friday, when up to this point, they’ve only communicated by phone. The agent in charge of Rio Grande Valley was a real prick, and Javier had hung up on him more than once, so he really wasn’t looking forward to sitting down with the guy.

He kept his promise to Cielito about only doing office work, spending the majority of his time reading over arrest reports and seizures, writing up analyses, and creating strategies for the narcotics team to use. With all of the pages he read, he felt like there was something he was missing, some kind of connection that wasn’t making itself known amongst all of the letters and numbers his eyes had scanned over—it was starting to bother the fuck out of him that he wasn’t getting any closer to figuring out where the drugs were coming from than when he began looking.

“Maybe,” he said distractedly. Changing the subject, he continued, pointing ahead of them with his free hand, “Looks like tío Ángel is with my tías and tíos—Sebastián must be close by.”

His abuelos had a long, flat headstone that sat amongst the grass, with ‘Peña’ etched in the middle in large letters, and each of their names on either side where they were buried, along with their dates of birth and death.

The second time he’d come here with his wif-girlfriend, his dad had been with them and showed them where his grandparents were since Javier wasn’t stateside when they passed.

He was ashamed to admit it, but when they died, he’d put his work before his family like he always fucking did—so focused on taking down the Cali cartel he didn’t even think about using any bereavement leave to come home for either of their funerals that were only months apart. At the time, his secretary sent flowers to the family with his condolences like the cold-hearted bastard he was who didn’t even bother calling his tías or tío.

Looking back, he felt like shit for what his father must have gone through—in less than five years, Chucho lost his wife and both of his parents, his only son away on a completely different continent, barely remembering to pick up the phone for their monthly calls.

Javier was a real piece of shit then and deserved the dressing down his tías gave him when he’d come back for good. Now, he had his head on straight, understanding that his family was the most important thing in his life, and he wouldn’t waste any more time with them.

His grandparents’ resting place was decorated similarly to his mother’s: marigold blooms were bordering the gravestone and surrounding a large framed photo of his abuelos that was propped up behind it along with two large vases of the flowers resting on the upper two corners of the stone. Candles were also on the hard surface, a couple of votives, the others plain red-waxed, and in the grass were ornaments that were just paper skulls on sticks. His tías had put down a colorful rectangular platter that they had set a bottle of his abuelo’s (grandfather’s) favorite tequila, two cups full of something he wasn’t sure of, and two plates filled with food—chicken legs and thighs covered in his abuela’s (grandmother’s) mole (moh-lay), a sauce made from blackened, burnt chiles, chocolate, and other ingredients Javier couldn’t remember; There was also arroz rojo (red rice), frijoles (beans), and the tamales they made over the weekend.

His tías Lupita and Rebeca were sitting on a large dark blue striped picnic blanket with a couple of their grandkids who were maybe five or six, his aunts' husbands sitting nearby in camping chairs. Tía María was on the other side of them in a chair next to her husband, another blanket on the ground by them where their eldest son, Danny, was sitting with his wife and two kids—a four- and two-year-old, with another on the way. Everyone was eating except his tío Ángel who was standing and nursing a beer, his youngest son Diego, who was in his late-twenties, next to him, scooping food into his mouth from a paper plate while they all happily chatted between bites.

His tía María spotted them first.

“Javi está aquí y trajo a nuestra Chula (Javi’s here and he brought our Cutie).”

All of them looked in their direction with smiles and greetings as they approached.

“Hola (Hi),” he said.

“Hi!” Cielito greeted with a wave of her hand that wasn’t holding his.

“Come eat with us,” tía Lupita ordered, moving to make them plates.

He was pretty full from what they’d already eaten, sharing a look with his girlfriend, both knowing they’d have to eat some of it, unable to keep from sighing simultaneously.

Something you learned very quickly once being introduced to Javier’s extended family was you absolutely, under no circumstance, refused food you were offered—you’re not hungry? You’re full? You’re not sure it’s something you’ll like? It didn’t matter. You took what they gave you, thanked them, and ate as much as you could.

Knowing how much time and effort went into making their dishes made it make sense and was honestly great, so you happily accepted the flimsy paper plate loaded with food, and a plastic fork, thanking tía Lupita.

“How was the carne en su jugo?” Rebeca asked.

“Almost exactly like mi mamá’s,” Javi proudly answered, picking at the food on his plate like you were and taking small bites.

“Bueno (Good)!”

María addressed you, “You’ll come over next time we make our mamá’s mole, so you can learn.”

“I’d love that,” you replied with a smile. “I’m assuming that’s what this sauce is?” You got some chicken with the mole on your fork to hold up and put it in your mouth.

“Yes.” She nodded. “How do you like it?”

Answering after swallowing, “It’s very good.” It was a little spicy, a little sweet, and had an earthiness to it that wasn’t bad, and you had no clue what was in it, assuming chiles, for sure.

“The tamales are increíble (incredible),” Javier’s tío Ángel’s gruff voice said.

The first time you saw tío Ángel, you thought he wasn’t happy to meet you with how mad he looked. Turned out he just had the same grumpy resting face as Javi, which must make it genetic. His tío was actually really nice, even though he gave off ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes, and it made sense why the asshole horse at the ranch, Enrique, only let him ride him.

Javier’s tío hadn’t been at the tamalada since he was busy working on the ranch.

“Thank you,” you replied. “I just followed Antonia’s recipe as best I could.”

“Well, they turned out great.” He raised his beer to you.

“¿Dónde está Sebastián (Where’s Sebastián)?” Javi asked.

The rest of the group had gone back to talking amongst themselves.

“Está en la tumba de su abuelo con su madre, y su abuela (He is over at his grandfather’s grave with his mom, and grandma).” He pointed with his bottle in their direction.

“Sebastián llegó muy tarde (Sebastián arrived really late),” Diego said, disposing his empty plate into a black trash bag.

Diego had long hair like his dad, but where his dad kept his pulled back in a ponytail, Diego let his gorgeous black locks fall down to his shoulders—he also had a smile that was absolutely contagious and radiated happiness.

“¿Cuándo regresó a Laredo (When did he come back to Laredo)?” Javi inquired as he took a bite of some rice.

“Llegó aquí el jueves, pero se fue todo el fin de semana (He got here on Thursday but he was gone all weekend).”

“¿Regresó a Dallas (Did he go back to Dallas)?” Javi’s eyebrows were knitted together.

“No sé (I don’t know),” the younger man shrugged. “No nos dijo a dónde fue (He didn’t tell us where he went). El llegó tarde hoy y fresco de la ducha (He showed up late today and fresh from the shower).” A mischievous smile appeared on his face. “No creo que haya pasado el fin de semana solo (I don’t think he spent the weekend alone).”

“¡Ay!” Ángel said. “Deja de chismear sobre tu hermano (Quit gossiping about your brother).”

“Hey,” Diego replied, putting up his hands in defense. “Es bueno para él seguir adelante (It’s good for him to move on).”

That had you frowning, hoping he hadn’t met someone.

Your head turned toward Javi. “I’d really like to meet this mystery cousin now—please introduce him to me.”

His eyes met yours. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay.” Looking back at his tío Ángel, he pointed with his free hand in the direction his uncle said, “He’s over there?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while. What’s he wearing?”

“Yes, over there—” He pointed with his beer again. “—and he’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Right, Mijo?” he asked his son.

“Yes, papá (dad),” Diego answered.

“Okay,” you replied. “On the lookout for a hot Peña in a black shirt and jeans—let’s go, babe!” Holding your plate in one hand, your other grabbed Javi’s arm as you started pulling him where you needed to go.

Out of earshot of his family, you looked over your shoulder at him, “Hopefully he didn’t fall in love over the weekend. I wish we would’ve known there was an eligible Peña so we could’ve set him up with Robyn on a blind date or something.”

Javi snorted.

“You really think Robyn would agree to a blind date?”

You thought about it for a second.

“Yeah, I think she would, just for the fun of it.”

He slowed down, dragging his feet to make you finally stop walking.

“Cielito?”

Confusion was on your face as you turned toward him. “Yes, Javi?”

It looked like he was really choosing his words carefully.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up that we’ll somehow get them together…” he said the sentence gently. “You said in the car Robyn met a guy she actually liked, and with my primo being divorced, we don’t know if he’s even looking for anyone—divorce can fuck people up.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say is please don’t be upset if this doesn’t work out the way you want.”

“Oh.” It felt like your stomach dropped down to the ground. “You’re right—we can’t force people together. But—” You smiled. “—we can test the waters, you know? See where your cousin’s at post-divorce. Like, is he just going through rebounds? Has he sworn off women? Is he ready to date again? We’ll just see how he’s doing and go from there.”

He sighed, his eyes closing for a moment. “Okay, Cielito,” he replied, looking at you again. “We’ll test the waters.”

“Thank you!” you squealed, moving into his space and being careful of the plates you were both holding to give him a kiss. When you pulled away, you grabbed his hand. “Let’s go find this elusive Peña!” you said, making him walk with you again.

You were on the lookout as you passed other families around the graves of their loved ones and children playing with each other. The mood of the cemetery was upbeat and colorful from all of the marigolds and other decorations; some people including other flowers like purple orchids, pink carnations, white lilies, and chrysanthemums in various colors—music, laughter, talking, and children’s happy squeals could be heard as you continued walking down the row.

Your eyes locked on a guy heading your way that matched Sebastián’s description, the unsuspecting man holding a beer bottle.

Suddenly you stopped, Javi almost running into you.

“Is that him?” you asked, letting go of his hand to point ahead.

Your boyfriend’s eyes squinted. “Maybe…?”

“I know this isn’t the time or place, but maybe we should look into getting you everyday glasses—and you can’t be upset about me suggesting it because you know how horny your reading glasses make me, so like, I just wouldn’t leave you alone.”

You looked over at him to see he was frowning before it looked like he had a realization.

“That’s… a good idea, but mi amor?”

“Yes, my sexy, hunky man who I love more than anything?”

He snorted, his face getting close enough a shiver moved through you when his breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “You already don’t leave me alone, but I’m interested in seeing if the glasses really will make you wetter and needier for me—” His head moved abruptly, speaking louder, “¡Oye (Hey)! Seb!”

The other man’s attention landed on you both, a smile turning up on his lips as he started walking faster.

“¡Oye (Hey)! Primo!” he responded.

Sebastián Peña was a little shorter than Javier, with a very defined jaw and cleft chin, his dark brown hair curly and cropped short to his head, his eyes a striking color of green, and as you assumed, he was very handsome.

You could definitely see Robyn being into him.

You watched as your boyfriend moved around you to hug his cousin carefully while holding his plate.

“Hey, man,” Javi said when they separated. He patted Sebastián’s arm, smiling. “It’s been too long—did you get shorter?”

His cousin laughed, and he had a good smile like his little brother. “No, pendejo (No, asshole),” he replied. “How’ve you been, Javi? I didn’t see you here last year.”

“I, uh, had stuff going on, and I’m doing really fucking good. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned your way, grabbing your hand to pull you to stand next to him. "Primo, this is—“ He told him your name. “—y ella es mi esposa (and she is my wife).”

Your eyes rounded, Sebastián saying loudly, “¡¿Qué (What)?! Your wife?!”

The smile on your face was so big it made your cheeks hurt as Javi went red at realizing what he said, looking panicked.

“Girlfriend!” he quickly corrected. “Ella es mi novia (She is my girlfriend).”

“Actually,” you said, moving forward to hold out your free palm to Seb. “I’m his future wife—we’re basically pre-engaged, he’s just taking his sweet time to put a ring on it, and ‘wife’ is definitely a better descriptor than girlfriend.” You wrinkled your nose, Sebastián shaking your offered hand.

“Oh, okay,” he said, releasing your palm. “Yeah, I knew Javi had a, uh, partner, and it’s nice to finally meet you.” He had a warm smile. “Mi familia (my family) has talked a lot about you and your cooking, especially the pork tamales you make like tía Antonia.”

“Not as good,” you replied. “No one can top hers.”

“Stop that,” Javi said, and you looked over to see him giving you a grumpy look. “She’s being modest—her tamales are fucking amazing, primo. You’ll love them.”

“Well, enough about me,” you interjected. “So, Sebastián—”

“Call me Seb,” he interrupted, still smiling. “You’re family.”

That had you feeling warm.

Giving him the same look, you continued, “So, Seb, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living? When’s your birthday? Are you seeing anyone?”

“You a cop, too?” he asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Just call me future Mrs. Detective Peña,” you answered with a wink. “But not really, I just don’t know anything about you, and I am beyond curious.”

He nodded, then took a drink of his beer.

“Firefighter,” he finally said when the bottle lowered. “October 27th, and I’m not answering the last question, but I’m sure you already heard I’m divorced.” There was a frown on his face.

“Yeah,” Javi replied, frowning, too. “Sorry to hear about that.” His arm went around your back to pull you into his side.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about—don’t want someone who can’t be faithful.” He took another swig of his drink.

“Oh, he’s definitely a Scorpio,” you said under your breath.

“Why do you say that?” Javi whispered to you.

“They’re super loyal,” you answered just as quietly. “And possessive—it’s why I know I’ve got nothing to worry about with you since it’s in your top three.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t need the fucking stars to tell you that.”

“They’re reassuring.” You spoke normally, “So, Seb, how was your weekend? Do anything titillating?”

He sputtered as he choked on his beer, going into a coughing fit.

“Shit!” You moved to pat on his back. “I am so sorry. You’re just as bad as your cousin. Sometimes I worry I’m gonna accidentally make Javi choke to death.”

Your boyfriend sighed, putting his hand on his hip and his weight to one side. “You always choose to say things that will get a reaction when I’m mid-drink, and I think you do it on purpose.”

“I do not! It’s just a coincidence.”

His eyebrow arched. “Uh-huh.”

“It is! Are you okay, Seb?”

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “My weekend was great,” he said, giving you a thumbs up.

Moving back to stand beside Javi, you decided to just cut straight to the chase. “Seb, here’s the deal. I heard you got divorced last year, and I’m trying to figure out if you’re even interested in dating again or if it’s more of a ‘fuck the pain away’ situation, which, honestly, either would work because I have this best friend who is amazing, and I think the two of you would get along swimmingly.”

“You barely know anything about me…” he pointed out.

“All I need to know is you’re a Scorpio and extremely compatible with my best friend, who’s a Leo.”

He looked at Javi. “What is she talking about…?”

“Astrology,” your boyfriend answered. “She likes that star shit, and some of it is pretty fucking accurate.”

Sebastián didn’t look convinced.

“Anyways,” you cut in. “I know this great girl I’d love to introduce you to.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I met someone.”

“Oh.”

“It’s… new, but I think there’s something between us.”

You forced a smile, trying not to let your disappointment show. Maybe Robyn wouldn’t mind a younger man like Diego to get that Peña she wants—he was an adorable guy, and you knew he was single.

“That’s great that you’re moving on from your ex,” you replied. “That’s a really big step. We know you’ve been super hush-hush about this mystery person, but do you want to tell us about them? We won’t say anything to the rest of your family if that’s what you wish—I just bet you’d love to talk about them since they’ve caught your attention.”

There was a visible change as his face went soft, knowing he was thinking about them.

“She’s perfect,” he said. “Beautiful, funny, not afraid to order me around, a fiery personality, you know?” He gestured to your boyfriend with the glass bottle he was holding.

“Oh, I know, and it’s great,” Javi replied, pulling you closer to kiss the side of your head, feeling like you were melting from the sweetness.

“Yeah, I can see that. This girl is small and feisty with the most gorgeous long hair and red lips. She’s mi...” he said a Spanish word you didn’t understand.

Your eyebrows furrowed, frowning.

“She’s his what?” you asked Javi, looking at him and finding his eyes wide and mouth gone slack, not understanding what would get that kind of reaction. Maybe it was like when Javi called you his wife or something, and that was what had him shook. Suddenly he was speaking rapid Spanish to his cousin, which you were having trouble keeping up with.

“What’s going on, babe?” you asked him.

He stopped talking, bringing up the hand he held his plate in to look at his silver wristwatch.

“Shit,” he said, meeting his cousin’s eyes again. “We gotta get back to Pop, but we’ll see you around.”

That was a dirty fucking lie, and now you were dying to know what in the world was going on.

His empty hand went to your back to usher you away, feeling confused and curious.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Seb!” you called back at him. “See you around!”

“It was nice to meet you, Prima (Cousin)!” he replied.

“What’s going on, Javier?” you hissed at your boyfriend, trying to keep up with his long, brisk strides.

“Hold on.” He turned you guys, heading for the cemetery entrance, him tossing his plate and yours in a trash can as you left the grounds toward the parking lot.

“Why are we out here?” you asked, him keeping you moving quickly.

He only stopped when you made it to his truck, the two of you standing by the driver's side door, him looking around to make sure the coast was clear.

Your gazes finally met as he said, “I’m sorry. I panicked.”

“About what…?”

“What he said.”

“What did he say?” A big smile appeared on his face looking pleased with himself, and he only looked like that when— “Oh my god.” Excitement bubbled up inside you. “You’ve got tea, spill—cuéntame el chisme (tell me the gossip),” you batted at his chest.

There was a chance he’d literally start vibrating; he looked so giddy.

“Baby, he said she’s his fucking petirrojito.”

Your eyes squinted. “I literally have no idea what that means? Is it something super romantic? Did he secretly get married over the weekend or something?”

“No, no—” He shook his head. “—petirrojo means robin..,” he said slowly.

With the -ito at the end, that’d make it—

“His little robin,” you gasped, your hand going to your mouth. “No fucking way, Javier. Maybe that’s just a cute endearment that’s purely coincidental–it can’t be what you’re suggesting, I’d know.”

“It is.” His dimple was showing he was smiling so big while he nodded enthusiastically.

No, you’d know if Robyn hooked up with one of Javi’s cousins. Unless she didn’t know. In all of the dirty details she spilled, she never once mentioned a name, but she was very descriptive of his looks, and now that you were thinking about it…

“Shut the fuck up,” you replied, your hand falling. “Are you positive? How can you be so sure?”

“I double-checked and had him tell me more about what she looks like, and it’s Robyn, Cielito. It’s fucking her.”

The way he was so excited had you smiling, still unbelievably stunned your best friend actually bagged a Peña without your help.

“More like he’s fucking her,” you said.

Your boyfriend’s face fell, paling at what you assumed was him remembering your conversation in the truck.

“No,” he said in a small voice.

“Sorry, babe.” You patted his cheek. “You know too much about your cousin’s very adventurous sex life—can’t believe they fucked in the back of his Ford Bronco in the bar parking lot.”

He made a disgusted face. “Don’t tell me that shit.”

Amusement was on her face, and he had no fucking idea what she’d say next.

Javier had been so excited about having what Cielito would call ‘hot gossip’ he’d wholly forgotten their talk on the way here.

Pop Rocks blow job.

He shuddered, grimacing at remembering.

“I mean,” she started, and all his attention went to her. “If they start dating, he’ll probably know too much about your very adventurous sex life.” She ended the sentence with a poke to his chest.

He crossed his arms in front of him while his eyebrows furrowed.

“Why...?”

Smiling, she answered, “‘Cause Robyn and I discuss, in pornographic detail, our sexual encounters—yes, she’s well aware you have a big dick, and I don’t want you to be mad. I just need someone I can brag to about the things you do to me.” That had his chest puffing up a little, making him smile. “Plus, we give each other pointers and ideas, which you’ve never complained about. I believe it was you—” She poked the tip of his nose. “—who had us get her a gift certificate to a spa after she convinced me to let you fuck my ass.”

The memories of that had his pants feeling tighter.

He nodded to himself. “Worth it,” he murmured.

She looked so beautiful standing in front of him wearing her pretty dress. He grabbed her waist to back her up against the truck.

Smiling, he told her, “I love you so fucking much.”

She matched his expression. “I love you so fucking much.”

“No.” He gently shook his head. “You don’t understand. I love you so fucking much—” He grabbed her palms in both of his and held them over his heart “—that I feel you here,” he said, pressing them into his chest. “That’s where you are—the place you live inside me, making my heart beat, or race, or thud. That’s you, giving me life. I love you so fucking much that you’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you, and this is our life now—fuck,” he sighed.

Tears were brimming in her eyes as she smiled. “It’s taking everything in you not to ask me to marry you right now, isn’t it?” she asked.

He huffed out a breath, his hands moving to hold her face. “Yeah,” he answered, not even surprised she knew. “I can’t do it without a ring, not after…” he trailed off, not wanting to say aloud his first proposal that he had hardly any choice in.

She made the cutest scrunched-up face. “Okay, yes, a ring is necessary, and honestly, I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“The whole wanting to go all out for the proposal because it’s your decision, you want to marry me, and want to propose in your own way, and that’s just really fucking sweet, Javi. Thank you for wanting to make it something special.” She kissed him, a relieved breath leaving him that he wasn’t expecting.

“I love this,” he said softly when he pulled back.

“What?”

“How happy you make me, how relaxed, how we have fun—I have so much fucking fun with you, and it feels like I can breathe. I love this, I love you, god, I love everything about you.”

“Good.” She slid her hands up his shirt-covered chest to his shoulders. “Because I really fucking love you and everything about you, and you’re just so fucking perfect—I need you to kiss me right now, or I’m—”

He didn’t let her finish the sentence, crushing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss, taking a step to have their bodies flush against each other as he eagerly licked into her mouth to tangle his tongue with hers.

He felt the vibrations of her moans, groaning when her fingers moved into his hair, getting his thigh between her legs.

It was like she inhabited every part of his being, feeling her in his heart, his soul, and along his skin like a sweet caress; She was everywhere within him, and he didn’t feel alone, knowing she was there with him always.

It was crazy how he found himself somehow loving her more after all that happened.

It felt like his future wife loved his mom with all she had done to show her respect and to honor her, making Javier feel like he might cry that they’d never get to meet. He knew without a doubt how much his mother would love her and approve of Cielito becoming her daughter-in-law, hell, she probably would’ve convinced him to propose by now.

The way his family had taken in his future wife told him he was choosing the right woman—his dad loving her from their first meeting was all the evidence he needed.

She was the one, the only one.

There was no one before her, and there would be no one after—she was it for him, and he was beyond happy about it.

“Javi,” she said between kisses.

“Hmm?” He nipped at her bottom lip.

Her mouth was on his again, her words muffled, “If you’re introducing me as your wife, are you gonna fuck me as your wife later?”

He smiled against her lips. “I already fuck you like my wife.”

She pulled on his hair to make him look at her seeing her delightfully smiling.

“I fucking knew something was different when there was suddenly an influx of face-to-face positions!” She started kissing all over his face, not even caring his sunglasses were in the way as she said amongst presses of her lips, “You adorably, romantic, sap. You’re the sweetest fucking future husband anyone could ever ask for, and I love you so fucking much.”

He was grinning, her placing a kiss on his dimple, then his lips, feeling so unbelievably happy he might burst.

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her mouth.

They would get this out of their system, then go rejoin his mom and dad, spending the evening together as the family they were—and maybe tomorrow, he’d go out to the ranch to pick up something his father was holding onto for him…

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fellshish · 2 months

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just felt like letting you know im makin my way through your spn bookmarks on ao3 and its saving my life 💚 do you have an ultimate-nothing-compares destiel faves from the bunch?

YES omg these are the fics that rewired my brain changed my life etc:

And this your living kiss (M, 56k): au where dean is a self deprecating former poet who used to write anonymously under the pen name jack allen. Now he’s finding his way back to loving poetry by taking a class at a college taught by professor novak… only he doesn’t know professor novak happens to be the number one jack allen scholar in the country. Amazing. Inspiring. I’ve reread it several times and it’s probably my favourite fic of all time

The cheapest room in the house (E, 89k): one of those fics whose writing i’m jealous of, it’s mind bogglingly good. And hot. The destiel grindr fic — cas downloads grindr and dean helps him. The rituals are SO intricate. But really, nothing i could say could do justice to how good this is.

Fenario (E, 47k): cas empty rescue fic. Certain paragraphs and scenes are just seared into my brain, amazing writing. I still think about “Cas’s legs give out and he pitches forward, falling the rest of the way into Dean’s lap in a mockery of a pieta” — that’s the point where i knew this fic was gonna become a fave

Right where you left me (E, 93k): cas comes back from the empty but it’s years later. He rings the doorbell and finds dean married. This fic was an event while it was still updating. Supremely well written and with an emotional maturity needed for the theme

Am I a man or am I a muppet (G, 7k): one of the funniest fics i’ve ever read. Dean wakes up as a muppet. Just roll with it! It’s crack, sure, but so good?? This inspired a scene in one of my gomens fics even

Burn this into your brains forever (E, 10k): to me this is an underrated fic for how funny it is. Fake dating between dean and garth but don’t worry, it’s a destiel fic

Half empty (M, 37k): more of a dean study. Reads like you’re dreaming and nothing makes sense. Dean is confused about everything. Kind of a mysterious vibe, excellent writing

There is rest for the wicked (G, 14k): sleepy, domestic dean. The destiel happens so…. Idk. Naturally. It’s a fic that really stays with you for a long time

Ninety one whiskey (E, 401k): one of thee destiel fics of all time. It’s famously a must-read and for good reason. A war fic, so quite heavy and not for everyone. But an absolute experience. I read the last few chapters in bed middle of the night tears streaming down my face. Simply iconic

A winter’s tale (T, 64k): this fic forever changed the way i see cas’ human arc on the show. Not super destiel-y but can be read that way. Again quite heavy. Northernsparrow is an excellent writer.

The dean winchester beat sheet (E, 144k): au where dean is in college and in complete and utter denial about his sexuality. So supremely funny. I will say this dean is not for everyone. But to me he is iconic and i think about certain scenes still. Forever changed the song i want to break free for me.

What has eight tentacles and isn’t allowed to eat pie? (T, 16k): basically uhhhh dean gets turned into an octopus. HEAR ME OUT. This fic will change you fundamentally as a person. It’s funny but also smart. A classic!

Maybe it really is the end (M, 2k): it’s short but there’s not a word out of place. Basically, belphegor taunts dean and cas while in the body of jack. It’s so good and so underrated. I think about it all the time

How a grocer watches dean pull his head out of his ass in seven days (E, 51k): destiel written from an outsider pov, a christian lady who’s easily scandalised and whose narrative voice is SO hilarious. One of the funniest fics i’ve ever read. Fake dating too!

#destiel #my asks #destiel fic recs #fells book club

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flowerandblood · 7 months

Text

The Vanity and Variability (2)

[ Jane Austen • Aemond x Baratheon • female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, angst, mention of trauma, violence ]

[ description: Despite coming from a family with royal blood, Aemond is forced because of his brother’s debts to choose one of the daughters of the famously wealthy general, Borros Baratheon, as his wife to save his family from bankruptcy. When he arrives to make his choice he is distraught and discouraged, made all the more so by watching from the sidelines his youngest daughter, who seems more intrigued by his dog than her possible future husband. Slow burn, sexual tension, regency and Jane Austen prose vibe, vain, self-righteous Aemond. ]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in regency times (1805-1815). The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Aemond & Miss Baratheon & VhagarMoodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

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When their father received a letter of marriage proposal from Otto Hightower he was furious. He thought it would be humiliating for him to give any of his daughters away to a proud, vain bankrupt who would choose any of them by grace, just for their vast fortune.

He decided to create a small domestic gathering and called her, all her sisters and their brother into their living room.

They sat at the table listening with attention and surprise to what he had to say to them. Their father was met with a completely different reaction than he had expected.

"Please, father, he is almost like a prince. I would live in a palace!" Exclaimed Maris, already imagining in her mind how she would walk through the grand chambers of their gigantic mansion located in London.

"The Targaryens are one of the most important names in our country, it would bring great honour to our family. Your grandson would have royal blood, father. What harm would it do for us to have him come here to determine if we would like him?" Cassandra asked, and their father could not find the right answer to this question, so he finally gave in, recognising that it was nothing official for now.

He replied to Mr Hightower that his grandson could come to his estate to get acquainted with his daughters under his watchful eye to decide if they liked each other.

She had no idea what she thought of the arrival of someone like him; her sisters lived only for his person, counting down the days until his arrival.

One evening they sat all together in their nightgowns in Cassandra's room, which she was entitled to as the eldest daughter and was the largest, talking animatedly. It was good custom for it to be the eldest daughter who was married first, and it was clear that she was concerned about what Mr Targaryen would think of them.

"When he arrives here, we must all behave with decorum and maintain good manners. Do you hear me?" She directed her words at her and she swallowed quietly, nodding and lowered her gaze, fiddling with the fabric of her chemise.

She was the youngest of them, standing next to them looking less like a real, full woman and more like a child in her eyes.

Although the shape of her breasts and hips were outlined under her chemise, she didn't look as serious as they did, she still tied her long hair up with a ribbon at the back of her head instead of forming it into an exquisite bun like they did.

She tried once to style her hair in such a bun, but found that it completely didn't suit her. She looked as if she was just trying to disguise herself as a grown-up woman, a wife and mother, which she was not, and she gave up sadly, telling her maid to let her hair down again.

She had never thought about marriage or love before, being far in line behind her sisters, but one day she realised that since it was not agreed that Mr Targaryen would marry Cassandra and that he could choose any of them, he could choose her too.

The thought terrified her.

"But what will I do if he chooses me?" She asked one day on a walk, walking with them leisurely into town to see the new hats in the shops, and Floris laughed out loud at her words.

"Don't bother, you look like a child and you're unkempt. You have nothing to worry about." She said lightly, and she felt burning tears of humiliation under her eyelids, slowing down and following them completely behind.

Although she did not want a husband at all, it hurt her cruelly that they thought he would despise her not only as a possible future spouse, but as a person in general.

She confided her worries to her father, standing before him and weeping, struggling to put her distress into words, and he looked at her with paternal concern, running his hand over her chin. When she had finished speaking he stood up and walked over to her, catching her soft cheeks in his large, rough hands.

"My dearest, why do you need the attention of someone like him? A man who only wants your wealth, who I am sure will not respect or value you? I hope that after his visit your sisters will change their minds and no marriage will take place, and you will pay no attention to him at all when he arrives here. Even if he wanted you for a wife, I would never give you up to him for the devouring of those vultures of London with only vanity and volatility in their hearts." He murmured lowly and leaned down, kissing her forehead, and she felt an immense sense of relief.

Her father, as well as her brother, were always able to comfort her.

When the day of Mr Targaryen's arrival came, her sisters had been dressing up all day, shouting and running around the house, accusing each other of stealing jewellery or dresses, losing something every step and crying. She watched this with amusement, dressed in her everyday summer gown, looking calmly out of the window, thinking only that this commotion did not concern her.

She had stopped feeling bad about the thought, but she was curious to see what kind of man he would be.

When his carriage finally arrived outside their manor house everyone, according to good manners, went out to meet him with their father in the lead. When the carriage door opened a large, beautiful white dog, looking like a fox, suddenly jumped out of it.

She thought it was love at first sight.

She immediately ran towards her despite her father's calls, and the animal jumped on her, putting its dirty paws on her shoulders, licking her face. She laughed, embracing her around her waist, dishevelled by how sweet this dog was.

When she finally jumped down she stroked her soft fur and raised her head, noticing the man looking at her out of the corner of his eye, pale, his lips tightened into a thin line expressing impatience and embarrassment, his gaze piercing, cool and uncomfortable, the black ribbon bow tying his almost white hair into a long ponytail.

He pulled off his cylinder, tucked it under his arm and it was only then that she noticed his famous black eye patch, the long scar stretching across the entire left side of his face.

She thought that, contrary to what she had imagined, he was not scary, but, according to her father's words, he seemed to her infinitely vain and distraught at having to be here, even though they were doing his family a favour.

She decided not to think about him and leave the conversation with him to her sisters, leaving all her attention and love to his dog, whose name, as it turned out, was Vhagar.

Taking advantage of her owner's absence, she decided to lock herself in her room with her along with a piece of roast on a plate and practice tricks with her.

"Sit." She said lowly, and Vhagar immediately sat down, looking greedily at the piece of meat she had in her hand. She handed it to her as soon as she followed her command, and she devoured it greedily, licking herself with a loud click.

She also appeared to be able to lie down and stand still on command, as well as running up to her leg.

"Give me your paw." She said, extending her hand to her, and she sat up, wagging her tail, looking with big eyes at the next piece of meat she was holding, panting heavily.

She sat down next to her on the floor, still holding her outstretched hand in front of her.

"Give me your paw." She repeated, and she began to squirm and bark, not understanding what was expected of her, what she had to do to be able to eat this delicious piece of chicken.

She took her paw in her hand and shook it, showing her what she was supposed to do, then placed a piece of meat in front of her, which she immediately swallowed.

"Good doggy." She praised her and stroked her, taking another piece from her plate, again extending her hand to her.

"Give me your paw." She said softly, Vhagar twisted in her place and barked. She repeated the command and she scratched her thigh with her paw, checking to see if this was the movement she had in mind.

"Good doggy! Such a good doggy!" She said happily, letting her eat another piece of meat, stroking her fur, praising her wisdom.

They both jumped when she heard a quiet knock on her door. She opened it and was startled to see the silhouette of their guest, looking down at her as if he was about to kill her, Vhagar threw herself at him cheerfully, longing for her owner.

"Vhagar! Calm down! Sit." He commanded her coolly, clearly frustrated, and she pressed her lips together, deciding that she would share the rather pleasant news that his dog was able to perform a new activity thanks to her efforts.

"I was just teaching her a new trick." She whispered, not wanting to wake the sleeping family members and was already about to explain to him what the trick was specifically about when he spoke directly to her, looking at her disapprovingly.

"Don't come near my dog again." He hissed and whistled at Vhagar, motioning towards his room.

She pressed her lips together, feeling a sting in her heart at his unpleasant and cold words, but thought she might have expected it. She saw to her surprise, however, that his dog turned towards her every once in a while, standing and apparently considering whether she felt like continuing to play with her instead of going to sleep.

Despite her owner's efforts, she refused to budge and jumped up when he suddenly grabbed her violently by the fur on her neck, pulling her forcibly towards his room, as if he had completely lost his temper, furious, she pulled in the air loudly and squealed in despair at the sight, hearing her whine full of pain and terror.

"− no! − please! − wait −" She called out pleadingly, and suddenly, as if he realised what he was doing he looked at her surprised and let go of Vhagar, who immediately ran away from him, hiding back in her room. She looked at his face and was surprised to find that he was broken, she had a feeling that he was about to cry.

What was the matter with him?

She swallowed loudly, wanting to quickly alleviate the situation she ran into her room and picked up a piece of meat, shoving it under Vhagar's nose. She immediately followed her, curious, and they both left the room, but when she saw her owner standing in the same place she panicked and lowered her tail, fearing that he would do the same to her as he had a moment ago.

She approached his stony figure, she had the impression that he had completely frozen absorbed in his own agony at the thought that his dog would now hate him.

"Hand it to her and call her out, just don't get angry." She whispered to him pleadingly, handing him the meat she held between her fingers. They both crouched down, looking at Vhagar, who watched them with lowered ears, alert. He held out his hand to her, she could see that his fingers were trembling.

"− come, Vhagar − I'm sorry − it's all right −" He whispered with difficulty, brokenly, no longer resembling at all the man she had seen getting out of the carriage. He seemed suddenly human to her, full of some cruel contradiction she could not comprehend. She felt the pain pouring out of him, the fear of rejection, and involuntarily felt sympathy.

She realised that he had probably been forced to come here, exposed as if in a market to be watched and judged by her sisters, all the time in the limelight, having to make a choice even though they, in his eyes, were not worthy of him in status.

She thought he had no right to feel superior to them, coming here only for their fortune, but she couldn't help seeing him now as just an ordinary man, terrified by the vision that his beloved pup would be afraid of him.

Vhagar approached him slowly and hesitantly took from his hand what he had on it. She saw his fingers stroke her white fur with tenderness and gentleness, and then her head snuggled against his chest, his face pressed against hers expressing something like relief, his lips tightened, his eyes red.

She smiled at the sight, feeling at the same time remorseful at the fact that all this had happened because of her, because she hadn't asked his permission if he would mind if she played with his dog.

"− I'm so sorry −" She whispered softly and he looked at her, she noticed with surprise that his gaze was not cold and chilly. It was focused, uncertain, filled with feeling, suffering and loneliness, depth and emptiness at the same time.

He did not answer.

She stood up and called out quietly to Vhagar, heading for his room, and she immediately moved to follow her. She wanted to lead her to his bedroom and force her to stay there to end this whole unpleasant situation.

She sat down on the floor and reached out to her. She immediately laid down next to her and put her paw on her thigh as she taught her. She smiled and stroked her soft fur, then lifted her gaze and saw that he was standing over them, looking at them as if they were some amazing creatures, in his eyes surprise and shock that she dared to enter his room in the middle of the night in just her nightgown.

The realisation of this gaffe hit her with redoubled force and she stood up quickly, explaining that she only wanted Vhagar to go in there after her, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her, running to her room and sighing heavily, feeling her heart pounding fast.

She thought that this was not a good start to their acquaintance and that he probably hated her for sure now.

However, she decided that since he wouldn't consider her anyway it didn't matter, she was more worried that by her behaviour he would have a bad opinion of her sisters, and she knew how Cassandra cared about this marriage.

She was the eldest and felt time was slipping through her fingers, many men had asked for her hand because of her father's wealth, but they were too old for her or unpleasant to look at.

It appeared that she might have been too fussy, and now someone from a royal background almost their own age had come to their house and it seemed the perfect opportunity for her.

She didn't want to ruin her happiness.

However, as always, Floris was unable to restrain her nosiness even at breakfast, pestering her with questions and accusations that she did not have the strength to answer. She felt Mr Targaryen's eye on her, and if she didn't know him she would have thought she saw a hint of sympathy in his gaze.

"My dear, apologise to Mr Targaryen for your behaviour and for taking his dog for yourself." Her father finally said to her, and she swallowed loudly, lifting her gaze to him.

She could see that he was looking at her uncertainly, terrified of what she might say, of what she had seen, which could reflect badly on his reputation.

"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour and all the unpleasantness that came with it." She choked out with difficulty what she really wanted to say to him and saw that he swallowed loudly, lowering his eyes and hummed under his breath as if in thought, running his fingertips over the table top.

"I also apologise, miss Baratheon." He said lowly, startling her completely, and as he lifted his determined, burning gaze to her she understood that he wanted to tell her that he was ashamed of his behaviour.

She felt a warmth in her heart at the thought that he had decided to apologise to her even though the fault lay with her.

She heard Floris snort at his words, displeased that he had not rebuked her.

"Mr Targaryen, do not apologise to her. She is like an animal herself." She said with amusement, looking her straight in the eye, and she felt humiliation spilling over her body, her cheeks red.

She swallowed hard, breathing unevenly, lowering her gaze, repeating to herself that she couldn't make a scene and start crying in front of him, that Cassandra would reprimand her again, saying she was acting like a child.

She felt she was losing to her own distress and got up at last, apologising quietly and left quickly, running out into the courtyard. She heard quick footsteps behind her a moment later and didn't even have to turn around to know it was Royce.

"Wait." He called out to her and she stopped, looking at him with parted, trembling lips, tears streaming involuntarily down her red face. Royce put his arm around her waist and she embraced his as they moved ahead, looking forward, saying nothing.

"Don't mind her. She can't bear the thought of not living in a grand palace. Unfortunately, I can't say she's the smartest of my sisters." He said amused, and she burst out laughing through her tears, hugging him, as usual feeling relieved in his company.

"What was he apologising to you for?" He asked after a moment, and she grunted quietly, unsure if she should talk about it.

"He was angry that I locked myself in my room with his dog. But he was right. That's all." She said briefly, figuring she would skip the details, not wanting to put him in a bad light in front of her brother, recognising that she had known him too briefly to judge him so quickly.

Royce already wanted to go home, but she said she wanted to continue her journey and walk to the lake to calm down completely. She loved listening to the quiet sound of the water sitting by the shore and had no desire to look at Floris for the next few hours.

So she moved ahead alone, taking comfort from the beautiful summer views all around her, the fields surrounding her green and full of flowers, the air clean and crisp.

She shuddered when she suddenly heard a loud barking and saw Vhagar running quickly towards her. The dog pounced on her and started licking her face, and she laughed out loud.

"What are you doing so far from home?" She asked, stroking her snout as she fell back onto her four paws, and it was only when she looked around that she noticed Mr Targaryen's silhouette sitting on the shore, his impenetrable gaze directed towards her.

For a moment she considered returning home, but realised she didn't want to go back there. Even more so if he wasn't there now, her sisters would lash out at her with questions and accusations, keeping at least a hint of civility in his presence.

Only Ellyn was being nice to her, Cassandra tried to fight the feelings warring within her, but she could see the frustration on her face.

No matter how hard she tried to stay away from him, she kept running right into him.

She thought that maybe if they had her attitude they would experience the same thing.

She sighed heavily and started walking towards him, recognising that it wasn't just his shore, that she was the first to discover this place and had as much right to sit there as he did.

She sat down beside him on the sand, a safe distance away, which Vhagar took immediate advantage of to lie down between them, laying her head on her thighs.

She was sure he would get up and go somewhere else, discouraged by her presence, he, however, seemed to make nothing of it, sunk in his own thoughts. She closed her eyes and began to listen to the sounds of the wind and water, the pleasant breeze wrapped around her face. She felt sleepy.

She opened her eyes after a few minutes, looking around as if half asleep, and saw to her surprise that Mr Targaryen had fallen asleep beside her, his head settled on his shoulder, his face unusually gentle and calm.

She thought he needed a moment of rest and solitude too, and smiled at the thought.

With some strange warmth in her heart, she lay down next to Vhagar and wrapped her arms around her, wanting to fall asleep next to them.

After they had returned to her mansion, after what he had said when Floris had assaulted her, she herself was not sure what she thought of him.

On the one hand, she felt grateful because he had stood up for her, refuting any rumours or conjecture about the nature of their walk, but on the other hand, his words were so cruel and insolent that she thought he would never have referred to a woman of his status in such a way, that he was showing how much he despised them, that he did not regard them as equals.

The next day they were all due to go to church, and as it was literally a five-minute walk from their property, they decided to go there on foot.

She wore her bonnet on her head, so she tied her hair up in a bun like her sisters to make the whole thing look right, the colour of her headdress warm cream, just like her dress.

She did not know if the form of the walk made Mr Targaryen happy or not, his expression remained invariably indifferent. He walked at the front with her father and Royce, Royce telling him something with amusement and he seemed to be partially listening to him.

Further along walked Cassandra, Maris and Floris, adding a word or two to their brother once in a while, and she walked at the back with Ellyn.

"Floris is very jealous." She told her quietly, clearly wanting to comfort her. "She teases each of us behind closed doors and says very nasty things."

She did not feel surprised by what she heard. Floris always cried when her father refused her, loving to point out mistakes to everyone but herself.

She thought that she had felt overlooked all her life and was now trying to make up for it by getting everyone's attention, the higher-ranking person it was, the better.

It wasn't long before they arrived at a beautiful little brick church surrounded by a stone wall and orchard. They went inside, their father greeting everyone, the presence of Mr Targaryen sparked great interest and everyone wanted to shake his hand.

She could see the tension on his face, the enormity of his discomfort in the presence of so many strangers, and she thought he was in constant pain, forced to be polite and courteous when he felt like running away.

One by one, they all began to sit down in the pew where their family always sat, but when she wished to take her place at the end, Floris placed her hand on the seat.

"This seat is for Mr Targaryen. After all, we won't let him sit at the back." She said lightly, and she felt a tightening in her throat, tears of humiliation filling her eyes once more.

"There's enough room for everyone." She whispered, her father leaning over, looking at her concerned, not understanding why she and Mr Targaryen were not yet seated.

"There isn't."

She looked at her with red eyes, feeling her clenched lips tremble, but there was not a trace of hesitation or sympathy on her sister's face.

So she turned back, swallowing loudly, sitting down in the empty bench behind them, her father turning his head after her, startled.

"What are you doing?"

She did not answer him, for she looked shocked sideways when she saw that Mr Targaryen had stepped into her pew following her, placing his cylinder on his free side, undoing one button from his tailcoat, sitting down beside her with his legs crossed.

Floris turned towards him, apparently wanting to announce to him that there was a place for him on their bench, but before she could open to say anything, a single, cold sentence left his lips.

"Please attend to your prayers, Miss Baratheon."

Floris turned pale and pressed her lips together, turning away, pretending nothing had happened. She looked at him sideways and swallowed loudly as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frustrated.

"Can't you concentrate on prayer in the house of God either, Miss Baratheon?" He growled and she shook her head, pulling out her prayer book from her small pouch hanging on her hand, not daring to turn her gaze to him for the entire liturgy.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't concentrate on what Pastor Thomson was saying, thinking only of the fact that he had given up the seat he was entitled to by his status and sat next to her.

She thought he did this because he wanted to avoid her sisters, because after their nap at the lake he knew she would not torment him. That he sat next to her because he wanted to show Floris again what he thought of her.

She figured that perhaps he wanted to comfort her too, that he didn't want her to sit alone away from her family, rejected and abandoned.

The last thought filled her heart with gratitude and warmth and she found herself thinking that he was a more complicated man than she had originally assumed.

As they stood up to receive the eucharist, Mr Targaryen let her go ahead and, squeezing between him and the pew, she involuntarily brushed against his body and heard him quietly gasp through his nose, all tense.

She knew he was standing behind her in line, she could hear his breathing behind her, she could feel his gaze on her. This was a test, he wanted to see if she would get distracted again, if she would think about him, if she would end up pestering him like her sisters.

She thought he didn't deserve her treating him so objectively.

She preferred to think of herself as his friend who, understanding his needs, would not impose on him, allowing him to remain comfortable in her presence.

She didn't look at him as she passed him in line or as she sat back in the pew and they both listened to the psalms, waiting for everyone to take communion.

She swallowed loudly as she felt him spread his knees, sitting down more comfortably, his leg rubbing against hers and pressed to her barely perceptibly.

She felt a pleasant shudder and swallowed loudly, running her fingers over the book lying on her thighs, but she didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to give him satisfaction.

She gasped, her heart starting to pound like mad as he righted himself on the seat and grunted, leaning back with his shoulders against the rest of the bench, his knee pressed almost painfully hard against her leg now.

She felt herself breathing through her mouth, droplets of sweat running down her neck, her fingers tightening on her prayer book.

She felt him looking at her.

She felt his breath directed towards her, enveloping her face.

She glanced at his hand lying on his knee pressed against hers, his pointing finger tapping restlessly against the material of his trousers, as if impatient.

What did he want?

Why was he doing this, playing with her, putting her in this position?

She drew in the air in horror when his hand suddenly pulled away from his knee and moved over her thighs towards her fingers, as if he wanted to grab them.

She clutched her book, terrified, and heard him hum under his breath as he grabbed her prayer book, sliding it out of her hands in a slow movement.

She felt her whole body quiver, her fingers trembling as they lay numbly on her lap.

She knew he had seen it.

Was he deriving some kind of dark satisfaction from it?

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he looked through her prayer book page by page, even though he had his own lying on the backrest in front of him.

Hers was older, had belonged to her mother, was her only memento of her after her death, and she felt uneasy seeing it in the hands of someone else.

"Please, sir, give it back to me." She whispered quietly and heard his murmur expressing surprise or displeasure.

"What harm am I doing? I am merely looking at it, Miss Baratheon." He hummed low, licking his finger and turning the page, something about the gesture seemed inappropriate, ungodly to her and she thought he had done it on purpose.

"Please. This is my only memento of my mother." She mumbled helplessly and felt him suddenly freeze.

She didn't look at him but she could feel the atmosphere of discomfort between them, his knee pulled away from hers as he grunted, swallowing loudly, pointing her book towards her, holding it in his hand.

She reached for it with a trembling hand, and their fingers involuntarily touched, she had the feeling that his thumb had purposely run over her skin, as if in a gesture of apology, of comfort that made her want to cry, she felt goosebumps on her cheeks.

She put her prayer book back on her thighs, clasping her trembling hands on them, breathing hard, feeling as if he was mocking her, taking pleasure and satisfaction in what he could do to her, in how naïve she was.

She felt as, despite her mind's tremendous efforts, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly with her thumb, but they kept flying.

She saw his hand, which again laid stretched across his knee clenched into a fist, his fingers moving restlessly.

He knew she was crying because of him.

When the liturgy ended she stood up first and headed quickly for the door, not looking at him or her family.

When she turned into the field corner and knew no one could see her anymore she burst out into a loud sob, tired of her sisters, tired of this strange, variable men who played with her, who would never look at her or her family as equals.

She drew in a loud breath when she heard quick footsteps behind her and, thinking it was Royce, turned hopefully behind her. She turned pale and parted her lips with a sound of mournful despair when she saw him, breathing loudly, his hair in partial disarray, slipping out of its ribbon.

"Miss Baratheon. Forgive me." He mumbled, not believing himself that these words were coming out of his mouth, clearly surprised and ashamed of his own behaviour. "I have no idea what has gotten into me."

They stood before each other in silence, looking at one another with wide eyes, she struggled to calm her breathing, her trembling lips slightly parted in disbelief.

"I don't understand you, sir. I try, but I don't. You are cruel. You humiliate me and my sisters knowing that we do not stand in a position to oppose you. I would like to be your friend, but I am not sure you could be a friend to anyone, let alone a person of such low position as myself." She almost wailed, shaking her head, looking at him with anguish, something flashed across his face, his brow furrowed, his lips tightened, he swallowed loudly, her words hitting something deep inside him.

She did not give him a chance to reply. She turned her back on him, seeing her family approaching, and set off towards her mansion, thinking with despair that she already felt sorry for whichever of her sisters this man would choose as his wife.

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