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nexusnyx · 1 year

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miss sunshine

pre-outbreak Joel Miller x neighbor!reader [7.3k] summary: He's always been out of reach. A fantasy. Joel was too much of everything—too handsome, too friendly, too una-fucking-vailable for any of you. Too bad his kid adores you. (What a blessing.) Too bad she uses you as a scapegoat and lands him right on his door. One bottle of wine, and Joel shows you he might be closer than you thought. 📝 I wanted to try something different. Less hurt, less end-of-the-world bullshit. Let me know your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex, oral (f and m receiving), riding, missionary, passionate neighbors sex, yay.

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤTexas, Summer of 2002.

When the bell rings, you think it's best to ignore it.

Living alone equals a lot of privileges, but the ability to go out alone and answer the door on a random Wednesday evening was not one of them. You're wearing compromising clothes and a robe, the bottle of wine you craved was finally open, and the last thing you wanted was to be murdered before enjoying it.

Then, you hear it. Your name, followed by, "It's Miller. Joel."

Fuck.

Well—this is exactly how many of your dreams started. Although this wouldn't go like them, for him, you'd open the door.

His eyes do little to hide the once-over when the door slides open.

They go down, then back up, and he seems to catch on to the fact that you saw it. Then, he shakes his head just a little, and says, "Is Sarah here?"

Well, well, well. You lean against the door. "Did she say she was?"

Joel pierces you with his Dad Look. "Yes." Obviously, it goes without saying.

What other reason would he have, right? Clearing your throat, you feel the anxiety bubbling underneath the surface. "Uhm. She isn't," you look apologetic as you say it. As if it's your fault his prepubescent daughter uses you as a scapegoat.

His sigh is enough to make you feel how tired he is. Overworked. Exhausted.

You try to understand what might've happened before he loses his mind, "What time d'you usually come back from work? Maybe she's at a friend's. She probably thought you'd be back later than this."

He finishes rubbing both palms all over his face, and he threads one hand through his hair. "I'm usually back at nine—well, I'm supposed to be back at nine. I'm usually home by ten." That checks out, then. "But—that doesn't explain why she lied to me."

"Any special occasions coming up soon?"

Joel frowns. "Uhm. My birthday's in a few days, but—"

"Ahhhh." It shuts his mouth, the way you exclaim it so clearly. "She's brainstorming, Joel."

"Brainstorming...?"

"A gift." No daughter had easy access to what made their fathers happy. You take pity on him. "C'mon—let me scare the little one."

You walk inside without waiting for his reply, knowing Joel will make his way in. "What d'you mean, scare her?"

The noise of his boots hitting the floor makes you happy.

You take the phone out of the wall and look at him. "She always keeps that cellular phone with her when she goes out?"

"Always," he nods.

"Perfect." You know it by heart already. As you dial, you feel Joel's eyes on your house. It's the first he's ever been inside, and it makes you hyperaware of every movement of his. "It's ringing," you inform him with a grin forming.

He looks confused. More tired than anything else, but it'll make sense in a second.

"Hey, miss Sunshine!" the nickname she gave you always brings a smile to your face.

Time to put on a show. Feigning panic in your voice, you yell-whisper on the phone, "S, love, would you mind telling me why on Earth is your pops—" you fake cover your end of the line to yell, "one minute!" then you're back at whispering again, "why is he parked outside my house right now? Is there something I should know?"

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit—"

You're glad he can't hear her end of it. "No time for panic. Explain."

"I am so sorry, Sunny! I thought he'd be back in like, two hours or something. Oh, god, can you please cover for me? I wrote a note saying I was at your place. Sleeping there. I was gonna call you before he came back home but Jenny and I—"

"You're at somebody named Jenny?" you repeat the information, looking at Joel with a question in your eyes, and when he nods, your heart soothes at knowing she's safe. "And you didn't think to mention your brilliant idea earlier?" going for the full effect again, you yell out, "One minute, Joel!"

At least she's fast in her rambles. "Yeah, yeah. My best friend. She's trying to help me come up with a surprise for him. I'm not there often and it's never on his birthday. I wanna make it special."

"Okay. Cool. Next time, fill me in as you make the plans."

"I will, I promise. Pinky promise. You think you can convince him I'm sleeping there?" the plea in her voice is adorable.

You chuckle. "I've got you, S." Joel sighs in relief in front of you. "Just one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Be back here tomorrow first thing in the morning. 7:30 sharp. I'm gonna invite your dad for breakfast, as punishment for your lack of planning, and you'll be the one making us the pancakes," before she can even answer, you go, "Toodles!" and hang up.

When you put your phone back at the base, you turn around with a proud smile.

Joel's looking at you funny. "You're good at that," he says.

"At what? Acting?" you laugh when nods. "I was a trouble child. I'm great at lying."

"Aren't those the same?"

"Eh. A thin line separates them." You can sense his awkwardness creeping up, so you do your best to think on the spot. "Is she one to escape?"

"Not really, no." He's shuffling on his feet, uncertain of what to do in your home. "She's never done this before."

"From what she told me, she's never around for your birthday."

"That's true."

"She wants to make a surprise for you," you inform. It puts that smile on his face that makes your knees a little weak. "And now she has to be back here at seven in the morning. All is well."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

He's gonna see himself out. You swallow all the nervousness that being in his presence creates and just... goes for it. "Is it hard? Having a kid?"

That relaxes some of the tension in his shoulders. He leans on the counter of your kitchen and shakes his head. "Not really. It's a lot of work, but it's not hard. It's rewarding."

I wish my mother felt the same. You smile at the truth in his words. "I can see it's hard work." He laughs again. "Well—I had just opened that before you rang the bell," you point at the Pinot on top of the counter. "Want a glass? Unless you tell me you're 'only beer' kind of guy, then I can't help ya."

Joel looks between you and the bottle a couple of times, then looks down at himself. "I'm uh—I'm all greasy and gross from work. You sure that's the company you want for wine?"

Rolling your eyes, you walk towards your glasses cabinets. "If I told you that you can go home and shower, you'd never come back."

"And that'd be a bad thing?"

"Sure it would. You're the only person in this entire street that hasn't interrogated me on my life so far, I feel left out. Offended, even," you add with a dramatic twist. Your robe flows around you, and you can't help but smile when you see his eyes following you.

It's the way he swallows visibly, almost audibly, that plants a seed of maybe inside your head. "I'm not usually one to pry."

You place both glasses on the counter. "Neither am I."

"I know. It's why I like ya," Joel says it with eyes on the glasses instead of you. "That and the way you talk to the plants."

Your hand on the corkscrew stops, and you want to slam your forehead against the wood. "Oh, god."

His laughter is so nice. "Nah, don't be embarrassed. 's why I gave you your nickname."

"Don't be embarrassed? That's mortifying, Joel. I thought no one—wait." Had you heard him right? "What d'you mean you gave me my nickname?"

Joel's head tilts, and he's definitely a charmer kind of guy. If you do have a chance, you might be fucked. "Your nickname."

"Miss Sunshine?" He nods. "I thought that was Sarah."

"No, Sarah used it first in front of you," he pulls one of the glasses closer to him. "I said it first."

Well... that made it just as special but in a different way. You pour the wine into both glasses. "Good to know. I was under the impression she was the creative genius in the household—I just. Quick question that I never asked her: Why?"

"'Cause every mornin' before I left for work you're there on that big window," he points at the glass window that's occupies ceiling to floor, the very reason you picked this house, "talking to your plants as if you're the sun itself waking them up. 's cute."

Cute. You hate how he has the ability to make you blush. What is this, fucking high school?

"That makes sense."

Joel wipes his palms on the side of his t-shirt and then looks up at you. "If I go home with the promise of comin' back, will you let me shower?"

Let me. You're thankful your arms are covered because you're unsure of what this man is capable of when he knows the effect he has on somebody.

"I'll let you," you answer.

Joel nods and his smile is so genuine that you wonder why you never tried before.

"'kay," he takes one sip of the wine, hums in approval, and then takes a deep breath. "'m gonna go. I'll be back to interrogate you."

"I'll leave the door open."

"No—Jesus bloody Christ, are you and Sarah mad? Lock the door, Sunshine." You like it so much when he's the one that says it. "I'm serious."

"Alright, jeez," you laugh.

It's less tense than you imagined as he puts his shoes back on and walks out of your door. Joel crosses the street with a little wave in your direction, and all you can think is—what on Earth am I gonna do to him?

When he's back, Joel smells so good it's intoxicating.

It makes your brain melt.

Minty and fresh. That's what his stuff smells like, and you know the idea of that scent's now painted on the walls of your brain.

He does that stupid little dad pose, widening both arms and lifting them up in a display of 'what do you think' before walking in.

It makes you want to push him against the wall, but you do your best at behaving.

For now.

"Brand new man?" you ask.

He points at his glass of wine, untouched since the moment he left. "Will be in a sec."

You wait for him to take a sip before extending him what you held in your hand before he arrived.

Joel eyed the cigarette and, thank fuck, there was none of the annoying judgment sometimes people carried. He stops his movement to sit on the stool and asks, "You smoke in here, or are we goin' outside?"

"There's a table there. Weather's nice. D'you mind?"

Joel grabs his glass, shaking his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Lead the way."

"Ma'am," you echo him, sounding disgusted. He laughs behind you, "Who am I, Mrs. Adler?"

Still laughing, Joel answers, "Nah. Too talkative for that."

You turn around with your mouth hanging open, trying very little to look offended. "I beg your pardon. We never spoke for longer than, what, five minutes?"

Joel shrugs his shoulders. His smile is as intoxicating as his presence. "I hear things."

"You hear things?" you ask, pushing open the door that leads outside.

"I do," he sips his wine, looking to the small terrace where your little table is. "My daughter's a gossiper, little Sunshine. I think y'should know that."

Little Sunshine. Goddamn this man.

"Should I be scared, here? I haven't even told her anything, but I feel like I should be."

"If you didn't tell her anythin', than why would you be?"

"Because!" you laugh, feeling just a little out of your depth with his smoothness. You expected more closeness from Joel. Less teasing, easy banter. "You're talking like someone who knows a lot, that's all."

"And I do," he says, sounding every bit as serious.

You sit down on one of the chairs — your chair, precisely — and watch as Joel walks around a little, taking in the environment. He adds, "Did ya know," pausing for a dramatic effect, he sips again, "that in all of three months, you became one of my daughters' favorite people?"

He pins you under his gaze.

You cross your legs, and watch happily as his gaze drops to the motion.

"Did I?" if you sip at his pace, you'll be throwing yourself on his lap in an embarrassing amount of time.

Joel nods behind his cup, touching one of the many plants that cover your backyard area from floor, to walls, to ceiling. "You did," he smiles, dropping the fake seriousness. "Are you ready to deal with the six months absence? 'Cause from personal experience," he points both hands at his chest, "you try convincing yourself you won't miss her all that much 'cause, y'know, it's "just" a girl, but—fuck," he spits the last word, smiling widening around the fact. "She's so cool to have around. You'll see. Your phone's bill's about to create life."

It grounds you.

The way Joel speaks of Sarah makes you feel comfortable sitting here, and any doubts you had are sucked by the green life around you and returned as oxygen.

Joel talks about anything, no reservations.

In his absence, you doubted whether this could be any different than most times.

Would Joel be like that—like any of those other guys?

He wasn't.

Joel, as much as you hated to admit it, was an exception.

Maybe these things were fated. Simple chemistry. Similar mindsets. Whatever it was—you had it every once in a blue moon.

Your expectations settings were long ago molded to expect the least, and it takes only half a bottle of wine for you to notice the need to rear it in.

He's so damn easy. Joel goes from one topic to another like he's interested. He answers your questions with full interest, sometimes going on tangent stories, and he's the one who keeps the glasses filled.

Attentive, you take note the second time that happens. Before any of the glasses got empty, he served you both.

He compliments your taste in music and sounds genuine about it.

The weird silences you most dreaded never happen—if he's not answering you, Joel asks things. Interesting things, unlike any other neighbor.

"Was it you who decorated your place inside? 'Cause, there are very specific things in there. And you seem like the type to know what you like."

Joel was very attentive.

He asked, "and is this what you like to do with your free time?" pointing at the books you put away when you both arrived, "Drink wine, read, talk to your plants?"

"I still can't believe you've seen me doing that."

He laughed at that. "It's a pretty big window, Sunshine. Jesus Christ—you don't lock the door, you don't know people can see through your gigantic-ass window—I'm genuinely starin' to get worried here."

"Okay, first of all, I do lock my door."

"Do you?"

"'Course. Most days."

"Oh my—"

"—and! Now that I was reminded of my window's size, I'll consider buying drapes. Long, white ones. That'd be cool."

It was easy.

Talking to Joel—sharing a table with him, a glass of wine—so easy.

He never looked uncomfortable. Even if he moved a lot, Joel looked good—so damn good you lost focus every now and then—, but good with himself.

In his skin.

That was intoxicating.

When he does more than just talk and asks things; it's almost too damn easy. Was time supposed to go this way?

The first bottle end, but it's too soon.

You know it. He knows it—plays with it, in fact. Waves the empty bottle after pouring it for you and him in the air very lightly then places it on the floor.

Offering another one is almost a visceral reaction.

You don't have the same finesse he does, or at least, you think not, but if his smiles and closing proximity are anything to go by, he's enjoying himself as much as you are. "I dance around opening these a lot," you say pointing at the empty bottle. Pulling your legs closer to yourself despite the voice of your mother telling you that's a body language sign of insecurity—fuck insecurity. "Don't wanna be the wine lady on top of the plant one. But they're good. I like it."

"I only drink wine when my brother cooks," he offers.

The glass in your hands makes you feel safe enough to land this conversation where you want it. "Really? He cooks a lot?"

"More than me," Joel confesses with a shrug. "He likes to match the wine to the dish and that type o' stuff."

"I was taught how to be picky, but if I'm being honest—" you like the way Joel leans in closer when you pause it. You smile, "it's all just grapes tastin' really, really good." The sound of his damn laugh. This man's gotta have a flaw, you think. "As long as it's wine, I'm happy."

"I think that about a good beer after a day of work."

"We're all just trying to give ourselves little positive reinforcements for playing nice at doing our jobs, huh?"

Joel pauses at that. Lifts his eyebrows, then bursts out laughing. "Oh, wow—"

"Oh god", while it took you a lot of alcohol to get drunk, being open-mouthed about weird things came with the territory of feeling comfortable.

Joel made you comfortable, even if you were mortified at how amused he was.

When he's done laughing, he looks at you. "That's cute. You're the philosophical type."

"Isn't everybody who enjoys wine?"

"I don't know. I enjoy wine and I'm not one to go that far, I think."

"Hmm. Philosophizing can involve different topics. Lenses."

Joel wolf whistles. "Well, I think I'd need a couple more glasses to unlock that side of me."

"Not a problem," you get up, and resist the urge to wink at him. "I'll be back."

Your reflection in the kitchen mirrors is the confirmation of how fucked exactly you are.

It's more than just the color on your cheeks—it's the glassy screen over your eyes, making it shine like...

Well, very few times.

Fuck, you think.

Maybe that's why your palms are sweating.

He's more than you bargained for—Joel's looks were hard to move on from, but this?

Once in Rome...

Fuck it.

It's not as if either one of you was blinded to what a moonlight late-night conversation leads to.

The air outside could be felt.

When you're going back with the opened bottle, another pin drops in your mind.

He has the whole night free.

You don't break the bottle, but it's a close call.

Joel asks you the second you're back, "I have a depressing confession to make—I was tryin' to keep to it to myself, but honestly, it's all I taught about when you left."

You place the bottle in the middle of the table carefully and sit back down with your eyes on him.

He moved his chair closer again.

"Do share," you urge.

Joel looks around the yard—he seems to do it a lot when he's dipping his toes into personal places and says, "This is the first time in a—uh—I don't even know. A while. That I just... sat with another adult. Drank something nice. Talked about more than just—fucking politics, or whatever." Joel's eyes on you make you feel honored. You know he'd say that's a silly thought if you said it out loud. "It's really nice. And—the depressing part comes in now: I'm only here 'cause of my brother."

You tilted your hair. "You're here because... of Tommy?" you tried connecting those dots, but came up short.

Thankfully, Joel was here. With his smile, and his explanation.

"You see, before Sarah's mom and I decided she could spend some months here instead of just a few weekends, I was already... shutting in. His words, not mine," Joel picks up his glass for a sip, and you hang onto every word he says. "So when she came, he took me out one night. That little bar a few blocks from here—y'know Mr. O'Donovan's place?" when you shake your head, he waves a hand, "I'll take you someday—'s the only place around here that's worth a dime."

"I'll take your word for it." I hate bars. You'd go for him. With him.

"I think I know what beer you'd like," it comes off as a whisper, and you have to hide behind your glass again. "I only remember that talk because he made me promise. He's not one to ask for promises."

"What did he make you promise?"

"He was upset 'cause I kept turnin' him down every time he wanted to do his 'meet my friend and you'll be good friends' match-making shit, so he said, 'you promise that the next time someone invites you do somethin' you actually wanna do, you're not gonna turn 'em down? You'll actually fucking go, without makin' excuses to yourself'. And that sounded fair. So I promised."

You take note of the effort he's making.

The subtle 'this isn't just about what's about to happen'.

'I'll take you someday'.

'Next time someone invites you to do somethin' you actually wanna do'.

So more than just neighbors. You nod at that, smiling at him. "He seems like a good brother," you say. "Siblings can be a pain in the ass."

Joel stops his glass on the way to his lip to shake his head at you, "Oh, no no," he takes the sip first, and says, "one doesn't negate the other. He very much is a pain in my ass, trust me."

You laugh. "Older and younger?"

"Younger," he nods. "I had a lil' bit of peace here and there before he was born."

"Can't imagine you'd have it any other way nowadays."

He agrees with you.

When he doesn't, Joel scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.

He does silly faces. You wonder if he's aware of how unfair it is that he gets to look like that. Tender. Charming.

He proves your theory to be right with only half another bottle.

Put two or more adults plus a certain amount of alcohol in a closed environment, and sex will be on the table.

It makes you blush when you think... it could literally be on the table.

Joel pretends he doesn't see you growing hotter. He keeps his eyes on you as you take off the robe instead of looking at your arms. Listens to what you're saying without losing focus.

Only when you're done and asking him something in response that he looks.

It makes your throat dry when he does.

Joel has an unabashed, almost cocky tilt to his mannerisms.

You thought he'd be quieter than he is—more serious.

It's a welcomed contrast.

When sex is laid on the table, it comes because he brought up the joke you made at the beginning of the night about his lack of interest in your life, and decided to ask you things. Where you grew up. If you were always like this.

"Define 'like this'."

"Smart with the calculating glance, and sweet-talking."

"Is that me?"

"Sure is, Sunshine."

None of the questions that people usually ask.

It makes you bite your lip more than you wished—his manly, tall presence gets under your skin in ways that no previous partner managed to. Tucking your hair behind your ear, avoiding leading the conversation to the exact places you liked, giggling—those weren't things you did.

He pulled them from you.

When he does ask you the 'usual' questions, it lacks the malicious curiosity inflating others whenever they did.

Sex is laid on the table because Joel looks you in the eyes with that easiness in his shoulders and asks, "I'm not as private as you, though—all of my neighbors already know Tommy, and Sarah. You, on the other hand... the mysterious crime and horror novelist, who talks to her plants and moved from so, so far. I might not be the prying type, but I was curious about you long before my gremlin set her little claws on you. How come I never see anyone coming in or out of here? You tellin' me not one friend of yours followed you here to god-forsaken Texas?"

Your glass is almost empty, and you focus on the twirling of the red inside it to avert your mind from the way he's sitting. "The point of moving was getting away from them. All of them, as bad as that sounds," you cover your eyes with your free hand, and Joel's hand touches your forearm.

"Hey—it's fine. Don't feel bad. 'm happy you had the privilege of gettin' away. If you wanted to move away from all of it, I'm sure you had your reasons."

Looking between your fingers, you try appraising his face. "Really?"

"Really," he nods.

"Okay." You sit up straight. "And I do have people over, sometimes. You're just always at work."

"Yeah? You made friends already?"

"A few, yeah."

"Where?" he removes his hand from your forearm but drops it to your chair's armrest. The proximity is doing something to you. "I thought you worked from home."

"I do," you agree. "But I do other stuff. I'm not always here with my plants, Joel," you roll your eyes, smiling amusedly.

Joel laughs, "I wouldn't know. If I could work from home and stay with my tools and wood, I would."

"And I believe you," you nodded.

He bites on his smile before asking. "What other stuff d'you do?"

"I joined a book club," you reply, feeling all levels of boring.

From his look, he disagrees. "You got the patience for that?"

"Sure do," you nod again.

He nods, pouting in awe. "Nice," he says. "Are your book club friends givin' you the right impression of Texans?"

"I'm warming up to them," you smile.

Nodding, he asks, "Should I ask now the questions all my neighbors already know the answer to? 'Cause I am curious. Did you know Mr. Adler tried tellin' me what he 'discovered' about you? He tried looking blasé when he said that, but I'm sure he just wanted to gossip about the pretty girl who moved across from him."

"Ew, Joel," you laugh.

His eyes never leave you—you feel it even when you're not looking at him. He's laughing too. "What? It's true."

When you look back up at him, you wonder—when did you two get this close?

"You can ask," you say. "It's not that exciting, the answer. Actually, it's not exciting at all."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that," he sips his wine, and leaves the glass on the table. "You already know my backstory, so kill my curiosity now," he pierces with his eyes for a moment, "how on Earth is there no ring on this finger?" he points to your ring finger, then he leans in closer, and you can smell the wine in his breath; you want to kiss it until it's taste is gone, "and how is it that I never see anyone leaving here early in the mornings?"

Well. "No ring 'cause I didn't want one so far," you reply. To him, you give more honesty than anyone else who's asked. "And I have the luxury of living without it. I know many friends of mine who don't—and actually, that was part of..." don't go there. "Nevermind," you shake your head, pinning yourself to here.

"You just didn't want it?" he echos.

You nod, "Never did," there's no reason to lie to him. He smells so good—why would you lie to him? "Most men bore men, Joel."

"Wow," the smile that widens is a little baffled. A little dirty. "Should I be scared?"

At that, you burst out laughing. "Really?" You have no clocks outside, but the starry sky and the deep silence in the houses next to you are a good enough indicator. "It's been... a couple of hours, at least. We're one bottle and a half," you say, looking at your glasses shining on the table, "deep into conversation... and you wonder if you should be scared?"

Joel's still looking at you when you look back. His arm is around your chair, and your back touches it when you lean back against it. "I'll take that as a no."

"You are very far from boring."

"'m happy you think so," he smiles. He lets his eyes drop to your lips, without a care for the two palms of distance that separate your faces. It's meant to be blatant. Obvious. "Just another question..."

Here it comes, you thought. Why no kids? Why so alone? Do you feel lonely?

"Why me?" he asks.

It's nothing more than a breath.

You could ignore it. Give any answer, and close the gap. Instead, you give him honesty. "Honestly? I was so attracted to you, the second I saw you, that I was willing to even hear somethin' stupid coming out of your mouth if I could just—," do it, do it, do it. Seeing his eyes darken from up close is torture. You can feel the pulse of your heartbeat between your legs. "Now, if I were any smart, I'd be wishing for you to be bad at all the rest, because..."

This was amazing already.

Joel laughs, just a single, breathy laugh, and then does something you would never see it coming.

He pushes his chair back with the weight of his hips and drops to his knees.

The gasp you let out is enough to put the most insufferable smile on his face.

"Don't say that," he feigns hurt, as if he wasn't smiling with his eyes and lips. "It might've been a while, but I don't think I lost my touch just yet."

Joel's hands envelop your knees and slowly pull them apart. You feel like an open wire—aware of every breath your body takes and each minimum reaction to him.

You feel the wet pulse inside your panties when he kisses the skin of your inner thigh, right above your knee.

Joel smiles up at you, blinking his eyes.

Damn him, you think. His hands caress their way up your skin, and you wished you were naked already.

He seems like someone to enjoy the torture—when his hands reach the curve of your ass, they stop there, holding onto your waist.

"Have I?" he asks, kissing the other inner leg. You feel a hint of his tongue in the short kiss.

What could you say to that?

"You really haven't."

Feeling the hot breathing of his laughter on your inner thighs was not in your list for tonight.

"Do I get a kiss, then?"

He would never have to ask you twice.

Your legs wrap around his torso when you lean down to meet him for the kiss. Joel seems to love the position—he smiles at first, gripping you by the neck.

He takes his time to look at you before he dives in. A mental check-in. Maybe just admiring, just as you were from the second he kneeled.

His kiss comes from experience. A lot of fucking experience.

If you were weak in the knees before, you seal the notion that you're out of your depth there and then.

Joel kisses like no one's ever kissed you before—like he wants to explore, discover, conquer.

He licks his way inside of you with the first kiss.

His tongue isn't shy; he makes you adjust to his rhythm, to let go and open up, and when you, you're rewarded with it—he pulls up just an inch, just to whisper, "that's it," and then dives back in.

Joel wraps his arm around your shoulder and neck in a possessive manner. It's why he makes it so easy for you let him guide it—he's holding you, and you moan as you melt into him.

He wants to feel your body.

The more you press yourself against him, the more Joel grants you little sighs of his own pleasure.

He never pushes his hips against you. Never presses you towards him.

It makes you want to scream.

When he pulls away, Joel sighs happily. He presses his right thumb over your swollen bottom lip, and nodding, kneels on his heels again.

"Joel..."

Your face remains close to his, gravitating to where he does. He whispers, "Lift your hips up for me, Sunshine," wrapped around a smile.

You do as he says.

His hand takes off your shorts without your eyes ever leaving you, and when the item is on the floor, Joel releases the robe you foregone earlier tonight from your backrest to slide down where you sit.

To not make a mess, it says.

Your face is burning up, but not as much as the rest of you.

"Is this ok?" he asks.

He waits for your nod of approval before pulling you by your knees. "Good," he's strong enough to get you where he wants in one pull. Your hips are nearing the end of the chair and from this angle, Joel gets to look.

He eyes the underwear as if it's personally offending him.

"I like the color," he says. He traces a finger across the baby blue lace and looks up at you. "Suits ya," he says. That's when he hooks a finger on the fabric, pulling it to the side. "I dreamt about this."

That gets to you.

Joel's fingers are thorough—able. He uses his knuckles to spread the lips apart, uncaring about the whines you let out above him, still holding on to the shame of being the only one exposed.

It lasts until he places two knuckles on each side of your clit, stimulating it with back-and-forth movements.

You were right about the torture.

He enjoys it.

Joel waits for your clit to be hard between his fingers before he puts his mouth to it.

You can only cling onto his hair.

I dreamt about this, too.

"Fuck—I dreamt about this too," you confess.

His moan vibrating against the core of your pussy makes you clench.

Joel's only starting.

He takes his time in finding the rhythm you most feel pleasure on your clit. He never bites, never nibbles, and doesn't go softly, like other men.

He eats.

Joel's mouth is stuck to you—the way he laps and slurps and sucks on your hardened nub only makes your volume go from whines and pleas of his name to moans in very little time.

That's when he dips his tongue inside. When he uses it as muscle and proves to you why the idea of oral is so good for men.

Because it's good.

Joel gives no indicator that he wants to stop at any time, and it turns you into something that blossoms.

At some point between him almost making you cum just by sucking on your clit and fucking his tongue in and out of you, your legs made their way to his shoulders, and his hands have secured themselves groping your ass.

He pulls back for air, once.

His fingers enter you instead, two at once.

"So wet already," he says. You only hear it, until, "look at me," he asks.

As if his thick, long fingers dripping into places inside of you weren't enough, you get to look at him.

His face glistening on your back porch is something that burns behind your eyelids the second you see it. You feel incoherent, needy, and exposed in more than one way.

Joel looks like he could eat you like this.

"Joel—please. Please," you're begging, but for what, you're not sure.

"Cum for me first. I'll give you whatever you want later, just," he pumps his fingers inside of you, keeping a steady and strong pace, and then says, "You look so good like this, Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Profanities.

That's what he says before getting his mouth back on you—his tongue sucking and vibrating against your clit.

It's too much. Too fucking much, and, "Joel, Joel—"

He pulls back just to say it, "That's it, doin' so good, Sunshine—" and that's when you lose it. The coaxing. It's so earnest. Sounds so pleased, dipping in honey as if it's him who's feeling this good.

"'m gonna cum Joel, fuck me, just like that—"

"Like this? Hm? Show me. Cum on my mouth."

All it takes is for him to put it back on you. Joel knows how to push himself inside—knows how to explore the hot and tight confines of your cunt, because he coos a first orgasm out of you with the right pace only.

No strength. No speed. Just sucking, and curling right against your spot.

Your vision whites out.

The time you take to come back to yourself, he keeps playing with your pussy and the mess he made in it, seeming as satisfied with the result as you are. Somewhere in white land.

What a little death.

After that, it's more a mess and clashes of teeth and desires than you knew you were even capable of.

He pulls you in for a kiss, and you pull him inside the house.

The idea is to make it to your room, but you never make it past the living room.

When you press him against a wall to finish taking off his clothes, seeing him only in briefs makes gravity pull you in.

Nothing but black briefs.

You have to drop to your knees.

Joel curses under his breath and tries his best at keeping his posture, but you're with a mind entirely clouded by raw need.

To him, you want to do only your best.

You're addicted to the way he mutters, "atta girl," every time you discover something that brings him pleasure. It sounds so fucking dirty.

"That's it. Atta fuckin' girl, god."

With him, you use tricks your friends once told you that are buried in the back of your mind. You hold the part of his cock your mouth can't cover and move it in sync with your lips. You make it wet, make sloppy, make it whatever he leads it to be.

Joel hisses and moans louder when you find the special places hidden—the sensitive skin between his balls that leads up, you lick it from start to finish and are rewarded with a full-body shudder.

He shows you what strong body means.

"Where's your room?" he pulls you by the arms, and you somehow end up jumping on him. Exactly what you wanted.

"I'm not makin' that far," you tell him with a grin.

He has his thumb on your lips again—he seems to like your mouth.

"Didn't think you'd want my bare ass on your couch."

"That is exactly where I want your bare ass right now," you tell him.

He's good at following requests, just as he is at giving them.

Joel sits with you already straddling his lap, and bless his gentleman's heart, he says, "I left my pants outside—wait," he curses under his breath with your hips circling his shaft. Letting it slide between your pussy lips. "Fuckin' hell."

"Fuckin' hell indeed," you sigh. "Wait here."

You run outside for it, only because you're not on the pill. Maybe you'll start taking it. Maybe you shouldn't think that far.

Joel's waiting for you alright—he has his hand at the base of his cock, sitting on your couch like a modern-day Adonis.

A sluttier Adonis. Sexier, too.

"Stop starin' and c'mere," he demands;

And who are you to say no to that?

Joel does you the favor of putting it on as you make yourself comfortable on his lap again, taking all of your out of the way. He looks like he wants to eat you alive piece by piece, and you love it.

"Lemme know if you want me to take over," he tells you.

"Yes, sir," you whisper in a taunting manner.

Joel rests his forehead against yours when you line himself up with you, and it's a reward of your stupid, gigantic-ass window letting in the light from outside that allows you to see the pleasure on his face as you sink around him, burying him to the hilt.

His digits press so hard on your sides they'll brise.

You'll be bruised tomorrow morning.

Fingerprints on your hips, beard burns on your inner legs, palm shapes across your ass.

When you start moving, none of you say a word about how it feels.

It's criminal.

Only curses and your names are allowed in the thin space separating your wet bodies.

The thin layer of sweat makes you two glide on each other, and the drag of him inside of you is almost too good for words.

You're scared of the ones that'd make their way out, anyway.

So you let out what you can. You call for him, and he calls back. Joel slaps your ass, both sides of it, and urges you on to take him as you want it.

"Fuckin' christ, I'm never gonna—fuck—never gonna sleep again."

There it is. Being pussy-drunk makes him loose-lipped.

Your own are aching with how hard you bite on them.

Joel lets the reigns remain on your hands as you stay on top. He lets you ride him painfully slow, and faster, just because it feels good. He lets you climb all the way up only to slam back down, praising you through the fog in your brain.

"Does it feel good, Sunshine? Mm? My cock feels that good for you?"

You're sure it'll all come back to haunt you once your brain can be coherent.

He takes charge when you start begging him, and for what, you're unsure of. It's a mixture of please and his name, which Joel takes as his permission slip.

He flips you onto your back, hooks one of your legs on the middle of his back, and fucks you both into another orgasm.

It should be concerning the way he does it—like he's familiar with your body and your cues. He just follows your pace and moans until you're clawing at his back, and when his name comes out over and over again, he coaxes it again. Coos at you, holding your face in one hand. "You're gonna cum for me, aren't ya? Do it. I'll cum for you when I feel you shakin' around my cock, Sunshine. Cum for me."

It comes so hard you almost faint; blackout.

Joel takes care of you afterward.

Of course he does.

Even with the weakest legs and the minimum sense of reality around you, he manages. Joel leads you upstairs, tells you he's collected your clothes, and even lays down when you ask him.

"Just for a while," you ask.

He lays in front of you in bed, and pulls your arms around him. "I'm puttin' an alarm."

Little spoon. "You gotta be back here in the morning anyway."

"I know," he kisses your wrist. "Can't wait."

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene

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inlovewithpandora · 9 months

Text

- Party Girl -

Pairing: Protective!Miles!42 x fem!drunk!reader

Request: [ anonymous ] Protective 42 Miles when his girl calls him high or drunk (she's at a party and he didn't know) so he goes to pick her up and some dude is trying to get at her?

Synopsis: When Miles gets a post notification that you posted something on your story he assumes it’s a selfie of you but that idea flies out the window when he sees a bottle of alcohol in your hand.

Content: Aged!up Miles, fluff, angst (if you squint hard enough), established relationship (bf & gf), mention of alcohol/drinking, reader being under the influence

Author’s Note: Thank you for sending this request in! I hope you enjoy and that it meets your expectations! This was a really good request and I enjoyed writing it because I’ve been wanting to write drunk!reader for a while. Let me know what you think by sending an anonymous ask or comment if you feel comfortable!

Word Count: 1.1k

Glossary: Princesa - Princess

Extra: Requests are open! Please read rules before requesting! || Likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated❤️!

Links: Navigation || Atsv Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist

As Miles lays across his bed, closing the text thread with one of his friends, he gets a notification from Instagram saying that you added something to your story. He assumes it’s one of your normal posts, a boomerang of yourself, a picture of you and him, or a daily quote with a song playing, but when he opens your story, it turns out to surprisingly be the complete opposite.

It is a picture of a bottle of Pink Whitney in your hand. His face scrunches up at the sight, wondering why you have a bottle of alcohol. He clicks over to see what else you’ve posted and he’s met with the sight of you pouring the bottle of alcohol into your mouth and his ears are filled with the sound of your friends cheering you on and loud music playing in the background.

To say Miles was baffled would be an understatement. You’ve never been a person who liked to drink or party, you would always rather stay home or invite Miles over so both of you could spend time together, thus to see this side of you, he’s caught him off guard. He immediately goes to your text thread and his fingers begin to rapidly type away.

—

Watching your friends dance with each other while pouring yourself another drink for the night, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You reach for your phone and check your messages.

You forgot that you didn’t tell Miles that you were coming to the party since your friends told you about it so last minute. You put your cup down and try to text him back, but you can barely see the words let alone coordinate your fingers properly to type out the sentence you want, so you decide to call him.

Once you press the call button, it only rings one time before you hear Miles' voice. “Princesa, are you okay?” He asks, making sure that you are okay before he starts bombarding you with different questions.

“I’m fine, baby! I’m just-” you hiccup, “having fun!” He can tell that you are drunk by your slurring words and the slowed pace you are talking in. As you try to focus on hearing Miles talking, your attention span plummets and you begin to hype up your friend.

Miles knows the alcohol is coursing through your veins and is making you zone out and he’s trying his best to be patient and keep your focus on him so he could figure out where you are.

“Bae, I need you to focus and tell me-” He starts carefully before you interrupt him. “You know you didn’t tell me hi when you picked up the phone, that’s so rude, Miles. You didn’t say it in your texts either.”

“My fault. Hey, baby. Now can you please tell me where you are?”

“If you say it a little nicer I’ll tell you where I’m at.” You say in a singsong tone which makes Miles groan under his breath and rub his temples. After he says it in a tone you approve of, you finally proceed to tell him the address of the party you’re at.

He immediately gets out of bed, puts his shoes on, grabs his keys, and makes his way out of the door.

“I’m coming to pick you up, okay? I’ll be there in fifteen. I’ll text you when I’m outside.” Miles gets in his car, puts his key in the ignition, and drives to where you are.

All in while you decide to take at least one last shot before he comes and spoils your fun.

—

When Miles pulls up to the house, he jumps out his car and walks into the party. He looks around but doesn’t locate you which makes him worry. He begins to barge through the crowd of people, trying to find you. His eyes scan the whole room and he doesn’t see you in the front, but he gets to hear your voice.

“I’m so-sorry, but I have a boyfriend that kills people.” You say in a giggly tone with slurred words as you talk to some random guy who has been asking for your number for the past few minutes.

“I don’t care about him, all I want is yo digits.” The guy presses you, pulling out his phone and handing it to you so you could type your number into it.

When Miles sees that his blood boils. He knows that the guy is trying to take advantage of you because you are under the influence. He immediately marches over to where you are and pulls you away from the guy.

“You heard what the fuck she said, she has a boyfriend.” Miles towers over the guy, yelling and pointing at him, making some threats just to make sure his point gets across that you’re taken and that he needs to leave you alone.

When the guy hears the bass in Miles’s voice and watches how his eyes slowly turn pitch black, he stutters out an apology and walks away. You just stand behind Miles, not paying attention or aware of anything that is going on until you feel him gently pull you by your arm.

“Miles! You’re here, I missed you!” You plant millions of messy kisses on his face before throwing your arms around his shoulders and hugging him. He is about to ask if you are okay, but by that greeting, he already knows you are totally fine.

“Let’s go home princesa and then you can tell me all about your night.” He grabs your hand and begins to escort you out of the party, but along the way your feet get wobbly due to the heels you're wearing. You let go of his hand and begin to fumble with the strings of your heels so you can take them off. However due to the alcohol, your hand-eye coordination isn’t the best.

Miles notices you struggling, so he decides to pick you up bridal style and walk out. The walking distance between the party to his car is short, but it gives you enough time to fall asleep in his arms, your head resting on his chest and your small snores ringing through his ears.

Once he makes it to the car, he somehow manages to open the door and carefully place you inside without waking you up. He closes the door gently and walks to the driver's side and gets in. When he places the key into the ignition, he looks over at you and thinks about how he can’t get over how adorable you look sleeping. He leans over and kisses your forehead then begins driving to your apartment.

He knows that he is going to have plenty of questions for you in the morning, but for tonight he is going to let you sleep the alcohol out of your system.

I hope you enjoyed❤️!

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Editor - @justmemyselfandthemoon

Taglist: @toneystank-3000 @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @baizzhu @solanawrld @kxllanxtdoor @kxtsxkii @onlyloaksgf @popeheywardssecretgf @naiomiwinchester @number1gal @spidersthetic @taylormarieee @h3art-l3ss @mellagzz @em-x0 @3zae-zae3 @khamanix @miguellover6969 @beargracecanbeanyone @strawberryclouds22 @ban-al3x @starsharkz @onginlove @kxllanxtdoor @lorarri

#❖ — 🕸️: 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑬 𝑴𝒀 𝑱𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑨𝑵’𝑺?.!#❖ — 🕷️: 𝑰𝑻’𝑺 𝑨 𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑨𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑹 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑪𝑨𝑷𝑰𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑴.!#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x you #miles morales #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles #atsv miles #atsv x reader #atsv x y/n #atsv x you #spiderman atsv #atsv x black reader #astv x fem!reader #astv x reader

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russellsppttemplates · 15 days

Text

A red thread tying you to me (Charles Leclerc)

There was something pulling you to him and Charles was ready to act on it

Note: english is not my first language. I loved the blurb and now we have a big piece too!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions the death of reader's father's and Charles' father's deaths

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"The congress is just outside of Milan, the exact city and details are in there", your colleague Lucia offered as she flickered though the pages, "I've been a couple of times before and it's really enriching, I just know you'll love the students and the department head - she was my supervisor for a couple of years".

"It sounds great", you looked at the panel information and then the travel details, "it's such a shame you can't come with me though, but I also wouldn't want to risk your little dude showing up and have me as your midwife", you chuckled as Lucia rubbed her baby bump.

"You're capable of many things, Y/N, but I would prefer if the fate of my baby and my underparts was in the hands of a professional!", she bumped your shoulder, "and the area is really nice too, I'm sure you'll find something to keep you busy during the weekend".

"I have plans, actually, I'll be fine I think", you smiled.

Like Lucia predicted, you had a great time in the conference and the guest lecture you gave was applauded and discussed for nearly an hour after you showed the last slide of the presentation, topics going back and forth until everyone had to absolutely leave the room before the next lecture began. For now, you'd get to enjoy the region, drinking some wine and taking in the views you recognised.

The park where your father used to take you didn't look too different. The slides didn't look rusty anymore, and the swing was a bright red colour as you sat on it once you didn't see any other kid around who might want to use them and let yourself feel the breeze on your face and hair as you kicked your legs in and out. Your father used to make you feel like you could touch the sky with how high he helped you go, "you're going to touch the clouds, mia piccola stella", he would say and you would laugh loudly.

You missed him every single day, but over the years, your grief allowed you remember all of the happy moments you lived with him, cherishing them close to your heart. Spending the whole weekend in Monza and attending the race was something you hadn't done without him since he passed away. The circuit was your father's favourite - "it's the fans, Y/N, there's a thrill in the air that no other circuit has - Tifosi cover the streets, they're all you can see around town and it's magical almost" he would say to you, so when you noticed the conference was in the area and coincided with the Grand Prix weekend, both you and your mother agreed you should take the opportunity.

On your way back to the hotel, you stopped by the track, wondering what the preparations for a race weekend looked like after so many years. You still followed the sport, but you never got the chance to catch this on television.

"Oh my, oh my", you heard someone say beside where you were standing, "I can't believe my eyes, it's Y/N Y/L/N".

Turning around you spotted Salvatore, one of the mechanics your father worked with. He also had kids around your age and you would often play together whenever you were both in the garage for the weekend.

"Salvatore!", you cheered, giving him a big smile after kissing each of his cheeks, "you better believe your eyes then".

"It's been so long since I've seen you last", he recalled, rubbing your back softly. You and your mother had gone to Maranello for a tribute ceremony the team had for your father - that had been the last time he saw you.

"It has been, yes - I'm sorry", you apoligised. You told the team you'd be around and so much had happened since and you only watched it through a screen instead of living it in the flesh.

"It's okay, it was the time you needed - What brought you to Monza this weekend?", he wondered as he walked inside the paddock with you, scanning his card and getting you both in.

"A work trip actually - I finished a conference yesterday and I also gave a lecture at the university", you nodded, "and my father always loved Monza", you smiled at the memory, "he knew how cliché that sounded, but he always said there wasn't a better weekend on the calendar. And I've missed the rush, too", you offered, letting the tears flow freely and accepting them even though you were in the middle of the paddock, loud noises coming from every angle as the teams prepared the finishing touches for the upcoming race.

"He's very proud of you, I'm sure", Salvatore comforted, "and everyone will be happy to see you here - the little girl with the high pigtails is a grown woman now who attends conferences and gives lectures, who would've known?", he joked as you stepped inside the garage.

"Is this little troublemaker Y/N Y/L/N?", one of the oldest mechanics said after he applied a sticker to the halo.

When your father took you to the races, everyone knew they had fun guaranteed with you, always pulling pranks and laughing loudly, "my troublemaker days are over, I'm a responsible woman now", you chuckled, giving a quick wave to everyone before greeting everyone individually.

"Do you have tickets for this weekend?", Fred asked. Even though he had just met you, it was clear to him how much you mattered to everyone who worked with your father, "we can get you a pass, I'm sure".

"I have grandstand tickets", you stated.

"Silvia!", the team principal called the woman, making her approach him and rub your arm kindly, "do we have any guest passes left?".

"Let me check", Silvia mumbled, "we have one left, actually! Charles didn't even notice he asked us to save a ticket for his mother twice - I'll get it for you, it's in the meeting room upstairs", she smiled.

"Charles will also be very happy to see you around, did you tell him you were coming?", Salvatore mentioned.

"I haven't actually - I've been really busy", you mumbled.

You met the monégasque driver when he was Scuderia Ferrari's development driver and Prema Racing driver in Formula Two, accidentally running into him in the dining area of the hospitality and ending up spending most of his free time there throughout the whole weekend.

Quickly, it became a tradition to do so whenever he was over and whenever he was done with his Formula Two duties and you happened to be at the same track.

When you stopped attending races because the memories were too painful, you lost contact, opting to react to eachother's Instagram stories every now and again and sending quick messages through the social media app.

"The boys arrive today, but they're only coming to the track tomorrow", Fred added, "you'll have plenty of time to catch up".

Charles had finally arrived to the hotel after all the flights and drives, thankful that there weren't many fans around already and he could get inside without a hitch, checking in and getting his room keys.

"Hold it, per favore!", he said to the person on the lift, dreaming of the changing from his travel outfit and the bed waiting for him. When his hand helped him inside the metal door, he couldn't believe his eyes, "Y/N?".

He could remember the last time he saw you. He had just started his first season as a Formula One driver for Alfa Romeo and you had come back to the paddock for the first race of the season like you promised you would. He sat with you whenever he had a little break, you caught up with him and his early days as a driver with a seat rather than just watching from the sidelines.

"Charles, hi!", you gasped, hugging him and feeling him squeeze your body against his.

"I- what are you doing here? Are you here for the race?", he wondered. This couldn't be a mere coincidence. He hoped it wasn't.

"I had a work trip here that coincided with this weekend, and I thought of it as a sign", you explained, "you're staying in this hotel too?".

"Yes, the team are at the one where we usually stay for the weekend, but until Thursday, I'm staying here, yes", he smiled, "Goodness, I feel like it's both been forever and like it was yesterday", he chuckled, "do you want to get a drink? I have a nice selection in my room whenever I stay", he offered.

"I'd love to, Charles", you said, hoping that the tingly feeling on your tummy mirrored Charles' own excitement at this unexpected but valued encounter, "are you sure though? You just arrived".

"No, don't worry about that! My room is... 705", he checked on the card he was handed, "so you can join me now or maybe you want to set those things down first and meet me there?", he pointed to the bag you were carrying.

"Yes, this is quite heavy actually", you blushed, "my room is on this floor, so I'll meet in your room in fifteen? I need to freshen up because I've been walking around town all day".

Leaving the elevator on your floor, Charles waved at your before the doors closed andyou headed to your door. Stepping inside, you left the totebag with the books you bought in the chair before heading to the bathroom, brushing out any tangles in your hair and splashing your face with water to freshen up.

After getting yourself ready to go, you went up to Charles' floor, knocking on the door and waiting for him.

"Come in, come in!", Charles offered after he opened the door, "I've unpacked but kept it very organised still", he chuckled as you walked inside the room. It looked the same as yours did, only a different colour pallette for the decoration.

"How have you been?", you wondered once you sat down and shared some sparkling water, neither of you really feeling like drinking anything alcoholic.

"You surely know more about me than I know about you", Charles smiled, "but it's been good, this season has been great so far, I feel like we're in a really good path and things are working well", he took a sip from his cup, "the team have done such an incredible job".

"And the driver on the car doesn't have anything to do with that?", you squinted at his ever so modest take on things.

"I suppose I do", he blushed.

"I may have not been here, but I've watched every race - minus some of the ones at daft o'clock, I only watched those when my sleep was all messed up", you joked, "you're an essential part of this team, Charles, everyone can see that so you should give yourself more credit", you touched his arm.

Even though it had been years since you last saw eachother, you hit it off immediately and it seemed like no time had passed.

"And you? What is this work trip that brought you here?", Charles nodded.

"You're not the only one who gets to travel for work, alright?", you tsked, "I had to do a presentation on a conference and then the department invited me for a lecture, nothing big".

"Who's being ever so modest now, hm? That is fantastic, mon ange!", he congratulated before he noticed the words coming out of his mouth.

"When I noticed it fell around this weekend, I told my mum and she said that I should try and dip my foot here - I've been wanting to come to race sooner but...", you trailed off.

"I get it - it's hard going to the places that remind you of them", Charles took his hand in yours and squeezed it, "he was so cherished by the team, I'm sure everyone will be very happy to see you".

"Actually, I walked to the track today so I could see it up close before the race - I hoped it wouldn't be such a big shock once I got there on Friday -, and I bumped into Salvatore", you smiled, "he let me go into the garage and I saw everyone, it was really nice", you looked up so the tears on your eyes wouldn't fall.

"I can get you a pass, let me just text Silvia!", Charles said as he got his phone from his pocket with his free hand.

"She already did", you chirped, "apparently you booked two for your mother, so they had a spare one".

"You see, a couple of years ago, my mum was too late to tell me she was coming to the race and I was out of the guest passes, so I always have one on hold for her and I sent the list with her name on it as well", he admitted, "but it seems to have turned out just fine - meant to be even".

You ended up requesting room service for the two of you for dinner, neither feeling like going out of the room after feeling so comfortable there. Conversation was steady, vulnerability was easy to show and the butterflies were happily dancing on your tummy.

"I better get to my room, then", you stated once Charles told you about what he needed to do tomorrow once he was at the track.

"I didn't mean it that way - I'm fine!", he said after doing his best attempt at containing a big yawn, "I'm fine!".

"You're tired, and frankly so am I", you admitted as you got up from the bed.

"Would you like to come with me to the track tomorrow? If you don't have other plans that is", he mumbled the last part.

"I don't - I was just going to work a little bit, but if you find me a spot in the hospitality, I'll happily take my stuff there", you smiled reassuringly as you put on your shoes and headed to the door.

"I can take you to your room", Charles got up from the bed and followed you.

"No need, my room is just downstairs", you reasoned, kissing his cheek in a silent thank you still.

"That's right - so we'll go tomorrow after breakfast?", he rested his body on the door once you opened it.

"Yes, that works for me! Good night, Charles", you smiled before walking up to the elevator.

Walking inside the hospitalitynwith Salvatore and the rest of the team, he was quick to show you where you could set up.

"Charles likes to spend as much time as possible with the fans and it's right about now that they start becoming more and more and they're everywhere, too", he explained as he helped you in the table on the lounge area, "there's food and coffee in there if you need anything", Salvatore smiled, "if you need anything, just ask someone".

"Thank you - this is perfect", you assured, sitting down and working on your laptop and reading some of the books you had bought.

Charles and Carlos finally arrived at the hospitality, greeting the team and talking to them for a while before they headed upstairs for a meeting.

"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend and you were bringing her here", Carlos told Charles as he poured some coffee on a mug after the meeting.

"I don't - I haven't brought a girlfriend here", Charles quirked an eyebrow at his team-mate.

"So who is that young woman you just smiled at and are pouring coffee for after giving her the heart eyes?", it was the spanish driver's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Oh, Y/N!", Charles smiled as he mentioned your name, "she's an old friend! Her father was a mechanic before he passed away a few years ago - the older team members have known her since she was little, everyone loves her", he mused.

"Everyone loves her - I can see that", Carlos chuckled as he followed Charles to the table.

"We don't want to interrupt or disturb you too much", Charles announced as he set the mug next to your laptop.

"It's fine, sit sit!", you encouraged as you closed the books you no longer needed to make room for them, "I'm Y/N", you told Carlos.

"I'm Carlos", he smiled back, "nice to meet you", he said before you dove into conversation, discussing anything that popped into your minds and getting to know eachother.

"Don't let her fool you into believing she has always been a responsible, put together girl because she used to steal and hide all of our tools!", Antonio, one of the engineers pointed at you after he got himself a bottle of water, "Charles knows her tricks already but you, Carlos, don't fall for that!".

"You loved it every time I was on the computers and drew on Paint! You even had one of my drawings as the background for almost an entire season!", you threw at him as he approached you, patting the top of your head protectively.

"I'd like to see that! I've only known her since she was way older", Charles pouted.

"Jealous much?", Carlos teased, his voice above a whisper as Charles seemed to get flustered.

"Is it really that obvious?", the monégasque driver mumbled once you got up to get something to eat, "I've had a crush on her since I was a development driver".

"Why have you never said anything? She seems like she really cares about you too", Carlos mused as he thought to a few moments before where you too gqve him heart eyes. He would have to be blind to not notice it, and even then the energy between you too would still be felt.

"The timing wasn't right, I guess - her father passed away almost right after as I became a driver for Alfa Romeo, and she hasn't been in the paddock since. We have texted every now and again over the years and now she happened to be here for the race too", Charles offered.

"I'd say you should take a shot - trust me, she likes you back", Carlos patted Charles' shoulder after getting up, watching you go back to the table with a big smile on your face.

After Charles took pole position in qualifying, the team stayed a bit longer for the debrief, going over a few points of the discussion and the changes they still needed to make before the race.

"Y/N! We're having dinner at one of our favourite restaurants in town and I'm counting you in, okay?", Charles said as he spotted you in the garage, followed by Andrea, who had been keeping you company along with his brothers, Charlotte and Pascale.

"Your family is here for you, Charles, I don't want to intrude", you said as you got up, unaware of the Leclerc matriarch behind you.

"Chérie, of course you won't be intruding - we'd love to have you there!", Pascale chirped in.

"Well, in that case...!", you smiled, "just tell me where I should go and at what time, or are we going straight there?", you wondered.

"I was thinking we could go straight there if that's okay with you - you can can come with me and Andrea can ride with my brothers", Charles suggested, "unless you need to go back to the hotel", he quickly scrambled.

"No, I'm fine! Unless this outfit is not restaurant appropriate", you muttered as you looked down. Against all odds, you managed to not get any food stains on your dress. It was a midi skirt cut, flowy to allow your body to feel cool considering the warm Italian day.

"It's fine - you're fine, you look beautiful!", Charles was quick to assure you.

"Good, that's good then", you smiled before excusing yourself to go and get your things.

"You have to tell her, Charles - your affection is no use to either of you if you keept it in here", Pascale tapped her son's chest.

"Y/N", Charles called you before he had to go and get ready for the race, "I have something for you - we do", he said as some of the mechanics, including Salvatore, followed him.

"Oh, what is it?", you smiled.

"We commented with some guys back at the factory that you were here with is this weekend and they found something we thought you'd like to have", Salvatore said as he handed you a bag.

Looking inside, you noticed an old Ferrari cap and some embroidered lettering on the side, recognising it immediately. When you were a teenager, you decided to try different hobbies and hand embroidery was the one that stuck the most, so much so that on one of the race weekends, you embroidered caps for everyone on the team that asked you.

"My wife remembered the one I have at home and then the guys at Maranello found your father's and apparently one you did for Charles' as well", Salvatore offered as you took them both out.

"Dad always said he had plenty of embroidered things at home and this one was the one he had to travel with him", you chuckled as tears welled up in your eyes, feeling Charles soothingly rub your back.

"I remember getting this and loving it - I thought I had lost it!", Charles said, unaware if how close he was pulling you together so he could get a peek at the old caps.

"There's some loose string here", you chuckled, wiping the tears and fiddling with the red thread, "I didn't know how to properly tie it at the start, I kept losing it - I think I even glued it down at some point. Thank you for bringing this out", you smiled.

"Would you mind if I wore this for the driver's parade?", Charles asked you.

"I was planning on wearing my dad's while I watched the race", you offered, testing the fabric and placing it on your head before doing the same with Charles, fixing it on his head and looking up at him.

You never got over how handsome he was. The little scar on his cheek, his mole, the smile that never failed to make you smile, his beautiful green eyes. His kindness, his gentleness, his talent - there wasn't a way to deny how much you liked it. How much you liked him.

"We will be matching then!", Charles squeezed you against him before going to his driver's room.

Only when Charles was headed to take P1 on the grid did he hand the cap back to Salvatore and put on his helmet, giving you a wink before he left.

"How are you feeling?", Pascale asked as she sat next to you to watch the race. Over the last couple of days, she had grown close to you, not only because you had captured her son's heart and she wanted to get to know you, but also because Charles had told her how emotionally charged it was for you to be at the track, in Monza nonetheless.

"It's a lot", you admitted, "everyone has been so kind and warm, so all of the heavy feelings have been slowly infiltrating the good ones and it's been easier to deal with them like that", you blinked away a few tears.

"I get it", Pascale nodded, "losing someone is not easy, and I can't imagine what it feels like for you - the boys and I talk about my late husband every now and again and it gets easier to talk about it, I think that's what it is anyway".

"Yes, definitely like that. My mum and I have reached the point where we don't cry at every mention - despite what you might have noticed this weekend", you chuckled.

"It's emotional, chérie - I, for one, always cry whenever the boys achieve their goals. Hervé isn't here to see them, but I know he knows, and the boys know how proud he is of them", Pascale smiled, keeping some tears at bay too.

"You raised amazing young men, don't doubt that", you let out. At this point, you were sure she had noticed or had at least an inkling. As any mechanic for the red team who knew you since you were a kid would say, you were never a good liar - anytime you said you didn't touch something, they knew to look in your backpack first.

"Thank you, dear", she added, "you know, Charles is quite careful in who he lets in, but he's never been good at hiding how much he cares about someone and I can tell he cares a great deal about you".

"I care a lot about him too", you smiled before you were handed a pair of headphones each with the race about to start.

When Charles successfully kept the cars behind him away with a good gap, you clapped and watched the remaining laps number get smaller and smaller until there was only the current lap left.

Charlotte held your hand together with hers as you watched Charles be the first driver to see the checkered flag and when Xavi yelled "And P1!" into the radio, you did your happy dance, not having a care in the world about what others thought as you watched the Tifosi erupt in cheer.

"He did it! He did it!", Pascale clapped for her son, Arthur hugging her while Lorenzo did the same with his girlfriend while you softly touched your father's embroidered name on your cap with your fingers.

Running up to Parc Fermé, you stood in the sea of red, waiting for him to come back and hug them.

"You did so well, congratulations!", you said as you pulled Charles for a hug.

"Had my good luck charm with me!", he smiled back, kissing your cheek as he took advantage of you being shielded by the mechanics and engineers.

The team celebratory dinner was going really well, everyone happy with how the weekend panned out with both drivers on the podium and enjoying the meal on the restaurant's outside patio.

"If you guys want dessert, they're going to set them out on that table and you can grab as much as you like", Fred spread the message as you could see all kinds of sweet foods being brought out, a pudding catching your eye along with some raspberries.

You and Charles got the dessert plates and served yourselves, noticing the staff was already clearing up the tables, meaning you'd have to move to the bar area, many people opting to skip dessert and get some drinks instead.

"You can see the stars so clearly tonight", you mused as you looked up at the sky, setting your plate on the high table.

"My father always said that the stars did shine brighter here, and tonight the sky is very clear", Charles hummed in agreement, looking at your face. The moonlight and the dim lighting for the lamps and fairy lights illuminated all your features perfectly - your smile as you looked up formed the dimples on your cheeks, your eyes that were a tiny bit squinty and the way your whole body seemed relaxed.

The goosebumps on your arms caught his eye though, "here, have this", Charles said as he offered you the cardigan he had carried around all night since according to him his mother made him do it because it would be cold.

"Thanks", you smiled as you pulled the sleeves and folded them around your wrist so they would fit better, "this is really comfy, I might steal this if you don't ask for it back", you joked.

"I don't mind if you keep it, you have had my heart all these years", Charles stated. There it was.

"What?", you faced him, heart beating fast inside your chest.

"It's true, I've had a crush on you since I first met you, and these past couple of days have been amazing, and I can't believe it took me all these years to realize how I truly feel about you Y/N", he told you, no stutter or sign of regret on his face.

"I haven't been around, really, it's my fault", you fiddled with your thumbs before looking at him again, "but I can't lose you again".

"You never lost me, amour", he smiled as his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, his hand cupping your cheek your mouth pressed on his, ignoring everything and everyone around you.

Interrupting the kiss for air, Charles giggled as you hid your face in his neck once you heard the cheers and whistles, your lashes tickling him as his arms circled your waist and pulled you closer to him.

"He wins inside the track and outside of it, Charles Leclerc, P1 to Y/N's heart!", Carlos shouted before whistling again.

"Just so you know, I want an invite to your wedding!", Salvatore pointed his finger at you, "I still remember when you invited me for your wedding with Vettel!".

"You and Seb?", Charles chuckled once you pulled away from his neck.

"Sebastian was my favourite when I was little", you giggled, hiding your face on Charles' chest this time, "when he was back in RedBull still, I asked my father to ask him if he could take a photo with me and I cherished that for so many years - it was my most prized possession!".

"I can't promise you Seb, but I can promise you the very best of me", Charles said as he kissed the top of your head.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fluff #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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f10werfae · 1 year

Text

Sugar Sweet Thong

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry Cavill x Wife!Reader

warning: After Y/n gets a new thong, away up in his cabin where no one can touch her but him, her wild man of a husband can’t keep his hands off her (Major Dom Henry)

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate

requests are open/likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Henry Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Baby, how did your little gift exchange thing go today? n’ what’s behind your beautiful body?”Henry asked watching his girl creep in through the front door, a clearly visible Victoria Secret bag in her hands. “It went well” She said shortly, her act falling once Henry patted his knees, beckoning her to sit on his beefy thighs; a strong arm curling around her waist. “Well what’d ya get sugar? C’mon n’ let me see, even brought more firewood in so we can snuggle in close tonight”

He growled nuzzling his nose against her cheek, his lips pressing a sloppy kiss onto her jaw. “We actually did something a little different this year, w-we did a thong exchange, so we all-“

“So you all bought each other thongs huh? Go on baby, show me your pretty new lace on for me to play with” Henry leant back in the arm chair, Y/n easily cuddling back with him, instantly missing his body heat. Henry’s arm around her waist softly stroked her stomach, his fingers teasing the rim of her underwear

“But that’s embarrassing! I can just hold it up for youu” Y/n whined shoving her face in his neck, the smell of pinewood and cologne filling her nose, his chequered over-shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tight white shirt.

A year ago Henry took a trip to the closest town for new tools, his eyes immediately caught onto the sweet little thing working in her grandparent’s candy shop. Dressed in a lavender dress she always greeted him with a smile, clinging onto his burly arms every time they walked about town, gaining a few stares as people thought ‘How could such a grumpy thing get that light?’

Of course once Henry convinced her to elope, it only made sense that she moved out with him to his isolated luxurious cabin out on the slopes. Their wedding consisted of just her family, Henry’s being nowhere in site but that didn’t bother any of them, frankly Y/n’s parents were just glad she was finally married despite her still being in her early 20s; for a man in his 30s like Henry to want their daughter’s hand in marriage, that was a gift.

“You’re my wife, if anythin the lace is the frame for my pretty picture. Now go get the damn thong on” Henry said more dominantly slapping Y/n’s ass causing her to squeal and giggle to their shared bedroom.

Pulling the thong up her thighs, Y/n couldn’t help but feel confident at the sight of the new lace on her body, when her friend’s words came back to her. “Come on Y/n, think of it as a present for both you and your grumpy ol’ man” Lucy giggled handing Y/n the bag.

Putting on one of Henry’s plaid shirts over her, she walked back out to the armchair in front of the log fire, wearing nothing underneath but her new thong. “Well?” Henry asked taking another swig of beer, throwing his cap onto the floor.

Y/n shyly pulled up the shirt revealing it to her husband, causing him to sit up and lean forward, his nose hitting her mound. “Sugar, you decorated my flower with another pretty flower, how thoughtful of you” He said looking up at her before taking his tongue and striping a lick up her thinly covered pussy.

“W-what are you doing Hen?” Y/n asked threading her fingers through his messy curls, his, “Kissing my pretty pussy” Henry growled placing kisses all over, finally setting one on her clit, causing his woman to slightly jolt in his hold. Henry leant back, unbuckling the belt she had recently gotten him for Christmas, his jeans falling to just his knees.

“Sit on my lap baby, get comfortable with your man, tell me about your day, wan’ hear all about it” Nodding Y/n sat back on his lap, the only thing between her pussy and his thick cock, being her lace thong. He wrapped one arm around her waist, the other starting to slowly rub her clit through the lace as she talked.

“W-we went to starbucks, oh fuck, and- and then”

“Language baby” Henry growled slapping her pussy out of nowhere, before going back to slowly playing with her nub, his other arm making sure she doesn’t wiggle away from him.

“T-then we went back to Grace’s and we did the thong- thong exchange” Y/n gasped feeling Henry’s cock slide between her thighs, his red head bumping her clit every single time, just like he wanted. “That’s it baby, keep talking to me” Henry urged, his fingers going into his mouth and going back onto her clit, his other hand groping onto her right breast as she clawed onto his arms.

“Can’t do it, feels too good bear” Y/n breathed out leaning her head back onto his shoulder, his lips instantly landing onto her cheek, her head turning to give him a small kiss on the lips. “Got you all dumbed up on my cock, right honey? Can’t think when i’m all up on you, you drive me crazy” He growled fixing her up tighter against him, both his hands now going to her waist for his next move.

“Can’t imagine what woulda happened if I didn’t marry ya and bring you up here with me, you ever going to keep my pussy away from me?” Henry taunted pushing her body up and down, his cock sliding up and down her pussy lips which were now visible with the soaked lace.

“N-no. is’ your pussy baby, can have it whenever you want” Y/n moaned, her eyes going to the back of her head, knowing damn well that his words were enough to make her cum then and there. “Want you inside me Hen”

“Nuh-uh honey, maybe tomorrow, m’tired tonight. You understand right? Was busy working for us day n’ night” Henry said smirking knowing damn well his bank accounts were big enough to supply them another 10 lifetimes, but his baby didn’t need to know that, and she wouldn’t.

“Y-you’re right Hen, m’sorry, love you so much” Y/n whimpered feeling tears prick her eyes, her head turning coaxing out Henry’s tongue with her own, their rapid movements causing their kiss to turn wet and messy real quick. Filthy just like they both liked it. “I love you too baby. I’m going to cum on top of your pussy, that okay sugar?” He asked in her ear, her voice now rasped and broken as she screamed for him to do so. His cock painting the lilac lace white with his cum, Y/n’s eyes starting to lid close from exhaustion

“Can I at least keep this pair?” Y/n shuddered feeling her husband peel the sticky fabric down her thighs, watching as he threw it to somewhere in the living room, her eyes basically love hearts as she watched him attend to her. Kissing her nose, giving her a massive drink of water, bringing her back onto his lap this time with a soft blanket.

“You know the rules sugar, no underwear indoors” Henry whispered watching their log fire, his arms clasped around her waist as she resumed her story of her day, her nails softly playing with the wedding bands on their fingers. “Then I saw Stephanie’s new baby, n’ I was thinking can we have one?”

Henry woke up from his daydream to see Y/n looking up at him cutely, a sweet sugar like smile on her face, “Course baby, i’ll give you anything you want”

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @stormcloudss @keiva1000 @spencerreidat4am @diyabhanushali1 @angelmather1 @hp-hogwartsexpress @lastwandastan @fdl305 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @aerangi @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @sparklemarysunshine @oliviah-25 @mischiefsemimanaged @nikkitc0703 @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mansaaay @princess-paramour @uwiuwi @marvelgurl @mysticfalls01 @kebabgirl67 @athena-roy @tinyelfperson @madebylilly @dumb-fawkin-bitch @vrittivsanghavi @beck07990 @kimhtoo17 @thereisa8ella @pandaxnienke

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill smut #romance #henry cavill fandom #lumberjack!henry cavill

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writingstreetspirit · 10 months

Text

Addictive

Summary: What happens in the Drama room before D&D sessions stays in the Drama room.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, (P in V) smut, unprotected sex, MINORS DNI. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: I really can’t get enough of this man. Some parts of this have been written when I’ve in fact not been sober, so 🥴 I hope it’s still readable. If you liked this, please like/comment/reblog/follow as it helps me and every other content creator out there. Thank you!

—

“C’here, sweetheart. We have 15 minutes before the sheep arrive.”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were rearranging the chairs around the table. For the last fifteen minutes you and Eddie had been prepping the drama room for the weekly Dungeons and Dragons session before the other Hellfire members would arrive.

“Exactly, we have 15 minutes. That’s not a lot, and we’re still not finished setting your campaign up!” You snorted, laying out all the dices and different verity of snacks on the table. While the idea was not the smartest, it did make you tingle a little just like the thought of having sex with Eddie always did.

Eddie put the campaign filled binder down on the table with a smack before strutting over toward your figure. His hands grabbed a hold of your hips, softly tugging your body closer before pressing a loud kiss on your lips.

Eddie pulls back, your just faces inches apart. You can smell his cologne, the cheep kind that you could get from any drugstore, but did it fit him. He looks into your eyes, smiling devilishly.

“[Name], tell me what you desire, and I will fulfill your every wish.” Eddie says, staring deeply into your eyes. You could clearly see what he wanted. He wants you, and you want Eddie in return. You hovered your lips above his, teasing crooning, “I want you to make me see stars.”

Eddie looks down at your lips and gives you a slow smirk. “Oh sweetheart, I can do that.”

He leans in and kisses you long and slow. You respond in kind, hands plastering themselves against Eddie’s narrow waist. He eventually pulls away and looks at you, his breath heavy and cheeks flushed. You can tell his heart is racing just like yours is.

Eddie’s lips travel down to your neck, nibbling at the delicate skin. You throw your head back with a shallow moan, his lips vibrating against your neck with the groan he lets out in response.

With no time to lose, you pulled back to grab hold of Eddie’s black jeans and made quick work of tugging open the belt holding them up on his waist. You yanked down the fabric, boxers following just a second later. He laughed low and raspy, “Eager now, are we?”

You kiss him to shut him up, tugging down both your skirt and panties at once. Eddie and your matching shirts would have to stay on this time. “How about you put your mouth to better use, baby?”

Eddie groaned, “Shit, [Name]. It’ll be my pleasure, and yours too, I bet.”

His ring adorned hands guided you backwards until you leaned far back on his throne, the chair only he ever got to sit at, and now you. Eddie dove his head between your thighs like a man starving.

If you were to say a certain sex act that Eddie was the best at, even though he’s damn good at everything, then that would be oral. The way his tongue and lips moved sends sparks up throughout your whole entire body every single time.

Your hand threaded itself in his wild dark hair when Eddie slipped one of his thick fingers inside your cunt. Hips grinding inventory against his mouth in response to a second finger, “So good, so fucking good Eddie.”

Despite Eddie’s mouth feeling like absolute heaven on you, the time wasn’t on your side. You gave a small yank on his hair, pulling his head away. His lips were red, swollen and covered in slick.

“It’s your turn.” You rose up from the chair, and firmly made Eddie sit down where you’d been just a few seconds earlier. Sinking down on your knees before him, you hand wrapping around the firm length.

Eddie moaned a bit too loud for comfort as your mouth took the tip inside, wrapping warm and wet lips around the flesh. “Shit, [Name], that feels fucking amazing.”

If you had the time, you’d be slow and throughout when giving Eddie a blowjob. Instead, you bobbed your head sloppy up and down his cock, lubricating him for what was to come.

Sooner than you’d like to, you pulled away to stand up. You move to straddle Eddie’s hips, hovering just centimeters above his cock. Eddie asked, “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, baby, want you inside me.” You murmured. Lining him up, you slowly start to sink down on his length. Eddie tips his head back with a long moan. You mewl, face seeking refuge between the crook of his neck. The pressure was quick to subside to hot lust.

Your hips start moving against him. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, softly biting down on the flesh. Eddie moaned, eyes fluttering open to find yours, pupils blown wide in lust.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie says as your walls clench down on him, you feel your entire body shudder. His hand grabs hold of the back of your neck and pulls you closer to kiss you.

“Oh, fucking shit. Jesus Christ, you feel so good!” He groans into your mouth, breath hot and intoxicating. You felt every single inch of him inside you, hitting all the parts that make you see stars.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily larger than the guys you had been with before, but he felt so perfect inside you. Like he was made just for you. You let out a sound that was somewhere between a mewl and a moan.

“That good, huh, sweetheart?” You nod and squeeze your eyes shut. Even when he’s deep inside you, Eddie could still bring himself to be a cocky little shit. He kissed your collarbone, switching between each side, leaving wet kisses in his path.

The heat in your belly was steadily growing hotter, the building orgasm crashing closer with every movement. You whined, “Eddie, I’m close!”

“Fuck, sweetheart, me too!” Eddie groaned, lips trailing back to kiss you, but he was breathing into your mouth more than actually kissing at this point. You jolted when one of his fingers made contact with your clit, rolling the nub with the time of your thrusting.

You didn’t have time to react before the orgasm came crashing right into you. Your eyes must have screwed shut because all you saw was black, and you were almost completely sure that you were screaming. Distinctly you could make out the sound of Eddie groaning against your throat.

When you finally regained vision, you were panting heavily. Eddie was slumped against you, arms wrapped tight around your trembling body, fast hot breaths warming up your neck. “Holy shit, [Name], I can’t feel my legs.”

You laughed shakily, nodding in agreement, “Me neither.”

“Love you, sweetheart,” Eddie’s head left the crook of your neck, eyes locking onto yours. His cheeks were flushed a gorgeous shade of red, as well as his lips. You indulged yourself a long kiss, Eddie melting further into you with a sigh. You muttered onto his lips, “I love you, too, Eds.”

You retreated, eyes traveling to the clock on the wall across from you. The time said 5 minutes left until the other Hellfire members would roll in. “We have 5 minutes to get dressed before the guys arrive.”

The softening length slipped out as you stood up, his come dripping down your thighs. Eddie stood up, taking his handkerchief from his pants and gave it to you to whip yourself clean, “Thanks, honey.”

Dressing yourself took but a minute. Your hair, along with Eddie’s, was tussled but not enough to fully reveal what you’d been up to. Eddie smiled that satisfied smile of his, eyes running up and down your frame.

“When we get home, I’m so going to ruin you.”

You smirked, biting your lower lip teasingly, “Looking forward to it, Dungeon Master.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson st4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things s4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie smut #minors dni #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #writingstreetspirit

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aemondsbabe · 5 months

Text

Love is Patient and Kind

summary: hand holding & dry humping || you aren't ready to take the next step with your monk, luckily for you he has the patience of a saint

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dry humping, very fluffy, osferth being cute and understanding and ruining other men for everyone, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to day one of 12 days of smuff!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as part 1 to Wind’s Howling or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist

gif creds to @thecruel!

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“Are you sure you do not wish for me to carry that, my lady?” Osferth asks for the millionth time, nodding his head at the basket, laden with various herbs and medicinal plants, in the crook of your elbow.

For the millionth time, you merely shake your head with a crooked smile. “I wish only for your company, monk,” you glance over at him as the two of you walk through the forest, admiring the way the early afternoon sun casts a golden halo through his hair, “I told you as much when we left camp this morning.”

Osferth merely nods in reply; your man is one of few words. A soft blush blooms across your cheeks at the thought – your man, but it was as good as true. Osferth was the first man in Uhtred’s company you felt comfortable with when you joined their cause all those months ago when they’d stopped in your small hamlet in need of a healer; you’d been by their side ever since.

In the months since, your relationship with the monk had steadily grown from hushed whispers around the campfire in the dead of night, when sleep eluded the both of you, to heated glances, delicate touches, and stolen kisses. More recently, Osferth had all but insisted on accompanying you nearly everywhere you went, which is how he’d come to follow you as you walked through the forest to gather the variety of curative plants you need.

A content sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head up, taking in the way the tips of the trees stretch up toward the blue sky. “I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like,” you joke, your heart squeezing proudly in your chest as the monk chuckles next to you, “But hopefully this summer will be dryer than the last.”

“I have prayed many times for sun,” Osferth says with a nod, blue eyes soft as he gazes at you, “Unfortunately, the Lord seems to ignore those requests.” The corner of his lips tilts up as he huffs a laugh at his own joke.

Suddenly, a branch snaps loudly not too far off the winding path the two of you have been strolling down. Osferth acts quickly, ever vigilant, and takes your hand to usher you behind him as he draws his sword. Your breath quickens as you peek around his shoulder, pressing yourself tightly against his back as your hand grips his; you’d been assured by Uhtred’s scouts that the forest surrounding camp was perfectly safe, but in these times danger seemed to creep up from every corner.

A buck appears a little ways down the path, followed by two more deer, each sparing you and the monk only a quick glance before scampering into the forest once more. The two of you let out a collective sigh of relief as Osferth sheaths his sword with a shy smile.

“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break, my lady?” He suggests with a soft smile, “We’ve been walking since morning.”

“I think we’ve earned a break,” you nod, gazing up at him through your lashes, the two of you still close enough that you could make out soft flecks of green in his blue eyes, “I believe I saw a clearing a few paces back.”

“Lead the way.” Osferth nods, keeping in pace with you as you backtrack to where you’d spotted a lush clearing through the trees only moments ago. As you walk, nearly shoulder to shoulder, the monk silently takes your hand again, his rough fingers threading together with yours. Neither of you speaks, though you can nearly feel his pleased smile from your periphery, twin to your own.

After only a few moments, you veer off the path as the two of you step into a sizable glade, the trees giving way to a field of tall grass. Your hands stay clasped as you walk together, basket still tucked in your elbow as you lift the skirts of your linen gown to prevent it from snagging on the high blades of grass; your chest tightens once more when you glance down and notice how Osferth takes great care to step over any flowers in his path, the ones that sprinkle the meadow with pops of yellow and lilac.

Soon, you come to a spot where the ground seems to be drier, however the monk grasps your forearm to stop you as he slips the thin, grey wool cloak off his shoulders and drapes it over the ground.

“Osferth,” you gently admonish, though a smile does creep across your lips at the sweet gesture, “I am perfectly capable of sitting on the ground.”

“A lady should not have to,” he says simply, nodding to the cloak, “Please.”

With a final glance, and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you comply, setting your basket down before relaxing atop his robe. After making sure you’re settled, the monk joins you, setting his sword to the side as he sits and leans back on his hands, scanning the treeline.

“It’s so lovely here…” you smile as you glance around, a soft breeze causing the grass to rustle around you.

Osferth sits up beside you, a relaxed smile on his lips as he takes your hand and pulls you closer to him. “I find the company to be far lovelier,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, never taking more than you seem keen to give. The two of you easily fall into a lazy rhythm, your lips moving together as he guides you to lie against his chest. You lay your hand against his chest, right over his heart, thankful that he’s forgone his usual leather armor and chainmail today as you feel his warmth through the soft tunic he wears.

He sighs against your lips, his fingers gently weaving into the locks of hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and making you cling to him all the more tightly, his other hand wrapping around your waist before settling in the small of your back, holding you to him.

After a few moments, the two of you part to catch your breath and he studies you with a warm gaze as you relax against his chest. “We are meant to be stopping in a town tonight.” Osferth says simply.

“That we are.”

“We could get a room together,” he breathes, making you gasp as he trails kisses across your jaw, “Just the two of us.”

Immediately, you tense up and untangle yourself from him, sitting up with a sigh. He quickly sits up next to you and you can feel him eyeing you with concern, though you dare not meet his gaze.

“My lady, I didn't mean to offend you…” He says hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You didn’t offend me, sweet monk,” you turn to him with a bashful smile, “I am simply…I don’t know if i’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” His head tilts to the side as he eyes you curiously.

You chuckle nervously, unsure of how to broach the topic. “Osferth, I have heard enough tales of your…prowess around the campfire to know that my skills do not match your own.”

The crease between his brows only deepens as he continues staring at you, blue eyes flitting between your own. “My prowess?”

“With more…intimate relations…” You say slowly, glancing away from him.

“Oh,” he says softly before his eyes widen comically, a dark blush cascading over his fair cheeks, “Oh!”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his dumbstruck expression, your lips quirking up into a soft smile despite your nerves.

The hand on your shoulder tightens as he leans closer to you. “My love, you need not fret over it,” he whispers, blue eyes conveying a deep seriousness, “We can get a room at the tavern and not do anything at all.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion – you’ve always been told to expect a very different answer from men. “What?”

He huffs out a soft laugh and pulls you back down to lie on the grass with him once more. “I mean what I say,” he says softly, one hand stroking your hair, “We can get a room and just kiss or cuddle or merely talk, I don’t care.” You look up from where you’ve had your cheek laying against his chest, the emotion in his eyes shocking you for a second, “I just want to be with you.” He whispers finally.

You can feel yourself blushing as he speaks, the apples of your cheeks heating up deliciously under his kind gaze. A girlish giggle erupts from your lips before you can stop it, which only makes him laugh too as you bury your head against his chest and bite your lip, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and campfire smoke.

After a moment, the two of you calm down and you finally look back up at him, “Kissing sounds good…” you nearly whisper, suddenly shy as he surveys your face.

Osferth merely chuckles, low in his throat, and rolls the two of you over. Normally, this is when you’d be pushing any other man off of you with some mumbled excuse, but you can’t help but feel safe with the sandy haired monk, taking him at his word that whatever you were willing to give would be enough.

“We have time, and plenty of herbs already,” he rasps, his voice thick with an arousal you’d only heard on a very scant few occasions when the two of you had shared frantic kisses in the night once the rest of the men were asleep, “Why wait until tonight?”

A small giggle escapes you once again as the blush on your cheeks extends down, almost all the way to your chest, but you nod nonetheless, your arms coming up to snake around his neck as you pull him down to you. A small whimpery breath escapes you when his lips touch yours yet again, and he responds in kind with a low groan, the sound rumbling from his chest. His lips are soft against your own as the two of you move leisurely; once again, he lets you set the pace, only licking at your bottom lip after you do the same to him first.

Your thighs spread as your kiss deepens and you moan again when he slots himself between your thighs, the linen of your dress hiked up just above your knees. A shiver rolls through you at the feel of him on top of you, so warm and weighty.

“Is this alright?” He breathes, navy eyes blinking between each of yours as he checks for any signs of discomfort from you, visibly relaxing when he finds none.

Wordlessly, you nod, bobbing your head eagerly as you pull him back down. His hands roam carefully over your body as your lips and tongues move together, breathlessly licking into each other's mouths. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hardness pressing against your center, a pleased hum emanating from your chest at the realization that you’ve affected him this much with only a kiss; the pride in your heart twists into something different, something deeper as a knot forms and begins tightening in your belly.

“My lady –” Osferth mumbles as he starts to pull away from you, an apologetic smile on his handsome face.

“Don’t!” You say quickly, tugging him back to you and surprising even yourself as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, “Please, I – It’s good.” You confirm breathlessly, eyebrows quirked up with need as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah?” He asks, unable to wipe the pleased grin off his face as he settles back on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off of you as he presses against your center again.

You nod, already threading your fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to draw his lips back to yours. A breathy, high-pitched moan leaves you at the feel of his clothed length pressing against you, the ties at the front of his breeches only adding to the pleasurable sensations that zap through you as he starts rolling his hips against your own.

His pace quickens as he breaks away from you, panting against your skin as he traces wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. Your head lolls to the side as you whimper and whine underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his hard cock twitch against you, even through the fabric of your smallclothes.

You’re quick to match his pace, using the leverage of your legs wrapped around his middle to ruck yourself up into each thrust, earning grunts of pleasure from the monk.

“My lady,” he groans, one hand fisting into your hair as the other trails down to run appreciatively over the bare skin of your thigh, “Y-You are bewitching.” He gasps, mouthing at your neck, his cock no doubt leaking into the leather of his trousers.

Your only reply is a choked out moan of his name as your back arches underneath him, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter as the ties of his breeches rub over your pearl deliciously, your smallclothes no doubt soaked.

Blessedly, Osferth seems to understand the desperation in your voice and movements and pulls back to look at you, both of his hands quickly grasping yours, fingers threading together as he holds them to the earth beside your head.

“Sweet girl,” he grunts as he gazes down at you, a rosy blush cascading beautifully over his high cheekbones, “P-Peak, my lady, please,” he pants as his fingers tighten against your own, “I’m, God be good, I’m right behind you.”

You nod frantically, your only sound a choked out sob as you tense underneath him when his hips rut perfectly against yours, the knots of his pants catching against your sensitive bud in just the right way to tip you over the edge. You twitch underneath him, white knuckling his hands when you feel your center clenching helplessly around nothing as pleasure buzzes through you.

Osferth reaches his end mere seconds after you, humping against you two or three more times before tensing, his eyes squeezing shut as his own high washes over him, cock spasming in his breeches as his spend leaks into the waiting fabric.

“You’re beautiful,” you declare softly, the words tumbling from your lips as soon as you think of them.

The monk blushes somehow more heavily above you, though a soft smile graces his lips. With a soft sigh, he falls to his side, bringing you with him. Your cheek once again finds its home against his chest and you smile at the sound of his heart thumping wildly as he pulls you closely to him, one arm wrapping protectively around you as he tucks the other under his head, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You flatter me, my lady,” he says lowly, a pleased rasp to his voice. “You are truly an angel,” he continues after a moment, “A beautiful, precious angel.”

You smile contentedly, his heart thudding steadily in your ear as you let your eyes drift shut, happy to stay in this still, safe bubble with your monk for as long as the outside world will allow.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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lokideservesahug · 19 days

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Acceptable "Infidelity"

Pairing: Mark Webber x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of cheating (there is none, it's a big misunderstanding)

Notes: No one asked for this bi I hope you enjoy it regardless. Also with all the Pinterest diving I did for this, I have a massive urge to write for Jenson Button but no idea what do if anyone has any requests, please send them my way.

Summary: The 2024 Australian GP, the day of an incredible race, insane results and Mark Webber cheating on his wife?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: What a great Ausgp this year and I can not tell you how great it is to be back 🤍

Liked by aussiegrit, oscarpiastri and 343,897 others

See all 4,875 comments

User1: I'm so curious as to whether she saw the twitter threads or not because Mark is here not once but TWICE....

↳User2: You are freaking grilboss job photos... plus Mark

Aussiegrit: Great to see you back in the paddock.

↳Yourusername: And it was lovely to see you again Mark🤍

↳User3: Awwww... now kiss

↳User4: Woahman they're both married that's a bit wierd (frfr pls)

User5: I know Y/N read that twitter thread and then giggled with all the chaos she made with this photo

Liked by yourusername

User6: Aus GP photo dump but without Oscar!!! OUTRAGEOUS!

↳Yourusername: Sorry😔 But at lesst there is one Aussie!

↳User7: Y/N only had room for one Australian and it had to be her fav.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Aussiegrit

Aussiegrit: This isn't the way we wanted the world to find out but with the ever invasive paparazzi, I am finally able to show the love of my life off.

Liked by yourusername, Oscarpiastri and 2,897,543 others

View all 35,986 comments

User1: I KNEW IT!!!! I AM SOBBING RN MY BIGGEST SHIP (FOR THE PAST 6 YEARS IS AFLOAT)

↳ Yourusername: We've been married for 7 actually :)

↳User2: Have I just died and ascended into heaven? What is this that I'm hearing?

Yourusername: Love you, the love of MY life 🤍

↳Aussiegrit: Love you more🖤

↳Yourusername: Not possibleeee

↳Aussiegrit: It is because I said so (also when are you coming home?)

↳Yourusername: It doesn't work like that (half an hour, I've just need to finish one last thing and then I'm yours)

↳Aussiegrit; Yes I does (I can't wait to see you. Love you, more than you'll ever love me)

↳Yourusername: No🤍 (And no🤍 but see you soon)

User3: I'm I'm happy for them (I'm crying my eyes out)

User4: The white and black hearts omddd. Its like they complete each other!

Liked by yourusername, Aussiegrit

User5: I want what they have pls🙏

↳User6: Fr. I also want their secret jeering skills because 7 years if marriage and however long of dating being a secret is so impressive

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @minkyungseokie

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #mark webber x reader #mark webber #mark webber x you #mark webber x y/n #mark webber x fem!reader #mark webber smau #f1 smau #ldah's writing

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cherrirui-official · 6 months

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Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 1/7)

Since the edited episodes are starting to come out, I figured that bc of that and the fact that I've been keeping this in the back burner for a loooong while now, might as well complete all my friendlocke violet gijinkas!! Some are gonna stay the same while others are gonna have slight/ complete redesigns, so please keep that in mind!

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv

(Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

And that's pretty much it, designs under the cut!

LARK:

HUGE nerd. spent most of his time during the Uva Academy studying different kinds of pokemon as well as different fighting styles he can utilize once he is able to go out on his own journey with his very own trainer! Too bad that didn't really help in the long run...

His entire wardrobe consists of McDonald's related outfits. It's fucking insane. He even has some from long LONG ago that aren't available anywhere else.

The bubble pattern on his hair is able to move and change. Nobody knows how this is possible, not even Lark himself. All Lark knows is that his hair looks incredibly stylish!

Speaking of bubbles, he has the ability to blow bubbles whenever and wherever he pleases!

Often keeps himself extremely clean and gets upset if even a small speck of dirt gets on him, despite this he somehow smells like McDonald's food and axe body spray. Disgusting. He's so cool!

Even after death he still likes to hang around the other team members as a ghost, often getting to know the newer members as well as reuniting with the old ones. Sometimes they see him, sometimes they don't. It usually depends.

SARA:

Due to being a human in her past life, Sara is able to actually speak with the other humans in the pokemon world. However she usually doesn't due to it being seen as extremely weird and out of place. She did slip up once while talking in the presence of Arven, who thought it was the weed making him hear things.

Oinkologne are usually unable to do much with their hooves but Sara spent nights practicing how to knit with her new hooves and now she's able to do it flawlessly. I don't know how she managed to do that but go queen!

When first joining the team she'd often have the urge to eat her food related companions. It was a strange time for Sara, but she managed to overcome it.

When Peppy gets sick, she usually is the one who nurses him back to health. She was a human once so she often is able to figure out whatever sickness Peppy has and treat it properly. I suppose she's like a second mother to him.

The bag she carries with her is full of thread that she collected from various Tarountula she encountered on the journey, as well as little things she knits together in her spare time.

For the most part, Sara forgives... but NEVER forgets.

Did you guys know that Sara has a new YouTube channel? Check it out!

Pastey:

Before joining the team, Pastey was a nameless wanderer. He's been down every road in Paldea and knows almost the entire region (except for Area Zero) like the back of his hand.

He's gotten hurt pretty badly throughout the run (ie. the Mikey fight, the Atticus fight, and ESPECIALLY the final battle), however, he does not gain any (physical) scars from those fights. This is bc he's basically an axolotl, and axolotls are usually able to heal without scarring.

Pastey's "arms" are, to put it simply, mud prosthetics. More info here vvv

Pastey HAS met Mall Bingo once before the run, however, he doesn't recognize her. The only reason he does not recognize her is bc she wears glasses. (You know how people somehow aren't able to recognize Superman bc he wears glasses in his civilian attire even tho his face remains the same? It's basically like that lmao)

Unlike the lightbulbs he eats, the gasoline he drinks isn't really mandatory to his diet. Gasoline is like alcohol to him and he drinks it like an absolute CHAMP.

He goes fishing when there's nothing else to do or when he can't sleep at night. He doesn't do this bc he thinks it's fun or anything, only bc it's a "good time passer" or so he claims. Other members of the team will often sit with him and vent out anything that's troubling them at the moment, and Pastey is always there to listen to them.

And that's pretty much it. Next is Joe, Hannah Ü, and Mykyie!

#I am a firm believer that Sara can and will beat ass #No i do NOT plan on making gijinka designs for Chatbike and Phil sorry guys #just getting that out of the way i know how much yall love phil /j /lh #Anyways it feels so good to finally start on this like holy moly #also idk when the others will be done... HOWEVER...#The sketches for Joe Hannah and Mikey are already pretty much done I just gotta make em digital #so ideally they'll be out pretty soonish I'd say... I hope #but yeah if anyone has any questions abt them feel free to send them in my askbox and I'll be happy to answer them as best as i can!#<- No anons tho sorry yall #Also I need to be honest here Lark's outfit kinda does look atrocious and I couldve changed it... BUT...#I honestly thought it was WAY funnier if Lark's attire looked weird on purpose so I kept it like that lol #Anyways sorry for the word vomit here are the tags #friendlocke #friendlocke violet #saltydkdan #should my gijinkas have their own tag...? Sure why not #Violet Gijinka Au #cherris canvas

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thats-ill-eagle · 4 months

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Well, I guess there is one good thing about that horrible scene (somehow).

At least now people on Twitter are recommending other series which handle the topic in question with much more respect and dignity.

Going to be checking these out, when I'm finally done with my exams, and I urge y'all to do the same. There are many wonderful and actually mature shows that are worth your time (and money) far more, than Viv's problematic demon fanfics.

Edit: oookay, turns out that the ATHF and DT posts might have been a satire of the Tuca and Bertie post. From what I found about the first two during a quick google search, they are quite raunchy and thread a dangerous line between being an acceptable satire and really offensive.

However, if you are into black and absurd comedy and caricatures, they could be shows for you, since, from what I've seen, they thread the line between being funny and deep much better than HB. Proceed with caution though, because both of the shows potray many more uncomfortable topics, aside from SA.

However, Tuca and Bertie allegedly discusses SA without any graphic scenes, so once again, check that show out.

Edit 2: another good show that potrays SA much more tastefully and also very realistically is Moral Orel. If you use Twitter, you might have seen the clip of the character, who is a SA survivor being triggered by a teddy bear falling on top of her. That clip alone made me cry, from how heartbreaking it was, so give Moral Orel a shot too.

If you know any other good shows that potray SA well, don't hesitate to put them in the comments, reblogs or just make a separate recommendation post.

#hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #hazbin critical #vivziepop criticism #anti vivziepop #tw sa mention #tw vivziepop

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scarlethexelove · 3 months

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There Is Nothing Wrong With You

I know it says Sorry For Your Loss but it was the only one I could find and this was what I wanted. Also Not mine

Pairing: Wanda x Autistic!Reader

Word Count: 895

Warnings: Barely any angst, Comfort, Fluff, Self-Hatred, A little bit of hitting oneself

A/n: Wanted to write this short little fluff story with Autistic reader. This really has to do with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which is also highly linked to ADHD. I can struggle with it just wanted to write a comfort for it. So hopefully others can enjoy.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Wanda makes her way back to her room. She comes across your door slightly cracked and peers in seeing you sitting on the floor in front of your bed building a Lego set as the tv plays quietly in the background. She slowly opens the door and ventures in shutting the door behind her.

You had been avoiding Wanda all day and if you couldn’t get away you would give her one word answers. She was getting frustrated and upset that you were acting so cold. She was also worried that maybe she had done something to upset you. Wanda had told you something that she thought was minor and you apologized profusely to her not meaning to be upsetting or annoying to her. But you had worked it out and were fine last night when you said your good nights.

You hadn't even noticed Wanda come in until you heard the clicking of your door shutting. You look up at her and immediately wish that you could run, but there is nowhere to go and you know that you will have to deal with this now. Wanda won’t let you go until you talk to her and you know that.

“Y/n/n what’s wrong? You have been avoiding me all day and when you’re not you are being cold and kind of rude.” Wanda sits down on the floor an arms length away from you. You start to fidget a little and pull your knees to your chest. “I’m sorry.” You look down not wanting to meet her gaze, your voice small. “Is this about last night?” She asks gently, hooking her finger under your chin and lifting your gaze to hers. There are tears already in your eyes as you shake your head trying to stop the tears from falling. She can see the conflict behind your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s not you. I’m the one who is messed up. I mess everything up. I ruin everything. You don’t deserve this. You’re better off without me.” Your words come out fast and broken. Her heart breaking hearing your words. Your left hand threading through your hair as you take your right hand using your palm and hitting it against your head hating yourself hating your brain for making you this way. Continuing to mutter “Stupid, so stupid.”

Wanda’s hand gently gripping your wrist and pulling them to her chest. Your hands gripping at the top of her shirt as she pulls you into her lap wrapping her arms around you tightly as you begin to sob into her shoulder. She gently rocks the both of you as she whispers reassurances in your ear. Lightly kissing the top of your head, keeping you tightly in her arms calming you slowly.

Once your sobs turn into sniffles Wanda gently pulls you back cupping your face in her hands. She uses the pads of her thumbs to wipe the tears on your cheeks. She is being so soft and tender with you which just makes your hate for yourself even more. She shakes her head with tears in her eyes. “You did not mess anything up and there is nothing wrong with you. You are perfect the way you are.” She gives you a tearful smile gently rubbing your cheek. You nuzzle into her hand looking for comfort. “Please don’t ever say I’m better off without you detka. I have not so much already and I can’t lose you too. I would give up the world to see your smile. You mean everything to me.” You can’t help the tears rolling down your cheeks at her words. She gently kisses your forehead, then your nose, and then finally leaves a kiss on your lips before leaning her head on yours. “I love you Y/n.”

More tears stream down your face. You can’t believe Wanda just said I love you. “Really?” Your voice sounds small and hopeful. She tearfully smiles and nods her head. “I love you so much.” She kisses you pouring all the love she has for you into that one kiss leaving you breathless. “I love you too.” You whisper, pressing your head back against hers. The room fills with both of your giggles at the confession. As your giggles die down you both stay there heads pressed together as you bask in the closeness and love.

“I’m sorry I was being so cold and rude I didn’t mean to.” You break the silence. Wanda shakes her head with a small smile on her face. “Detka I know it is hard for you sometimes. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Know that I will always be here for you even if we disagree or argue. I will be patient and understanding of your needs.” You can’t help that more tears are shining in your eyes and you look down. “Thank you Wanda. I-I want to be here for you too.” She lifts your head back up for a kiss.

“I love you.” Wanda hugs you closer as you bury your head in her neck. “I love you too.” You mumble smiling into her neck. This wasn’t how you thought any of this would go. This is when you know you have the best girlfriend in the world and want to spend the rest of your life with her.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda marvel #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff comfort #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x female

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russellsppttemplates · 5 months

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Uh oh, I'm falling in love (Lando Norris)

Y/N and Lando both have jobs that require good sight and attention to detail and yet they're oblivious to their feelings for eachother

Note: english is not my first language. I'm in a very fluffy mood, so I got really excited when I got this request! This also makes my expectations even higher and calls me single in about seventeen different languages at once...

my masterlist

Tw: mentions a needle (for sewing)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey guys! How's everyone?", Max said to the camera as you made sure the set up was right, the screen showing his and Lando's faces on one screen and the table on the other like it was supposed to.

"As per your many, many requests, we have brought our graphic designer at Quadrant, Y/N", Lando announced as you appeared on camera, sending a very awkward first wave to the camera, "today's stream is little different than our usual programming, but it was the only way she agreed to be in one! You guys really wanted to see her, so we had to be creative!", Max said as he moved the friendship bracelets making kit into view on the table.

"Hey, Queen Taylor said we should make the friendship bracelets, so we're just following her!", you chuckled, looking at all the coloured threads and colourful beads, sorting them out and grabbing a pen and paper so you could draw your ideas.

"Since you guys wanted to get to know Y/N, can I tell them to send in questions?", Lando questioned you, "sure, I'll answer them to the best of mu ability", you smiled.

You were picking the letters you needed for the bracelet you were making when Max spoke up, "first one: how did you start working with Quadrant? I'd love to work on the team when I finish my degree!".

"I saw the job offer, and I must admit at first I didn't really know much about the company. I looked it up, looked cool enough and I sent my CV and portfolio in. So keep your eyes peeled for any offers, I guess? We have them now on the website, which was my doing, so you can check them out there if you want to be part of the team", you offered.

"I need help, guys", Lando said as he fiddled with his bracelet, the orange and grey beads with his initials sliding on the elasticated material, I can't do the closing knot on my own", he pouted as you placed your bracelet down.

"You have to flip it like this, here. Just put it on your wrist and I'll do the rest", you ushered him, your fingertips gingerly touching his hand and wrist as you quietly laced it, "this way we don't get frilly bits out and it looks pretty, see? Pretty!", you smiled, modelling his wrist for the camera.

Pretty, that's what he often thought about you. Not only pretty, but it was one of the first physical traits that came to mind.

"We should all have matching ones!", Max said as he completed his bracelet, impressively on his own, revealing the colourful beads with Quadrant spelled in white round beads with black letters, "I'll make one for each of you", he said as he watched you show your own, pink beads and a lyric he assumed was from a Taylor Swift song.

"I'll make Y/N's, she helped me after all", Lando said as one brave fan sent a comment into the chat.

He's so giddy to make Y/N a bracelet, it's a shame it will snap because of his lack of skills

Am I delusional if I say that they'd make a great couple?

If you're delusional, then what do I call myself? I still think they're making heart eyes at eachother whenever they catch the slightest glimpse!

We're joining forces, I think it's a noble pursuit!

He's a dork, Y/N, but you should give him a chance

Have you always known you wanted to be a graphic designer?

"I thought about different careers before I settled on this one, for now at least", you explained, "engineering was in the running up, but then I figured out that I was curious about how things worked, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be the one working on it. And this was a way to express my creativity, my strategy planning as well, and at the moment it's been quite good", you smiled as Lando grabbed your wrist softly, "I need to make sure this fits", he interrupted, "and it won't snap because I've learnt how to do it, thank you very much", he blushed. So he, too, was reading the comments, choosing not to dwell in them.

"Look, this way you always have a lucky charm with you everywhere you go, even if we're not together. We're eachothers lucky charms!", Lando announced as Max mafe a fake gagging noise.

"Are you all ready?", you said as you and Tara walked inside the room, clasping your watch on your wrist and hoping to find the boys ready.

Quadrant had been invited to a gala dinner that celebrated the companies in the same line of business, inviting five people to take part in the meal. After some team members politely declining the invitation since they had things booked already, the group ended up being Lando, Max, Callum, Tara and yourself.

The dress required everyone to up their usual style, hence the long dress you were wearing. Even though it was far from your usual everyday attire, you felt beautiful in the dress you ended up with after browsing the online shops for a while. The cut was simple, the skirt widening from your waist down and complimenting your curves as the sheen from the midnight blue fabric looked soft and sweet against your skin.

Lando seemed to think the same, trying his best to not let his mouth hang open when you and Tara walked inside their room, heels clicking on the wooden floor as you hurried them, "does it really take that long to put on a suit? I had to help Tara with the laces on her back and we still got ready faster than the three of you?", you asked, shaking your wrist to check if the dainty watch wasn't going to fall and that it wasn't too tight either.

Looking up to meet Lando's eyes, you were sure you physically and audibly gulped. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt. The cuffs were still unbuttoned, but the shirt itself was tucked in his black pants. He didn't have any jewellery, so his tanned skin caught your eye as it contrasted with his clothes.

"Lando has a problem with his shirt and we are trying to solve it", Max said, a little bit too antsy given that, at the naked eye, there didn't seem to be a big issue with the piece of clothing you had been inspecting quite closely.

"There was a loose button, and I tried to fix it, but I made it worse", Lando said as he pointed to the button on his hand, the slight movement showing you the place where it was supposed to he holding the piece together and closed.

"Three people in this room and no one thought about grabbing the sewing kit from the amenities?", Tara suggested, looking for it in the box that was the same as it was in your room, "see? Simple as that! Can you sew it, Y/N? My hand isn't fully healed yet, I can't quite grasp something that small yet".

Tara had injured herself earlier on in the week, prompting her to ask to tag out of the gala until you pleaded her to go so you wouldn't be alone, so she couldn't do it. None of the other guys seemed to even know how to pull the thread through the needle, so you grabbed the kit from Tara's hand, "sure, I'll do it", you said, "if that's okay with you, that is", you looked over at Lando.

"Sure, anything to solve this. Do I keep it on or should I take it off?", he questioned, wanting to slap himself straight after at his offer. Why would he volunteer to be shirtless in front of you? It certainly wasn't the way to go, shoving himself like that.

"On should be fine", you muttered, missing the snickers going on behind you as you wet the thread with your tongue, careful to not transfer any of the lipstick on it and ruining the piece without point of return for good, easily looping it through and adjusting the size of the ends.

"Button", you put your hand out so Lando could place it in your fingers, "I will do my best not to poke you, let me know if I do so accidentally", you mumbled at the closeness to him you found yourself in. It was the third button from the top, and as much as you loved the sight of the shirt slightly undone, the dinner required his shirt to be done up. Looping the thread on the button a few times, you moved to pierce the crisp white fabric so it would be secure, your hands dangerously close to his skin as you could hear his laboured breath. Lando still remembered and thought constantly about your fingers touching his hand and wrist when you did the friendship bracelets video for the YouTube channel, and right now, it only added to his predicament.

"It's done, all good!", you exclaimed, looking up as you cut the thread and seeing Lando's eyes on you. The intensity nearly threw you off of your balance as you stood the tiniest bit crouched down on your high heels.

Scrambling to further the distance between your bodies, you smoothed out the non existent wrinkles on your dress, storing the supplies back in the kit as Lando managed to utter out a thank you, too stunned and intoxicated by your scent to say anything else.

"I sewed a button as neither of you look any more ready that you were when we got here? We're going to be late!", you hurried, sitting next to Tara and ignoring her smirk as you scrolled through your phone.

"That shoot will have to wait since Lando won't be back here soon, then", you said, moving things around in the online shared calendar, "when did you say you could again? I'm sorry", you asked, rubbing your forehead and squeezing your eyes, adjusting your glasses and looking at him through the screen.

"The first weekend of the next month", Lando assured, "are you okay, Y/N?", he asked. The bags under your eyes didn't fool anyone and you looked tired. And sick, he guessed by the layers of clothing you had on.

"I had a pretty shit day, actually", you admitted, "I had to go with the guys from storage because there was an issue. The supplier sent the samples and we wanted to get things moving so I could have some ideas for the description and the social media team also wanted to prep the draft for the whole story telling, but it all went under. I also think I caught some bug, so it's been a fun day", you exaggeratingly smiled, mocking your own misery.

"You look like you need a hug, Y/N. Do you need a hug?", Lando asked as you nodded, "Actually, that would be pretty good, but I live alone. The neighbours would think I'm pretty weird if I went around like this asking for one, too", you reasoned.

Even though he wasn't next to you, Lando still managed to pull a smile out of you as he got up from the chair he was sitting in, hugging his laptop, "did you feel that hug?", he loudly wondered, "it's full of Get well soon fairy dust!", he smiled charmingly.

"Fairy dust, mate?", Callum wondered, reminding you of his presence in the videocall, "you try and spend more than a few hours with a little girl and you let me know. Mila has taught me all about fairy dust and princess magic", Lando added.

"How will we get out of here?", you wondered, starting to regret joining Lando, Max and Pietra when they said they were going to watch a football game. You loved the sport and you figured it would be a nice distraction after a work loaded week, but now, things were looking less than a distraction.

"We will let them space out once the game finishes, free up the roads as well because getting out of here will be a pain, too", Lando suggested.

The game granted your team a win and three points in the championship, the crowd going wild as they clapped, whistled and waved their scarfs, slowly leaving the stadium.

"Should we make a run for it now?", Pietra said, holding her boyfriend's hand as she allowed him to pull her away.

You followed Lando, thanking his choice of a colourful hoodie to wear today as it made it easier for you to spot him, "go in front of me, I'll back you up", he switched positions. You weren't having too much trouble until you were met with a ramp, people carelessly shoving others as they tried to leave as quick as they could, all with the same intent of avoiding traffic and crowded roads.

"Here, Y/N", you heard Lando as he grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers in his and pulling you along, excusing you two as you approached Max and Pietra again, "we're here", you tapped the blonde woman's shoulder with your free hand.

"Goodness, that was and adventure", she said once you reached the stadium car park, the crowd clearing up significantly as there was maybe another ten people headed the same way as you were now, "is everyone alright? I think someone stepped on my foot quite a few times, or many people stepped on it at various different times", you reasoned, walking alongside Lando still.

"Don't we need to hand the bracelets back?", Max said as he looked at the sign, taking his bracelet off and depositing it in the box in the booth, Pietra doing the same as you seemed distracted.

"Are you okay, Y/N?", Max asked, seeing you and Lando were still holding hands and, because of that, not taking off your bracelets.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?", you scrunched your eyebrows, "we need to hand the bracelets back in, so I kind of need to have yours, too", he teased, looking at your hand still entwined with Lando's.

Removing your hand from Lando's as if it har started burning all of a sudden, you removed the bracelet, apologising quietly to the stadium employee as you thanked him, "shall we go now?".

"Dinner out?", Lando gulped, getting into the driver's seat, "Good idea, yes", Max added, sitting in the passenger's seat as you and Pietra sat in the back, your hand rubbing your other hand that had been laced with Lando's own one for a long time. Uh oh, you were falling in love.

The launch was finally over after an amazing response from the fans, leaving your heart happy and warm with a sense of mission accomplished.

"Is everything packed into the van?", you asked Tara, "yes, it's just this box. It has fragile things, so do you think you guys can take it in the car with you? It probably only fits at the front, so you'll have to squeeze in with the boys on the back", she smiled apologetically, "it's fine, we'll keep eachother warm like penguins do", you chuckled, holding the door open as she set the box safely.

Saying goodbye to her and the rest of the team, Max and Lando joined you, "You sit in the middle seat", Max pointed at you, opening the door ao you could scoot closer to Lando and he could get in.

"Could you tell me how long we have until get back?", Lando asked the driver, "with traffic at this hour, I'd say around 90 minutes", he smiled, turning on the blinker so he could leave the car park.

"Plenty of time for me to catch up on sleep, then!", you cheered, making yourself comfortable in the space you had, folding your scarf into an impromptu travel pillow, closing your eyes.

"Are you a snorer?", Max asked, making you blindly swat his thigh, "only when I'm sick, and lucky for you, I'm in presteen health, no blocked nose", you grumbled.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep. In the last week, all of the nights combined, you probably slept less than thirty hours, so your body was indeed in need of rest.

"And there it goes", Max said as your pillow undid itself, Lando lifting his shoulder in reflex so your head wouldn't drop drastically, landing on top of him, "Good thing she isn't our engineer, hm?", he chuckled, looking at how his bestfriend was looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

"I think I'm in love with Y/N", Lando whispered after he took your appearance in. You had forgone wearing make-up today, so he could see all your moles and scars, your pouty lips and the darkened skin under your eyes. It took everything in him to not bend down and kiss your forehead.

"Congrats on being the last one to find out, mate", Max added, shaking his head, "I genuinely thought you had some issue processing information, I'm glad to find out you don't.

"Now you just have to act on it, which is going to take you, what? Two, three more months?".

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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eilaafterhours · 5 months

Text

Take a Picture [Grim | Casper]

Content: AFAB Reader, Lingerie, Men in Lingerie, Banter, Nude Photos, Dom/Sub Undertones, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Smut, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None (AFAB)

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

Remember:I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity :)

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

You and Casper had a very active sexual life. Once he was here, and once you had your hands on him, well—Simply put, the two of you got your fill of each other, and yet it was never enough.

This, however, was new to the two of you, and you're very interesting on learning just how this thought got into Casper's head.

You ran your fingers over the mesh fabric, then paused as they caught onto some loose ribbon. A smile slowly crept across your face.

"Prefect..." A wonderful plan had devised itself, and you were absolutely ready to enact it.

All you had to do was hold out and wait your turn.

Which proved to be harder than you imagined.

After you had put the outfit on and did a little bit of dolling up, you exited the bathroom. Of course, you knew that he'd also be dressed up—that was the whole point of this.

The outfit was simple—so very simple. It was a black halter dress with an open back and very high slit on both sides, the thin straps of a black thong peaked through the slits, and you added a black leather garter belt for one of his thighs.

But gods, you always seemed to forget just how beautiful Casper really was.

The black contrasted his pale skin, making his skin glow (and glitter? Did he use your shimmer mist?). Especially at his thighs and curves of his hips, both the thong and garter belt, hugging the flesh nicely.

You bite your lip. How could you last with this in front of you? You wanted to take him right now. Ruin him just like you know he wants, and then take your pictures. Actually, maybe you could—

"Sunshine?" He called, snapping you out of your deprived thoughts. "Are you already thinking of throwing in the towel?" One of his fingers found the waistband of the thong, pulling on it, then letting it snap sinfully against his skin. "I know you're trying really hard."

You narrowed your eyes at that.

Big talk meant big action in this household. And now the two of you had reached the climax: seeing just who would break first.

And you'd be damned if it were you.

You smiled, making your way to him. "I'm fine, but—" Your hand ran through his hair, exposing his red ears. "You'll never be able to hide from me."

And then you were gone, pulled away from him and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'll even let you go first—put me how you want me, Casper."

He took a deep breath as he picked up the camera.

"On your knees, lean back on your hands, stick your chest out." His order was succinct, and his tone left no room for any more banter. You did what you were told, adjusting yourself as he commanded.

Click! "Ass up."

Click!

Then he hesitated, his eyes flicking away from you. "...Lean up against the headboard, spread your legs and..."

You knew where he was going, but you wanted to hear him say it. So you waited, playing with a stray loose thread.

"And spread your cunt."

A spread through your body. You were expecting pussy—not cunt. And the way his voice deepened had your cunt clenching.

You adjusted yourself a bit, finding a more comfortable position. Then your fingers glided down to your pussy and—

"You act unbothered, and yet your pussy drools for my cock."

You squeezed your eyes shut, legs slamming shut.

You heard him chuckle. "That won't do." He moved closer, leaning down next to your ear. "Open or I'll get something to keep them open."

His warm breath sent a shiver down your spine that had you close off more, but when his hand tapped your thigh, you did as you were told, finally spreading yourself like he wanted.

"Eyes on me." Your watery gaze met his unwavering one.

Click!

You breathed a sigh of relief, removing your hand and letting your legs fall shut.

That was...a lot more than you were expecting.

Being the good partner he was, Casper was at your side. "You did so good for me."

"I know." You nuzzled into him. "I just forgot how intense you can get..."

He pressed a kiss against your cheek. "Interesting that you say forgot instead of admitting that you enjoyed it."

"I mean, I did, but…" There was not "but". You liked it, and he knew it, and know that he knew for certain.

You'd be in a lot more trouble down the line. Oh well, that'll be then and this is now.

And now, it was your turn.

You started off easy. Your first picture of him matched your own first picture.

Click!

For the second, you had him move to the end of the bed, and pull the skirt of the dress to the side. Which exposed his very prominent erection and small wet spot.

You smirked. "You look ready to bust—you're already leaking! Do you think you'll be able to hold off until you get inside me?"

He huffed. "...of course." So the answer was maybe.

Well, it was no, but he didn't need to know that.

"I mean, I did, but..." There was not "but". You liked it, and he knew it, and know that he knew for certain.

You'd be in a lot more trouble down the line. Oh well, that'll be then and this is now.

And now, it was your turn.

You started off easy. Your first picture of him matched your own first picture.

Click!

"Pull the thong to the side."

He raised a brow. "That's it?"

You nodded.

"I don't trust you." But did it regardless, hissing as the fabric brushed over the head of his cock.

Click!

He blinked, obviously caught off guard by the sudden flash.

"I wasn't ready!" He frowned.

You smiled at him, moving closer. "Yes, but your face was so pretty. I couldn't help it." You dropped in front of him, "How about one extra picture?" You held out the camera to him.

"...you are insatiable." And yet he still took the device from your hand.

"You're one to talk." You flattened your tongue and licking from the base to the head. "Make sure to get a good shot. You've only got one."

You were going to play with him, maybe edge him a bit, but he was reached his release quicker than either of you expected.

You at least had some sort of warning, though.

"Wait fuck—!"

You squeezed your eyes shut as hot ropes of cum splattered across your face. You took a moment to catch your breath, ready to stand up and clean your face, but—

"Open your mouth. Wide." You weren't expecting him to speak, just take the picture and be done with it. But then something hot and heavy was placed on your tongue, and you knew why.

Click!

You gave him one last good suck before pulling off him with a pop.

"Seven Hells...you will be the death of me."

"My head game's so strong it'll kill you? Damn." You tapped his thigh. "Now, help me to the bathroom, please."

And that was supposed to be the end of it, but of course it wasn't because it was never enough. Somehow, after helping you clean your face, he placed you on the counter, shoving the camera (of course he brought it in here) into your hands bullying himself between your legs, and returned the favor tenfold.

He made you squirt. Your juices sprayed him, his clothes, the counter and ran down the cabinets. And then he lifted his head up, giving you a full view of his soaked face.

Click!

This one was your favorite.

"Fuck me..." You swallowed harshly, placing your hands on your shaking thighs.

"Should I be worried? Was I that good?" He said it casually, cleaning his face, as if he didn't give some of his best head on record.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Fuck you."

"Actually," Casper pulled off the counter, easily sliding you on his waiting cock. "I'd rather fuck you."

You whined, head hiding in his neck. "S-sensitive..." But that didn't stop you from rolling your hips. "You owe me a picture."

"Of course, of course." You knew that tone, he was plotting.

Oh well, it wasn't like you also weren't doing the same thing. If he wanted more pictures, he could have him.

But you'd also get what was yours.

100% if anything else needs to be tagged, let me know because I've just been released from the haze of this work.

Anyway, I saw these

and they made me lose my fucking mind and I had to stop writing another piece to write this one.

AND THEN I GOT POSSESSED BECAUSE UMMMMMM WHAT IS THIS

DON'T ASK ME, I DON'T KNOW.

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

#eila ficlets #rated [e]lia for explicit: a date with death #a date with death smut #a date with death grim x reader smut #a date with death casper x reader smut #grim x reader smut #casper x reader smut #a death with death vn

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itspyon · 8 months

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drawing realism is pretty funny because you start hyperanalizing your subjects' traits and find out fun details about them that you don't perceive at first (or originally thought of them differently)

anyways here a list of dnf anatomy details that i've collected through intense studying:

1. dream does not have a large jawline actually. his top one is just completely straight, and his bottom one has no side downward curve. usually human skulls will have the top jaw sit at about a 30° angle, but his is just flat. it makes his bottom jaw look a lot more out. this carries all the way up to his forehead too. his bottom jaw is also almost completely straight from the mandibular angle to the chin.

2. george has THE HIGHEST CHEEKBONES. he just has an equally wide mandibular angle (meaning, his jaw doesn't taper in as much), so it doesn't look like it until you compare his cheeks to his side brow bones

3. george also has very long lips horizontally, and a very angular chin, which gives him this constant almost pouty look, so when he smiles he just has a beautiful lip shape

4. dream has a very consistent beard. no splotchiness whatsoever.

5. he also has a mole immediately below his jawline on his right side (or the side of the ear that is not pierced)

6. one of george's eyebrows is significantly taller than the other one on the arch. the start of his eyebrows are also fairly thin and sit pretty low. (he is not escaping the eyebrow plucking/threading allegations imo, they are so incredibly clean)

7. dream's nose looks almost cartoonish from the side from how soft the curve is. from the front, the tip sits pretty low compared to his nostrils

8. george's is a little more hooked AT THE END (he does not have full hooked nose, his bridge is very inwards on the top half), and from the front the tip and nostrils sit at the same height. it makes it look kind of like a tiny wide triangle

9. they both have very long cupid's bows, george a bit more than dream (see late point 8)

10. "dream is puppy coded" and it's because his eyelids are diagonal in the same way puppies have diagonal eye curves ! he very literally has dog eyes

11. dream's middle lashes are very long, and they get darker as you go out. george's are long all around and VERY full. they both have pretty crazy bottom lashes

12. i am once again highlight george's bottom lip. what a beautiful man

13. cameras need to stop hatecriming dream's freckles. set them free. (they mostly sit directly under his eyes next to his nose. he also has some on his chin, it's very charming)

14. gnf comes from the miranda cosgrove school of fake wasians. having deepset eyes, extremely hooded eyes and consistent, very deep aegyo sal will do that to you. (i say this as an asian with much love). don't be scared to draw his eyes properly, he's not beating the wasian allegations, you're allowed to post your "concerningly asian looking" gnf fanart (whoever says this to you send them to me i will beat them up). that's just how he looks. just make sure his nose is right and you're good 👍

15. dream is a LOT larger than what you think in the horizontal axis. door width. huge forearms. his waist is just "small" (average male waist size). don't let it deceive you

that's all for now i'll reblog with more as i find them have fun arting

#pyon talks #dnf #dnf art tips #this is a thing now

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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!

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

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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