#the *TWENTY* FULL MINUTES OF CHARACTERS SMILING
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I might have said it before, I don't remember, but while Return of the King the movie has its flaws (more so than the other two imo) no other film has ever come close to making me feel the pure relief and elation of the last half hour. I can't even put it into words. No other happy ending feels that earned, no other journey feels as long and as complete as this one. People can joke about the 5 successive ending scenes but I'd gladly sit through 10 more of those because it feels like coming home and home is heaven.
#the joy the peace the love#the triumphant fulfilment of hope like a blooming flower#the *TWENTY* FULL MINUTES OF CHARACTERS SMILING#return of the kings#lord of the rings#peter jackson movies#lotr#samwise gamgee#frodo baggins#rosie cotton#aragorn#arwen#merry#pippin#gandalf#gondor#the shire#eowyn#faramir
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xxSabitoxx Imagines/Drabbles Masterlist
╰┈➤ Return to Master Post
╰┈➤ Full Fic Masterlist
╰┈➤ Headcanon Masterlist
Updated Aug.12th 2023
Awkward Encounter | Gyutaro x AFAB Reader | FLUFF/SUGGESTIVE
Play Fight | Shinobu x AFAB Reader | SUGGESTIVE
Shit Talker | Sanemi x GN Reader | SMUT
Sanemi Falls In Love For The First Time | Sanemi x GN Reader | FLUFF
Rengoku Falls In Love For The First Time | Rengoku x GN Reader | FLUFF
Plush | Rengoku x Tengen x Wives x Reader | FLUFF/SMUT
Take it and Shut Up | Megumi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Stay Still | Sukuna x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Attention Please! | Tengen x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Caught in the Rain | Tengen x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Earn It | Shinobu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
First | Nobara x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Just For You | Inumaki x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Seven Minutes in Heaven | Giyu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Seven Minutes in Heaven | Itadori x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Referring to Them as a “friend”| Giyu, Rengoku, Sanemi | NO SET GENRE
Dating Okkotsu Yuta | Yuta x GN Reader | FLUFF/SMUT
JJK and Your Habit of being Topless | JJK Characters x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Dating Rengoku (Modern AU) | Rengoku x GN Reader | FLUFF/SMUT/ANGST
Mornings with Sanemi | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Singer Shinobu | Singer Shinobu x AFAB Shy Reader | FLUFF/SMUT
Bathing with Giyu | Giyu x GN Reader | NO SET GENRE
Gojo & Geto Fighting for your Attention | Gojo & Geto x GN Reader | NO SET GENRE
Childhood Friends | Megumi x AFAB Reader | FLUFF
Winning His Heart | Akaza x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Dramatic Megumi | Megumi x AFAB Reader | FLUFF
His Favorite | Douma & Reader | NO SET GENRE
Irresistible | Akaza x AFAB Reader | SMUT
His Personal Assistant | Hawks x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
First Love | Kakyoin x AFAB Reader | FLUFF
No Escaping | Sukuna x AFAB Reader | SMUT
A Guiding Hand | Rengoku x NB Reader | SMUT
Tempest | Sanemi x AFAB Demon Reader | MILD DEAD DOVE /SMUT
Cravings | Sanemi x AFAB Pregnant Reader | FLUFF
The Fourth Wife | Tengen & Wives x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Mornings with Makio | Makio x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Mornings with Hinatsuru | Hina x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Mornings with Suma | Suma x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Smile | Megumi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
I Hate Him | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | FLUFF
Uzui Gang & Public Tension | Tengen x Wives x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Tengen & His Husband | Tengen x AMAB Reader | FLUFF/SUGGESTIVE
Reward | Muzan x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Loosen Up | Sanemi x Giyu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Team Bucciarati & Walking in on you Changing | Bucci Gang x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
College Roommates Shinobu | Shinobu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Easy | Douma x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Cut | Aki x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Needy | Geto x AFAB Reader | SMUT
I Want a Baby | Tengen x AFAB Reader | FLUFF/SMUT
Experience | Kishibe x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Promise Me | Giyu x GN Reader | ANGST
Being Sanemi’s Tsugoku | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Sanemi at the Butterfly Estate | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Secret Relationship | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | FLUFF
Sanemi being Vocal | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Exploring with Sanemi | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | CRACK/FLUFF
Dating Dabi | Dabi x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Sanemi and his Newborn | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Urogi’s Sensitive Wings | Urogi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Personal Heater | Rengoku x AFAB Reader | NO SET GENRE
Sensitive Aizetzu | Aizetsu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Rengoku’s Nurse | Rengoku x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Twenty One | Rengoku x GN Reader | FLUFF/ANGST
Tengen and your Panties | Tengen x AFAB Reader | SUGGESTIVE
Kyojuro and his Newborn | Rengoku x AFAB Reader | FLUFF
Drunk Giyu | Giyu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Drunk Tengen | Tengen x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Drunk Kyojuro | Rengoku x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Pissing off Sanemi | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | SUGGESTIVE
Recoil | Haganezuka x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Meeting the Rengoku Family | Rengoku x GN Reader | FLUFF
Stalker Giyu | Giyu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Pride Month Imagines | Tengen | Shinobu | Rengoku & Giyu
Pull Out | Rengoku x AFAB Reader | SMUT w/concerning themes
Lecture | Rengoku x AFAB Kocho Sister Reader | SUGGESTIVE/CRACK
Keeping Secrets | Giyu x AFAB Wife Reader | FLUFF
Never Mine | Geto x GN Reader | SMUT?/ANGST
Pheromone Perfume | Sanemi x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Guard Dogs | Satoru + Suguru x GN Reader | NO SET GENRE
Competition 15k special | Sanemi x Giyu x AFAB Reader | SMUT
Karoke 15k special | Satoru x Suguru x AFAB Reader | SMUT
#kny#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer imagines#demon slayer fanfic#demon slayer headcanons#demon slayer smut#hashira#kny smut#demon slayer fluff#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jojo's bizarre adventure smut#sanemi x reader#sanemi smut#giyu smut#sukuna smut#megumi smut#gojo smut#geto smut#shinobu smut#rengoku smut#tengen smut#mitsuri smut#obanai smut#shinazugawa sanemi#gojo satoru
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Who did this?
Harvey Specter x fem!reader
Masterlist
A/N: Wow another one? I'm going to do one more after this and then answer an ask and put all my harvey fics on one post. Then after that who knows. I have an awesome aragorn x reader fic I've been playing around with so I might work on that. Definitely going to try and do more one shots to improve my writing. I really enjoy it but depression makes it a tad hard.
Anyways! Enjoy!
TW: **This story focuses on the physical abuse between the Reader character and her boyfriend. I am not responsible for the content you consume so please be advised. There are explanations of abuse, but no explicit scenes of abuse occurring.** abuse (physical and emotional), hurt/comfort, Harvey being very sweet, mention of painkillers but I'm talking like 2 tylenol or ibuprofen or something
Word Count: 2.5k
You run across the street to the Pearson Hardman office building, just about soaking wet. All that protected you from the rain was a newspaper you bought right outside your building. You prayed all the way to work that it wouldn’t just completely break under the force of the rain. You had spent almost thirty minutes on makeup, twenty five more minutes than you usually spend. To go along with that, you couldn’t find an available taxi because of the rain. Not even the pain in your shoulder had let up, despite taking a couple painkillers.
Your boyfriend had gotten a bit angry with you last night after you went out socializing with some friends. It wasn’t your smartest move. You knew he didn’t like you to hang out with your guy friends without his permission. But you didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The feelings of your heart conflicted with your rational mind. All you know is you love him and he loves you. Which is why he gets upset when you go out without him. But then why wouldn’t he make time to go out with me alone?
You shook those thoughts out of your head as you swiped your card into the building. You took the time in the elevator to dry off with your sweater. Which was consequently soaked. Curses rang out in the elevator- cursing the sweater, the weather, your boyfriend, you didn’t know.
You sat down in the chair next to Donna and exchanged greetings. “How are we looking today, Donna?” You smiled as you saw Harvey sitting in his office. The only person getting into the office earlier than him was Donna.
“Full day as always. Oh, Jonathan from accounting asked for Harvey to look at his expense accounts for this last month. He won’t of course- but as long as they get to Harvey’s desk, Jon won’t speak another word about it until the next thousand dollar dinner with a client.” Donna goes back to typing rapidly on her computer.
“And then the cycle continues,” You let out a hearty laugh for the first time since you left work last Friday. “I’ll get on that. Anything else while I’m in accounting?” You gather up different file folders that you need to take down to accounting anyway.
“Nope, say hi to Mr. Expense Forms for me!”
“Will do, Donna.”
You quickly walk to the elevator and down to the accounting department for Jonathan's expense reports. Harvey is still in the same spot as he was when you left as you open the door to his office. You make sure to open the door with your left arm, with the papers in your right.
“I got a delivery for Harvey Specter from Mr. Jonathan Expense Forms from accounting. Fuming as always. You might want to lay off the fancy dinners for a week.” Harvey rolls his eyes at the notion.
“Sweetheart, you think I’m that good at my job that I don’t need fancy dinners to win over clients? You must think very highly of me.” He chuckles smugly as he writes words you can barely read on a legal pad. You deal his snark back just the same.
“Of course I think you’re good. You’re my boss, I’m legally obligated to think so.” You both laugh until you reach with your right arm to set the folder on his desk. You let out a noise just loud enough for Harvey to be concerned.
“What happened to your shoulder?”
“It’s nothing, I just fell.”
At this, Harvey looks up. You were never one to be clumsy, let alone fall so hard as to hurt yourself. As Harvey’s eyes assess you, he notices a large dark bruise on your wrist- both your wrists in fact.
His silence worries you, and you follow his eyes to your wrists. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry-” You quickly try to pull your sleeves down to cover the spots. Remnants of rain water drove through the foundation.
Harvey takes a few deep breaths as you stand there in shocked silence. For the smallest second, you think he’s going to hurt you. Rationally, you know the notion is absurd, but the mind that has dealt with angry men keeps you silent.
Harvey finally speaks after taking a minute to process the information he’s pieced together.
“Who did this to you?”
You’re taken aback, that small part of your mind thinking he would call you unprofessional or weak. “My... My boyfriend. He just gets a little annoyed with me sometimes. It’s truly nothing. I’ll do better to cover them-”
“A good man being annoyed never results in bruises. How did this happen?” Harvey has to go against every part of his nature not to rush out and ask Donna everything about this man, then subsequently find him. He’s thinking that those boxing lessons are actually going to come in handy.
But he knows he can’t. He knows that if he moves like that, or moves at all, he’d terrify you. He can see how your eyes dart around. Towards the door, towards your wrists, and towards himself. He didn’t know how you would react if he even stood up.
“I fell into a bookshelf. He pushed me a bit and I lost balance.”
“You mean he shoved you into a shelf.”
The way Harvey phrased it made you feel uncomfortable. “That’s a bit harsh, but you could phrase it like that.”
He stared at you in disbelief. This wasn’t the woman he saw on a daily basis. The woman that dealt with almost every slimy man that came into the building. The woman that he had slowly fallen in love with since she arrived here.
The woman before him seemed like a shell of the woman he met three years ago, and he couldn’t help what came out of his mouth next.
“Do you know how you sound? You should never be bruised, shoved, or red eyed if you’re in love. That’s simply not how it is, and I’m sorry you’ve been made to believe that.”
At this, the dam broke.
Tears had been pooling in your eyes from the moment Harvey saw the bruises. But at his last words you let out a pained sob. It hadn't sunk in just how bad it had gotten. Your boyfriend had done this a few times before, but had never gotten so harsh until last night.
All the pain from the last year had come rushing in, and you were about to break right in front of your boss. Heavy tears started to run down your face. It was at this moment you were glad you never wore heavy makeup. You did your best to stifle the sounds and cries that tried to escape, but outside, Donna still saw through the glass.
Immediately, Donna calmly walks in. She takes one look at you, then Harvey. With a single nod from Harvey, Donna lets out a quiet "Car is on its way."
Unfortunately that made you feel even worse. "I'm so sorry, Harvey. This is completely unprofessional-"
Harvey finally stands up and walks towards you. At this point, what you need isn't space. He places his hands as gentle as can be on your arms to coax you to look at him. And you do, but looking at your red eyes and wet tears streaming down your face up close make his heart break even more.
"I don't give a shit about professionalism. Donna is getting the car and my driver is going to take you home-"
"No! He's there, he's been trying to move in with me and doesn't have a day job. He's just been staying there..." Your sentence trails off as you’re trying to process what you’re actually saying. Are you really doing this?
"Okay, then my driver will take you to my place and give you a key. We'll talk about the next steps when I get home. I'll get you some things from your apartment, okay?"
The tears were gone purely by witnessing Harvey be so calm, and you nodded slowly. All you could do was follow the sound of his voice. Like a lighthouse in a raging storm.
Donna entered the room quietly, "The car is here."
"Good. Donna will walk you out." You nodded, not saying a word. You turn to walk out of Harvey’s office, but he reaches out for your hand. “You’ll get through this, alright?”
You give a small smile. However, your mental state did not display the same sentiment. Your mind was reeling from what had happened in the last- what, 10? 15 minutes?
Donna leads you out the back staircase as a gesture of mercy. She knew that you didn’t want anyone else to see you like this. Harvey wasn’t exaggerating his view of you. Everyone in the office saw you as an unbreakable force.
Harvey’s driver opens the door for you. You look back at Donna, who is smiling sweetly. “I promise, Harvey will take care of everything. The only thing you need to worry about is taking care of yourself, okay?”
You gave Donna the same small smile you gave Harvey. You were at the edge of your sanity at this point. Now that you’ve gone through all the sadness and shock of the... situation, you were embarrassed. Angry. Angry at yourself for letting a man put his hands on you for a full year. Angry at Donna for knowing exactly what was going on and getting exactly what was needed. Angry at Harvey Specter for being so goddamn perfect that you couldn’t help the butterflies that always arose in your stomach whenever he talked to you. Angry at the world for putting you in this position.
Wordlessly, you exited the car once it stopped in front of Harvey’s building. You reached his apartment without thought. You took your heels off, and put your purse on the closest counter you saw.
And you cried.
_______
Harvey exited the elevator with a large box held in his hands. It was purely full of necessities. A week's change of clothes, toiletries, some books he knew were your favorite. Everything else he could buy new. He looked down and saw your heels on the ground and your purse on the table beside him.
Once he set down the box on the floor, he saw you. You looked even worse than at the office. Your beautiful hair was frizzy and pulled in odd directions. The worst part was the absolutely destroyed look on your face. Eyeshadow and liner were smudged on your red tinged eyes which stared into space in front of you.
Harvey sees your body stiff as a board on the edge of his soft couch, seemingly ready to run at a moment’s thought. “Have you been sitting like that since you got here?”
“No. I’ve only just sat down.” Your arms leaned on your knees, hands folded in your lap.
Harvey tries to ignore the hoarse sound in your voice. “Well, you can relax a bit if you’d like. I got you some more comfortable clothes if you want to change.”
Your brows furrow as you think. “Did he give you any problems?” For the first time since he came in the front door you look at him. He was visibly more relaxed than he is in the office. His suit jacket was tossed on the coat rake next to the door and the sleeves of his dress shirt were neatly folded up his arms. He walked towards the kitchen to the freezer.
“He didn’t get a chance. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you again.” He walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch and sets down an ice pack. His shirt was obviously wrinkled, and his knuckles held the slightest tinge of blue. The thought of Harvey hurting someone made your stomach flip, but you didn’t feel quite so bad for the receiving party.
“Let’s get some ice on that shoulder, huh?” He could tell you were still sensitive, but it felt more subdued than the scared woman he saw in his office.
You nodded in agreement about the ice pack. You hadn’t really stopped to think about it until he said something. As you unbutton your shirt to reveal your nude colored undershirt, you wince. The swelling of the bruise had gotten worse since you hadn’t taken anything for it. You hadn’t noticed the pain when you were crying, but now it just felt terrible.
“Let me help.” You give Harvey a look when the words come out of his mouth, a glimpse of that fiery woman that he knows. But you sigh and relent. You managed to undo a few buttons at least before Harvey steps in.
He unbuttons your shirt down to your stomach and pulls the shoulder of the shirt down just enough to slide the ice pack onto the skin. As soon as it’s securely placed between you and the couch, you let out a groan. In relief or pain, you don’t know. All you knew was that the cold felt absolutely wonderful on your swelled skin.
You and Harvey stay like that for a while, the exact amount of minutes you don’t know and neither does he. Harvey is the first to speak.
“You’ve been awfully quiet.”
You give him a look that says “I wonder why, dumbass.” But you refrain. “I’m thinking.”
He finally sits next to you on the couch and reaches his arm to grasp the top of the cushions. In his mind he excuses it as getting more comfortable, but the opportunity to touch you is also a bonus. Harvey was not a man of wise words for comfort, moreso actions and touch.
In a singsong voice, trying to lighten the mood, he says “Whatcha thinkin’ about.”
You smile a true smile and look towards him. Then the thoughts in your head come rushing in and the smile falls from your face. “I’m thinking about how I’ve been with him for so long that I don’t know how to live my life without him. So much of my life has been conforming to his ideals, his feelings. How am I supposed to love and be loved after him? After I’ve split my soul into so many pieces that I’ve lost track of where they all are?”
Both of you sit in silence, not sure what to say.
“I was definitely not expecting that.”
“I am... extremely sorry I said that, please just ignore-”
“I wasn’t finished, sweetheart. Firstly, I think you should see a professional about these feelings. But in the meantime, we can work on that together.” Harvey smiles, but then falters. “I- I mean, if you want. I’m not trying to get in your pants, I promise, all I’m saying is that I’m here whenever and you can stay as long as you want and-”
“Thank you, Harvey. It means a lot to hear you say that.” You laugh at the sight of a flustered Harvey Specter.
“To paraphrase, you're not alone in this. Not ever.”
You reach over with your good arm and pull him into as much of a hug as you can muster. In return, he pulls you close. Neither of you ever want to leave.
#xreader#harvey specter#harvey specter x reader#harvey specter x fem!reader#fanfiction#fics by foxbee#suits#fics#harvey specter/reader#harveyspecter/fem!reader#harvey specter/you
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Rings | Rúben Dias Imagine
Rating / genre: pure fluff
Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias
Summary: Y/N is pregnant and her rings don't fit anymore.
Warnings: just fluff that made me cry; use of pet names "babe", "baby"; mentions of struggling during pregnancy; soft Rúben (I had to)
Word Count: 1 319 words
This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Babe, what are you doing?” you hear Rúben’s voice, mixed with curiosity and amusement, as he walks into your shared bedroom and finds you in a position that’s more than questionable. Lying on the bed with your legs up in the air, feet against the wall and one single sock miserably hanging off your left foot.
“What does it look like I’m doing Dias?” you manage to mumble, totally out of breath. Your full-time job as a watermelon, aka a pregnant woman, is kicking in now at only six months pregnant, and being this huge now makes the easiest thing seem like rocket science.
“Are you doing some kind of yoga?” he guesses walking over to you as you keep trying to get your way around with that damn sock. He sits beside you, watching you completely amused by your stunt as you struggle to see anything from your belly.
“I’ve been trying to put on this fucking sock for about twenty minutes now, but I can’t!” you cry out, feeling the frustration bursting out of you, tears dwelling in your eyes. Both of you are aware that it’s just the hormones messing with your head, but it still makes you feel like a loser, not able to put on your own socks.
“Hey, hey, no!” Rúben softly coos as he gently grabs your ankles and places your legs on his lap. Grabbing the sock that’s hanging from your foot and he easily rolls it all the way up your foot before reaching for the other one on the nightstand and putting it on as well.
“Talk to me baby, what’s wrong exactly?” he murmurs, his magical fingers working on your feet, massaging the swollen limbs with ease.
“You won’t get it..” you sob, throwing your arms to the side, staring up at the ceiling.
“I want to try. Please, talk to me.” he pleads and you can’t hold a soft moan back when he hits a spot on your sole that’s been in pain for days.
“I just..” You let out a shaky breath blinking the tears away, not wanting to cry again in front of Rúben. “..I don’t feel like myself and I feel huge, like, humongous..bending is not an option for me anymore. It’s really hard, I keep reminding myself of the blessing that’s gonna happen once this pregnancy is over, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been feeling miserable in my own skin for months.”
You can’t stop yourself from talking, the most absurd thoughts have been stirring in your mind lately and even though it’s for sure because of the baby, you still found yourself judging your own thoughts.
“I don’t feel comfortable in anything, I am itchy all over and that drives me crazy. My feet and hands are so swollen, it’s almost scary..” you continue holding your hands up as you take a look at your sausage-like fingers. “..and today I’m afraid I reached the point where my rings aren’t ringing anymore. I couldn’t put them on, they just would not go on my finger. And it made me really sad, because I love wearing my wedding stack so much and it means so much to me..I feel like I’m the worst pregnant woman on Earth.” you moan covering your eyes with your hands.
“Babe, look at me.” he pleads, gently squeezing your feet, but you shake your head 'no'. Your eyes are probably red already. “Baby, please look at me.” he tries again and this time you peek at him.
A warm, kind smile sits on his soft lips and his eyes shine so bright like the most expensive diamonds on the planet. Your heart is flooded with love just by one look from him and you could cry over how much you love this man.
“You’re not big, you’re pregnant. There is another human inside you which is just mind-blowing and your body is amazing for doing what it’s been doing for these past months. I know pregnancy has been hard and I can only imagine what you're going through. It’s okay to be sad, I know you can’t help it. And as for the rings - Meu amor, It’s okay, you will wear them again after the baby is born, just because you can’t wear your rings, doesn’t mean we love each other any less.”
“But I wanna wear them.” you said with a pout.
“Here..let’s try this.” he took your hand in his and tried to put his wedding band as a replacement of yours, but his one was too big for your fingers so it didn’t stay on.
A heavy sigh blows through your lips as you close your eyes for a few seconds.
“It’s okay. I will be fine..I’m just emotional, I wasn’t prepared for this day to come - where my rings no longer fit..” you gave him your best smile and suggested that you go through your guy’s day, because you knew he will have a tough training and had to leave soon.
*
It was now close to 7 p.m. and Rúben had returned not long ago. You two were chilling on the couch in the living room after having a quick dinner, a random movie playing on the TV.
“So how did training go?” you asked, glancing over at him.
“It went well. Better than I thought it would.” he responded “How was your day?”
“It was okay. Not different from yesterday or the day before..same as always.” you mumble with a grimace as he starts massaging your legs again.
“I have something for you.” your husband stated, a mischievous look on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box that he handed to you.
“What is it?” you curiously asked, as you took the box from him.
As you opened it your eyes started tearing up. Inside was placed a plain gold band.
“Baby..” you looked up at Rúben, he leaned over to kiss you softly.
“You were pretty devastated this morning about your rings, so I went to the jeweler after training and got you this as a substitute. He said that he could re-size yours but I thought it would take longer, so I just bought you this one. And it is just temporary so it should be good. Do you like it?”
“Oh, I love it, Rúbes. Thank you. I love you.” you said, wiping a few tears that had fallen down your face, before leaning in to kiss him again.
“I love you. Both of you, so much.” Rúben replied after breaking the kiss. “Put it on. Let’s see if it fits.”
“You put it on me, please.”
He took the gold band out of the box, took your left hand and placed the band on your ring finger.
“How does that feel? Is it okay, did I get the right size?” he wanted to make sure.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” you wrapped your arms around him so you could give him a hug.
“Ouch!” you gasp and Rúben immediately launches closer, worry placed all over his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, frantically checking your body, looking for something that might be wrong with it.
“Nothing, just..baby Dias is playing football again.” you groan as you grab Rúben’s hand and place it to the spot where you felt the movement. The baby kicks again and Rúben gasps in awe, eyes glued to your huge belly. He has received all kinds of movements from the baby with so much amusement and adoration, you just know he will dedicate his whole existence to this child.
“I’m so sure this kid is going to be a football player like his daddy.” you sigh as you feel more movements.
He shifts, brings his head closer to your bump and presses a soft kiss to the spot where your baby kicked last.
#ruben dias#ruben gato dias#ruben dias fic#ruben dias imagine#ruben dias imagines#ruben dias x reader#ruben dias x you#ruben dias x y/n#ruben dias fluff#football imagine#football imagines
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Self Care
Based on- obx
Warnings- none
Characters- jj x reader
W.C- 500ish
Summary-JJ interrupts your little self care night, but is more than happy when you ask if he’d like to join.
You leaned back from the mirror, looking at your face which was now covered in green face mask. After a long and stressful week, a night in full of self care was exactly what you needed. You opened your desk drawer, searching for the light blue color you had envisioned for your nails.
The sound of your door opening and closing made you jump slightly, whipping your head toward none other than JJ.
He jumped too, letting out a small yelp when he saw your green skin, “Jeez!”
You grinned, letting out a laugh as he composed himself and sat himself down on your bed, “Want some?” You offered, half joking.
He rose his brows, interest clearly peaked, “What’s it for?”
You shrugged, eyes finally landing on your polish of choice and pulling it out. “Supposed to be good for your skin,” you explained, “I think it’s relaxing,”
“Sure…” he decided. You smiled, grabbing a headband from your desk and plopping yourself on your bed next to him. You reached forward pushing his blonde hair back and securing it with the band.
“Okay, okay, just hang on a sec…” JJ sounded genuinely concerned as he skeptically watched you grab the container with the face mask. “Is this gonna hurt me?”
You let out another laugh, “No, no J it won’t hurt- promise.” You dipped your fingers into the green mixture and swiped it across his face, chuckling when he winced at how cold it was.
“I always wondered what you did during a girl’s night…” he muttered, “this is kinda nice,”
You smiled, pulling back and admiring your handiwork, “Done! Now we just wait like 20 minutes,”
JJ nodded, watching intently as you unscrewed the top of your nail polish and started on your right fingers.
You groaned softly when your unsteady left hand moved a little more than you planned and painted more of your thumb than your actual nail, “the right hand’s always the worst part,” you mumbled mostly to yourself.
“Here,” JJ reached forward and took the polish from you, his other hand grabbing your right hand. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he focused, painting meticulously. You watched as he made quick work of your hand, looking at you every so often to make sure he was doing it right.
He didn’t even ask before taking your left hand and doing a layer of paint as well, “Is that good?”
You smiled, always happily surprised by the things JJ was willing to do for you no matter how small. “Perfect,” you leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips.
“Ah! Careful! Our face masks will be messed up!”
You playfully rolled your eyes at his dramatics, letting him pull you to his side, “okay, okay…” you surrendered, “But in twenty minutes, you’re all mine,”
He saluted you with a grin, “yes ma’am,”
#outer banks imagine#outer banks#obx#outer banks x reader#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank#rafe cameron#jj maybank imagine
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Learning to Live Part 20
summary: Javier has a shitty first day at his new job—thankfully, you thought ahead and planned some surprises that will turn it all around.
rating: E (18+! No y/n, age gap (around 10 years), Soft Javier Peña, alternating pov, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, (massive) breeding kink, sneaking around (secretly fucking in a house full of people), dirty talk, spanking, praise kink, domestic fluff, family fluff, family bonding, PTSD (panic attack), food as a metaphor for love, emotional hurt/comfort, hanging out with Chucho and fam, Javier in love, Javier saying very romantic things in Spanish, Javier holding a baby, baby fever)
pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader
a/n: Hello there! This is a very important chapter that I literally hammered out in less than two weeks (I don’t know how I did it). We meet some new characters, and there’s a lot of Chucho content. It’s also very plot heavy. Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul for betaing. You're the best!
word count: 22k (this is who I am)
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
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The Webb County Sheriff’s Office was located in the heart of downtown Laredo, a hulking two-story building with a tan stucco exterior and grey metal lettering on the front declaring, ‘Sheriff’s Office.�� Their jurisdiction spanned over three thousand miles and was the largest in southern Texas—whereas the Laredo Police Department only handled the town itself.
Javier had opinions about the local police.
None of them were good, seeing as the department’s Chief for the last twenty-something years has been Lorraine’s other uncle.
If it seemed like her family was everywhere, that was because they fucking were.
Her father’s side, the Smiths, have lived in the area going back generations and were the wealthiest family in Laredo, all thanks to the large transportation company her great-grandfather started back in the early 1900s. Their family made a name for themselves and were known for their philanthropy and pursuits to better the town—at least, that was true before her father took over the company from her grandfather and used all of the good his predecessors had done as a means to run for Mayor, making what turned out to be empty promises after he was elected.
He wasn’t the worst Mayor in Laredo’s history, but he wasn’t the best, either.
The philanthropic endeavors decreased when the business was handed over to her dad, who was more concerned with filling the family’s pockets, yet they still remained the town’s biggest benefactor and were held in somewhat high regard. The Smiths were well known, and two out of his three brothers had notable careers in town: one was the Chief of police, another had been a judge down at the courthouse before he was nominated by President George H. W. Bush to work on the federal level, and then, of course, there was Javier’s former barber.
Lorraine also had siblings and a hell of a lot of cousins who still lived in Laredo, so her family was fucking everywhere, much to his annoyance. He did his best to avoid them at all costs, especially if Cielito was with him. Javier was pretty sure there would be a physical altercation if she saw his ex, which made him smile, but it also meant he had to be on high alert when they were out and about. He was proud of how good he’d gotten at distracting her to keep them from crossing paths, usually feigning interest in a nearby store or restaurant. There was also the time they hadn’t even left his truck yet, and he’d spotted Lorraine down the street, so he kissed his girlfriend and made out with her for a solid five minutes to make sure the coast was clear—that one was his favorite.
Thankfully, none of the Smiths worked for the Sheriff.
There were five minutes to spare when he arrived at the office downtown, spending the first hour with the only Human Resources employee, Juana, a lovely older woman, half his size who kept calling him ‘Guapo (Handsome)’ and trying to wheedle his mom’s tamale recipe out of him. He’d filled out all of the necessary paperwork, frowning when he had to mark ‘Single’ on many of the forms. He got his picture taken and badge made, Juana commenting it was ‘Guapísimo (Very handsome),’ and he couldn’t wait to show Cielito to see her reaction, wearing it around his neck on a black lanyard. Then the older woman gave him a tour of the building, the only places of interest to him being the supply room, conference room, records room, evidence room, and where the nearest pot of coffee was located to his new office, which was their final stop.
Most of the people who worked here, he either knew or knew of, and they were all very aware of who he was if the looks and whispers he ignored were anything to go by.
His office wasn’t anything special and didn’t compare in the slightest to what he’d had in Colombia. It was small, with room enough for a cherry wood L-shaped desk against one wall, his desk chair putting the door in his line of sight, two chairs in front of it, and two bookcases behind it on either side of the window that had a breathtaking view of the parking lot. A computer was atop the reddish-brown hardwood, the bulky thing situated against the wall. A typewriter, which was more his speed, was on the other side near the edge, and a landline office phone between them in the corner. Aside from those three things, everything else was bare and empty—his plan was to raid the supply room, which could more accurately be described as a closet, for all the shit he needed.
He was standing just inside the door and finally alone, shuffling the stuff in his hands to free one up to grab the door handle and pull it forward to look at the other side, smiling when he saw there was a lock. Making his way around the desk, he set the things in his hand down on top of it, pulling out the chair and taking a seat.
The first item did not belong to him, and he’d never be caught dead with it, which was a fucking lie since it was sitting on his desk—The Empire Strikes Back Metal Lunch box was blue with art of Han, Leia, Chewie, and C-3PO in the Millennium Falcon cockpit, and did belong to his girlfriend, who’d packed his lunch the night before. She realized they hadn’t gotten him a lunch bag of his own, so she handed him this fucking thing at the door, giving him a kiss and a smack to the ass, telling him to have a good day.
He moved it off the desk and down behind it on the floor where it wouldn’t be seen.
The other two items were small black-bordered picture frames, setting the first one up: a picture of him and Cielito in his dad’s backyard, her standing in front of him with his arms wrapped around her chest, her hands holding them to her, his head beside hers as they smiled at the camera, the happiness clear on their faces. He put the second one next to it that had a Polaroid he’d taken while they made dinner one night in their kitchen of her grinning brightly at the camera and looking unbelievably adorable in his Fleetwood Mac shirt.
They made him smile, his mind going back to that morning and how fucking good it was. He sighed softly, touching the knot around his throat. He loved having her watch and help him get ready, then seeing how much it turned her on when he was dressed, wishing every morning was like that—the woman he loved choosing his outfit and keeping him company. They usually got dressed together, sometimes even asking each other opinions on what to wear, but it had never been like today. He wanted to look good for her, he wanted to wear what she wanted, he wanted to do something so simple to make her happy.
Then there were the things she did to him that had his slacks suddenly feeling a bit tight.
Javier felt like such a dick for arguing with her. He doesn’t know what came over him except that he didn’t think it was fair that only he was getting off—which was dumb because they both had times when they just wanted to pleasure the other without getting anything in return.
Fuck, her mouth, her tits. He looked at the Polaroid and her breasts under his shirt. She was so fucking beautiful between his knees, fucking him with them and letting him come all over her chest. Coming inside her was his favorite, but seeing her painted in his spend was a close second… Unless he could finish in her ass. His brain shortcircuited for a second, imagining how fucking tight she’d be while he filled her, and if she orgasmed at the same time, she’d tense up and squeeze his dic—
There was a low whistle from the door, a familiar deep voice saying, “Te tiene loco esa muchacha, se te sale la baba (That girl’s got you going crazy, you’re drooling).”
Javier frowned, his cheeks heating, clearing his throat as he looked at the older man standing in the doorway. He didn’t get up from his chair since his cock was at half-mast, confirming he was, in fact, crazy about her.
The newcomer had a similar build to his dad, the short cropped hair on his head and around his mouth grey with age, wearing the Webb County Sheriff Department uniform of a khaki short sleeve button up and army green pants with a yellow stripe down the sides, the golden Sheriff star badge pinned to his chest, glittering in the lights.
Unrelated to him, Sheriff Arturo López was about his age when he was elected into office back in the 70s. He was the county’s longest-serving Sheriff, and for good reason: he was an honorable man. Javier was very aware of this because he’s known him his whole life; Arturo was a good friend of his father’s.
“You’re as annoying as Pop,” he grumbled, straightening in his seat. “He’s told you about her?”
The other man’s face lit up, walking into the room to stand behind one of the chairs in front of the desk, resting both hands on the back.
“Talks about her and you—” His finger was directed at Javier. “—all the damn time. When I went out to the ranch last week, he showed me all of the pictures he took last month on his birthday with that fancy new camera you got him.”
He and Cielito had celebrated with his dad by barbecuing at the ranch. Daphne and Velma were in attendance; the two calves he’d practically raised, whom they affectionately called their bovine children, were given apples as treats, happily lying in the sun or chewing on the grass with their humans nearby. Chucho loved Cielito’s cooking almost as much as Javier did and had requested a peach pie for his birthday, which she, of course, made for him, much to his delight—he wouldn’t shut up about how much he loved it, and that was completely understandable, it was a really fucking good pie; so good, in fact, that Javier had stolen an extra piece before they’d left for the night. The picture of them on his desk was from that day, Cielito looking beautiful in a lavender-colored dress that he’d managed to match his button-up to—his eyes went back to it, thinking they looked so good together.
Perfect.
“¿Me oyes o que (Can you hear me or what)?” Arturo said a little louder, snapping his fingers to get his attention. Javier immediately looked up at him, seeing the other man was amused.
“Shit, sorry,” Javier replied, running a hand through his hair.
Arturo chuckled. “Tu papá tenía razón (Your dad was right). Estás arrebatado (You’re completely enraptured).” He slid a chair out and sat down, kicking his feet up on the desk’s edge.
His jaw ticked, annoyance creeping up on him, saying, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve got it bad—are you here to give me shit about it, or are we going to discuss the scope of this job you’ve been on my ass about since I got back?”
The other man huffed out a breath, his face going serious, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “Your dad also said you get very defensive about it—tu novia (your girlfriend) is off limits. I read you loud and clear.” He put his feet down, sitting up in his seat, his eyes on Javier’s. “Remember when I offered you a job when you graduated from A&M?” he asked.
Javier did—it was his backup plan if swimming hadn’t panned out. He’d wanted to get into law enforcement, and it would’ve been a good start, but then Lorraine fucked that up for him, too, since he had to get the hell out of Laredo.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“I saw your potential all those years ago—determination in your eyes to do something good and look at what you did in South America.”
Javier scoffed.
A crease appeared between the Sheriff’s eyes. “You know you’re a hero, right?” he asked.
Javier’s elbows were on the desk, his fingers laced in front of him. “I’m no hero.” He shook his head. “I just did my fucking job, and that’s it. Not like any of it mattered, anyway—the war on drugs will never fucking end.”
“On a large scale? No, there will always be drug trafficking, but things can be done here at home to crack down on it and keep our community safe.”
His eyebrow rose. “That’s why you need me?”
The older man smiled. “Partially.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’re aware of the drug smuggling problems we’re having here in Laredo?”
He nodded.
Arturo continued, “We know it’s coming into Laredo and then being distributed out to the bigger cities—we’ve got a whole narcotics unit, and they’ve done some decent busts throughout the county, but things can turn violent quick. You know how it is, people have drugs—”
“They’ll have weapons,” he cut him off, nodding.
They have to protect their cargo.
“Well, our current strategies aren’t making much difference, and even with some wins, it’s not enough. You personally took out the Colombians, and with them gone, the Mexican cartels have been taking advantage, and things have gotten bad, and that’s why I needed you to take this job. I need a new set of eyes. I need your expertise.” He pointed at Javier. “I need you to make sure we’re not overlooking anything. I want you to work with the team and make a better plan of attack. Have you kept up on the Mexican cartels?”
He has. Steve still works for the DEA in Florida and updates him about the goings on in South America and Mexico on their weekly calls.
“Yeah.”
“Good, we know they’re supplying.”
“Of course they are. So, you want me to look over the situation here, consult, and help plan? Can I meet the head of the narcotics unit?”
“You’re the head of the narcotics unit.”
His eyes widened, taken aback. “...what?”
That definitely wasn’t in the job description—he was supposed to be here for informational purposes only, training people, consulting, not running a team. He promised Cielito this would be an office job, and he absolutely would not go back on his word to her; he’d quit first and work somewhere else; hell, his alma mater, had put out feelers on if he’d like to teach. Anger was bubbling in his belly that this was turning out to be a fucking bait and switch, the Sheriff putting way more responsibility on him than he agreed to.
His face pinched in anger, glaring at the other man, his voice low, menacing, not brokering any room for argument, “When you pitched me this job, you said I’d be consulting, bringing in my knowledge and training people, shit like that. I didn’t sign up to head a fucking unit. I promised my girl this job would be nothing like the fucking DEA.”
“Cálmate (Calm down), Javi, it isn’t.” The Sheriff waved away his concern. “I’m sorry for springing it on you like this. I thought you’d like to be in charge since you wanted a desk job, and that’s what it is, a desk job—you’ll never see any action. You don’t even need a gun. You’ve got a lot of experience we could benefit from, so it makes sense you’d be the best person to lead and advise them. You’d help them do their jobs better.”
Javier had the upper hand here—the other man needed him more than he needed this job.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want the fucking responsibility of running a team—if that’s the case, I’m walking out that fucking door.” He jutted his finger toward it.
Arturo frowned, sighing deeply as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll forget the title. I’ll assign one of the other guys as the leader. You’ll consult—look into the situation here, help train, and plan. Is that better?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I am not in charge of them, is that understood?”
The other man sighed again. “Yes, Javi. You’re not in charge—no responsibility for them.” He leaned forward, offering his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah,” he replied, shaking the offered palm.
“Good,” the Sheriff said. “Welcome aboard.” He got up from his chair. “The team is scheduled to meet with you at one in the conference room for introductions—they’re expecting you.” He was walking toward the door, stopping before he exited to look at Javier over his shoulder. “There’s one other part of your job I forgot to mention.”
Javier let out a loud breath, feeling beyond annoyed. “What’s that?”
“You’ll be the point of contact for the DEA when they come knocking—I’ve got Southern Texas’ largest county to worry about. I don’t have time for their bullshit.”
He scoffed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious. I’m glad you’re here, Javi. Thank you for doing this,” he said as he left the room.
“Fuck,” Javier breathed, pressing his face into his hands.
Did he make a fucking mistake taking this job? He felt like he’d bit off way more than he could chew. He was starting to get a headache, reminding himself that this wouldn’t be anything like the DEA; he wasn’t going after cartels, he wasn’t having to put his life at risk, he was keeping his promise to Cielito, and that was all that fucking mattered.
Thinking of her, he remembered the day before when they were eating breakfast, hearing her voice clear in his mind saying, ‘...since you love challenges, you should dig into a problem…’
Find a problem to solve.
What was going on in Mexico wasn’t his problem; that was for the feds to worry about; what was a big fucking problem to him were drugs somehow making it past heavy border patrol and DEA intervention, but could he solve it?
The woman he loved was into that astrology shit, and the stars, or whatever the fuck, seemed to want him to.
Jesus Christ, was he really taking advice from something somebody probably pulled out of their ass?
He thought about it more rationally.
Laredo was his home, even if he wanted to leave it with his girlfriend most of the time. He had Cielito and his dad here; one day, they’d have children. Did he want to bring their kids into a world where there was a possibility of danger? He was remembering Colombia and the horrible shit he’d seen when drug busts went sideways, and innocent people got caught in the crossfire. What if Cielito was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and something happened to her? His memories of South America were fueling the worst-case scenarios playing out in his head of things that could happen to her or their future kids, his heart starting to pound in his chest, dread feeling like lead in the pit of his stomach.
He was beginning to panic as he thought of the potential consequences if he didn’t do this. He needed to keep his family safe; he had to make sure their home was safe, needing to protect his future wife and their future children.
What if I fail to protect them like I failed others before?
His breaths were coming out quick, the room suddenly going dark around the edges, it feeling stifling—he couldn’t breathe.
With it being the beginning of August in Southern Texas, it was barely ten a.m. and already scorching hot outside.
After sending Javi off to work with the coolest lunch box that he sighed really loudly at taking, a kiss and a smack to his ass, you’d showered, putting on some black bicycle shorts and the white t-shirt you’d gotten at a Prince concert the year prior. It had his symbol on the front with ‘The “Jam of the Year” World Tour 97/98.’ written on it, wanting to wear comfortable clothes since you’d be cooking all day—something that required you to leave your apartment.
But not to go to a store… yet.
The air conditioning was turned up as high as it would go in your car, Salt-N-Pepa playing loudly over the whirring of it as you drove down the road.
Ringing sounded in the passenger seat from the cell phone in your purse Javi got you when he moved in; you hadn’t wanted it, but the man worried about you getting stranded on the side of the road, or having an emergency, so to mollify him you’d accepted it.
Your eyes stayed on the road as you reached into your bag, fumbling around until you found the hard plastic Nokia phone that seemed practically indestructible. Pulling it out, you turned down the radio, the screen on the cellphone glowing green showing Javi was calling—which was a surprise, immediately hitting the answer button.
“Hey, babe!” you greeted, driving one-handed.
“Talk to me,” he said between heavy breaths, sounding like he’d been running.
It made you frown, worry curling in your gut that something was wrong.
“Javi, what’s going on?”
“Talk, please.” There was desperation in his tone, understanding he needed you to calm him down.
“Okay, um, gosh, I am so sorry for this stream of consciousness, it’s going to be unfiltered, just straight brain to mouth,” you rambled. “I’m driving right now and wearing those tight, stretchy shorts that I swear to fucking god are a magnet for your hands—you know the ones. Like, you smack my ass so much in these that I know if I’m within reach of you, I’m getting spanked—which, I’m only telling you this because you’re, you know, but I love when you do it so much—I love you, too, a lot, an insane amount, and I can’t wait to see you, so I can give you a big hug and smother your face in kisses—just smooches all over that sexy mug of yours. Um, I hope you’ll like the dinner I’m making—it’s gonna test my skills, and I’m excited to attempt it; hopefully, it’ll be edible.”
His breaths were beginning to even out, continuing to speak your thoughts, “I’m super worried about you right now since you’re calling me before your lunch and needing me to talk. So, just focus on my voice, baby—you’re gonna get through this. Breathe, you’re okay, and it’s gonna pass—everything is okay. Um, fuck, what else can I talk about, oh! I really liked that movie we rented Friday before last—the one with Harrison Ford? It was honestly so on point that the woman fell in love with him while stranded on that deserted island—how could you not fall in love with Pilot Harrison Ford? Which, I mean I wouldn’t—” you added quickly. “—I’ve already got a hunky, grumpy man I’m disgustingly in love with, thank you very much, and Harrison Ford can kick rocks—you’re my hunky, grumpy man, I’m disgustingly in love with if that wasn’t clear, and if I got stranded somewhere I know you’d find me—I don’t know how you’d do it, but you would. I know I said it already, but I love you, Javi—I love you so much sometimes I feel like I’m going to combust—”
“I love you, too,” his voice was barely above a whisper.
“There you are,” you replied, smiling in relief at hearing him. “Feel better?”
“Yes.” He audibly swallowed. “Sorry for bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me, and you’d never bother me, Javi. I love you.”
“I love you, too—I fucking knew you wear those shorts on purpose.” The smile was evident in his voice.
You giggled. “Kinda. They’re just really comfy.”
“Uh-huh, right. I’m also happy to be your hunky, grumpy man you’re disgustingly in love with.”
“Good, ‘cause you are.” The reason he called had you sobering up, asking, “Javi, do you want to talk about what happened?”
He sighed. “The, uh, smuggling problem is worse than I thought, and I started thinking about if something happened to you or our kids, and it, uh—”
“Triggered a panic attack,” you finished for him. “Javi,” you said softly. “It’s your first day, and you already had a panic attack. Are you sure you should be doing this job?”
“I promise, I’m okay—it won’t happen again.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know,” he sighed again.
“You can quit and go back to work with your dad on the ranch while you look for another job that won’t be so triggering.”
“I know… But I want to do this.”
A frown was on your face again. When he told you he’d gotten a job with the Sheriff, you’d been worried it’d make him miserable and lead to him resenting you. He was adamant that wouldn’t happen, and his new work wouldn’t be anything like the DEA, promising you it was just an office job, but with this phone call, your worries were back. He’d been there—you glanced at the clock on your radio—two hours, and he’d already had a panic attack—it didn’t bode well that his PTSD was acting up. Then there was the determination in his tone, hearing how he felt like this was something he had to do, and it made you feel uneasy.
“Okay,” you replied. If this was what he wanted, you wouldn’t fight him on it. “But if this happens again, you call me.”
“I will.”
“Promise me, Javier—don’t hide it from me.”
“I promise, Cielito. I won’t keep it from you.”
“Thank you. Now, do you need me to come down there right now? It’d take me like twenty minutes.”
“No, baby.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“Alright. How’s your first day so far?”
“The woman from HR kept calling me guapo, but I think she was just saying it to get mi mamá’s tamale recipe.”
You snorted. “Eres guapísimo (You’re very handsome). ¿Ella tuvo éxito (Did she succeed)?”
He chuckled. “No, Cielito. No se lo diré a nadie excepto a ti (I won’t tell anyone except you).”
“I don’t know why, but that’s very romantic, and I’m touched.”
“Ella hubiera querido que lo tuvieras (She would’ve wanted you to have it).”
You were smiling big.
“You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
“I should probably get back to work.” He sounded like he didn’t want to get off the phone.
“Wait, promise me, Javier, if this job gets to be too much or you feel yourself slipping back to how you were before, you’ll quit. Promise me.”
“I promise, Cielito—I pinky promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it. I love you. Call me on your lunch.”
“I love you, too, and I will.”
Goodbyes were said, the call ending, tossing the phone back into the passenger seat.
Chewing on your lip, your brain was stuck on Javi as you drove.
You really fucking hoped he’d be okay, but your boyfriend was stubborn, and when he put his mind to something, he didn’t let anything get in his way—including himself. It was one of his flaws, yet also a strength, that made him good at his job.
Colombia was a looming shadow, always following him around, and he still hadn’t shed a light on it for you. You knew the overview of his time there—he’d worked with Steve to help take down Pablo Escobar, but he’d fucked up and was sent home before they’d gotten the fucker; A lot of his informants were prostitutes that he’d slept with; He was sent back a second time and was put in charge, working his ass off to take down the Cali Cartel, and once he finished, he’d resigned from the DEA—and now he’d found another thing to put his mind to, and you were worried it would consume him.
You wouldn’t let him fall back into old habits and would talk to him and lay down some ground rules, the first being work stayed at work—when he came home, it was time for him to relax and forget about the day. It was what you did; it was how you survived being a busy emergency room nurse in a hospital in Dallas, where there was so much death. Once you clocked out for the day, your shift was over, and your worries over work ceased until you clocked back in for your next shift. There was no dwelling on things when you’d go home. If you did, you would’ve been miserable and the job much more difficult. You knew it would be really fucking hard for Javi to do, but you were determined to make sure he didn’t revert back to the miserable, depressed man he’d been in Colombia.
It wasn’t going to happen. Not if you had any say.
Your mind had been so preoccupied you suddenly found yourself at your destination, pulling into Chucho’s driveway, the gravel crunching under your tires, seeing him sitting in one of the two white rocking chairs on the porch, waiting for you with a big smile on his face. Pulling off to the side in front of the house and parking, you shoved your cell phone back into your purse, grabbing it and the little notebook from the passenger seat, and getting out, walking along the stone path in front of Javi’s mom’s beautiful flower garden, her husband still tended to.
“Buenos días, Mija (Good morning, Mija),” the older man greeted as he got up from his seat in jeans, a white short-sleeve button-up, and cowboy boots to hug you when you made it up the few stairs.
Smiling as you hugged him back, you replied, “Buenos días, Chucho.”
He let go of you, meeting your eyes with a happy grin. “The house smells amazing,” he said, moving over to the screen door, the springs screeching as he opened it for you, making your way inside the house.
“I hope it turned out amazing.” You were hit with the smell of cooking meat permeating in the air, heading toward the kitchen, the older man following you with the screen door slamming shut behind him.
“I’m sure it did.”
It warmed your heart how much faith he had in you, setting your purse and notebook down on the kitchen table to go look in the Crock Pot and finding the pork you put in it the night before was done. Turning it off, you smiled, seeing that Chucho had already set out a giant bowl and tongs for you to use. Grabbing the utensil, you looked over your shoulder, clicking them twice. “I see this isn’t your first rodeo—thank you,” you said.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Mija. It can cool while we go to the store.”
“Very true.”
Your attention moved back to the slow cooker, removing the lid and using the tongs to transfer the big pieces of meat into the bowl.
“How was your morning?” he asked.
Memories of Javi getting dressed came to you, your skin heating when you thought of the dirtier things you’d both done.
“Pretty good—your son let me choose his suit and tie,” you answered, moving another piece of pork.
“A good man.”
“The best, and we had a lovely breakfast before he went off to work.” You’d stood in the kitchen drinking coffee together, and he took a granola bar for the road. “How was yours?”
“Not bad. I made sure all of the pots and pans you’ll need are where I saw them last, and I extended the kitchen table so you have more room.”
You’d noticed it was bigger, going from being able to seat four to about six.
The last chunk of meat was put in the bowl, discarding the utensil into the sink as you said, “You are the fucking best, Chucho.”
“I’m just excited,” he laughed.
After unplugging the Crock Pot, you faced the older man. “I’m excited, too, and really fucking nervous.”
“You’re going to do great,” he reassured, making your heart clench.
“Thank you, Chucho. I really hope it’s good. Do you have aluminum foil?”
He pointed beside you. “Second drawer.”
“Thank you.” You got the foil out, tearing a piece to cover the bowl, putting it back where it belonged, and turning toward your boyfriend’s dad again.
“Okay,” you started. “So, I watched the video of Antonia’s instructions again this morning and tried to take some notes.” You put it on after Javi left, doing your best to write stuff down. Frowning, you continued, “You know I’m getting better at my Spanish, but there were some things I missed.”
He had a warm expression.
“Don’t stress, Mija. I watched and helped mi amor (my love) make her tamales so many times I’ve lost count. I may not know measurements or remember all the ingredients, but we’ve got her recipe cards we can use.” He gestured to the dining table next to him, where your things sat atop it beside a small oak wood dovetailed box that you knew when you opened the hinged lid, it contained his wife’s handwritten recipe cards.
The idea to make Javi’s mom’s famous tamales came to you while watching the home video of her explaining how they were made. You knew they were his favorite food, and wanted to make his first day at work special because, even though he acted like the job was no big deal, you still worried it’d fuck him up—which is exactly what happened, and now you were really happy he’d have your attempt at his mom’s tamales to comfort him.
There was nervousness about asking Chucho for permission. The recipe was a heavily guarded secret and something his wife was known for, and you were just some random woman dating his son. He’d been ecstatic when you called, though, telling you he’d get out Antonia’s recipe box for you to use, which was such a huge honor, you teared up.
The first time you got a chance to look inside the box was the night before when you brought over the pork to cook—the cards inside were old and some stained, able to see which ones she used the most, her recipes written out in beautiful script, all of them in Spanish and finding some she added little notes to—one for Pozole she’d crossed out radish in the ingredients, noting Javi hated them.
It was a little overwhelming knowing each one this incredible woman had touched, each one she’d made, and even though you never got a chance to meet her, it felt like you had—as odd as it was, you felt closer to her, seeing the tweaks she’d made to some recipes and completely understanding why she did them.
Antonia Peña was alive through the stories her family told, the pictures in old albums, the many home videos, and the food she’d once made that you were now getting the chance to make to honor her memory.
Smiling, you said, “Yes, we’ve got the recipe.” Walking over to the table, you picked up your notebook, looking at him. “I wrote down our grocery list in here.” You tapped the cover with your finger. “But in the video, she mentioned a secret ingredient in her red sauce. She spoke too quickly for me to understand what she was saying, and I didn’t see it listed on the recipe card…”
He held up four fingers. “Four arbol chiles. No more, no less. Four.” Your eyes went wide, grinning as you flipped open your notebook, grabbing the pen tucked between the pages. A hand covered the paper, looking at him in confusion. “You can’t write it down,” he said. “It’s a secret only Javi, and I know, and now you do, too.” He smiled.
Tears brimmed in your eyes, feeling so honored to have been told. You were careful of the notebook and pen you were holding as you threw your arms around him in a hug.
Javi said you were the only person he’d tell the recipe to, and here was his dad saying the same, feeling so unbelievably loved by this family.
“Thank you for trusting me,” you said.
He patted your back. “You’re family, Mija—mi futura nuera (my future daughter-in-law), you get to know, but you can’t tell anyone. Es un secreto (It’s a secret).”
You pulled back, nodding, “Yes, of course.” The pen was put back in the closed notebook, using your free hand to wipe at your teary eyes. “You ready to go?” you asked. “You’re my inside man on where to get the best ingredients.”
Chuckling, he replied, “I’m ready. I’ll drive. We’ll go out the back.”
Grabbing your purse, you followed Chucho down the hallway to the house's rear. The walls were bright teal with artwork of flowers Antonia had picked out, passing a guest bathroom, another hallway that led to a spare bedroom, the laundry room, and the staircase that went up to the master bedroom. He stopped at the coat hooks behind the back door to put on his straw cowboy hat and grab car keys from a row of tinier key hooks.
On your first visit to Chucho’s, you learned they didn’t lock the house during the day, so it wasn’t a surprise when you shut the door behind you, and he just kept walking. The gravel driveway fanned out behind the house where many cars and trucks were parked beside each other, knowing most belonged to Javi’s cousins and uncle, who all worked on the ranch.
It confused you when he passed his pickup, having assumed that was what you would be riding in and ending up at a smaller vehicle with a white cover over it and a dusting of dirt.
“It’s a special occasion,” he said, going to the front and beginning to pull off the covering. “So, we’ll take my baby.” Removing it as he walked toward the rear, he slowly revealed an old, red, soft-top convertible sports car in impeccable condition.
“Wow, I get to ride in the fancy car,” you replied, delighted. “This is so nice.”
The cover was set aside, Chucho unlocking the driver’s side door.
“Thank you.” He patted the top. “She’s a ‘68 Ford Mustang. Got her the year she was made.”
You went to the passenger side, looking through the glass at the black leather interior, two seats in the front, and two squished in the back, the lock disengaging with a click.
Getting in, you used the crank to lower your window, the older man starting the engine, and it roaring to life.
“I’m sure Javi had a blast riding around in this,” you said.
He was leaning to the left to press a button near the steering wheel, the top slowly moving back to open with a whine.
“Oh, he did.” Chucho smiled. “I don’t drive it much—drove it more back then than I do now. Javi would beg me to take him for rides and always was an excited little guy when I’d pick him up from school in it.” The top was completely down, and he rolled down his window, too. “But, Antonia, mi amor, was my regular passenger.” He tapped the dashboard. “Brought out the Mustang for date night.” He grinned.
“I love that so much,” you replied, putting on your seatbelt and Chucho doing the same. “Once Javi got his license, did you let him drive it?”
He put the car in reverse, his arm going to the top of your seat as he looked behind him to back out.
“Hell no,” he answered, making you laugh.
He had you both on the road heading into town in no time, the wind whipping past you, unable to stop from smiling. There wasn’t any awkwardness, feeling comfortable casually chatting with him. Chucho told you more stories about Javi and Antonia that had you laughing, having the best time with him.
There was a small lull in the conversation, and turning your head toward him, you said, “Thank you for helping me with this, Chucho. You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”
Smiling, he glanced at you. “You’re welcome, Mija, and you know, you can call me ‘Pop’ if you want,” he replied. “I already think of you as my daughter and don’t mind.”
Your eyes were watering, and it had nothing to do with the top being down.
In all the time you’ve known this man, he’s been more of a father to you than your actual biological dad. He welcomed you with open arms and was so warm and caring, able to see how much he loved his son and now you, too. It was a stark contrast to the coldness you were used to from being the family disappointment, not even sure when you last spoke to your father, thinking it was probably when you visited your family months ago.
Your mother was the one who stayed in contact with you, though her calls have become less frequent since you’d gone off on her for saying shitty things about Javi. The next time she called after the incident, you had put your foot down and threatened to go no contact if she continued to belittle and say horrible things about him. She hadn’t liked the threat but begrudgingly agreed to your terms, and you assumed the lack of phone calls was because she didn’t have anything nice to say.
Honestly, you knew her weekly calls were to make sure you weren’t bringing more shame to the family name, and it was nice not having her breathing down your neck.
You’ve never known what it was like to have such a loving parent like Chucho, and you were over the goddamn moon you had him now.
“Thank you,” you replied. “You’re a great dad, and I’m happy you’re in my life.”
“I’m happy you’re in my and my son’s lives. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for all you’ve done for him. I just love seeing how happy he is and those smiles. So, thank you, Mija.”
“You’re gonna make me cry!” Tears were threatening to spill.
“Don’t cry! This is a happy day.” He patted your knee. “We’re having a great time and almost there.”
La Tapatía Market was a hidden gem on the west side of town in a more residential area, inhabiting what was probably once a neighborhood grocery store back in the 1920s if the old painted brick on the outside was anything to go by. It was on a corner lot, a stone wall separating it from the homes that resided next door to it, and it wasn’t large nor tiny but a decent enough size to offer a variety of goods straight from across the border.
The market also happened to be family-owned, as you learned walking through the front door, hearing a bell jingle above it.
Entering, there was a long counter on the right where the register was, and a young man behind it, who was maybe in his thirties, his black hair buzzed short on his head, and face clean shaven, wearing dark green flannel, his attention immediately on the two of you.
“¡Hola (Hello)!” he greeted. “Me alegro de verte aquí otra vez, Don Chucho (It’s good to see you here again, Don Chucho).”
“Buenos días, Martín (Good morning, Martín),” Chucho replied, smiling. “¿Cómo están tus padres (How are your parents)? ¿Están aquí (Are they here)?”
“No, no están aquí (No, no, they’re not here).” He shook his head. “Tenían que ir a un mandado y deberían volver pronto (They had to go run an errand and should be back soon).”
“Bueno, bueno (Good, good),” he replied. “Oh, Martín, me gustaría que conocieras a mi nuera (Martín, I’d like you to meet my daughter-in-law),” he said, stepping aside and ushering you forward as he told him your name.
“Hola (Hello),” you said. “Mucho gusto (It’s nice to meet you).”
The other man’s eyes were as wide as saucers.
“¿Javier se casó (Javier got married)?” he asked.
“No, todavía no (No, not yet),” Chucho chuckled. “Pero espero que más pronto que tarde (But hopefully sooner rather than later).”
“Sí, Don Chucho (Yes, Don Chucho). Es maravilloso que haya conocido a alguien (It’s wonderful that he met someone).” His attention turned to you, smiling. “Mucho gusto (It’s nice to meet you).” Looking between you both, he asked, “¿Qué los trae por aquí hoy (What brings you here today)?”
Chucho’s arm went over your shoulders, grinning as he answered, “Ella es una cocinera increíble y está haciendo los tamales de mi esposa (She is an amazing cook and is making my wife’s tamales).”
The praise had your cheeks feeling hot, thinking it was very sweet how highly he regarded you, but it also was a tad nerve-wracking, feeling the nervous flutter in your belly.
Surprise was on Martín’s face. “Los famosos tamales de la Doña Antonia (Doña Antonia’s famous tamales)?”
“Sí,” Chucho replied excitedly, and it was honestly very adorable.
“Guau, buena suerte (Wow, good luck). Avíseme si necesita ayuda para encontrar algo (Let me know if you need help finding anything).
“Gracias, Martín (Thank you, Martín).”
“Gracias,” you also said, smiling.
Just inside the door and to the left were metal shopping carts, Chucho grabbing one while you opened your notebook, telling him the first thing on the list, and him leading you to the aisle. There were only a couple of other shoppers moseying around, your boyfriend’s dad greeting them by name when you happened across them.
The recipe from Antonia’s cards said it’d make about two dozen tamales, and you were very confused when Chucho had you get five times the ingredients on the list.
Did he want to make sure you had extra in case you fucked up? Five times seemed a bit excessive for that...
You were standing in an aisle, many different kinds of chiles in plastic bags hanging on pegs in front of you. The older man was looking at the labels with concentration etched on his brow before grabbing a bag.
“These ones,” he said, showing it to you. “How many do you need?”
“Uh, twelve chiles.”
“Okay.” He nodded, looking in the bag and counting how many chiles it had in it, then once again, he was quintupling the amount, throwing in more bags, and doing the same with the arbol chiles.
“Chucho?”
“Yes?” His attention turned to you.
“Why are we getting so much extra stuff?” You pointed at the growing pile of goods in the cart.
“So there’s enough for everyone,” he answered.
Your eyebrows furrowed.
“Who’s everyone?”
“You’re making tamales…” he said slowly.
“Yes… and that means?”
What were you missing?
“You don’t make tamales alone…”
“Yeah, you’re helping.” You gestured at him.
He smiled warmly. “Mija, you’re going to need more than just me. So, I invited people to come over and help.” He shrugged.
It felt like a record scratched in your brain.
“What people?”
“Just my sisters and some of their kids—they’re very excited to meet you.”
Well, this new bit of information did not help with your nerves at all. Now there would be more people judging your food, and your worry that you’d fuck up was running rampant. You took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. You were doing this for Javi—you needed to do this for your boyfriend, and thinking on the bright side, it will be good to have people who know how to make tamales there.
“Oh, wow, okay. I’m meeting the fam. That’s cool. I’m excited to meet them, too.”
Aside from Javi introducing you to a couple of his cousins who work at the ranch, you hadn’t met anyone else in his family—not because he was ashamed of you or didn’t want you to meet them, he was just being selfish, and hogging you all to himself. His tía María had everyone over at her house after church every Sunday for food and to catch up, and there was an open invitation for Javi and you to attend, but he preferred spending the day with you instead. It was romantic of him, but you were dying to meet the people you’d heard stories about and seen pictures of in the photo albums of him growing up.
You hoped they’d like you.
Chucho was back behind the cart, and you were beside it. He put a comforting hand on your shoulder, looking you in the eyes.
“There’s no reason to be nervous,” he said in a gentle voice you could imagine him using with the animals at the ranch. “They’ve heard all about you and are happy Javi has such a great girlfriend. They already like you.”
There was doubt in the back of your mind.
“You’re sure they like me?”
He smiled. “Oh, yeah. Rebeca had some of the peach pie you made for my birthday and wanted the recipe. They all can’t wait to try your tamales.”
That made you feel better.
“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”
"You won't."
A thought came to you. "Fuck, I don't think I made enough pork!"
"You did."
"I did?"
He grinned. "Yes, when you called to ask how much to buy, I made sure you got enough."
Smiling at him, you replied, "You're very sneaky, Chucho and I love it."
"Thank you. What's next on the list?"
“You won’t. What’s next on the list?”
The cart was fuller than you anticipated, with Chucho getting a variety of fruit-flavored sodas called Jarritos and some beer by the time you reached the register. He also refused to let you pay, which was annoying, but after the third time you tried, he gave you a grumpy look that was strikingly similar to your boyfriend’s, so you’d given up.
Everything fit in the trunk of the Mustang, and the two of you were off back to the ranch, Chucho turning on an oldies radio station while you guys made a game plan for the day.
He told you Antonia cooked the red chile sauce first, making the filling next, then the tamale dough called masa after. That was a good idea, deciding that was what you’d do, too.
Returning to the house, everything was brought inside, and you organized it all into piles for each step of the process on the kitchen table. Chucho put all the drinks in a giant cooler with a ton of ice stationed out of the way in the big kitchen.
After washing and drying your hands, you got to work, starting with shredding the pork that cooled while you were out. Chucho turned on the kitchen radio, you telling him to keep it on the Spanish station his wife had loved, and he’d gotten you guys some cold beers out of the fridge.
While you dealt with the meat, he took care of soaking the corn husks in hot water where they’d need to stay for hours to make them pliable and easy to work with when it was time to construct the tamales.
When you finished with the pork, it was put aside, and you started on the red sauce.
The two of you were standing next to each other at the kitchen counter, a big wooden cutting board in front of you both with kitchen shears and a chef’s knife you were using to cut the stems off of the chiles, then using the knife to slice them open and remove the seeds by hand—it was a somewhat tedious process.
“Did you always help your wife with this part?” you asked him, adding another cleaned chile to the pile on a baking sheet beside the cutting board.
“Sí (Yes), well, at least until Javi got old enough to remember not to touch his eyes.” He chuckled.
“A rookie mistake.” You shook your head.
“Oh yeah, I remember the first time, he was maybe five or six, she told him, ‘No te toques los ojos—es owie (Don’t touch your eyes—it’s owie),’ and what did he do? Rubbed them. Antonia had to soak cotton balls in milk and put them over his eyes.”
“Oh god, poor little guy!”
The pile of chiles was getting bigger.
“She felt bad, so I’d help her with the chiles, and he’d be her shadow through everything else.”
“He loved his mom a whole lot.”
“Yes, he did. Surprised he even bothered with me.”
Frowning, you turned your head toward him, pausing what you were doing to reply, “You know he loves you a lot too, right?”
He sighed, “I know.” His hands were still working.
“No, I mean he loves you so much, he won’t leave Laredo, we won’t leave Laredo. He needs to live close to you because he loves you, and he can’t fathom ever being away from you again. I think it’s those talks you guys have over beers.” You smiled, knocking your shoulder against his.
Chucho huffed out a breath. “Maybe it is. We had a good one after he watched the video of his mamá cooking.”
“Oh?” You tried not to sound too curious, returning to what you were doing. “Is there like father-son confidentiality, like doctor-patient?”
“Yes,” he chuckled. “But,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “you didn’t hear it from me that he’s planning to propose in less than a year.”
Grinning, you replied, “On our first anniversary! I know; I weaseled it out of him.”
He laughed. “I should’ve known you’d find out. Mija?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you a betting woman?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. What are we thinking?”
“I’ll bet you fifty dollars he does it before.”
“See, I thought maybe he’d break, too, but he is adamant about this one-year thing. Apparently, he has a whole romantic plan. So, I’ll take you up on that wager. I see him waiting.”
“We’ll see what happens.”
“Yes, we will.”
He spoke a little softer, “You’re really not moving away when you get married?”
“Hell no, Pop. Our kids need to be close to their abuelo.”
You heard him sniffle, so you bumped your shoulder into his again. “I’m glad to hear that.”
The recipe for the sauce was pretty easy to follow, Chucho seeming to know what appliances you would need and getting them ready: preheating the oven, pulling out the blender, bringing you a good-sized saucepan. When it was simmering on the stove, you thoroughly washed your hands with soap and water to clean off the chile oils, Chucho already doing so.
It was now time to wait as it finished cooking, the anticipation swelling up inside you, praying to whatever deity was listening for it to turn out okay.
The black-rimmed reading glasses were on his face—they’d been kept in the inside pocket of his jacket, that article of clothing draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms, his eyes scanning the words on the document from the opened file in front of him on his desk, while his right hand scribbled notes on the yellow pages of a legal pad, his styrofoam cup of coffee, empty.
Before he met Cielito, it was nightmares that plagued him—not every night, but enough that there was a familiarity to the shadows of his dark room, the bright moon outside his blinds a regular companion. What happened earlier was… new, yet he knew he had to call her; she told him to if she wasn’t there, and he had a nightmare, and this seemed pretty fucking close to one. Her voice gave him something to focus on, grounding him, soothing him to the point his heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out. The whole thing was entirely unexpected, and he fucking hoped it didn’t happen again.
She wanted him to work out the shit in his head, and he hated admitting it, but maybe he needed to see a professional.
Fuck, he couldn’t go to any in Laredo because people would talk. He set his pen down, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pushing through his hair as he sighed. A neighboring town was an option. It’d be a bit of a drive—worth it, though, if they could help with whatever the fuck was wrong with him. He’d talk to his wif–girlfriend, he mentally corrected, frowning. He’d talk to her tonight since she could probably find a place with her connections at the hospital.
After the panic attack, he focused on work, stocking his office with supplies from the supply closet before going to annoy the fuck out of the Sheriff’s assistant. Her desk was right outside Arturo’s closed office door, a coffee mug on her desk with the University of Texas crest and the words, ‘Class of ‘98,’ so she was a fresh graduate, her nameplate reading Joy, looking like a deer in headlights when Javier rattled off various documents he needed from the Sheriff. Eventually, he sighed when he realized she wasn’t listening and asked for her pad of paper and pen to write them down instead, telling her he needed them as soon as possible.
Half an hour later, she’d brought him a small stack of files and apologized profusely, explaining she’d only worked there a month and had no idea what he was talking about, needing help from the Sheriff.
Javier then spent the time up until now reading and jotting down notes to work out his plan.
He flicked his wrist up, looking at the silver watch face, seeing it was a little past noon and time for lunch.
Closing the manilla folder, he moved it back onto the stack, pushing his notepad aside. His hips shifted forward in his seat as he shoved his hand into his right pocket to pull out his phone, hitting one, then the call button to speed dial Cielito, bringing it up to his ear. Sitting up in his chair, he rested his elbows on the desk, taking off his glasses with his free hand.
She answered on the third ring.
“Hey, babe!”
He smiled. “Hi, baby.”
Spanish music played softly in the background on her end, making him smile bigger, warmth radiating in his chest.
“I’m happy to hear your voice. Has everything been okay since we last talked? Anything else happen?”
“Aside from me confusing the fuck out of some girl and, I think, accidentally scaring her?”
She’d been very apologetic and wouldn’t look him in the eyes, bolting once he told her she didn’t need to apologize and that everything was fine.
“Was your face grumpy, and were you bossy?”
His smile fell.
“Maybe… a little?”
“So, that’s a yes. How old are we talking?”
“Just graduated from UT.”
“Then she was probably really intimidated. Be nicer. You’re working with these people five days a week, don’t make them hate you.”
He frowned, thinking about how everyone in Colombia called him an asshole because he didn’t put up with their shit.
Sighing, he replied, “I’ll… try.”
“Good. So, did the Sheriff give you better details on what he wants you to do?”
His face pinched when he thought of the conversation he had with Arturo.
“Yeah, he tried to fucking saddle me with a goddamn team and have me run the fucking show,” he seethed.
“Excuse me?” There was anger in her tone. “Javier, you told him to get fucked, right?”
“Told him I’d quit on the fucking spot.”
“That’s my man.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made his own lips tip up. “What happened?”
“We came to an agreement, and I’ll be doing the work I was promised.”
“And you’re positive you want this job?”
What choice did he have? He needed this job to protect her—he had to do this for her and their family. The work wouldn’t be too difficult, and it was a desk job, so he’d stay safe.
“Yeah, Cielito, I do.”
“Okay…”
“I promise I’m okay, baby. I’ll, uh, need to talk to you about this morning at home.” He scratched at his mustache.
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
Changing the subject, he asked, “I hear you’re in the kitchen. What are you working on?”
“Right now? A sauce that I am stressing the fuck out about because I’ve never made it before and don’t really know what it’s supposed to taste like, so I’m basically doing this blind.”
“I know it’s gonna be the best fucking sauce, Cielito.”
“You think so?” He could picture her perfectly in his mind chewing on her bottom lip.
“I know so because you’re making it. Haven’t had cooking as good as yours since mi mamá.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and you fucking know it. I tell you every day.”
“You do really like my cooking.”
“I do, Pop loves your cooking, too, and I know you’ll kick this sauce’s ass.”
She snorted. “I’ll try. Speaking of your father, after work, drive out to the ranch. We’re having dinner with him.”
His brows furrowed.
“Are you cooking at the apartment or Pop’s?”
“Your dad’s because that was easiest for all the work I have to do.”
He smiled. “Is he with you?”
“Oh, yeah. Took the day off to be my sous chef, but I’m missing my good luck, especially with this sauce!” She said the last word dramatically.
The idea of his girlfriend and dad cooking all day together delighted Javier and had him wondering what she could possibly be making. He was assuming some kind of complicated pasta dish with a complex sauce—he was excited to try whatever it was.
“Baby, don’t stress,” he said calmly. “It’s gonna be so fucking good, and you know I’ll love it. I always love your cooking.”
“I have to be real, babe. There’s a lot of pressure with this one.”
“And you’re gonna knock it out of the fuckin’ park.”
“You’re so nice to me, and I am upset I cannot kiss your stupidly handsome face right now.”
He huffed out an amused breath, smirking. “Glad to know I’m your hunky, grumpy man, you’re disgustingly in love with who has a stupidly handsome face.”
“It’s true!” she exclaimed. “You are my hunky, grumpy man, I’m disgustingly in love with who has a stupidly handsome face I wish I could kiss right now!”
He heard his dad laughing in the background.
“I really fucking love you.”
“I really fucking love you, too. I don’t want you to waste your whole lunch on the phone with me. Go eat.”
“I’d rather waste my lunch on the phone with you.”
“That’s sweet, but please eat for me. It will make me feel better.”
“Then I’ll eat my lunch.” He moved the phone into his other hand, pressing it back to his ear, as he leaned over the side of his chair with a groan to grab the metal lunch box off the floor. “You couldn’t pack it in a paper bag?” he asked, setting it on the desk in front of him.
“You keep acting like my lunch box is the worst thing on earth when literally Empire is your favorite Star Wars movie, and I know you think it’s cool.”
He sighed. “Yeah, but I’m almost forty, walking around with a fucking children’s lunch box.”
“A cool children’s lunch box.”
“I guess it’s kinda cool.”
“Stop lying to yourself—you love it.”
“I don’t love it,” he grumbled.
“You do. I’m so sorry, babe, but I gotta get back to cooking. Don’t forget to come out here after work!”
“I won’t forget. I love you.”
“I know.”
He chuckled. “Smartass.”
“You love me, and I love you, too. See you after work!”
“Bye, Cielito.”
“Bye, Javi.”
They hung up, setting his phone down next to the lunch box, his hands moving to flick open the two clasps on the metal with his thumbs, flipping the top back.
He snorted, smiling, as he looked at the decent-sized sandwich, three—he pulled out the foil-covered sandwich—no, four little baggies of fruit snacks, a clementine, and a Hi-C Ecto Cooler drink carton.
God, he loved her.
Pulling open the foil, he sucked in a breath, lifting the top piece of bread and seeing she had made him one of her BLTs.
The previous night, they had breakfast for dinner before she’d left to go do her secret thing, and she’d made too much bacon, which he’s discovering was to make his sandwich—seeing the arugula, tomato, avocado, and aioli on bread from Anna’s bakery.
Something caught his eye in the lunch box, realizing it was a small piece of paper from the notepad on their fridge. Setting the sandwich down, he grabbed the folded note, unfolding it to see her familiar handwriting, a cute heart over the I in his name:
My dearest Javi,
I love you SO FUCKING MUCH and hope you have the BEST DAY at work! I know it’s probably going to be a lot (even if you’re stubborn and won’t admit it), so your favorite sandwich to comfort you since I won’t be there and an Ecto Cooler because I know you secretly like them. I’ll be thinking about you ALL DAY and am going to give you so MANY kisses when you get off.
Te amo, mi amor.
Your Cielito xoxo
His eyes were a little watery at all of the thought she’d put into his day—that she fucking knew it wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he hoped it would. Why was he surprised? She knew him better than he knew himself, and of course, she’d go out of her way to try and make everything okay.
Because she loved him.
Aside from his parents, no one had ever loved him so selflessly. It was a little overwhelming that she loved him with the same ferocity that he loved her. The Sheriff had said he was completely enraptured, but that wasn’t all—he was enthralled, enamored, entranced, she consumed him, and he consumed her; she wasn’t just the most beautiful and perfect woman on the planet, she was the one.
The cell phone was put back in your bag on the kitchen table, relieved Javi was doing good. Even though he reassured you multiple times he was okay after the panic attack, you still worried about him, but he sounded fine on the last call, and now you could really focus on what you were doing. Going back to the stove, you took the lid off the pan, stirring it with a large metal spoon, determined to kick its ass like Javi said you would.
“Does this seem too thick to you?” you asked, and Chucho came over to look.
“Sí, it’s an easy fix. Just add a little more water.”
“Right.” You nodded, doing as he said with some water in a glass measuring cup until it was the consistency you wanted. “Okay,” you said, the cup getting set aside. “Do you want to do the honors and taste it? Be brutally honest.”
Chucho was beside you, taking the silver spoon from your hand. Chewing on your lip, your tummy was all aflutter with nerves. You had followed every step on Antonia’s recipe card and got the secret ingredient, hoping you did her sauce justice, not sure what you’d do if you failed—that was a lie, you’d cry hysterically that you were a failure and let your amazing boyfriend down.
He inhaled deeply. “It smells wonderful.” You were basically on the edge of your seat, watching as he scooped a little of the sauce onto the spoon and brought it up to his lips, blowing on it softly. He paused, looking at you. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yes!” you exclaimed. “I need to know if I brought shame to your amazing wife!”
His eyebrows creased. “Mi Antonia would be so happy that you tried to make her sauce, and she’d tell you what her mamá told her when she was learning how to make it.”
“What did she say?”
“You didn’t make it wrong; you’re creating your own.”
“Oh.”
“Now, let’s see what your sauce tastes like.” And he ended the sentence by putting the spoon in his mouth and tasting it.
He hummed appreciatively, nodding his head, moving to put the dirtied utensil in the sink. “It’s very good, Mija,” he said after swallowing. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. He was standing in front of you, his gaze on yours. “Wow.” His eyes were getting a little misty, taking off his glasses to wipe at them. “Haven’t had a sauce that good since mi amor. God, I miss her,” he mused, putting his glasses back on. His hand went to your shoulder. “It’s very close and very good. Antonia would be proud, and Javi’s going to love it.”
Happy tears fell down your cheeks, your arms going around him for a hug.
“I’m proud of you, too,” he said, hugging you back.
It made you cry harder, squeezing him a little tighter, roughly saying, “Thanks, Pop.”
After you calmed down, it was time to make the pork filling, which required using a large lidded Sauté pan, combining the meat and sauce, and having it simmer on the stove.
Chucho was making himself busy by cleaning and clearing off the counters of the stuff you no longer needed.
He had the dishwasher open, filling it with dirty things from the sink.
“I’m happy you had all the kitchenware I needed,” you told him.
Groaning as he bent to put the glass blender jar into the appliance, he said, “Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of it.”
“That’s understandable.” You nodded. If something happened to Javi, you’d be the same.
He straightened. “And it’s a good thing I kept it all because now you can use it.”
“Yes, I can.”
“May I ask a favor, Mija?”
Turning to face him, you said, “Yeah, of course—anything.”
“I know you’ll want to make more of her recipes. Can the next one be her flan?”
It made you soften, well aware that Antonia’s flan was his favorite dessert, loving it so much he named his horse after it.
Smiling, you answered, “You got it. We’ll have to go on another store adventure.”
He gave you a big grin. “We’ll take the Mustang.”
“I hoped we would.”
Once the filling was done, you tried a bite, loving the rich savoriness with a slight kick of spicy, the pork infused with the chile sauce was absolutely delicious. It was finally time to make the dough, reading over your notes about what Antonia had said in her instruction video. Chucho had gotten out her nice avocado green KitchenAid stand mixer that was probably a good twenty years old and in fantastic condition.
The dough was called masa and made out of a special ground-up corn, and in Antonia’s recipe, she added some of the red sauce to it and used the broth made from slow-cooking the pork, you doing the same. The mixer was on, hearing the mechanical whir as it mixed all of the ingredients, needing them to become the consistency of smooth peanut butter. Chucho was sitting at the kitchen table sipping his beer, the corn husks in two tall piles on a baking sheet, and the pork filling in a large bowl on the tabletop next to them.
There was the sound of the front door opening and the screen door slamming closed.
“¿Donde está la muchacha (Where is she)?” A feminine voice shouted, footsteps coming closer to the kitchen.
“No la asustes, Lupita (Don’t scare her away, Lupita),” another woman said. “Tenemos la suerte de conocerla (We are lucky to be meeting her).”
“Sí, y me muero por conocerla, María (Yes, and I’m dying to meet her, María).”
Two very short older women entered the kitchen, both smiling and holding aluminum foil-covered glass Pyrex baking dishes. The two had similar hairstyles of their hair cropped short, the one with black hair, her curls framing her face with bangs, wearing a purple floral blouse; the blonde with a choppier cut, a gold cross necklace laying over her dark blouse.
“Aquí está (She’s here)!” The lighter-haired one excitedly announced, moving quickly to put her dish on a part of the counter you weren’t using.
Turning toward her, you smiled, a white rubber-ended spatula in your hand, greeting her with, “Hola!”
“¿Hablas español (Do you speak Spanish)?” she asked.
“Un poco (A little),” you answered. “Todavía estoy aprendiendo (I’m still learning).”
“Then I’ll use English,” she said with a heavy accent. “Chucho has shown us pictures, and you’re much prettier in person.”
“Thank you?”
“Mija,” Chucho said, “That’s my sister, Guadalupe—”
“You can call me Lupe,” she interjected.
“And María,” he added. The other woman had set down her glass dish, too, both now standing beside you, Chucho introducing you to them.
“It’s nice to meet you,” María’s accented voice said with a warm smile.
“So, nice to finally meet you,” Lupe told you. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
“Hopefully, good stuff,” you replied. “It’s nice meeting you both.” Your attention moved back to the mixer, switching it off.
“Lots of good stuff, Mija,” Lupe said.
“You’re making the masa?” María asked.
“Yes.” You nodded, lifting the mixing arm out of the bowl and scraping the sides with your spatula to check the consistency of the dough, smiling when it was smooth. “I think it turned out okay—I have to do the water test.” That was a way to determine if it was ready; if it floated, it was done, and if it sank, you needed to add more fat.
“I’ll get the water,” Lupe said, moving to get a cup out of a nearby cabinet and turning on the sink.
“Did you have a hard time making the sauce?” María asked.
Looking at her, you answered, “Not really? Antonia did a great job of writing out her recipe, so I did what it said, but boy, was I nervous about how it would turn out.” You chuckled.
“Oh, yes,” María said. “It’s the biggest worry.”
“It was,” you agreed, nodding your head.
A warm glass of water was set next to you on the counter. “Thank you,” you said, getting a small piece of the dough, holding your breath as you dropped it into the cup. It was floating, “Yes!” You pumped your fist in the air. “I did it, Chucho!”
“I knew you would!” he replied. “María, Lupita, ven aquí y prueba la carne (Come over here and try the meat).” They went over to the table, and nerves were once again making your stomach flutter, hoping they’d like it. You were distracting yourself by using your rubber spatula to get the dough off of the flat beater.
“¡Dios mío (Oh my god)!” María sounded surprised. “Es bien bueno (It’s very good). ¿Esta fue la primera vez que lo hizo (This was her first time making it)?”
“Mmm,” Lupe hummed. “Esta muy sabroso (It’s very tasty).”
“Sí, es su primera vez (Yes, it’s her first time).” Chucho sounded so proud, and it had your eyes brimming with tears. “Te dije que es una cocinera increíble (I told you she’s an amazing cook). Sabe casi como el de mi amor (It tastes almost like my love’s).”
“Sí, sí (Yes, yes),” María agreed. “Estoy sorprendida (I’m shocked).”
“¿Ella conoce el secreto de Antonia (She knows Antonia’s secret)?” Lupe asked.
“Sí,” he answered.
“¿Tú se lo dijiste a ella pero no a nosotros (You told her but not us)?”
“Sí, porque mi Antonia dijo que la esposa de Javiercito puede saberlo y creo que se casarán antes de fin de año (Yes, because my Antonia said Javier’s wife can know and I think they will get married before the end of the year).”
You spun around, your eyes wide. “Before the end of the year?” you gasped.
His gaze met yours, smiling as he nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he answered. “Javi can be… impulsive, and I don’t think there’s a chance in hell he’s going to make it to your anniversary.” He looked beyond amused.
Swallowing hard, you asked, “Really?”
“He’s right,” María added, looking at you, her lips lifted in a smile. “When Javi was still working out here, and I’d stop by, he wouldn’t stop talking about you. He’s head over heels for you, Chula (Cutie). That boy won’t be able to make it.”
“I agree,” Lupe said. “You’re going to be family sooner than you know.”
Your heart was pounding in your chest, feeling positively giddy that the people who’ve known Javi his whole life all agreed he wasn’t going to make it to your anniversary. It wouldn’t even bother you if Chucho won the bet. You’d still be a winner.
“Wow,” you replied. “And I’m happy you like my cooking. I was super nervous.”
“With how good this is?” María pointed at the bowl of meat. “There was nothing for you to worry about, Chula.” She walked over to you, giving you a hug, saying, “Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you,” you said, after separating, Lupe came over to hug you, too.
“You did good,” She told you. “We’re happy to have you here.”
María said to everyone, “There’s lunch on the counter. I made tortas ahogadas, and Lupita made some arroz y frijoles (rice and beans)—Rebeca’s bringing her tres leches cake.”
At the mention of lunch, your stomach grumbled, realizing you hadn’t eaten since that morning.
With everything done to make the tamales, it was time to take a small break, finding out a torta ahogada was a type of sandwich with pork carnitas and red onions smothered in a red chile and tomato sauce served on a crusty bread roll and was amazing.
Eventually, Rebeca showed up, the youngest of Chucho’s sisters and a couple of the wives of Javi’s cousins who worked at the ranch bringing along their young kids, who were happy to watch cartoons in the living room and eat snacks their mom’s brought, everyone else eating and drinking the food and drinks that were in the kitchen.
There wasn’t any awkwardness for you, the family very welcoming as you all talked and laughed, and then it was time to get to work making the tamales, forming an assembly line on both sides of the table—the first person spread the masa on the husk, passing it to the next person to put in the filling, the final person folding and tying them with a thin strip of corn husk. It was obvious all the adults had done the process before, continuing to chat as you worked, the children screaming as they ran around the house, and everyone having a great time.
Chucho was folding and putting the finished tamale in a large pot at the end of the table while you sat next to him, spooning on the pork before passing it to him.
He told the table, “She thought she was going to do this with just my help.” The whole table laughed, feeling heat creep up your neck.
“I didn’t know!” you defended, putting a large spoonful of meat on top of what María handed you.
“It’s okay, Mija,” he reassured, taking it from you.
“This is something you do with family,” Rebeca said, across the table, spreading masa. Her black hair was pulled up in a tight bun, her kind eyes glancing at you.
“In December,” Lupe started, folding on the other side of the table from Chucho, “we have a big Tamalada at María’s and make hundreds of tamales.”
Your eyes went wide. “That must take hours,” you replied.
“It does.” She smiled. “But we have a great time.”
“When Antonia was alive,” María said, “she did even more. It took her days to prepare the filling and masa, then our whole family and her older brother’s would come out here, and we’d have the table like this and switch out people when they got tired. It went the whole day, but she made tamales for the family and others in town who’d order from her.”
“I’m surprised we could fit so many people in our house,” Chucho chuckled.
“You couldn’t,” Rebeca laughed. “People were always in the backyard partying.”
“And we’d finish making the tamales,” Lupe said. “And everyone would stay out here until one, two in the morning hanging out and drinking.”
“That’s something you need to know,” Chucho told you as he took another tamale you passed him. “When the family gets together, it’s never a short visit; we’re together for hours.”
It was hard to imagine wanting to spend that amount of time with your own family—it would be literal torture. But with this family? You’d love it, with how much fun everybody was having and the way the conversation flowed so easily. It was apparent there was a lot of love between these people and that they enjoyed each other’s company, finding it refreshing. The thought that this was how Javi grew up made you really happy—so many people who loved him and were open with their affection; each person at this table had given you a hug and welcomed you into the family, including the daughters-in-law who were excited to have another one who would join their ranks.
You’d honestly never had a better time with so many people, feeling like this was where you belonged.
The rest of his day hadn’t been too bad.
The meeting with the narcotics unit had gone mostly well, Javier taking a lot of notes as they all discussed what they were currently doing, relaying what was working and what wasn’t, him already having ideas of how to help them improve. He was expecting there to be some pushback with him coming in—assumed there’d be dick-measuring contests, but he quickly learned the Sheriff only hired people who actually cared about their jobs and wanted to be better at them—except for the kid on the team who was in his twenties and Javier had to tell to fuck off when he asked if the government really paid for him to get pussy; Travis quickly learned that Javier did not tolerate that disrespectful bullshit.
His Cielito had told him to be nicer to the people he worked with, but they made it so fucking hard.
He’d left at five on the dot, carrying her Star Wars lunchbox out of the building and to his truck, stopping on the way to his dad’s at the florist. Mrs. Taylor, the owner, had a smile on her face when he walked into her tiny shop, asking him which bouquet it’d be this week, her not even remotely surprised when he told her his girlfriend’s favorite, sunflowers.
The flowers were carefully laid in the passenger seat as he drove out of the city limits toward the ranch, thinking about everything Cielito had done for him today—taking the day off to watch/help him get ready, making him come before work, answering the phone when he called and calming him down, hanging out and cooking with his dad, making his favorite sandwich for lunch with a sweet note that he saved in the top drawer of his desk. She was right when she wrote it’d be a lot for him to go back to work, but all those things she did had eclipsed any of the bad shit, and he was in a great mood, feeling so unbelievably happy.
He didn’t know how he could possibly thank her for it all, thinking he’d probably go down on her for a couple of hours and get her off so many times she passed out—that would be after he fucked her nice and slow, needing to feel her come around his dick.
His eyebrows furrowed when he turned onto his father’s long driveway and noticed more cars than usual parked along the gravel in front of the house and out back, spotting a couple belonging to his tía’s. Confused, he put the truck into park in front of his girlfriend’s car, grabbing the flowers before getting out.
The sunflowers were in his left hand, his right loosening his tie while he walked along the stone path to the front steps, it untied and resting on either side of his chest by the time he made it to the door. Once inside, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where he abruptly stopped at the doorway.
She was catty-corner to him across the kitchen, the angle allowing him to see her side as she stood at the kitchen counter next to his tía Rebeca at the stove, a tortilla press in front of Cielito, her grabbing some dough from a bowl beside her, rolling it in her hands to make it into a ball, and putting it in the press, pushing down on it hard with two hands. Tía María was next to Rebeca, cooking, tía Lupita nearby making what looked to be a salad, all four of them laughing as Cielito handed the flattened tortilla to Rebeca to cook on the hot pan.
He was stuck in place, shocked at how easily she was making the tortillas like it was something she’d done hundreds of times before and having a lively conversation with his tías, the familiarity in which they spoke making his heart squeeze tight.
Hearing them call her Chula (Cutie) made him smile because it meant they liked her.
Tía María’s head turned, spotting him, moving what she was cooking onto a cold burner to immediately make her way over to him. “Ahi estas! (There you are)!” she said. “Te demorastes! (It took you long enough).”
Rebeca stopped what she was doing, heading his way with Lupita.
He soon found himself crowded by his tiny tías glaring at him, Lupita reaching up to cup his cheeks, saying, “Cómo te atreves a mantener a este ángel lejos de nosotros (How dare you keep this angel from us).”
“Sí,” Rebeca agreed, pinching his arm. “Ella es maravillosa (She is wonderful).”
“Y una cocinera increíble (And an amazing cook),” María added.
“Nos debiste haber introducido antes (You should have introduced us sooner),” Lupita said.
María spoke, “Podríamos haberle estado enseñándole nuestras recetas (We could have been teaching her our recipes).”
“Y las de tu mamá (And your mom’s),” Rebeca told him, poking him in the arm.
“Que no se te ocurre venir sin ella el domingo que viene (Don’t you dare come without her next Sunday),” María threatened as she jabbed his other arm.
“Sí, más te vale (Yes, you better),” Rebeca agreed. “Necesito su receta de pastel de melocotón (I need her peach pie recipe).”
“Deja de ser codicioso y manteniéndola para ti (Stop being greedy and keeping her to yourself),” Lupita said, patting his cheeks. “Es grosero (It’s rude).”
“Muy grosero (Very rude),” María added.
Javier’s mouth was opening and closing, unsure how to respond, finally clearing his throat to say, “Lo siento, lo siento, fue mi error (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was my mistake).” He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Yo era muy codicioso pero cómo no iba a serlo, la has conocido, ella es increíble y la amo (I was very greedy but how could I not be, you met her, she is amazing and I love her).”
The anger left their faces, replaced with fond looks.
“Ella también te ama, Chamaco (She loves you, too, Little Guy),” María said, rubbing his bicep. “Ella te ama mucho y también la amamos a ella (She loves you a lot and we love her, too).”
“Encontraste una buena (You found a good one),” Rebeca told him.
He smiled. “Sé que lo hice (I know I did). Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo (I’m the luckiest man in the world). Ella es con quien me voy a casar (She is the one I’m going to marry). Vamos a tener hijos (We’re going to have children). La amo mucho (I love her so much).”
“Si dios quiere (God willing)!” the three exclaimed simultaneously.
María said, “Javiercito, tu mamá la hubiera amado y querido que te casaras con ella (Javier, your mom would have loved her and wanted you to marry her).”
“Sí,” the other two agreed, nodding their heads.
“Si, lo se (Yes, I know). Ahora, ¿puedo hablar con mi amor por favor (Now, can I please talk to my love)?”
They all moved away from him, finding that Cielito had washed her hands and was standing behind them. The moment her path was cleared, she was rushing him, flinging herself at him with enough force he grunted when her body collided with his, having to take a step back to keep his balance as her mouth fused to his, kissing him hard.
He was thankful for whichever of his tías took the flowers so he could hug her close to him, melting into the kiss that deepened quickly, her tongue slipping past his lips to slide along his own, her fingers digging in his hair. The older women were laughing, giving them some semblance of privacy as they returned to what they were doing.
Something like calm came over him, his body relaxing as they kissed, his hands rubbing all over her back, needing to feel her. It was the contentedness and knowing deep down in his bones this was where he was meant to be—when he was with her, he was home, she was home, she was forever and everything to him.
His lungs began to ache, and her mouth left his, breathing hard as she kissed all over his face, her hands grabbing his head to tilt it forward so she could reach his forehead, smothering him in loud smacking kisses that had him smiling so big she was able to kiss his dimple.
She finally pulled back to look him in the eyes, a little smile on her swollen lips, “Hi,” she greeted.
“Hi,” he replied.
“How was the rest of your day?” she asked, her fingers fixing his hair.
“Not bad.”
“That’s good.”
“Look at my badge.” He lifted it up for her to see his picture.
“God, you’re hot—it is unfair how photogenic you are.” She glanced up at him. “It’s a good thing, though.”
His eyebrow rose. “That I’m photogenic?”
“Yeah, means our kids will probably be photogenic, too. There are going to be so many pictures—I can feel it in my bones that you are going to be worse than your dad.”
He’d gone soft at the mention of their future children, smiling at her.
“Probably.” He shrugged because she wasn’t wrong. Javier was always using the Polaroid camera, and they started their own album—he’d been meaning to get a better camera. “I see you’ve met my tías,” he said.
“And a bunch of your primos (cousins) who work out here, their wives and kids, and your tíos (uncles). Most of them are out back.” She jutted her thumb behind her. “Your dad is barbecuing, and I was learning how to make tortillas, which aren’t too difficult. I’m basically a pro at making masa now.”
“You made masa?” He asked with his eyebrows up in his hairline.
“Yep. I actually have a surprise for you—take off your jacket, and get comfy at the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, doing as she said and shrugging it off while she walked away. He went over to the kitchen table, putting his suit jacket on the back of his chair, the wood scraping across the floor as he pulled it out to take a seat. The sunflowers he brought were in a small vase on the tabletop.
First, she brought him a cold beer, the bottle sweating in front of him.
“Thank you, baby,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” She winked before heading over to the stove.
He picked up the beer, taking a drink, finding it cool and refreshing before setting it back down. His elbows rested on the table as he fiddled with the label on the glass.
All the women were whispering to each other, and it made him curious as to what the surprise was, watching as someone grabbed a plate from a cabinet.
“Did the sauce turn out how you were hoping?” he asked loud enough for Cielito to hear.
“According to your family, yes,” she answered.
“It turned out real good, Chamaco,” Maria said.
“It did,” Lupe added. “She did a great job.”
“A really great job,” Rebeca agreed.
His eyebrows creased, thinking about how she said it was a sauce she’d never made before and how she was stressed about it, his family now saying she made it well. Did she make a Mexican dish?
“Close your eyes!” Cielito said.
“What?” he asked.
“Close your eyes!”
“Okay…?” he replied, closing them.
Moments later, the beer was removed from his hands, moving his arms out of the way to make space for the plate that was set down.
“Now, before you open your eyes. I need you to know I tried really fucking hard, and if you hate them, it’s fine; I’ll never make them again.”
He snorted. “I’m not gonna hate it.”
“I mean, you might, and it’s okay if you do.”
“I won’t.”
Her hand rubbed his upper back, feeling her kiss the top of his head, her muffled voice saying, “This is why I love you. Okay, open your eyes.”
His breath hitched in his throat, his heart thudding in his chest, not believing what he was seeing.
When she said she was working on a new recipe all day that involved a sauce, he assumed pasta or something along those lines—he never in a million fucking years would’ve guessed she’d try to make tamales, staring at the two wrapped in corn husks on the plate in shock.
“What are they filled with?” he whispered, and the thing was, he knew her answer before she even said it, his eyes burning and his bottom lip starting to tremble.
“It’s your mom’s recipe,” she gently confirmed, the first tear falling down his cheek.
He needed to try them, his hands moving to unwrap one, the tamale steaming as he grabbed the fork she’d set beside his plate and took his first bite.
Javier has had years to grieve the loss of his mother and come to terms with the fact she was gone—he’d never see her, talk to her or get to eat her food again. She was gone. Yet, the spices of the red chile sauce and the sweetness of the pork hit his tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she was alive again, the taste so close that his shoulders started shaking, and more tears fell, savoring each bite he took, until the first one was finished, and he was quickly digging into the second.
It was like coming home after being away for years and feeling the warm embrace of your loved one—the instant comfort, happy nostalgia, and overwhelming love, Javier remembering the many times he’d sat at this same table with his mamá nearby, eating her tamales, feeling like she was here with him now.
“Are they okay…?” Cielito asked. “I hope you’re not mad at me for making them…”
The last tamale was gone, his head turning to look up at her with wet cheeks.
His voice was rough, telling her, “I’m not mad. I’m so fucking happy. You—” His voice cracked, his eyes squeezing shut. “—you,” he tried again. “You gave me a chance to eat mi mamá’s food again, and I’m so happy.” There was no way he could keep from crying, shoving his face into her stomach and hugging her tight as he sobbed.
This woman loved him so goddamn much, it was making him cry harder. He couldn’t believe she went through all of this effort for him—she did it for him. He didn’t deserve all of this. He didn’t deserve her. What was she doing with him? How had he lucked out so much? With all of the shit he’s been through and how life has always kicked his ass, there was a fear in the back of his mind that things were too good and she’d realize he wasn’t worth it. It just seemed so fucking impossible that he found someone who truly loved him—she didn’t even have to say the words, he could feel it in what she’d done, and it was crazy to him she loved him that much.
Was it crazy, though?
He was just as in love with her. He’d do anything for her, anything because she had embedded herself so deeply in his heart, he was sure if something happened to her, it’d stop beating—his love for her felt as bright as the burning sun and would keep shining even when he was no more.
“Oh, baby,” she whispered, rubbing one hand on his back, the other cradling the back of his head. “I love you—I love you so much, and had a feeling today would be tough. Your dad said I can make any of your mom’s recipes, so if there’s something you want, I’ll give it a go, and your tías all offered to help me learn.”
Leaning his head back to meet her eyes, he asked, “You want to make more of her recipes?”
She stroked her fingers through his hair.
“Absolutely. I promised your dad I’d make him flan.”
He smiled. “Pop would love that.”
“I know, so I gotta make it for him. He said he’d take me in the Mustang again to go shopping for the ingredients.”
His eyes went wide. “He took you in the Mustang?”
“He did! Top-down and everything. It was a blast.”
“You should see if he’ll let you drive it...”
She huffed out a breath. “To see if you’re the only one with a Mustang ban?”
“Yeah.”
“I highly doubt he’ll let me.”
“You should still ask.”
She playfully rolled her eyes. “Fine, but if by some fucking miracle he says yes, you’re not allowed to be upset,” she said, poking his nose.
“Deal.” He nodded.
“You feeling better?” she asked.
“Yeah. They were so fucking good. Please tell me you made more.”
“There are so many. Your dad had me make a ton.”
Tía María said from over at the stove, “She thought she and your papá could make them all by themselves.”
“I didn’t know!” Cielito exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
“Wait,” Javier started, “was there a tamalada? Is that why everyone’s here?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “Your dad sprung the news on me that he invited everyone while at the store. It was a lot of fun. I did filling.”
He was frowning, feeling sad he missed it.
“I liked to fold,” he sighed.
“Hey.” She held his cheeks. “We can do it again on a day you have off.”
Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that.”
Leaning down, she gave him a tender kiss.
“I love you,” he murmured into her lips.
“I love you, too.”
His mouth left hers, his chair squeaking as it moved back, so he could stand, turning so their bodies were chest to chest, his big palms cradling her face as he looked her in the eyes.
“No,” he said, “te amo más que a nada y mi vida estaría vacía sin ti (No, I love you more than anything, and my life would be empty without you). Vivo para ti, respiro por ti, mi corazón late por ti, soy nada sin ti (I live for you, I breathe for you, my heart beats for you, I am nothing without you).”
“Javi,” she gasped, seeing the tears brimming in her eyes. “That’s so fucking romantic, but I don’t deserve that kind of devotion.” She shook her head. “I’m nobody, and I’m waiting for the day you realize I’m a big fucking loser.”
His eyes squinted, his eyebrows knitting together, not understanding why she would say that.
“What?” he asked. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re fucking incredible and everything to me. You’re not nobody. You’re my all—you’re it, and I hate the self-deprecating bullshit because if one of us doesn’t deserve love, it’s fucking me.” He patted over his heart. “I don’t deserve you, and I’m really fucking aware of it. So, stop it, and let me fucking love you.”
“Esto es mejor que mi telenovela (This is better than my telenovela),” tía Lupita whispered.
Rebeca shooshed her. “Se está poniendo bueno (It’s getting good).”
“What the fuck are you talking about that you don’t deserve me?” Cielito asked. “I can’t be self-deprecating, but you can? No, unacceptable. You’re a fucking amazing man, and I will not tolerate you thinking that you do not deserve me—you more than deserve me. Thank you very much. So, you fucking stop it—” She poked him in the chest. “—and let me fucking love you.”
He smiled, grasping her hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. “You can love me, and I’ll love you, so that’s settled.”
“Good.”
He kissed the center of her palm. “I really fucking love you.”
“I really fucking love you, too.”
His lips pressed to her wrist. “Estoy enloquecido por ti (I’m crazy about you).”
A kiss to her arm. “Mi corazón es tuyo (My heart is yours).”
Another press of his lips further up. “Soy tuyo (I’m yours).”
One to the bend in her arm. “Eres todo para mi (You’re everything to me).”
Straightening, he gently cupped her cheeks. “Eres el amor de mi vida, mi Cielito (You are the love of my life, my Cielito).” Finally, kissing her on the lips.
Javi demolished seven of your tamales, and when there was a minute with you two alone in the kitchen, you watched him fill two gallon Ziploc bags with probably twenty more that he hid in the fridge to take home, which made you so insanely happy. There was still a bunch left for everyone else to have more than one, not feeling too worried about it since Javi’s tíos showed up with a ton of meat and other things for Chucho to cook on his massive grill and ingredients for his tías to make sides.
Your boyfriend had draped his tie over his suit jacket on the back of a chair at the kitchen table, stuffing his badge in the pocket, rolling his sleeves up his forearms, and popping open a few buttons on his dress shirt before you’d gone out back. A beer he was nursing was in one hand, the other over your shoulders, keeping you close to him.
A dozen or so kids, all under the age of twelve, were running around laughing and screaming in the backyard. The glass dining table on the patio had paper plates, plastic utensils, condiments, a big bowl of fresh-cut fruit, and a tiny stack of tamales on it. The adults sat at a picnic table on the grass, others in plastic chairs pulled close, talking animatedly while eating and drinking their sodas and beers, waiting for more food to be ready, a boombox out playing music.
Javi’s dad had an array of things he was grilling, pointing at each one with his giant metal tongs and telling you what each was: costillas (pork ribs), entraña (skirt steak), chorizó (well-seasoned pork sausage), cebollitas asadas (grilled green onions), and elote (grilled corn).
“The elote,” Chucho said, flipping one over to grill the other side, “we dress it in mayo, cotija cheese that’s crumbly, chili powder, and lime juice. It’s very good.”
“I’m sure I’m going to love it,” you replied, Javi pulling you closer into his side and kissing your hair.
“Ask him,” he murmured in your ear.
“Ugh, fine, hey Pop?”
Your boyfriend jolted next to you, “Pop?” he whispered.
“Yeah, babe—” You rubbed his chest. “—there was a lot of bonding today; he said he thinks of me as his daughter, and real talk, he’s the best dad I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you, Mija,” Chucho said, smiling at you. “I’m happy to have another kid, and who knows, maybe I’ll finally get those nietos (grandchildren) I want soon.”
Javi was in the middle of taking a drink and choked, coughing into his arm while you patted his back.
“We’re waiting until we’re married,” you told him. “And gosh, we’d probably want to have a house, too. There’s no space for a baby in the apartment.”
Chucho was nodding his head. “Of course, of course, if anything, Javi’s got his room here, and I’ve got the spare bedroom we could turn into a nursery, so that’s an option.”
It made you grin.
“That’s so sweet of you, Pop. We appreciate it.”
“Anything for my kids and future grandkids. Now, you had a question.”
“Oh, yes! Would you ever maybe possibly let me drive the Mustang…?”
“Sure.”
Your mouth fell open, Javi saying loudly, “What?!”
“But I’d be your passenger,” Chucho continued. “You can drive when we go to La Tapatía for the flan—it’s the least I can do.”
“Can I drive the Mustang?” Javi asked.
His father met his eyes. “No.”
“¿Por qué (Why)?” he said in rapid Spanish, his tone laced with anger. “¿Por qué ella puede conducir y yo no (Why can she drive and I can’t)?”
“Ella me está haciendo el flan de tu madre (She is making me your mom’s flan). Por eso. (That’s why).”
“¿Qué tengo que hacer (What do I have to do)?”
The older man thought about it for a second before a big toothy smile appeared on his face.
“Cuando te casas con ella, puedes conducir el Mustang (When you marry her, you can drive the Mustang).”
Javi sighed loudly. “Esta bien (Fine). Estas bien agresivo (You’re very pushy). Me voy a casar con ella (I am going to marry her).”
“Yo sé, Mijo, pero no lo suficientemente pronto (I know, Mijo, but not soon enough).”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you want your grandkids. You’re gonna have to hold your fuckin’ horses and wait.” He took another drink.
“I’m not getting any younger.” Chucho’s attention went back to the barbecue, flipping meat and vegetables.
“I’m aware.”
The two of you migrated over to where everyone else was, standing off to the side as they all talked in Spanish, Javi’s arm around you, his finger drawing circles on your hip.
“I can’t wait to get home,” he whispered in your ear for only you to hear.
“Why’s that?” you asked just as softly.
“So I can spread you out and eat your pussy for an hour or two.” He nipped at your earlobe, your breath catching in your throat. “But first, I want to fuck you nice and slow—want you to feel how I stretch you open and make you squeeze my dick when you come. Gonna pump you full of me.”
You could feel your heartbeat in your cunt, squeezing your thighs together.
“Javier,” you gasped. “We are with your family. Stop making me horny.”
“Yeah? Your panties drenched? If I stuck my hand inside those stretchy fucking shorts I love, would I feel you all wet for me?”
You were, and you hated how smug he sounded.
“Of course, but we’re going to be here for hours. Don’t rile me up.”
His hand moved from your hip to squeeze your ass.
“Maybe I want to rile you up. Have you dripping for me and needy. Get you so fucking horny that we barely make it into the apartment, and I fuck you right there on the floor.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“You fucking love it. You don’t give a single fuck where I do it as long as I fuck you full of my come—you love being stuffed.”
“Javier,” you hissed.
“Yes, mi amor (my love)?”
“You’re being a goddamn menace.”
“I’m being your menace.” He kissed your cheek.
A tiny child was suddenly hugging your legs, looking down to find Javi’s cousin, Danny’s toddler, holding her chubby little arms up for you to pick her up, bending to do just that. The little girl was wearing a pink sleeveless dress, her little bit of dark hair pulled up in two pigtails, sitting her on your hip.
“Hola (Hi),” you greeted her with a smile. “¿Cuál es tu nombre (What is your name)?”
She was rubbing her hands together, not looking you in the eye.
“So-feee-a.”
“Hola, Sofia (Hi, Sofia). Tu nombre es muy bonito (Your name is very beautiful). ¿Cuántos años tienes (How old are you)?”
“Dos (Two)!” she announced, holding up two fingers. “Sí, dos (Yes, two)!”
“Muy bien (Very good). Te estás divirtiendo jugando con tus hermanos y primos (Are you having fun playing with your siblings and cousins)?”
“Sí, corren rápido (Yes, they run fast).”
Looking over at Javi, there was a soft look on his face, you asking him, “¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) they run too fast for you?”
He was just staring, your eyebrows creasing, jabbing him in the side with your elbow, “Javi?”
“What…?” he asked.
“¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) they run too fast for you?”
“Oh, uh, corren muy rápido para ti?”
Nodding, your attention moved back to the child. “¿Corren muy rápido para ti?” you asked her.
“Sí, muy rápido (Yes, very fast).”
“Lo siento (I’m sorry) ¿Cuál es tu color favorito (What’s your favorite color)?
She tugged on her dress. “Rosadooo (Pink)! Y amarillooo (And yellow)!”
Her answer made you giggle.
“También me encantan esos colores (I love those colors, too).”
Sofia frowned. “Tengo sed (I’m thirsty).”
“Oh, um, Javi.” You looked at him. “Can you tell her we’ll take her to her mom?”
He set his beer down on the grass, straightening and holding out his arms. “Ven aquí, preciosa, te llevaremos a tu mamá (Come here, precious, we will take you to your mom),” he said in that sweet voice he always used with the animals, taking the child from you.
He held her easily in one arm, hearing him speaking softly to her in Spanish as he walked her over to her mom at the picnic table—your eyes had gone wide, gulping as you took him in, your ovaries going haywire at how perfect he looked; how natural, thinking those broad shoulders of his would come in handy to carry more than one baby.
Oh.
Oh no.
You had to fan yourself with your hand, it suddenly feeling very hot, doing your best to ignore the ancient, primal part of your brain screaming that he was the perfect man to father your children, and he needed to put one in you right that second—the temptation to toss your birth control when you got home was too damn high.
Dear god, was this baby fever? Were you experiencing baby fever?
The way arousal was burning in your gut and making your pussy throb with need told you, yes, you did, in fact, have baby fucking fever.
You were so unbelievably horny, annoyed it was at the most inopportune time, needing to go splash some cold water on your face to calm yourself down.
Javi was returning to you, your eyes darting away as you said when he was close, “I’m, um, gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” Pointing with your thumbs toward the house. “I’ll be back.”
He was in front of you, his hands rubbing your upper arms, your body shivering at the contact.
“Are you okay?” he asked with a concerned look.
“Yeah,” you said a little too quickly. “Fucking fantastic, not horny at all, no siree, perfectly fine. I’ll be back.”
“Okay…?”
You practically bolted away from him and into the house, passing the guest bathroom to go to the one in Javi’s room. Two of his tías and a daughter-in-law were in the kitchen making side dishes, their husbands in the living room, relaxing in the air conditioning, and watching something on the television.
Safely locked away in Javi’s en suite, you took care of your needs and washed your hands, leaving the faucet running and turning the temperature as cold as possible. Leaning over the sink, you splashed some water on your face, which helped a little, still feeling on edge as you walked over to get a small towel out of the in-wall cabinet to dry off.
The sink was turned off, staring at yourself in the mirror. “We will get married, we will buy a house, and then we will have babies,” you said out loud. “Don’t you dare give in just because your boyfriend is a goddamn DILF without the children. Oh, god,” you whined. “He’s going to be such a fucking DILF! Why does he have to be so sexy?! We can’t even fuck until later. Focus!” You pointed your finger at yourself in the reflection. “No babies, no matter how fucking tempting it is, no. Cool your fucking jets. You’ve got this.” Nodding your head once, you turned to toss the dirtied towel into a nearby hamper.
Unlocking the door, you pulled it open, squeaking in surprise when the hulking figure of your boyfriend was right there, immediately invading your space, his hand on your jaw as he crushed his lips to yours, his other arm wrapped around your back—walking you backward, kissing you like his life depended on it, his tongue quickly pressing into your mouth to tangle with your own, your hands landing in his hair, gripping the soft strands between your fingers.
He kicked the door shut, his lips not leaving yours as he reached behind him to lock it.
The horniness was back at full force, wanting him, no, needing him to ease the ache between your legs, snaking your hand down his front, finding his cock hard under his navy blue slacks, his boxer briefs making it stretch up at an angle toward his belt, Javi groaning as you stroked him over his pants.
He pushed you back against the bathroom counter, his hips pressing into you, moaning as his tongue plundered your mouth.
A moment of clarity hit you, remembering where you were and the many people outside his bedroom door, reluctantly breaking the kiss to say, “Javi, your family’s in the other room.”
Kissing you again, his words were muffled, “I locked the bedroom door.” He squeezed your breast, his other hand grabbing your ass.
Pulling back again, he chased your lips, moving your head to dodge him. “We can’t fuck with them out there, Javier.”
There was a grumpy expression on his face as he stared at you. “Why not?”
“They could hear us?”
“They won’t—we’ll be quick and quiet. Nobody will know.” He licked his plush lips, your attention drawn to them.
There was his bedroom and the entryway separating you from everyone else, so as long as you weren’t too loud… Christ, were you really thinking about fucking in a house full of people? Yes, you were, knowing Javi would make it so good—remembering how he said you didn’t care where he did it as long as he came inside you, which was apparently true, your resolve disappearing in an instant, wanting him so fucking bad nothing else mattered.
“Fuck, okay—a quickie, Javier, and you better make sure I’m not too loud,” you said, poking his chest. “God, I’m so fucking horny.”
His mouth was on yours again, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his lips moved to your jaw, saying into your skin, “I know you’re horny, baby—” He nibbled on your chin. “—could tell outside.” His mouth was against your neck, kissing down it, his hand moving between your legs, making you moan when he rubbed over your sex. “You think I’m a DILF.” He sucked on your pulse point before his head popped up with a confused look, “What the fuck is a DILF?”
“Oh god, you heard my pep talk.” Embarrassment had you covering your face with your hands, Javi immediately prying them off, looking at you fondly.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Cielito,” he said, kissing you quickly. “I loved the pep talk—we needed the pep talk ‘cause seeing you with the baby fucked me up, too. You didn’t answer my question, what’s a DILF?”
“You know a MILF is a mother I’d like to fuck, so a DILF is a dad I’d like to fuck—you’re a fuckin’ future dad I’d like to fuck.”
He kissed you, smiling into it. “You’re in luck,” he said, ending the sentence with a nip to your bottom lip. Stepping back, he spun you around to have your front to the counter, his body flush with yours, seeing you both in the mirror with his lips at your ear, his dark eyes meeting your gaze in the reflection. “You get to fuck me,” he said in a deep timbre that had tingles moving down your spine.
“Good,” you replied, pushing your ass back into his hard cock. “I need you to fuck me, Papí.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, seeing his throat bob as he swallowed. His body left yours, pulling you with him as he took two steps back. “Arms on the counter, baby,” he rasped, his big hand sliding up your spine and gently pushing you forward, bending at your waist to rest your forearms on the countertop beside the sink. “Fucking love these shorts.” His hand came down hard on your asscheek in a loud smack, your cunt clenching, gasping his name.
“You’re also gonna love what’s under them,” you purred.
Hooking his thumbs under the waistband, his gaze was on yours in the mirror, smirking under his mustache. “The red one?” he asked.
“You’ll see.”
He tugged the bike shorts down, the air cool as it hit your bare skin, Javi sucking in a breath, his eyes locked on the red thong you’d worn, unable to keep himself from squeezing handfuls of your ass. “I love you so fucking much—fuck, it’s pretty.” He glanced up to continue, “Thank you for spoiling me today, mi amor (my love).”
Smiling, you replied, “You’re welcome, Javi. Now please fuck me.” You wiggled your hips.
“Are you needy for me, Cielito?” he asked, his hands going to the front of his pants, hearing the clink of his belt and the teeth of his zipper coming apart.
“Needy in the sense that I need your dick inside me right now, and we can save the ass worship for later.”
He chuckled, his slacks and underwear getting shoved down his thighs. “I’ll put my dick inside you, then,” he said, using one hand to pull the soaked fabric of your thong to the side, spitting on the fingers of his other to slick up his cock.
Anticipation was thrumming in your veins, your pussy weeping for him, needing Javi to fill your achingly empty center in the way only he could satisfy. He didn’t waste any more time, pressing the tip of his length to your sopping entrance, gasping yes as he started pushing in, your head dropping between your shoulders, resting your forehead on your crossed arms in front of you. His hands had a tight grip on your hips, cursing under his breath as he slid home in one smooth thrust, making you moan when he bottomed out—it felt so fucking good, his thick cock stretching your tight walls, carving out space inside you while your cunt tried to suck him in deeper, feeling so goddamn full.
The hem of his dress shirt was brushing against your ass, Javi pulling almost all the way out, and thrusting back in hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, setting up a punishing pace that had your eyes rolling back in your head.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”
This was going to be hard and fast, the goal to get off as quickly as possible.
You could hear the wet slap of his hips connecting with your ass, the flesh jiggling—his hand landed on your asscheek hard enough the smack echoed in the small room, your pussy squeezing him tight as you moaned. Looking up, you saw him behind you in the mirror, his mouth slack, eyes dark and half-lidded, his attention on you, the first few buttons on his white shirt undone, seeing the flush crawling up his chest to his beautiful neck, the taut skin glistening in sweat.
“Does it turn you on, baby,” he asked through his teeth, pistoning into you, “thinking about me as a dad?”
The beginning threads of your orgasm were starting to weave in your belly, feeling the familiar heat growing.
He slapped your ass again. “Answer me, Cielito.”
“Yes,” you gasped, your words stuttering from the pounding, “Fuck, it’s so good, Javi. It turns me on—turns me on so fucking much,” you babbled. “You’re fucking me so good. Harder, Javi.”
“You want it harder, mi amor (my love)?”
“Yes.”
Bending over your back, his arm went under you and across your chest, pulling you up to stand. His thrusts didn’t wane, shoving your shirt up your chest one-handed to reveal one bra-covered breast, tugging the cup down to pinch your stiff nipple, the sensations shooting straight to your pussy.
He kissed the side of your neck, grunting in exertion.
“You really want it harder?” he asked breathily in your ear.
“Yes, Papí,” you moaned.
His big hands moved, grabbing your biceps near your elbows, pulling you back as he thrust forward, fucking you so hard your mouth was open, gasping out moans. Your mind was a pleasure-addled mess, unable to think about anything except how good he was fucking you—the knot in your belly was getting tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter, until euphoria exploded outward from your core, coming with a shout of Javi’s name that was quickly muffled by his hand covering your mouth.
“Shhh, Cielito—such a good fucking girl for me” Your cunt had clenched up so tight his rhythm slowed to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock as he worked you through your high. His head was beside yours, speaking in your ear, “I know it’s good, baby—need you to be quiet, just ride it out.” He kissed your neck again, his free hand rubbing over your stomach and up to squeeze your breast. “I love you so fucking much.”
Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving after climaxing, Javier waiting for her cunt to stop fluttering around him, his throbbing cock slowly moving in and out of her, it wetter where they were joined.
He loved watching her come and knowing he was the one that got her there, pride always swelling inside him that he made her feel so good.
She was saying something, not making out the words with his large hand over her mouth, quickly removing it.
“What’s that?” he asked, kissing just behind her ear.
Her eyes blinked open, smiling dreamily at him in the mirror.
“I said I love you, too,” her rough voice responded.
One sentence, and it had his body going warm, unable to keep from smiling at her with how fucking happy she made him.
He was close to his end, the heat in the base of his spine threatening to explode with how fucking gone he was on her. All he could think about was everything she’d done for him that day, all of the things, big and small, showing him without her saying it how much she loved him, and he wanted to give her the entire fucking world—it was more than what she deserved, but that wasn’t possible so he was settling with giving her such good dick, it made her drool.
“You’re cute when you’re fucked out of your mind,” he said, placing a kiss on the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her aftershocks had finally ended, and it was his turn. “I’m gonna move you,” he told her. She gasped when he pulled out, getting her closer to the counter where he turned her to face him, bending to tug down her shorts and underwear, impatiently taking off her shoe to get one of her legs free. When he stood back up, he gripped her bare thighs, grunting as he lifted her onto the counter's edge, spreading her legs to make space for himself.
She was wide open for him, seeing the puffy lips of her pussy shining in the light, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, wishing he had time to taste her. She leaned back on her arms, Javier taking his place in the cradle of her thighs, quickly sheathing himself back in her wet heat.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, slowly rocking deep inside her.
Her legs wrapped around his middle to lock at the small of his back, her cunt warm and welcoming, beckoning him to come, feeling the build low in his belly.
There was a need to have her like this, his lips smashing into hers in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans as he started moving faster. His hand held her face, the other pushing her shirt all the way up her chest to get both of her breasts free from her bra, palming the bare skin and tweaking her pebbled nipples while his tongue slid along hers in the way he knew made her toes curl.
Her soft sounds and his rougher ones were quieted with their mouths being connected, his hips swinging into her with strong, even thrusts, hearing the wet suck of her pussy, the slick friction of her velvety walls pushing him closer to his release.
She put all of her weight on one of her arms, her free hand grabbing his hair to pull his head back, her lips wetly trailing along his jaw, her voice saying into his skin, “It’s so good, Javi—you feel so fucking good inside me.” Her tongue licked up the column of his throat, and it had his eyes rolling back, his rhythm stuttering for a second.
“Jesus Christ,” he panted, her mouth sucking a mark on his jugular. “You’re gonna make me come.” The muscles in his abdomen were beginning to tighten.
His pace sped up, able to tell he was fucking her good when her head fell back, and her sounds started getting loud enough he had to cover her mouth again.
“It feel good, Cielito?” he asked roughly. “You like knowing you’re gonna make me come? That this pretty fucking pussy is gonna milk me dry? You love that I’m gonna give you what you want and fill you up—stuff you full of my come?” He licked his lips. “Bet you wish you weren’t on birth control.” Her moan was muffled, squeezing her eyes shut, causing a jolt to run through him.
Seeing her earlier with the baby had ignited a fire inside him, something instinctual telling him he needed to give her one of her own—that they needed one of their own, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he fucked his come deep inside her. From the look on her face, she was also feeling some type of way, which was why he’d followed her into the house, her pep talk confirming he was right. There had been no way for them to wait until they got home to fuck, he was too riled up, and she wasn’t any better.
She looked at him, her eyes glazed over in lust, a sheen of sweat coating her forehead, looking absolutely fuck drunk as she tried to say something he couldn’t make out, still fucking in and out of her.
He lifted his hand.
“What?” he asked through heavy breaths.
She sounded wrecked. “Fuck a baby into me—please,” she begged.
The sentence was his undoing, a strangled noise ripping from his throat, his head falling against her shoulder, his balls tightening, and cock thickening—two more quick strokes before he was burying himself to the hilt, sinking his teeth into her flesh over her shirt as he came so hard his vision went white and he lost hearing in his left ear.
He rolled his hips, working his spend as deep as he could get it, the overstimulation causing a whispery hiss to leave his lips before he finally stilled, his body so relaxed he slumped into her. A euphoric haze came over him, his mind as slow as molasses.
Her free hand stroked through his sweat-damp hair, her nails scratching lovingly along his scalp, which felt so good, he was humming appreciatively.
A few minutes passed, and she finally broke the silence to croak out, “Well, that was unexpected.”
His ear was still ringing, lifting his head to look at her. “What was unexpected?” he asked.
“The sex—” She delightedly smiled, poking his nose. “—and your massive fucking breeding kink.”
Confusion came over his face.
“My what?” he asked.
“For a man who has had a lot of sex, and I mean a lot, it’s always surprising when you don’t know a sex thing.” She pushed some of his hair off of his forehead. “Your breeding kink; it gets you off thinking about knocking me up.”
He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, looking away from her.
“Shit, I didn’t want you to know…” He scratched at the back of his neck.
Her hand gently moved his face to meet her eyes, her brows furrowed.
“Why didn’t you want me to know?”
Letting out a long sigh, he answered truthfully, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I’m fine with waiting,” he quickly added. “Really fucking fine with it, especially after this morning, but the fantasy…”
“Really gets you going. Wanna know a secret?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got a massive breeding kink, too. I like to imagine you getting me pregnant when we fuck, and also, the whole there being a one percent chance that you actually could really gets me going.”
“Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over her thighs. “So, it’s okay..?”
She smiled, resting her palm on his cheek. “Oh yeah. It’s more than okay. We can have our fantasy for now, but my god, imagine how good the sex will be when we’re actually trying.”
That had arousal stirring in his belly. “Fuck,” he breathed again. Cupping her cheeks, he said, “I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky with you, but you’re perfect, and I love you so fucking much. Eres la mejor novia del mundo y soy feliz de compartir cada instante de mi vida a tu lado (You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world and I’m happy to share each moment of my life by your side).” He kissed her softly, murmuring into her lips, “Siempre has sido tú, incluso antes de conocerte, y siempre serás la elegida porque eres el amor de mi vida y tú eres la única para mí (It has always been you, even before I knew you, and it will always be you because you are the love of my life and you are the only one for me).”
She pulled back to look him in the eyes with a smile.
“I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world, and I’m happy I get to spend my life with you and have your babies.” She pecked him on the lips. “It’s cheesy,” she continued. “But before I met you, it felt like something was missing in my life, you know? And now I feel like everything is right—you feel right; you were what I was missing,” she said, poking him over his heart. Javier grabbed her hand to kiss her knuckles, listening to her speak. “So, you’ve always been it for me, always, and life just waited for us to both be lost before allowing us to finally find each other.” She shrugged. “You’re it for me, Javier Peña—you’ve always been it; yesterday, today, tomorrow, a year from now, it’s always going to be you because I was meant for you, and you were meant for me. In summary, I love you so fucking much, too.”
He chuckled, kissing her a little harder this time, feeling so happy he thought he might be floating.
He knew she was the love of his life—knew it with every fiber of his being, and he would spend the rest of his days with her just to prove it.
When your lungs begged for air, you broke the kiss, Javi smiling so big his dimple was showing, the love for you clear in his gaze.
“Today was good?” you asked.
“Today was fucking amazing.”
“Good, good,” you nodded. “Javi?”
“Yes, Cielito?” His hands were skating up and down your bare thighs.
“I have another surprise for you that can’t happen until tomorrow…”
“Baby, you’ve done so much. I don’t need anything else.” He quickly kissed you.
“Oh, you’re gonna really fucking want this.”
His eyebrow lifted, looking curious.
“What is it?”
“Well, after a lot of thinking and working up my courage, I thought maybe you’d wanna try fucking my ass?”
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Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!
Tagging: @theorganasolo @nicolethered @lola766 @nessamc @vanemando15 @fiscinthirst @melancholyy-hill @hnt-escape @sherala007 @jadesabre83 @rainbeaubrightchild @blub-senpai @pedrohoe04 @theherothesavior @captain-creampuff @javiersjeans @zetasaturno99 @amb11 @lovedbyth3sun @siidereeus @marvelousmermaid @mrszdjarin @themarcusmoreno @woomen23 @ms-loverman-066 @star-wars-fan-2005 @kissing-stars @chloeinpink @notyourlovemonkey @unofficialavenger90 @fictionismyreality @sheetsof-lennon @damnyoupedro @katareyoudrilling @iamskyereads @enjoyourlattebitch @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtlee @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @theewokingdead @guess-my-next-obsession @pedrostories
#pedro pascal#javier peña#javier peña/reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña smut#wheresarizona writes#learning to live series
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The Devil Likes the Pirate
Tara Carpenter x Reader
[Series Masterlist]
Word Count: 3k
Summary: You're a drunken mess for Tara Carpenter and she's never going to let you hear the end of it.
You adjusted the red horns that sat atop your head before glancing at the mirror to give your full appearance a onceover. You supposed you looked good, though certainly not as amazing as your roommate and her friends looked in their matching Harry Potter costumes. The red dress you had chosen to wear was tight and fit your form perfectly, and the black boots you selected complimented the outfit perfectly. If it was up to you, you would’ve matched with the rest of the girls but since they already had all the necessary characters covered, you accepted your fate of dressing up as a devil. It was an easy costume to piece together at the last minute, which you were thankful for as your roommate had informed you of tonight’s party only just yesterday.
Hurrying so the rest of the group wouldn’t be waiting on you, you grabbed a crumpled $20 bill and shoved it into your bra in case you were lucky enough to pass a food vendor on the way over. You skipped dinner again today, just simply not having had the time to walk over to the dining hall with all the outfit planning you had to do.
As your little makeshift group began the twenty minute walk to the frat, you let yourself drift to the back and trailed just behind everyone else. It had been nice of your roommate to invite you but you weren’t dumb. You knew she only mentioned it because one of her friends had brought it up in front of you and it would’ve been awkward had she not asked if you wanted to come along. While you’d normally skip out on these things (an unbearably sticky and overcrowded frat house wasn’t high up on your list of fun places to visit in NYC), it was Halloween and subsequently every college student's favorite excuse to drink themselves to the cusp of death. Coupled with that, your mother had just scolded you about how you needed to start putting yourself out there. You agreed with her, as much as you hated to. You’d been at Blackmore for three months and hadn’t even managed to befriend your own roommate.
You eyed the frat house warily as you watched it come closer and closer into view. The sidewalk practically vibrated with the bass of what you knew was probably some shitty song from 2016 that everyone only pretended to know the words to. You wanted to roll your eyes at the cheap looking disco lights that were occasionally visible through the tightly drawn blinds. The girls squealed excitedly as the group of guys guarding the door happily waved the group into the house.
Stepping inside, the girls found an empty spot to occupy while you split off and made a beeline to the drinks table. You sighed in relief as they had more than just beer available and swiftly threw back two shots of rum before getting to work on making yourself a concoction of whiskey and Coke, heavy on the whiskey.
Finished with your creation, you tucked yourself into a corner to survey the rest of the party, hoping to find someone worth getting to know. Most of the partygoers were already plastered, as you had expected them to be. Your roommate and her friends were dancing together and giggling each time they were approached by a different guy. You smiled slightly to yourself at the pair that stood across from them, a dorky looking kid in a knight costume and a taller beefy guy who had very clearly dressed as a cowboy just for the excuse to forgo a shirt. Moving on from them, you looked to the dance floor hoping to find someone outright embarrassing themselves. What, or rather who, you laid your eyes upon made you suck in a breath in utter awe. A girl with the prettiest eyes you think you’d ever seen was chuckling as she watched two other girls dance in the most goofiest way possible.
You bit your lip slightly as you trailed your eyes across her breathtaking appearance. The pirate costume she wore accentuated all her features but with the way you felt utterly captivated, you’d think she’d be better dressed as a siren. You swore if you had been able to hear the soft laughter falling from her lips, the sound of it could’ve easily lured you to whatever untimely ending she had planned for you.
Gulping down the rest of your drink like a woman starved, you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from her. You swear the room starts spinning as you keep looking at her and while you want nothing more than to approach her, the sight of her has you firmly rooted to your spot in the corner.
Happy to accept your fate of staring at this pretty girl all night, you turn your attention to the two girls she was dancing with. They’re both beautiful and you nearly scream in frustration at the thought that one of them is probably her girlfriend. You squeeze your eyes shut as a quiet curse slips out of your mouth. You feel a bit stupid for admiring this girl who was probably already in a relationship. With how attractive she was, it’d be a crime for someone to not have scooped her up.
Deciding to give her one last sullen glance, you flinch as you make eye contact with the girl dressed as a pumpkin. She smirks and turns to the other two, leaning in close to whisper something before pointing in your direction. You can only watch in a panic as the other two girls spin around to face you, grins stretched across both of their faces. The pirate girl gives you a small wave and you almost faint at the adorable sight. You probably would have too, had you not noticed that the pumpkin girl was gesturing you to come over to the trio. You feel your eyes widen enough to pop out of your head.
Before you can take a step towards the girls, a heavy arm loops itself around your waist, dangling dangerously close to your ass. You look up sluggishly and are met with the grin of a very sleazy looking guy, who funnily enough, is dressed as an angel.
“Hey sweetheart.” His grin stretches wider at the light blush that rises up to your cheeks at the nickname. He speaks again, “Looks like I finally found my devil.”
And yup, okay, the alcohol had definitely taken its toll on you because sober you isn’t the least bit interested in men, let alone men like him. You feel very stupid for skipping dinner on a night you knew you’d be drinking. And yet, you find yourself letting out a girlish laugh at his cheesy line about your matching costumes. “Hello,” you smile up at him meekly.
“You’re quite hot.” He rakes his eyes suggestively along your form, taking note of the empty cup dangling loosely from your grasp. “Let’s go get you another drink, yeah?”
He pulls the two of you towards the drink table and you don’t make any move to protest, staying securely under his arm. He releases you quickly as he mixes up a drink and you let your eyes absentmindedly scan the room again while you wait. The edge of your vision has a slight cloud to it due to the alcohol you’ve consumed, but drunk you doesn’t think any differently of it. You look back towards where your roommate had once been, noticing that all the girls were gone. Under normal circumstances you might’ve felt your heart sink deep into your chest at the knowledge of having been left behind, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.
A tap on your shoulder makes you look back towards angel boy, who pushes the cup into your hands and watches as you take an eager sip. “Thank you,” you smile brightly at him.
“My pleasure,” he rasps back, a glint in his eyes. His arm snakes its way around your shoulders this time and you let him lead you towards a group of guys. He strikes up a conversation with them as you just stand there, occasionally sipping your drink. As you often do when you are bored, you glance back around at the other guests of the party. There are fewer people filling the house than there were before and the music has been turned down to a volume more suitable for the guests to talk amongst themselves. A bright, lazy smile fills your face and you find that you actually like the more quiet atmosphere that the party has turned into.
Just as you’re about to turn back around to face the group you’ve somehow become a part of, you notice three people wildly waving their arms in your direction. Confusedly, you wave a greeting to them and squint in their direction, trying to make out who possibly could’ve been waving at you. Unsurprisingly, your vision has blurred even more and you have no idea who the three people could be. Your shrug and finally turn back to the guys you’re standing with, flushing almost as red as your dress at the sight of angel boy looking down at you.
He smirks at your reaction and plants a sloppy kiss onto your cheek before pulling you closer towards him. You stumble into him, now completely pressed into his side. He faces his friends again and says, “Alright boys, me and this one are gonna head upstairs.”
The guys whoop and holler and clap their hands onto his back, shaking the two of you with the force. Angel boy laughs loudly and begins walking away, you follow along without protest. Before you can make it out of earshot, one of the guys calls out in your direction, nearly cackling, “Yo, do you even know her name?”
Angel boy flips him off, still laughing, while you just furrow your brow in confusion and choose to ignore the odd question. His laughing, however, is cut off quickly as he stumbles into a firm body. Unable to stop yourself, you crash into him. He grunts and shoves whoever is in front of him, “Watch where you’re going man,” he scoffs.
The guy in front of the two of you steels himself and grinds his boots (cowboy boots, you snort at the sight) into the ground, unmoving, before he speaks in an angry tone, “How about you leave that girl alone?”
The two boys begin shoving each other and you just stand in your spot, more confused than ever and completely unable to process what is going on. A soft hand takes yours and gently pulls you into its owner’s direction. You move willingly, more than happy to chase the feeling of butterflies you got when your hand fit perfectly into the other.
“Do you know that guy?” a melodic voice asks.
Sheepishly, you move your gaze away from your hands and look up to see who was speaking to you. It’s the pretty pirate girl from before and you feel your knees buckle as your heart rate increases exponentially. “I don’t know,” you slur.
The girl looks over her shoulder at the two other girls in alarm. The girl with short brown hair speaks next, “Uh shit okay, do you have any friends here?”
You shrug in response, suddenly feeling very small under the group’s gaze.
The pumpkin girl asks, voice soft, “What’s your name?”
You beam, now there’s a question you can answer. “Y/N,” you state happily.
The three girls let out a sigh of relief. The pirate girl gives you a small smile and you feel dizzier than ever.
The boy who had stood in your way earlier calls out to the group, “Let’s get the hell out of here. We can figure out what to do outside.”
The girls share a look of agreement and the pirate girl takes your hand again (you sigh audibly at the feeling), making sure that you follow behind the group as they file outside of the house.
They stop a short distance from the frat house. You take in all of their appearances curiously as they begin to talk, trying to figure out what their next move was going to be.
“Okay,” the cowboy speaks, the boy in the knight costume standing uselessly by his side, “we rescued the girl, what the hell do we do now Tara?”
The pirate girl stops to think for a moment. You think she looks cuter than ever with the slight crinkle that appears between her brow. “Well we can’t take her to the house. Sam would kill me.”
The group all agree. You watch on, not a thought behind your eyes but how beautiful you find the pirate to be. The pumpkin girl turns towards the girl with the short brown hair, “Any ideas Mindy?”
The girl sighs deeply before nodding her head, “She clearly has no idea what’s going on, so we won’t know where to take her back to. The only option I see is for us to take her to my dorm.”
The pumpkin girl pouts, you notice that she’s now wearing the knight’s hat and laugh to yourself at the sight. “But babe, our movie night.”
Mandy (was that her name?) sighs again, “I know, I’m sorry Anika. But what else can we do?”
She goes to comfort the pumpkin girl. Suddenly the pirate girl, seemingly debating something, speaks up, “I’ll stay in your room with her Mindy.” The group protests and disagrees, but the pirate girl remains firm in her decision. “No guys, I’m the one who got us in this situation. Mindy and Anika’s night shouldn’t be ruined because of this. You two just go take my room for the night.”
Mindy (that’s her name!) says, “And when Sam literally murders us when she notices you aren’t home?”
Tara rolls her eyes and huffs, “I’ll handle Sam, seriously guys don’t worry about it. It’s not like we have any other choice.”
The group look like they still want to protest, but something keeps them silent. Maybe they know the pirate girl would just shut them down.
Tara takes your hand again and you take it as your sign to start walking. Everyone else follows behind silently. From somewhere behind you, you hear what you think might be the knight boy ask, “Is this technically kidnapping?”
The sound of a friendly swat follows his question.
You lose yourself in the warmth that Tara’s hand gives you and are no longer keeping track of time. At this point in the night, your mind has completely shut down from the alcohol. You start thinking about how worried your mom will be tomorrow when you tell her you don’t remember half of what happened tonight.
In a flash, you arrive wherever the group has decided to take you. Idly, you take note of the copious movie posters plastered on the wall. The people in front of you look more like blobs than people, and you hear someone let out a muffled shout as you begin to pass out.
***
You wake up with a groan and are immediately met with the urge to puke and a splitting headache. You open your eyes and nearly sob at being met with such bright lights, for a split second you even think you might be dead. The moment is lost as bile rises up your throat and you hurriedly lean over, violently throwing up into the trash can that had been smartly set by the bedside. Tears leak down your cheeks as your chest heaves up and down.
A quiet, concerned voice calls out to you in an attempt to soothe you, “Hey, you’re okay.”
You want to feel embarrassed at someone witnessing what feels like your lowest moment in life, but you’re in too much pain to care. “I feel like I’m dying,” you wail.
A soft giggle sounds out at your dramatics. You feel a hand start to gently rub your back. It calms you down, and you’re finally able to sit back up in the bed and look over to who’s beside you.
You swoon at the sight that you’re met with. It’s the pirate girl, dressed in a pair of baggy shorts and a shirt that swallows up her small frame. She reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. Stupidly, you just blink back at her.
Your throat feels drier than ever as you try to come up with something to say. You want to slap yourself at what comes out of your brilliant mouth. “Hi.”
Her body shakes with laughter at your curt greeting. “Hey there. Not sure if you remember anything but I’m Tara. You were really drunk so my friends and I took you here.”
You groan and hide away in your hands. You didn’t remember much of what happened, all you could seem to recall was the girl sat in front of you. Tara laughs and pries your hands away from your face. “Look, how about after you drink some water I take you to a diner or something. I’ll fill you in on what happened.”
You want nothing more than to be swallowed up by the pillows that you’re laying on, knowing full well you’re probably as red as a tomato at her offer. You nod and stutter a bit as you once again try to get yourself to speak, “Yeah, um yeah. That sounds good.”
She smiles at you and shakes her head. After a beat of staring at each other, a teasing glint appears in her eyes. “Y’know, I can’t wait to tell you all about what you told me last night. Said some pretty nice things about me. It’s almost hard to believe that the girl in front of me now is the same person.”
You flush even brighter than before, which you never thought possible. You pull the fluffy comforter over your head and groan loudly into it. She breaks into a fit of laughter and you find yourself trying not to join in. This girl would surely be the death of you.
#tara carpenter#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter x y/n#scream fanfic#scream vi#lonelym00n fic
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Can I has a Joel x reader request where he ends up picking her up along the way(saving her) and she just kinda sticks around. She's good at medicinal herbs and foraging. speaking of WHY ARE THERE NO CHARACTERS LIKE THAT IN ANY POST APOCALYPTIC SHOW/MOVIE like that should be a course. Idk I want it to be fluffy like a clicker or an infected is running at her and he gets rid of it
I love this idea for sure, I hope you like it :)
"You're a fucking botanist?"
That was the first thing Joel asked me when he found me stranded in the country side of Wyoming, a young girl attached to his side when he looked down at the botany book in my hands and the array of flowers and twigs around me.
He almost shot me. Of course he didn't tell me that till weeks later, when we were finally settled in with his brother and the rest of civilization back in Jackson. He claimed that he thought I was infected by how much I was shaking but my claim was that it was nearly negative five degrees and my anxiety was skyrocketing as soon as I heard him step on a twig twenty feet away from me.
He saved me from freezing to death and getting mauled by a clicker and insulted my career in the same five minutes.
"Well botany was useless until the end of the world, huh?"
"I like to think that we were always useful, just not in obvious ways."
"Are you alone out here?" The girl asks with a kinder smile than the expression the mystery man is giving me, his eyes drooping low to look over me and my backpack to my left. She steps past the frightening man to step between the two of us, giving the man a hesitant but kind look before turning back to me.
"Yeah, just little old me." I shiver, teeth chattering as another blow of wind sweeps right through my bones, chilling me to my core. She frowns and pulls her jacket tightly around her chin before reaching into her pack to pull out a small blanket, tossing it onto the ground in front of me.
"Joel, can we keep her?" She asks as I scramble to wrap the blanket around my shoulders, already feeling ten times better than I did before.
"I'm not a stray dog." I giggle, looking at her with a teasing look and she nods bashfully, understanding how she came off.
"You practically look like it." The man mutters and I frown, heart panging as I lean down to smell my shirt and I have to be honest, it does resemble that of a wet dog.
"Ouch, when was the last time you showered, old man." I tease but his stoic expression sticks as his shoulders lift in a brief shrug.
"A week ago." He adds matter-of-factly and I feel envy swim in my belly at the thought of a snarky, unkind man like him deserving a hot shower, a shower that I would kill someone for.
"You guys are mean." I huff before looking to the girl with a smirk. "I like you." Before anyone else can say a word, Joel's eyes flicker past me and to the tree line and I feel my stomach drop at the frightened look on his face.
"Joel-" The young girl starts but Joel holds a hand up to her, taking a step towards me and I let him push me behind him and into the arms of the girl with a huff.
"I got it, Ellie." He mutters, holding the knife carefully in the air as the clicker approaches us and I look away in time as I hear the sound of the knife sheath itself into the skull of the monster in a split second. I take a breath, trying to regain my balance as I wobble a bit.
Between being scared by them and then the clicker, my heart needs a full restart.
"Jesus." Ellie whispers, head whipping in my direction as my butt hits the snow, head lolling between my knees while I try to catch my breath. Joel is in front of me in a moments notice with my backpack at his side, his hand carefully reaching out to rest on my shoulder, catching my attention.
"You okay?"
"She should come with us." Ellie whispers to him and he nods, reaching up to rub at his jaw as I feel my head start to spin, nausea bubbling in my throat.
"Yeah, she should." He whispers, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead before clicking his tongue, looking to the kid. "C'mon kid. Show her the ropes."
Ellie's laugh snaps me out of my thoughts, the fond smile on my lips returning to a normal thin line and I feel eyes on me as my head turns. Ellie and Joel are looking at me, forks in the air as they share a careful look and a laugh.
"What're you thinking about?" Joel asks with a curious, calm smile, a completely different expression than what he gave off when we first met. He's no longer stern and guarded around me, instead softening a bit and he's finally allowed himself to laugh around me.
"When we met." I shrug, nudging him with my elbow as I take a loud slurp of my soup, but the mellow tone is torn to shreds by Ellie's crude laugh, her spoon slapping down on the table while she looks between the two of us.
"You mean when you guys fell madly in love?" I feel my cheeks warm at her observation, an honest one at that, and I feel the butterflies return to my stomach as I sneak a glance at Joel who's blushing as red as a fire truck.
"Shut it, Ellie." He mutters and her eyes roll, hands raising in surrender.
"Oh I'm sorry for calling out the elephant in the room."
#joel#joel x reader#joel miller#joel miller x reader#the last of us#the last of us fic#joel miller x y/n#joel fluff#joel miller fluff
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getting caught by their team.
request: can i request generation of miracles + kagami getting caught by their teams kissing their s/o? if its too many characters it can be just midorima, akashi and kise, tysm!
# tags: headcanons; current relationships; romance; light comedy; huge fluff; kisses; shy!boys; teams; sfw
includes: gender neutral reader ft. taiga kagami, tetsuya kuroko, seijuurou akashi, ryouta kise, atsushi murasakibara, shintarou midorima, aomine daiki & satsuki momoi {knb}
author’s note: hope you like it!
— TAIGA
↘ That was before going to the gym because you accompanied your boyfriend on the way to training. At the same time you tiptoed to reach Taiga’s lips, Seirin Captain opened the huge, heavy, gray door and frowned at you two. Immediately Junpei yelled at your partner that he was late and that he had to do a few extra laps around the court as a punishment.
↘ Of course, all this could not miss the huge blushes on the tall basketball player’s face, as well as a few words that your boyfriend tried to convey – unfortunately to no avail due to his tendency to stutter in stressful, intimate moments.
— TETSUYA
↘ That day you thought you were alone in class (and whole school); it was Thursday afternoon and you finished your lessons twenty minutes ago. However, you asked your boyfriend to help you with something before he goes to meet his friends at the burger bar. Of course, Tetsuya was really glad to start explaining matrices and their multiplication to you. You smiled at each other every now and then, and even allowed yourself a little kiss from time to time.
↘ At one point, when your lips met again in a cute, this time a bit longer kiss, the classroom door opened with a loud bang, and as soon as you stepped away from each other, you noticed a few basketball team members. Unlike Kagami, however, Kuroko seemed to ignore his friends and only asked them for a few more minutes of privacy as he had not finished explaining today’s lesson to you. Your cheeks were as red as those of a few tall males, and you could have sworn you heard a sentence like, “Yeah, I’m sure kissing will help Y/N in math”.
— SEIJUUROU
↘ You loved going to the gallery with your boyfriend. Not only to buy clothes or food, but most of all because you could spend time together without his dad or friends and without your loved ones. It was your private time, your moment of rest, conversation and cold coffee/tea. Seijuurou loved to see you happy, and you loved your partner. Unfortunately, after a few hours of spending time together, you had to, as it always does, part up for a while. You had to come back home and clean the apartment.
↘ As is your habit, you said ‘Goodbye’ with a long, slightly wet kiss. Akashi touched your both cheeks, and you smiled with delight. Afterwards, you waved at him and promised you would call him as soon as you got home. In the meantime, your moment of weakness has been noticed by the rest of the Rakuzan team, who definitely won’t let their captain rest (just wait for it).
— RYOUTA
↘ Kise is one of the most affectionate and clingy people you and his entire basketball team know (poor boys...). So it’s no wonder that everyone around the tall blonde is used to his enormous feelings towards you, as well as loud words describing his feelings.
↘ No one is surprised that Ryouta kisses your sweet lips as a ‘Hello’, as a ‘Bye, bye’, for success in the match or exam, as a apology or to show his jealousy, happiness, sadness and regret. Kise really loves to kiss you; this is his favorite form of showing affection ‘cause he believes that each peck is unique and full of warm emotions. Especially kisses on the lips, which express great, sincere love.
— ATSUSHI
↘ Atsushi is not very effusive in his feelings. He shows his love in gifts or time spent together. Nevertheless, if the purple head uses another of the five love languages – touch and compliments – you will feel the best in the world. Murasakibara is one of the most precious and gentle people you know, believe me.
↘ So when your boyfriend decides to kiss you in public, know that this is a really big and beautiful moment. And if he does it in front of his team (even if he doesn’t do it on purpose), you can feel special. After that, of course, a few people tease the two of you, but such a fantastic moment is worth it all.
— SHINTAROU
↘ Three point shooter is so ‘lucky’ that whenever he gives you a kiss somewhere hidden, someone from his team notices it. Shintarou says it’s a bad fate, but you only laugh because of his blushes and then kith him on the forehead or nose to support and show him how much you love and appreciate him.
↘ This time it was exactly the same! That day you were in the park with your boyfriend, and he looked around the two of you. After a while, he found you were alone within a few hundred meters, so he leaned a bit towards your smiling face, and then gave you a short kiss right in the middle of your mouth. At the same time, the two of you heard a loud “Awhh, Shin-chan!” and you already knew it was happening to you once again.
— DAIKI
↘ On the one hand, Aomine never had a problem kissing you in public or next to his basketball team, but only when he felt like it and didn’t show his other face, which was... really cute and soft. So when his kisses weren’t filled with lust and speed, but with gentleness and pure feelings, it really bothered him that someone dared to interrupt your moment of intimacy and at the same time made his cheeks a disgustingly sweet blush.
↘ Just like now; when he fondly said ‘See you’ to you because your bus had arrived, his blood pressure immediately surged up when he heard Shoichi’s annoying voice shouting, “Oooh, how sweet! I didn’t know you this way, Aomine!”. He wanted to kill him soooo badly.
— SATSUKI
↘ Momoi is a very shy girl, although she doesn’t look like that. She loves hugging and holding your hand in public, but prefers kissing in some secluded place like her bedroom or your car. She’s a really fragile person and all kinds of jokes work very badly on her, even if it’s innocent words about how cute and funny she is.
↘ So when Aomine and a few other members of the Touou team caught you having a short but affectionate kiss on the bench while you were both having lunch... Satsuki almost passed out from the heat that caused her blush!
#— 🍓#knb#knb headcanons#knb x reader#kuroko no basket#kuroko no basket headcanon#kuroko no basket x reader#kagami taiga x reader#kagami taiga headcanons#kuroko tetsuya x reader#kuroko tetsuya headcanons#akashi seijuro x reader#akashi seijuro headcanon#kise ryouta x reader#kise ryouta headcanons#midorima shintarou x reader#midorima shintarou headcanons#murasakibara atsushi x reader#murasakibara atsushi headcanons#aomine daiki x reader#aomine daiki headcanons#momoi satsuki x reader#momoi satsuki headcanons
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THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Twenty Two
draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series
warnings: strong language, angst, alcohol use (characters are 18+)
wc: 3375
masterlist
taglist is now closed - i’ve officially run out of tags! thank you all
One Hell of a Dinner Party
"So, Draco, your mother tells us you've taken a fancy to Ministry work," Mr Greengrass asks the young Malfoy heir from across the long dark wood table, between them a feast for at least a hundred people laid out by house elves scuttering to and fro, "fine place, the Ministry. Well, under the correct management, that is."
The man laughs, as Lucius joins purely out of politeness. Draco, too, manages a small laugh, as he pushes the food around his plate.
"Well, I've been thinking about that, yes," he answers, Astoria gazing at him from across the way, Daphne on her umpteenth glass of wine, "but I also like medicine, sir, so maybe a job at St. Mungo's."
"St. Mungo's, you say?" the older gentlemen looks over at this wife, Mrs Greengrass, who cuts her food into pea size pieces, and gives her an rather unreadable look, "very noble of you son, to want to help others, but what about the pay, and the hours? Not a very suitable job for a family man, wouldn't you agree, Lucius?"
"Ah, well, we have always told Draco he may choose whatever profession he would like," Lucius goes on to explain, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin, "I'm sure, once he has climbed up the ranks, he will have more flexibility with the job."
Mr Greengrass scoffs amusingly.
"And how long would that take, Lucius? Narcissa, surely you would prefer Draco to choose a much more stable profession? There are plenty of places in accounting at the Ministry, I can always put a good word in for your boy." said Mr Greengrass.
Draco clenches his fist under the table. If it wasn't for his mother breathing down his neck, he would've given old Greengrass a piece of his mind. Astoria, like a deer in the headlights, looks between the adults with a nervous disposition.
"The offer is very much appreciated, isn't it, dear?" Narcissa then speaks up, looking over at Draco with a desperate sort of look in her eyes. Draco, already fed up and even more so now Mr Greengrass had voiced his opinion, takes a deep breath and forces a smile onto his face.
"Tell me, Mr Greengrass," Draco said in the most sarcastic tone he could muster, Daphne shaking her head at him in the corner of his eye in an attempt to stop whatever he was thinking about saying, "you've been at the Ministry for some time now. How do you find sleeping at night?"
"Right, how about some dessert?" Narcissa says very loudly, chair legs scraping along the dining room floor as she begins gathering plates and passing them to the tiny house elf, "I made the most delicious looking pavlova. Mrs Greengrass, care for some? Tea or coffee, anyone?"
Her voice seemed to be getting higher in pitch as she spoke, the tension now thick and rather unpleasant. Within a few minutes, the table was cleared and in floated several mouth-watering desserts. Along with Narcissa's pavlova, there was freshly baked strawberry cheesecake, double chocolate fudge cake and boats of pouring cream and custard. As the dessert settled on the tables service, talk of school began, and Draco's mind started to drift far away from the conversation around him.
"We are so proud of Astoria," Mrs Greengrass boasts, helping herself to the thinnest slice of cheesecake the world has ever seen, "we have full faith she will come out with top marks. Such a clever and interesting young woman."
Daphne snorts quietly as she indulges in chocolate cake, Draco meeting her eyes with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Astoria gives her sister a stern look. Their mother then changes the subject to Draco's school days, much to his dismay.
"Astoria tells us that you're rather sporty, Draco," Mrs Greengrass then asks, picking at her cheesecake, "she says you've taken up Quidditch this year?"
"He's always played Quidditch, Ma," Daphne rolls her eyes, "can't you remember?"
"The best seeker Slytherin has seen in years," Astoria speaks loudly over her sister, "Madam Hooch even says so. Thanks to him Slytherin have done extremely well this year."
"Isn't that wonderful, dear?" Mrs Greengrass says to Mr Greengrass, who hums in agreement as his mouth is full of pavlova, "and have you always liked playing Quidditch, dear?"
Draco clears his throat.
"I had a break in sixth year," he explains, all eyes now on him, "but I recently got back into it," he pauses for a moment, glancing at the six people around the table, "a good friend of mine helped me regain my passion for it."
Astoria choked a little on her dessert, before gulping down a glass of water.
"It's always nice to have good friends around you," Mrs Greengrass smiles, "does your friend also play Quidditch? Is he into sport?"
"She doesn't play, no," Draco smiles, the thought of you making his evening feel a little lighter. Daphne excuses herself to use the restroom, sensing the rise in tension as her mother's eyes widen to the size of the dessert plates.
"She?" Mrs Greengrass repeats in a sort of strained voice.
"Draco, why don't you tell Mr and Mrs Greengrass about your potions classes this year? You've thoroughly enjoyed them, haven't you?" Narcissa nudges Draco's leg under the table harshly, glaring at him over her cheesecake and cream.
"Do you have many friends, Draco?" Mrs Greengrass asks, shrugging off Narcissa, her face souring even though she was trying her best to keep a smile on her face. Mr Greengrass, oblivious to the current topic, was talking Lucius' ear off about his recent investment at the Ministry.
Draco grits his teeth, remembers what he's enduring this for, and lays down his fork.
"No, ma'am," he digs his nails into his knee to ease some of the frustration, Astoria staring at him with such intensity he almost feels his skin burning, "I'm afraid I don't mix all that well."
"He's being modest," Astoria laughs awkwardly, "Draco has many friends. Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini; you remember them, Mummy?"
She hums, and takes a miniscule bite of cheesecake.
Once dessert was over, the plates were cleared and in came the pots of tea and coffee, floating on silver trays with small, sugared biscuits on each coaster. A teacup was given to each of them, followed by their choice with cream or milk. Small talk passed the time, as Draco contemplated his entire existence in his cup of tea. In his pocket sits the little velvet box, a rock nestled in a silver band inside, waiting to be placed on Astoria's long, pale finger. He catches her line of vision when he looks up, and she smiles over her cup. He smiles back, and the guilt of his unrequited feelings starts to make him feel nauseous.
As soon as tea and coffee was finished, Narcissa leads the guests back to the drawing room, where fresh bottles of wine and glasses had been placed on a golden tray in the centre of the coffee table. The fire was smoldering, as even in the summer, the large rooms of Malfoy Manor rarely heat up enough. Conversation starts once more, and the time for Draco's proposal creeps ever closer. He could feel his parents eyes on him every second, any time he refilled Astoria's glass with sparkling grape presse and her fingers brushed his, even when he shuffled slightly in his seat. The anticipation was clearly killing them. Even Mrs Greengrass jolted when he moved. It seemed everyone was eager, except for him. Daphne became topic of conversation for a while, Narcissa asking her twenty questions from her job search to her love life.
"I just love wizarding fashion, Mrs Malfoy," Daphne explains, playing with the ends of her golden, silky hair. Daphne was always beautiful, but Blaise had long made his interests known for the eldest Greengrass daughter, "Madam Malkin has been so kind as to let me help her around the shop, only to get some experience. I want to be a steam stress eventually, and design my own tasteful gowns for young witches."
"And what about Pansy?" Draco hears his mother ask, and his heart drops to his feet upon remembering what Pansy had witnessed, "do you still see one another? I have invited the family over to the manor a few times. Lovely girl, isn't she, Draco?"
"Uh, yeah," Draco nods, trying to sound genuine, "she was always... around, right, Daph?"
Daphne stifles a laugh.
"Indeed she was," Daphne agrees, and then smirks devilishly, "I think the reason for that was her... what shall we call it... interest, in you, Dray."
"Interest. Sure." Draco sips on his wine as Daphne turns her head to chuckle. It would seem Pansy knew better than to blab about her findings that night; she may be a lot of things, Pansy Parkinson, but being disloyal to Draco didn't seem to be one of them. She knew, just as well as he did, that Draco knew her all too well. There were a fair few things he was sure her parents would be interested to find out about their precious Pansy.
"Would anyone care for a drink in the garden?" Narcissa then asks, giving Draco a knowing look, "Draco, why don't you take Astoria to see my flower beds and wait for us to join you?"
This was the moment he'd been dreading. In his mother's letter, she strictly said to be prepared for when she offers the Greengrasses a drink in the garden. That was the perfect time, she said, to get down on one knee. As Astoria's parents walk out into the courtyard, surrounded by Narcissa's immaculate flower beds, Draco would be asking for their daughter's hand in marriage. How romantic, his mother had written, under the summer moon. It will be spectacular.
How scripted, more like, is what Draco thought.
A sudden cold sweat dripped down Draco's back. He grips the little box in his pocket, and for a long moment, doesn't respond to what his mother was asking of him. He didn't realise how long he'd been standing there, slack-jawed, until Narcissa cleared her throat loudly and gave him a look only a mother could.
"Oh, uh, yes, I can do that," he then rushes out, and holds out a clammy hand for Astoria to take, "please, let me lead the way."
She takes his hand without haste. Draco, silently, takes the girl out of the drawing room and through the house, all the while gripping the box in his pocket. Astoria, not sure what to make of Draco's strange behaviour, remains just as quiet, her heels clicking along the tiled floors and echoing in the stale air. As they neared the glass doors leading to the courtyard, they pass the staircase leading up to the room which Draco took you to. The one with the big window that seems to look out at the entire universe. He stops, dead in his tracks, and stares at the doorway.
"I was just thinking how big the world is, you know?" you had said, and he remembers looking across at you and thinking how nice you looked. How pretty you were, and how ignorant he was for never noticing that, "like, all those little specs in the sky are something, and we're just here. Looking up at them. A small piece in a big puzzle."
He recalls thinking that your mind must be a rather interesting place, to come out with something as deep as that. But then you asked him, perhaps the most complicated question he'd ever heard, and if he thinks about it, if you were to ask him now, his answer would be completely different.
"Have you ever loved anyone?"
He remembers, his answer was no. And he was quite confident in that answer, but now...
Now he had tasted what it felt like to crave someone, to want their presence even in the most mundane moments. When he's alone in bed at night. When he's reading in silence. When he's needing a comforting word or someone to lean on.
"Draco?" Astoria's voice sounds distant, "are you alright?"
A tidal wave of memories came rushing back to him. Christmas. Watching the stars, playing chess in the Astronomy tower. Burning potions. Arguing. The moment you threw that silly little drawing into the fire. All those nights you spent listening to him ramble on about constellations. The taste of your lips and the feeling of your hand in his. How, no matter how much he tries, he simply cannot be without you. A piece of him was forever missing.
"Draco," Astoria shakes him a little, worry plastered all over her face when he finally snaps out of it and faces her, "what's wrong? You went rigid and pale. Are you feeling well?"
"I, uh..." he begins, but the words get stuck, and suddenly the long corridor is suffocating, the air is thin and his suit is uncomfortable, "need some air."
He rushes off without her, loosening his tie and running a hand through his neat hair. Astoria hurries after him, calling for him to slow down, to tell her what was wrong. As he approaches the courtyard doors, he pushes them open with so much force that the glass rattles in the panes. The cooler night air hits him like a bludger to the head, and for the first time in an extremely long time, one thing was so strong and clear in his mind that everything else was getting lost within it, and his strength was returning to his spent and beaten soul.
"I can't do this," he says, as Astoria comes to a halt behind him, panting slightly, "I... can't do this. I see it now. All this time I've... What the fuck am I doing?"
Astoria doesn't say anything, instead, she merely comes to stand beside him. For a long moment, they just stand in silence.
"Draco," Astoria then breaks it, and Draco's watery eyes meet hers, "we both know what is expected of us tonight. Right now, as we stand here, they are waiting for the right time to witness our engagement. Even Daphne sussed it."
"Astoria," Draco's quiet voice says, "I can't-"
"Do you believe in soul mates, Draco?" Astoria continues, but Draco can't seem to find an answer. The pretty brunette continues anyway, "because I do. I believe it's not our hearts that yearn for another, but our souls. I like to think, that somewhere out there, a soul wanders this earth looking for its other half... it's soul mate."
She then turns to face him fully, a gust of wind ruffling her long brown locks. A smile graces her features, and she gently places her hand on his face.
"I want you to know, whatever you chose to do tonight, I understand," she whispers to him, "because the other half of my soul is still out there... but you, Draco, you have found yours."
"What are you saying, 'Storia?" Draco mutters, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, "you've always been so adamant that this is what needs to happen. Why the sudden change of heart?"
She shrugs.
"It's true, that I'd be happy to marry you, Draco," she admits freely, "but seeing you tonight, how stressed you've been, how unsettled throughout dinner. Why should someone make you feel that way? No matter what way you look at it, you are unhappy. We would marry, and you would still be unhappy. You'd learn to live with it, because that's the kind of man you are. Monogamous and faithful," she retracts her hand and looks out over the garden, "when you stopped back there, you were thinking of her, weren't you?"
"I feel so terrible," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, "why is this happening?"
"I want you to understand that I will never think ill of you, Draco," Astoria reassures him, "I don't think I ever could. If you walk away now, then I will not stop you. If you chose to stay and marry me, then I can only ask that you learn to live with your decision, and we make the best out of this situation. You have a choice. I never should have made you think otherwise. It was wrong of me."
A choice. Draco has never been presented with one of those before. He takes a deep, shaky breath and then remembers Grangers words. He remembers the dinner at Weasleys, the chance that Granger had taken the liberty to offer him, and as if a fire was lit from under him, courage and warmth spread throughout his entire body.
"Astoria," he says firm and serious, turning his entire body to face her fully, and takes her hands in his, "I want you to know that I have always and will always wish you happiness. You will make someone very happy one day, I'm absolutely certain of it, but mostly," he presses a quick kiss to her hand, "I thank you, for giving me something no one ever has before."
"What's that?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.
"A choice," he whispers, and she smiles a teary smile.
"Go to your soul mate, Draco," she tells him, "and don't look back, you understand?"
He pulls her into his embrace, squeezes her as if his life depends on it, and backs away before breaking into a sprint across the garden. If he was to make it, he at least had to apparate to Weasleys before the night was over. But first, he had to get as far away from the manor as he could. Behind him, he could hear the commotion, and Mr Greengrasses furious voice bellowing.
"What do you mean he's gone?" the man shouts, Astoria's calmer voice trying to explain the situation best she could. Draco hid behind a large oak tree, far enough away to apparate safely. As he catches his breath, he hears Mrs Greengrass uncontrollably sobbing and wailing into the night like a hurt animal.
"Stood up! Our precious Astoria! You should be ashamed Narcissa, ashamed I tell you!"
"It's not like that!" Astoria's voice yelled, causing the ruckus to seize, "this is a mutual decision, mother."
"Our son would never do this without reason, Mrs Greengrass, please be assured," Narcissa tries to quell the situation, "there has to be a perfectly good explanation."
"He's in love with someone else," Daphne puts simply, and gasps from all around are heard throughout the night, "he has to be. Silly boy thinks he's hiding it well. Couldn't be more obvious if he said it out right."
"With who, exactly?" Narcissa asks frantically, "not once has he mentioned..." she trails off, remembering a slice of conversation between them, a small detail she should have paid much more mind to, when he asked "Would you and father resent me?"
"Narcissa!" Mr Greengrass says abruptly, "explain this mess or so help me-"
"If you speak to my wife in that tone again, Mr Greengrass, I think you may need to leave." Lucius says coolly, coming to stand before the man, who was much smaller in comparison.
"No need to worry, Lucius, as we are very much leaving," Mr Greengrass flares his nostrils, "girls, get your coats. Never again are we stepping foot in this house."
Mrs Greengrass, still sobbing and wailing, follows her husband back through the house. Daphne politely thanks Narcissa and Lucius with a sympathetic smile. As Astoria passes, she thinks twice about saying something, and then double backs on herself.
"Mr and Mrs Malfoy," she calls back, and they both turn to face her, "Draco may not want me to intervene, but I must say this," She pauses, looking back as her father calls for her, "he has tried, for many months now, to gather the courage to marry how you wish. He has battled with his true feelings and the fear of disappointing you. Even I, and I realise now I had no place, tried to convince him that he must follow this path, and not the one he chooses for himself," another furious call from Mr Greengrass and Astoria begins backing away towards the glass doors, "please, if there's one thing I can ask of you, it's that you hear him out. Please."
"ASTORIA, IF YOU DON'T GET HERE RIGHT NOW-"
"Please, listen to him," are her final words as shes rushing back through the doors and out of sight, leaving Narcissa and Lucius in a state of utter confusion.
And just over the way, behind the large oak tree, Draco successfully apparates to the Weasley's home.
disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story
tags:
@lovesanimals0000 @cappgyuccino @lightning1ce @onlygetaway @honeyyypeach @namelesslosers @ghostyv @mikadorbs @redactedhimbo @morganadpl @scarecrowscaresthomas @camille-1019 @valkyrie418 @animeloverfreak310 @budugu @marplest @torresbarnes @bunny24sstuff @champagneesupernova @serafilms @siriusly-parker-main @lovely-maryj @i-bitch-you-bitch @astablacksword @sun-fiower-seed @tinafuentes @venusjustleft @omgitstatertot @aangsupremacy @ilovezy @leclerc16s @aslanvez @talesofadragon @3vasaur @the-skys-musical-echo @yeolsbubbles @idk-dolans @xx-kiraa-xx @sunbruized @vinkiesz @snickersmee @fandomrulesall-blog @astheraa @idkatee @marsanhwa @vintageoldfashion @63sucker @j-n-i-c-o-l-e @anarchistsons @smallsweetvanillabean @newbooksmell777 @tangomangroves @neoteezrenyoung @l0v3lies @delusionally-loveless-by-choice @higanbanagirl @ace152435 @arcanebabe @slythermuf @hea-vin @zucchinimalfoy @carolineesnell
#draco x reader#draco x y/n#draco x you#draco x female reader#draco x ravenclaw!reader#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco imagine#draco angst#draco fanfiction#draco lucius malfoy#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#hpff
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THRANDUIL'S GUIDE TO: LOOSING A JOB / WINNING A HEART | hobbit
pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑
You are late for work and sure that your boss will sack you. Instead, Thranduil takes you and his kids to the park, and somehow the day takes a turn for the better.
tags/warnings: modern!AU, nanny!AU, mutual pining; characters: Thranduil, young!Legolas, young!Tauriel; rating: sfw
wordcount: 8,4k
an: sorry sorry sorry for not updating "passenger princess"; please take this as a small apology. I'm posting this after watching 'anyone but you' so know i'm dancing and singing rn
+ general m.list +
🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3
The subway doors shut close with a squeak, mere seconds after you stepped out. They gave you barely any time to think about whether you had everything important with you before the train hissed away again, disappearing into the dark tunnels that twisted like endless labyrinths beneath the city.
Not that you had the time for it; anything forgotten was lost, and you were already far too late to mourn a possibly left-behind lip balm.
Pressing your bag tightly against your side, you joined the stream of people, moving like an army of ants from the platform to the escalators.
It took a while before you could step onto the moving steps – of course, the third grade that had already been on the train when you had rushed in left at the same stop as you.
Screaming, uncontrollable children surrounded you, and you did your best not to make eye contact with any of them, impatiently staring at the approaching exit, the clear sky finding its way through high towering glass buildings.
As a very rude man in sportswear pushed ahead, mumbling swear words that the nanny in you wanted to scold him for, one of the kids stumbled against your legs.
Clammy hands grasped at the coat shielding you from the brisk autumn winds, its numerous inner pockets offering a secure haven for your valuables against the avaricious hands of pickpockets. Gazing downward, you found yourself locking eyes with a boy, his wide blue eyes reminding you that you were so so late...
You gave him an encouraging smile, causing the child to loosen his grip but he didn't let go until you reached the fresh air outside.
Out of habit, you quickly bent down, ignoring the complaints of an elderly lady behind you, and zipped up his bright orange jacket.
It was still early in the morning, the air cold, coloring the tips of noses and cheeks in blushes. Even if you didn't know this child, no parent would be happy to take a day off because of a sick child; especially not here.
Once the boy was properly bundled up, his big smile disappearing behind the fleece of the jacket, you straightened up and made your way through the crowd of people.
Somewhere in your pockets, your phone vibrated now that there was a reception and bombarded you with all the messages that didn't reach you in the last twenty minutes underground.
The sidewalk was bustling, shoulders pushing against shoulders, making it impractical to fish out the phone at the moment; it felt like a time-wasting endeavor, and the chance that you would start crying if anyone snapped at you for slowing down was far too high.
This whole morning left you on the brink of a meltdown, the stress bubbling under the surface, an itch under your skin that didn't want to leave you–
Opting for a brisk walk, you maneuvered through the lively streets of New York, a city of grand dreams that, at the moment, felt a bit out of reach.
Three years ago, following a string of peaceful years growing up in your quiet suburb, one of the Universities you had applied to offered you a full scholarship.
That led to packing up all your possessions, and you transitioned from the comfort of your familiar childhood room to a cramped studio, outweighed by more "cons" than "pros."
You initially went with the expectation of finally fulfilling the big dream, only to realize that living the dream in New York brought problems with them– like an expensive water and electricity bill, unfriendly neighbors that stole the washing machines and dropped your clothes onto the floor, and the inescapable feeling of loneliness amid millions.
After uni, one odd job followed another; "dishwasher in a food truck" and "Christmas-card door-to-door selling with Girl Scouts" were some of the tamer examples.
You did what you had to do, even if that sometimes involved horrendous pay for even more horrific work hours.
Sure, they were definitely experiences , but many of them were the kind that your parents used as a reason to convince you to come back home.
They were right on some level, there were nights you cried sitting alone on the floor of your apartment until the neighbors below you knocked on their ceiling, complaining about the noise, but these evenings were few and far between.
Ever since you got your current job it had reduced to once or twice a month!
It was by far the best on the now 40-line long list of abandoned "experiences." It was flexible, paid more than enough, and you actually looked forward to the days you had to work.
At first, you couldn't believe your eyes when Thranduil Oropherion (the Thranduil Oropherion, multimillionaire and head of the 'Greenleafs Children's Book Publishing' well before hitting thirty, face of the Times on many occasions) contacted you through an unknown babysitter matchmaking site.
Fortunately, the site wasn't so unknown that someone could pretend to be him; otherwise, you wouldn't have engaged in the subsequent chat, where you shared your babysitting experiences with him, and you certainly wouldn't have gone to the first meeting.
It had been in a small café near Central Park, and thankfully not at some fancy Italian place, as your remaining money for the month wouldn't have covered elegant evening wear.
Mr. Oropherion, Thranduil, as he insisted daily, was, unsurprisingly as attractive in person as the press had described.
You had seen pictures, heard of his name, maybe even looked him up once or twice ever since you started babysitting rich kids who had his books lining their shelves without reading them once. They were the kind of children who said "Please" nearly as often as "Thank you."
Close to never.
After being confronted with the beautifully bound books in most of their study rooms, you had googled the Green Leaf emblem, only to have the picture of the hottest man you have ever seen pop off.
The legs that went on for days, the long blonde hair, the warm voice sending chills down your spine as he explained his need for a new sitter- funny how you had no idea what the reason was, but knew exactly how his dark brows had furrowed and raised, how his voice had dropped lower on some words and higher on others.
Easy to say that you wasted no second after he asked you if you still wanted the job (still? To this day it was a mystery what he meant with that, lost in daydreams about his blue eyes and the firm handshake) for you to agree.
One contract signing later, and you were officially the babysitter of the sweetest kids you have ever met.
Legolas and Tauriel not only listened to you, but they even cooperated and never caused trouble when it came to bedtime or leaving the park. They naturally reached for your hand on the street, ate their vegetables obediently, and even when you had to be strict on rare occasions, it never took long for the sulking faces to light up again.
It wasn't just the children that you took a liking to.
The initiate awe of meeting Thranduil turned into a full-blown crush faster than you could have blinked; a sentiment you would only ever confide in your diary.
The prospect of explaining how sad it was to fall in love with your remarkably young boss was not inviting, and you would do your best to avoid those conversations.
Falling in love with someone in a position of authority, who paid you for your services monthly, particularly in a role where you cared for his children, was not an ideal situation.
Nevertheless, you found yourself deeply infatuated with – his looks, charm, smile, and the way he effortlessly made you forget all worries when he returned home, embraced by his children, eager to hear every intricate detail of their day.
And yours.
Falling for him had happened quickly, too quickly to really think about how it could affect your job in the case of an outburst of feelings, whether accidental or intentional.
You saw it as a kind of adventure, like diving into a novel where you could experience the feelings of love without ever wanting to address them.
And sometimes, when there was just the two of you left at the dinner table and he would offer you wine and a smile, you had the impression the conversations turned into teasing and flirting.
It was important for you to keep this job, which is why the fear of getting fired for being late today made your legs move, and you managed to cover the usual fifteen-minute relaxed walk despite the piercing cold air in your nose and lungs in seven minutes.
Eight minutes earlier, and still twenty-three minutes late, you arrived at one of the many towering skyscrapers, with glowing cheeks and sweat drops rolling down your temples.
The doorman in the lobby looked at you with an understandable and sympathetic look through his small glasses before letting you enter the elevator and pressing the button for the Oropherion residence.
The minute it took to reach the 53rd floor - 53, seriously, that's an absurd number of floors - you loosened the red scarf around your neck, finally being able to breathe without it feeling like you swallowed ice, and unbuttoned your coat to fish out your phone.
As soon as the screen lit up, all other messages faded away.
Except for one–
Thranduil O.: I write to inform you that...
Dizziness, not from the height you must be at, but from the thoughts of all the stressful evenings when you had called through stores and sent resumes one after another.
You knew how much your boss valued punctuality; he relied on you to arrive at the agreed-upon time so he could leave for work in peace, and today, you had disappointed him.
He was a nice man, friendly but strict in important matters.
You had witnessed more than once how icy he could become when his driver had picked him up late for reasons within his control, and so far, you were glad not to have experienced that side of him.
Was he late today? What if he had an important meeting or had to sign contracts? What if he could pack up the publishing house because of you? (That this was more than unlikely didn't cross your mind at the moment, but much later)
With trembling hands, you tried to unlock your phone before the elevator reached the penthouse, but you failed several times at entering your password, fingers hitting the wrong numbers, which didn't help your agitated mood.
At the same moment, you finally managed to enter your password correctly and access your messages from the lock screen, the loud ping of the elevator startled you.
Quickly, you slipped your phone into your pocket again and prepared for the worst, like bidding farewell to the sweetest children on earth and the best boss, who would easily hire a new sitter.
The doors opened the same moment a piercing scream echoed through the apartment, high in pitch and undoubtedly Tauriel.
"No no no no"
The worst scenario sprung into your mind, the children left alone and hurt, climbing on expensive furniture, and possibly injured, all because your alarm didn't ring.
As fast as your legs could carry you, you ran into the adjacent living area from where the crying had come. "Tauriel?" you called out; the children should know that you were there now and could help.
But the next words died on your tongue, didn't make it over your panicky opened lips.
The image of an injured Tauriel and an apartment thrown into chaos faded with the last bit of breath in your lungs.
Nowhere were traces of such chaos; nothing was out of place, except for the children's toys, like some dolls and Lego pieces scattered on the oakwood floor.
There were no injuries, no tears, and no abandoned children.
There, on the floor in front of the gray couch, was Thranduil, stretched out on the usually neatly arranged sofa cushions, a screaming Tauriel balanced on his raised hands and a laughing Legolas stretched across his stomach, trying to reach for his sister.
You didn't know what happened to your thoughts.
Why they strayed away from the fact that Thranduil was here, at home, while he should be at work, and that this was surely your last day, and instead clung to the happy family image that you had envied for several months now.
Then Thranduil's gaze fell on you, and your heart stumbled over the smile on his face. The children also looked up, joyfully calling your name, and you waved to them, a forced smile on your lips.
You only had one chance to explain, one chance to save this beloved job before it slipped through your fingers. "I'm so sorry for being late, Thranduil," you started, wrapping your arms around yourself for support. "You probably want a proper apology that can explain all this, but as inexcusable as it is, I overslept. The power went out at my place last night, and my phone couldn't charge, so my alarm didn't ring. I'm really really sorry, and I want to make it up."
You took a deep breath. Tears were swelling in the corners of your eyes, threatening to break out every second, and you struggled to blink them away; your apology was pathetic enough without tears.
Thranduil slowly got up, gently placing the confused-looking Tauriel on the small coffee table and took a few steps towards you, causing your concentration to waver for a moment.
Why wasn't he wearing a suit like usual? Normally, he was already dressed for work every morning. Today, however, he wore black straight-cut trousers and a dark blue knit sweater that was covered in gray couch pillow lint.
He spoke your name softly, much too soft for the conversation that would follow.
Now he would fire you; now you could say goodbye to everyone, and from tomorrow on, you would only be able to admire this beautiful face in newspapers.
"I'll make it up to you, but please don't fire me!"
With an expression of pure horror, Thranduil bridged the meters between you and pulled you into a surprising hug, stifling any sob. His hand lovingly patted your back, stroking in circular motions over your shoulder blades.
"Ada, what's wrong?"
"Legolas, Tauriel," he turned his head, one hand cupping your neck, and spoke in a soft voice, "could you please to go your rooms? Give us a minute, alright?"
Immediately, you wanted to pull away; he was your boss, and he shouldn't send his children away just because you were upset about your own mistakes.
Thranduil didn't let go though; he continued to hold you tightly in his strong arms as if the boundary between your roles in this relationship didn't exist.
"What nonsense led you to think I would fire you?" Thranduil asked after a while.
Slowly lowering his arms, he silently allowed your heart a moment to mourn the warmth of his body, a last moment before he stepped back, and you feared you might never be so close to him again.
Instead, he surprised you by reaching for your hand and leading you over to the couch, stepping around the thrown-around cushions on the carpet.
Waiting for you to sit, he joined you, surprisingly close.
"I did write to you that I have a day off today and would love to spend it with all of you," he said, patting your knee and seeking your downward gaze.
Your already reddened cheeks flushed even more. Perhaps you should have checked your messages right after leaving the subway. Then you wouldn't have embarrassed yourself so much in front of Thranduil, a man whose respect meant more to you than anything else, and especially you wouldn't have caused a scene in front of the children.
"Unfortunately, I didn't see that," you admitted, quietly and ashamed.
The man beside you nodded in understanding, his hand still on your leg.
With each touch, a tingling fire spread from that spot through your entire body, to your rapidly beating heart.
He had been doing this more often lately, guiding you with a hand on your back or brushing over your shoulders when helping you with your coat.
Sometimes, the occasional, slightly longer-than-necessary handshake left your knees weak, and even now, his touch burned through the fabric of your pants, as if a sitcom-worthy handprint might be etched there.
"It happens to the best of us," him excluded of this, the man was never late, never forgot, and worst of all, never broke down crying "-please don't fret over this any longer. Everything is alright."
You nodded, sniffling when he stretched to the coffee table and offered you a tissue, handed over with one of his infuriating smiles.
"Thanks," you dabbed the tissue against your cheeks, trying to wipe away the blush and surely ugly puffiness as well as the tears, "I'm still sorry for-" you pointed to your face, "-all this. This probably wasn't how you wanted your day off to start"
Thranduil tilted his head slightly, long blond hair cascading over his shoulder, which he now nudged against yours. "Hey, we have a rule in this house, y'know? No crying unless it's during a movie, book, or when I cooked"
The laugh you let out sounded more like a snort, which is embarrassing in itself though Thranduil only nudged you again in good humor, "So, if you don't want me to punish you for this utterly inexcusable rulebreaking, then you should quickly smile again"
"Oh no!" you exclaimed, wiping away some more tears, before biting down a smile, "I could not handle watching Frozen 2 again this week"
The Oropherion household was most prestigious with Thranduil representing the largest book publishing company in the country, and his two exemplary children, so of course, punishment for any rulebreaking of this kind was a movie night- movie chosen by the youngest (if she wasn't the one breaking the rules).
"Again?" Thranduil raised his eyebrows, then patted your leg condescendingly, "Have I ever told you how strong you are, my dear?"
Ignoring the stutter your heart makes at the nickname and carefully filing the moment away for later, you shook your head, "You have no idea. I had barely picked them up from school yesterday when Tauriel snitched on Legolas for tripping another boy- he did it as an act of self-defense.. well he defended Aragorn but we do not know that if anyone official calls, and then for that Legolas tripped her and so I spend the evening yet again in the company of Olaf and Anna."
As you recount the eventful first day of the week, you could hear and feel Thranduil snicker, his whole body shaking where it pressed against yours- legs, thighs, shoulders.
"Wow, just.. oh my," Thranduil exhaled, and there laid a fondness in his blue eyes, a softness in the corner of his mouth, that washed away the stern businessman, leaving no room for anyone else but a young father, who soaked up every moment of his kid's lives, scared they were growing up too fast.
"Anyway, I shouldn't just sit around and ramble," you crumpled up the tissue in one hand, using the other to brush away some hair.
Conjuring your best smile, the one reserved for him and only him, you linger for one second on the warmth of his body this close to you, before squaring your shoulders. "Soo, thanks for not firing me, I appreciate it and swear that I'll check my phone in the morning to not cause you this much trouble again"
Thranduil's eyebrows twitched, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't staring at him constantly. "I wouldn't have fired you," he said, honest and completely serious; you shrink together, just like the paper tissue. He continues, voice grave and his eyes focused on you, "Not because of something like that, not because of a little thing you are not responsible for. And even if you were, I think we're long past the point where I'd want to fire you, no matter what"
You stare at him, mouth slightly agape, and you want to ask him what he meant by that or if he meant to say it like he did, but no words come out.
Thranduil takes your speechlessness in, his lashes fluttering softly as he closes his eyes, tipping his head to the side. Another barely noticeable change in his demeanor, this time the hint of a smile, that quickly disappears again.
A call from Tauriel shattered the atmosphere between you, and you pulled yourself together.
"Let's just let it go," Thranduil said, this time his mouth curved into a full smirk.
You glare at him, forcing yourself to stand up. "I hate you"
You didn't, but there was no need to add that since the smile and blush on your face gave that away as much as any words would.
Still smirking at you, Thranduil yelled "Yes, Tauriel, you can come back in" and as soon as he finished the two children you loved so dearly rushed into the living room.
While Legolas immediately spilled over the back of the couch like liquid and rolled face first into the small space between his father and the couch, Tauriel nearly toppled over her own feet racing toward you.
She collided with your legs without slowing down.
Unlike Legolas, who was a spitting image of his father with his bright blue eyes and blond hair, Tauriel had inherited her red hair and freckles from her mother, who was only mentioned by Thranduil, if at all, with a dismissive snort, as if it were part of her name.
However, he had every right to do so.
After all, he did rush into the hospital on Christmas-Eve nine years ago, thinking that from then on, Christmas would have the table decked for four, not two, and he left with two children barely a day old and already burdened with a mother who had lost all interest in them.
She had left the hospital when Thranduil had been asleep, his children close to his chest as he grew from boy to single father in one night.
"What are we going to do today?" Tauriel asked, her hands grabbing the coat you still hadn't shed.
"Well, we could go to the park?" you offered and brushed some of her hair out of her face, "Or do you want to let your Ada decide?"
She pulled a face, twisting her lips in an adorable pout. "Noo, then he will go to a museum and they are soo boooring"
Thranduil cleared his throat, looking thoroughly outraged- as well as one could with his other child climbing over his back and tugging his hair. "Tauriel, I thought you loved our trip to the History Museum!"
There was a pause where Tauriel contemplated what to say, before pulling her lips into a smile and swiping her hand at the air: "Oh, yes, Ada, I really love going to the History Museum with you."
Then, turning to you and rolling her eyes in a matter that was surely an imitation of all the adult chit-chat she had caught and not even close to the behavior of a nine-year-old, she faux-whispered: "Don't fall for my tricks, I just don't want to see him sad"
You weren't even close to fast enough to cover the laugh that bubbled out of your throat with a cough.
"She just goes there because there is a boy in our class that she wants to impress," Legolas piped up, his feet dangling over Thranduil's shoulders while his blonde hair was sticking to his father's back.
"Not true!" Tauriel snapped back.
"SO true, she looooves-"
"Do not!"
"Yes, you do!"
"NO, I do not!"
"You-"
"HEY!" you cut into the back and forth that surely would have ended in punches or more tears, "If anyone says anything there will be no trip to the park, the museum or to wherever you want to go today!"
You fixated the twins with a warning stare that left no room for discussion and it even seemed to shut up Thranduil, who had opened his mouth and now, slowly and looking at you, closed it again.
"Thank you," you crossed your arms in front of your chest, "Now, I don't see beaks or feathers on the both of you so I'll ask you to refrain from squawking and cackling, and Legolas if you want to tease your sister about a boy, should I tell her about-"
"NO!" the boy screamed and immediately, realizing his mistake of speaking out of turn, clapped both hands in front of his mouth, leaving his blue eyes to plead.
Not that you would have said anything; whether it was Aragorn or that boy, Kili, you would never dare to spill the secrets that they whispered to you when you tugged them in.
You nodded once.
It was enough for the boy to relax, slipping onto the couch bare of cushions, and curling his arms around his father's neck.
It was an endearing, yet very exhausting trait of the boy to be unable to stop moving, always climbing things, restlessly skipping around when he was supposed to do his homework.
"Go and put on your boots, coats, and yes- Legolas, even your scarf and hat, and no- Tauriel, you did not forget them in school, I picked them up yesterday and put them into your bag"
There was not much grumbling, well, Tauriel muttered something close to a curse under her breath but at your sharp gaze, she opened her mouth in such a wide smile, baring two rows of teeth, that it looked strained, and Legolas made his protest clear in changing in and out of at least five sweaters before settling on one the same ink-blue as his fathers.
Said father continued to stifle his laughter while you stood in the hallway, waiting until the coat rack was nearly empty and the children had their coats zipped up, their boots tied, their necks covered in scarfs and two pairs of hands had gloves dangling from them.
Said father also came up behind you, when the twins were busy forming plans on what this day would come to, maybe an adventure in the park, or a walk through the aquarium, and you felt his hands brush over your shoulders, as he leaned to whisper in your ear and cause shivers to prickle down your spine despite the warm clothes:
"What a shame that I miss you this assertive most of the time, it looks good on you"
He must have heard the gulp of your throat, must have felt the buckling of your knees, but alas, he said nothing more and the moment passed as quickly as it had come.
It was what he was good at, swiping you off your feet with comments like this and touches like that, leaving you dazed and wondering if you had imagined it all or if that twinkle in his eyes truly was as flirtatious as you thought it to be.
"Okay so, shall we go?"
You caught Thranduil's smirk as he grabbed his coat as well.
His hands were quick to fasten the shiny buttons, working their way up from the bottom in seconds, and as he pulled his long hair out to toss it over his shoulders, the elegant length of his fair neck flashed into view.
Frozen in place, your gaze lingered on the curve of his cheekbones, the pointed ears, and quickly you looked away before he turned his attention from Legolas back to you and might have caught you staring.
It was truly unfair how beautiful he was, wearing the fitted coat, snug at his small waist and highlighting the broad of his shoulders, the midnight blue color being the perfect color for his blonde hair to look like starlight and sunshine all at once.
He drew looks onto him wherever he went and not because of his wealth or business– those were things New Yorkers didn't care about if he passed them on the streets.
He was simply breathtaking, and that he had a daughter skipping over puddles reflecting the clear blue sky and a son babbling while he listened and laughed and answered was more of a magnet than he maybe realized.
In fact, he never seemed to notice the heads turning, the heart eyes that mothers and young women watched him with, and the appreciating nods of handsome men. The ogling and giggling, the sighs and gasps, murmurs and whispers.
Not from strangers but certainly he had the talent to catch the slighted exhale of breath from you whenever you lost yourself in his elegant figure, watching and dreaming as he played with his children or washed the dishes, his back turned to you to examine his muscles straining against the stretch of his shirt.
He teased you for it, lips curving into smiles, eyebrows raising in a wiggle, arms lifting to reveal a sliver of toned stomach.
Even now, as you crossed the street to enter Central Park, the constant pull of Legolas on your right arm left you to slightly tumble into Thranduil, shoulders knocking against shoulder and you glanced up at him to apologize only to find a smirk already tugging on the left corner of his mouth.
The air is still quite chilly, leaving you to lift your nose in the direction of the February sun, albeit a long way from warming you up, it was enough to ease on the frost nipping at your skin.
The children were tugging you into the direction of their favorite playground, hats bouncing at the excited steps that were nearly too fast to hold them back, boots stomping as they made a game of pulling you.
Their happiness was brighter than any sommer light, the teasing from the apartment long forgotten as the roads curved and dew-kissed gras made way for sand and rubber flooring.
They stormed off as soon as Thranduil and you let go of them, scrambling away to conquer the climbing towers and slides and most assuredly end up befriending some if not all of the other kids that are playing under the watchful eyes of parents sitting on the many benches scattered around the place.
Thranduil and you settled onto a weathered bench, positioned directly beneath a skeletal tree that, in a matter of weeks, would burst into bloom, but for now, stood adorned only with bare branches reaching towards the heavens.
Thranduil folded his hands in his lap, starting by delicately pinching at the fingertips of one glove.
With graceful precision, he slipped his slender hand out, exposing his milky skin to the chill, repeating the process with agonizing slowness on the other hand.
The ritual held your undivided attention, captivating you as you watched those slender hands gradually unfasten the first button of his coat.
As if that weren't bad enough, he proceeded to loosen the red scarf wrapped around his neck, a vibrant contrast against the wintry backdrop.
Your mouth felt almost devoid of moisture as you struggled to comprehend.
Huddled deeper into the folds of your own coat, you shot him a reproachful glance. "I don't get how you aren't cold," you muttered, your words punctuated by a shiver.
He made a show of popping another button of his coat. "Tze, how could anyone be cold in this weather?" Thranduil angled his face toward the sun, "I dare say that this is the perfect weather for a long walk"
You scoffed, "Oh, here we go again. I can't wait for you to open up the window later and tell me that the winds are just a slight breeze. It's unfair, you know? Some of us freeze just by looking at you carelessly throwing that scarf away"
Thranduils squinted his eyes, seemingly contemplating whatever was going on his beautiful head and before you could say anything else he had raised his arms and wrapped the scarf around the smaller one you already wore.
Your mouth fell open in surprise, the blood rushing into your cheeks as he busied himself tugging here and there and then had the gall to pull so that you had your mouth full of scarf.
It not only smelled like his perfume but tasted like it as well.
"There, now you are best equipped for this blizzard-like cold!" he chuckled and when you tried to pull the scarf away, he held one of the ends so that it slipped to cover your ears. "Oops, my fault-"
"Thranduil!" was what you wanted to say though the fabric made it sound more like "Franfuil" which made him only laugh louder. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the amusement showing itself in their baby blues.
Thinking that he maybe just did it for a joke, you wanted to free yourself from it.
His cold hands coming to rest upon yours with his long slender fingers covering yours, halted the movement.
"I can't wear your scarf," you said meekly and made another attempt though with not much force.
You wanted to wear his scarf, wanted to sit on this bench with all the other parents passing you and seeing his claim, his scarf wrapped around your neck, but this was another dream, not something that really happened.
He was just joking, wasn't he?
"Tze," Thranduil swatted at the air and clicked his tongue. "Why not? You said it yourself, you are freezing because of me. Let me offer you some warmth and don't tell me this scarf isn't wondrous. The wool is from irish sheeps-"
He continued talking, and you sunk back into the bench, nose buried into the fabric that carried his scent.
The scarf did help, although it wasn't just because of the added expensive layer but because of the hands that had wrapped it as well.
"and thus this scarf is the best way to keep your poor freezing body self. Imagine what the kids would say if they came back and you sat here like an iceberg. We would have to bring hammers to break you out of it," he finished with a satisfied nod to himself and folded on leg over the other, clasping his hands on top of the raised knee. "Now, no more complaining, do we understand each other?"
You nodded obediently.
Thranduil took it in, making sure that you didn't talked back to him, then he turned toward the playground.
You followed his gaze to Legolas and Tauriel hanging on the monkey bars and swinging back and forth.
"Mhm," he hummed and a smirk pulled on his lips, "I really want to say that the cold never bothered me anyway"
At your pained groan, he just laughed joyfully.
Inside your chest, your heart stuttered against your ribcage.
"I can say that this is far better than sitting in the office," Thranduil mused after a while, eyes wandering from his children to you.
He really did look much happier, the cold giving him a healthy blush that reached all the way down his slender throat.
Not that you stared at his Adam's apple and the soft rosé of his skin– your eyes were just drawn to the red lint his scarf had left on his collar.
You tried to lift an eyebrow like he always did but failed miserably. "What? And here I figured that playing all day was only half as much fun as making sure my suit didn't get wrinkled from all the sitting around."
Thranduil scoffed, not in anger but in humor. "I will let you know that I'm not bound to the desk and will walk to get some coffee now and again"
"Oh how adventurous," you teased, nudging your elbow into his side, "Do tell, whatever do they do with this wild man of a boss?"
He laughed at that, and you had to bury your teeth in your lip to stop yourself from smiling like a fool.
"Sometimes they take away my pen and force me to listen to whatever offer is going on instead of letting me play tic-tac-toe"
"That's so unfair," you shook your head, the smile now breaking out despite the best effort to retain it, "Maybe I should talk to them because last time I saw your notes you lost every time. Like you are so bad! They should let you practice more"
"You cheeky-" Thranduil stopped himself, the chortling laughter made it impossible to understand anything he would have said anyway.
After a while the laughter subsided, leaving a comfortable silence that you sunk into, letting the whole moment wash over you.
There was laughter all around you, children screaming and yelling, Tauriel and Legolas swinging on the monkey bars as the cold colored their faces nearly as red as the girl's hair.
Somewhere in the distance, the music of the carousel waved over, the melody familiar by now and you dared to tilt your head just enough to the side, to make it look like your gaze was trailing over to the wooden tent instead of trailing the curve of Thranduil's nose, the long lashes resting on his cheek as he bathes in the sun.
As if he felt your eyes on him, he hummed. "Maybe I should cut my hours short," Thranduil's voice was low, but there was a firmness behind the words, a determination that told you he had thought about this longer than his statement let on.
Your heart jumped in your chest.
Grateful that his eyes were still closed so that he couldn't see the shock that played your features, you inhaled deeply, needing the sting of the air in your lungs.
"Oh," you whispered, wanting to follow up with something encouraging but the words just wouldn't come to you.
"Oh," you simply repeated.
The chill of winter settled deep into your bones and you hunched your shoulders, the meaning of his words cutting sharp into the string of affection that you thought connected the two of you.
If he worked less than that meant he wouldn't come home late in the evening, maybe even early enough to pick up his children from school, giving him time to cook for them, go to the playground, and accompany them to Legolas archery lessons and Tauriels dance classes.
If he had all the time do to this, then it would be more than reasonable to let you go.
"Mhm–" Thranduil hummed again, eyes still shut. "The firm doesn't need my input, they can do their best without me hovering around as if I was not just there to listen in to negotiations. This is what I should have done ages ago, direct my attention to the kids instead of book deals that only need my signature."
You nodded, ignoring that he couldn't see it.
"We should get away, the kids haven't had a vacation in forever. I own a house near Greenwood, and the last time I was there there had been a village close enough for the children to make some friends. It would be good for them, don't you think?"
"Yeah– sure," you swallowed hard, trying to force down the stone lodged in your throat.
There, on the tip of your tongue, was a plea, the urge to beg him not to fire you but you would rather let him continue to talk than embarrass yourself again.
"There was a house close by, a family with another single dad and his three kids. If I remember correctly the youngest had been Tauriel and Legolas' age, they could show them around, and Legolas can finally have that damn treehouse he always asks for," Thranduil chuckled and stretched out his legs, the tips of his shoes pointing to the sky, "He asks for one every birthday and I think if he asks me one more time I will find a way to build him that treehouse, even if that means buying a damn tree here in Central Park."
You let out a humorless laugh, more an exhale of air than anything else.
The images Thranduil painted would have been lovely if not for the pain growing inside your chest at every word.
"And we could take a walk through the woods, just you and me."
"What?"
Thranduil's eyes snapped open, blue eyes piercing you like the brightness of the sun over your heads.
For the first time, you saw confusion in them, unsureness, and doubt, and you must have looked just as baffled.
"A walk, to talk, you know? Without the kids sleeping in the other room, without their nosy ears hearing things they shouldn't?" His eyes widened, suddenly he seemed very much uncomfortable with how slouched he sat for he straightened up, "Oh my," he lifted a hand to run it through his hair, tousling it even more, "Oh no, have I overstepped?"
Your gaze remained fixed on him. "You want me to accompany you on this vacation to the woods to 'talk'? Damn, Thranduil, I thought you were on the verge of letting me go!"
"Let you go?!" His cheeks flushed crimson within seconds, a vivid contrast against his fair complexion.
There was an unfamiliarity to the flush, something so new and alien about it that, despite the gravity of the situation, you found yourself momentarily speechless, captivated more by the sight than the words spoken.
"I thought that we could come to an agreement about the arrangements of your employment status"
"My status?"
Nothing that was said made sense, for either one of you, and the comfort grew into frustration that made it impossible to sit still.
"Yes! Were we not on the same page?" Thranduil's voice got louder and you both flinched as a mother with her stroller walked past and threw you an annoyed look. Thranduil leaned closer, dropping into something close to a whisper: "I wanted to ask you out for like a month now, but it felt awkward since it would have required giving you the evening off or compensating you. Neither option seemed like the ideal foundation for a date, in my opinion," he pressed out between his teeth, tipping his head to the side.
"A date?" you felt stupid for parroting his words- again, but how could you not? This conversation had dragged out for far too long to be your imagination, yet you wouldn't believe that this was happening.
"Yes," he was laughing now, kind of desperate if you were honest.
The touch of his knees against yours became a hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling your hand toward him so that he could lay it onto his open palm.
There were sparkles in your stomach, exploding like fireworks at the soft touch of his skin, warmed from the gloves he had worn on the walk.
"I am mad about you, haven't you realized? Have you any idea how I have to hold myself back whenever I come home and see you on the couch with my children, reading stories or singing movies, dancing around the living room in costumes?"
(You blushed deeply at the memory of that evening, Tauriel had convinced you that her fairy wings would fit you better than her, the pink glitter sticking to your clothes as you twirled around the room just when the elevator doors opened and Thranduil stood in the doorway; his tired and exhausted eyes lightening up at the sight of his daughter- or so you thought)
He continued, staring at your hands as he drew circles with the tip of his fingers. "Leaving for work is only easy because you are there to send me off, and working is only durable because I know that when the doors to the apartment open you will be there. It gets harder though, every time I see you cuddling with Legolas or drawing with Tauriel I have to refrain myself-" he stopped to look up, a coy smile on his lips that were suddenly much harder to ignore in their closeness and allure.
"Else, I'd find myself sinking to my knees before you on the couch, bestowing kisses for 'Hello', 'Goodbye', or simply surrendering to the emotions that have stirred within me since the day you entered my life."
"Well, I can tell you no other boss has greeted me like that," you murmured quietly, uncertain of how else to react.
His fingers continued their subtle dance, now entwined with yours. They melded together seamlessly, like a perfect puzzle, as if their natural state had always been intertwined.
Thranduil chuckled softly, his index finger tapping against his knuckle. "One of the reasons I never acted upon it," he admitted, "was the fear of you dialing the Department of Labor for harassment."
"A kiss wouldn't lead to that," you bit down on your lip again, "Fainting on my side, yes, absolutely, and I have never seen a fainted person make a phone call. And what would I say? Hello, my gorgeous boss, who I have a crush on kissed me? Oh, sad old me. could you maybe find a way to compensate me for something I have dreamed about?"
The moment you said what you said, the words slipped out your mouth faster than you could hold them back and loud enough that you could have pretended that you had mumbled something else.
The shock of Thranduil's admission had opened the pandora box of feelings that you had shoved under terms like 'work ethic' and 'inappropriate salivating over your superior' as if that would make it any easier.
"So we are on the same page," Thranduil smiled, his chest heaved in a relief exhale of air. "I'm glad.. oh, so glad. I would have perished if I had been wrong and all those times I asked you to eat with me you thought 'Great, now I have to spend time with him as well.' That would have been... well, rather disheartening."
You choked on another laugh, "No, no, I never thought something even close to that. Most of the time, I was occupied trying not to scream in excitement while figuring out how I could get rid of the glitter or marker on my arms."
He laughed, but his eyes were honest and he held your hand a little bit tighter, "You must know that you are beautiful in every way, especially covered in feathers and gemstones, couch lint, and flour." His head dropped then, his eyes falling to your lips as he took in your smile and the way you struggled to find words.
"I wish I could kiss you right now," he said instead and the regret was audible in his low voice, "But we should figure everything out before I do."
You understood his point, it would be irresponsible to make out - which a kiss would definitely lead to, after all, you were bursting at the seams just thinking about how his lips would taste.
There were the kids, for once, you couldn't know how they would react at seeing the nanny kiss their father without being spoken to first and then, there was the whole thing of him being your boss.
Instead of kissing him, you just nodded. "Of course. Mister Oropherion, I hereby tell you that I plan to resign. It was lovely working for you but this is not where I see myself in a few years."
His face had morphed into the professional that you had met all those months ago in that little restaurant, older yet not by much, less exhausted and happiness in those blue eyes of his that you would spend hours staring into.
Your last name still sounded unfamiliar on his tongue, you had instantly offered your first name for him to use- an order he gladly followed, the only exception being the nicknames you doted on.
"I'll make sure to have the papers ready in the afternoon," Thranduil said in a matter of business, "And there will be a bottle of wine, perhaps? To celebrate?"
You glanced around, making sure that no one was watching before lifting your hands and breathing a soft kiss onto his fingers, relishing the first taste of him.
"I would very much like that"
"Ada!" came the sudden yell of Legolas, and in the blink of an eye the boy ran toward you, coming out of nowhere and the rest of the sentence, whatever Thranduil had wanted to say, never crossed his lips that now spread into a wide smile at the sight of his son.
"Ada, you have to push us on the swings!"
Legolas jumped in front of you, fisting his gloves into your coat and pulling your attention onto him, cheeks all flushed red and blonde hair standing to all sides- he seemed to have lost his hat.
"You can push me and Ada can push Tauriel, and then can we go eat ice cream? There was a boy that said that his mom would buy him ice cream and let him ride the carousel, and–"
Thranduil laughed and raised a hand to smooth down the flyaway strands of hair. "Alright, alright, Las. Lead the way"
The boy immediately turned, tugging you with him at the seam of your coat into the direction of the pair of swings where his sister already waited, her hat lost in the sand as well.
That would be a problem for later, for now, you just followed Legolas and turned your head to see Thranduil catching up to you.
His hand brushed yours as he passed you, his legs much longer than yours and his coat free from the impatient drag of a child.
"Race you!"
There was more laughter echoing over the playground as you and Legolas chased after his father, their blonde hair flying in the wind, sand slipping into your boots, and the red scarf around your neck fluttering.
Later, when the children were asleep in their bed, tugged under their blankets, and exhausted from the day, Thranduil would bring out your contract, ready for your signature of resignation.
He would wait until you sign next to him, the pen just barely lifted from the paper before his lips would capture yours in a soft kiss; his hands resting on your waist as you fall on top of him on the couch.
There would be wine and kisses just as sweet, quiet laughter as to not wake the children, hushed giggles when you would follow him to his bedroom, his hand in yours.
Right now though, you swept up Legolas into your arms and dashed through the sand.
#thranduil x reader#lotr x reader#the hobbit fanfiction#the hobbit x reader#thranduil fanfiction#thranduil x you#lord of the rings fanfiction#lord of the rings x reader#lotr fanfiction#king thranduil#thranduil
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Celebrating Roman Roy’s Birthday Would Include...
Request: OOOOOH i have one if you don't mind. how about hcs for celebrating roman's birthday? cause as we know when it comes to roys there's inevitably Something Traumatic happening on every holiday, i just want him to have a good day with someone who loves him🥺
Love honestly so true he deserves someone to just love him without condition :( I am FEELING
Warning: strong language, implied eating disorder and mentions of childhood mental/physical abuse!
(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @bettercallgerri.)
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
Roman Roy decided very early on the day to make an incredibly sensible decision. For the next twenty three and a half hours, he was going to ignore his phone every time it started vibrating in his jacket pocket, and irritated the skin against his breast. He was going to squeeze his eyes shut, and pick at his fingernails when at one in the afternoon, on the dot, his sister would send exactly the same generic fruit basket for his birthday as she did the previous year. He would crinkle his nose in irritation when the eldest Roy sent him a comic voicemail about how ‘he was still that little pup that threw a fish at him’ during their camping trip, despite his age.
And worst of all, and perhaps the most difficult for Roman Roy, he wasn’t going to feel depressed once about how his father had forgotten his birthday again. Well, not until he received the stereotypical rushed job of a blank card and sloppy signature of his father typed at the bottom the next day, sent as if he were signing a cheque. He wrote it off as being just another transaction: signing away all the love he owed Roman, justifying it as the price one has to pay for success. Only then would Roman allow himself to excuse off to the bathroom for a moment, before curling up into a ball and crying into his knees as he had done for every birthday he could remember.
He just wanted to spend one day: one single, solitary, sought after, scorned day to spend with the one person in his life he had always loved without hesitation. With the only person who truly saw him. Who loved him for who he was right now, and who, you knew, he should be. So, he decided the rest of his family could go fuck themselves for a meagre twenty four hours, while he made the most of snuggling up to you in bed.
Roman’s always been a naturally restive man at heart, and so it wasn’t long until that little goblin smirk of his came peering past the duvet and over your shoulder.
‘You know what?’, he murmured, resting his elbow by his head so he could turn and lie facing you properly. ‘Fuck it. We should just, I don’t fucking know, stay here all day until we have become one with the comforter.’
‘As lovely as that sounds’, you stretch up and groan, slapping Roman’s hand away as he reaches up to tickle under your armpit. ‘I have plans, I’m afraid.’
‘You- fucking- what? You have plans, are you fucking me right now?’ For a second he jumps up, his eyes squinting as he stares at you crestfallen. But then he sees the smile you’re trying to hide twitch at the corner of your lips, and he falls back down onto the mattress unceremoniously. While he reaches around and tries to thump you in the face with his pillow, you take the opportunity to wrestle his arm and loop it around your own. He gladly gives in, settling down next to you again as you continue: ‘I may have plans, but you’re very welcome to join in with them. If you’re nice to me, that is.’
‘I’m always fucking nice to you’, Roman mutters, but he reaches up to accept the kiss you’re trying to place on the side of his stubble. ‘Good’, you turn back to look at the alarm clock on your bedside table, ‘because we have to be up and out in approximately fifteen minutes.’
‘You are full of fucking surprises, you know that? God, I love you.’
Ever since you and Roman were seven years old, and his father had hit him for the first time after sneaking you up the side of his bedroom window for a sleepover his father had strictly forbidden, as he deemed Roman getting up bright and early for his fencing lessons the next morning to be far more important, you had kept a list in your head of all the mundane things Roman had been punished for as a child. Every birthday since then, you tried to strike one off the list, and this year you had decided to plan ahead, and asked Karolina to hire out a park for you a couple of states away for a water fight.
It was silly, and stupid, and childish, but when Roman sauntered into the kitchen after his shower and saw you trying to shove pretty hefty super soakers into your backpack, his face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. Hence the two of you flying off in your own private helicopter, trying to place a little wriggle room between Roman and the rest of the Roys; you felt almost ridiculous for a moment, whizzing past buildings and waving treelines with only a couple of water guns on you, but Roman was gripping onto your fingers so tightly the whole journey that the embarrassment flooded away. The whole time, his foot was tapping against the edge of yours like a wasp’s sting, his bottom lip nearly bloody from how hard he was chewing it. Whether it was from anticipation, or whether he had the foresight to anticipate the abuse he was going to garner from his father for the wasted journey and tabloid pictures you didn’t know. You held his hand back just as tightly, praying for him to have just one happy day.
Thankfully, once you arrived, Roman literally leapt out of the helicopter like some kind of Doberman. He shrugged off his coat and threw it back into the cabin, before rustling in the bag to grab his loot. Before you could even question what he was doing, a chilled gust of water came splatting you straight up the face, and hurtling you backwards. Let’s just say, Roman’s high pitched hyena laugh was heard all around the fringes of the daisy-strewn field, as he went skidding across the blades like a wanted criminal.
Sometimes, you would hold your hands up as if in defeat, and he would come strutting over to you with his gun in the air and one hand on his waist. Stating that you had run out of water, you wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face as he came and tried to pull your hands behind your back. He walked you both backwards until you were pinned against the tree, and although he’s doing his best to look all sexy, and mysterious, and sheriff like as he tries to unlatch your fingers slowly from the triggers, it was a huge mistake. Using the distraction, you pull his own gun from him and pull his shirt forward, spraying water straight down his bare chest.
‘Oh, you fucker!’
If anyone could see the two of you: sprinting about like children in the mud, not caring as bits of wet dirt skidded up and stained your suit shirts. Parading through the flowers, laughter pealing like bells wherever you went. They would think you were free, and perhaps, for a moment, you both were.
At one point Roman comes swinging down from an oak tree and scares the living absolute fuck out of you. For a second he looks afraid: that remnant of his father’s ‘love’ making him feel sick to his stomach, but that is quickly alleviated when you come over and trace down the slight stubble of his neck. Your pointer finger comes to trace up his chin, and then over the top of his lip, before you lean up and gently melt your lips against his awaiting ones.
The two of you decide (once you’ve managed to unlatch spider monkey from you) to swing your legs up over the tree branch and sit up there for a while, like you used to do when you were teenagers sickly sweet in a hidden, reciprocated love. Back in the days when Roman would carry himself, wounded and crying, to trudge around his father’s estate and find wherever your newest hidie-hole from the world was. It didn’t matter if it was underneath one of the neighbouring orchard trees, or out sitting on a lounge chair on his bedroom balcony, or tucked up inside one of the pool sheds, hidden between unused surfboards and half-chewed pool noodles, Roman had a sixth sense when it came to finding you. You, too, always knew he was coming: mainly from the sound of impeding sniffles, and you had your arm out and ready for him to come curl up into. Against his side, he would crest himself like the fallen son, trying to make himself as small a target as possible against your chest.
Sometimes you would tuck a book out from your bag and read to him. Other times, the two of you would just chatter like soft sunlight amidst the dark blots of his father’s pristine possessions. Most of all, Roman would usually fall into an uneasy sleep against your neck, and would only rise again once the irritated call of his newest nanny rang out from the veranda.
It had taken him a while to realise he could feel safe in your arms, rather than just hide away, but when he did, he would rest his head on your shoulder and wish he could stay alone with you forever.
So he was more than delighted to re-enact his favourite parts of his childhood with you, even if he can’t fully settle his whole heart into it. You try your best to seem as nonchalant as ever: leaning your head back until it scratches on the bark, swinging one leg over until it catches the sharp gleam of the cresting mid-afternoon sun. Roman’s hunched over, sitting in between your legs, and although he’s being set alight with some kind of giddiness that he can freely be with you now without having to hide, his body’s response is still set to flight or fight. His fingers dance over your legs like a skimming dragonfly, running over the inseams before landing on your ankles and squeezing.
Becoming over alert of how his eyes keep darting away from you, as if he’s still awaiting the strike he knows is punishment for daring to show love towards anyone, you reach out for him. After an awkward moment of manoeuvring, the two of you manage to reach an agreement on how to sit: you still leaning back, and Roman now lying against your chest, with his legs straight out against the skittish twigs. He looks ethereal against the soft rolls of honey that seemed to drape around the two of you, the crimson burnt fringes of the leaves protecting him from the outside world. And yet Roman still jumps when he feels your fingers brush against the edge of his face, as if you had been trying to burn him.
It’s taken time. It takes time. It will take time. But to you, using all the understanding and patience in the world would be worth it, if it allowed Roman Roy to live. So you just hold him around the waist, and wait for him to become comfortable. You whisper quotes from your favourite books into his ears, and the sky slowly begins to roll over with lavender and a deep blushing maroon, you tell him about the new memes online from Connor’s campaign. He snorts at that, almost twitching awake in your grasp, but you appreciate the way he tries by leaning backwards and languidly blinking, pressing a brushing kiss against your bottom lip.
Before the two of you return home, he decides he wants to see how ‘the peasants live’ by eating in a normal restaurant. Although he shudders at your implication that he’s turning into Cousin Greg, it ends up being one of the happiest dining experiences of his life. Roman had always had a difficult relationship with food: between his mother’s teasing about his looks at the dining table when he was a toddler, to his father smacking him for bad table manners, to every adult dinner party revolving around sub-plots and back-stabbing, he’d found it all difficult to swallow. Being with you, thankfully, made the experience a little easier.
He even found himself laughing when the sushi you had tried to feed him with your chopsticks came flopping down onto the table in a mushed heap of rice and wasabi, and the joy didn’t leave his face as you came up to cradle his face and wipe bits of salmon away from the lines of his lips. The whole time, he was incredibly aware of how carelessly he allowed his knee to rest against your own; he was conscious of how other customers might notice the way he held your hand over the bar stools between courses, but for the first time in his life, he allowed himself the freedom not to care.
One of the waitresses makes a comment about how sweet the two of you look together on the way out, and oh my god does Roman ride that high the whole way back to the park. Cue him being a full peachy, blubbering, hyper mess, with giggles only a dog could hear slipping out of his mouth every ten metres down the pavements.
You give him his present when you get home: you’d collated over the last couple of months some of your favourite pictures, both of you and Roman over the years, as well as full family shots. You had asked Connor, Kendall and Shiv to add some of their favourite memories in the margins of the shots, until the black and white photobook was bursting with neatly looped letters and little drawings of dicks (kindly added by Ken.)
Roman chokes when he sees it. He fists his hand into his mouth, shrugging as his eyes widen, brimming with tears as he flips through the pages. He starts getting over hyper, repeating over and over and over again that ‘yeah, yeah- it’s nice, I like it’, because he thinks it’s some kind of trick. Because he can’t handle the thought of his siblings loving him without some sort of condition. Because just one kind word it’s what he’s been seeking from them his whole life, and your eyes widen in horror as you realise why he’s taking a step backwards. Why his bottom lip is jutting out. Why he looks like a noose is tightening around his neck. You glance down, and you can see it in all the pictures: in every frame, his siblings are looking dead-on, deadpan into the camera, and he’s glancing up at them. In the pictures with you, he’s clearly choking down the love that’s bursting out of his every being as he gazes at you in every. single. one.
It guts you to realise it’s taking you so long to reciprocate just a little of that love that’s been suffocating him his whole life.
He regresses into Logan Roy mode, and it breaks your heart all the more; he wanders over to the cabinet to pour a tumbler of whiskey for the two of you, before settling himself down on the edge of the settee. He pulls out his phone, getting prepared to come back to himself: to scroll through the news channel and chat with you about the events he’d missed while taking a few hours off for himself.
Yet he doesn’t complain when you tenderly take his hand, choosing instead not to let him wallow. You lead him over to one of the armchairs over looking the cityscape, pushing on his chest until he collapses down into it. With a content sigh, he watches you go choose a book from the collection you had curated by the television, before coming back to squeeze yourself in beside him. He’s half sitting on your lap, but neither of you really give a stuff as he winds his arms around your neck and settles against your heartbeat. With his head on your collar bone, and your finger mindlessly drawing patterns in the tufts of hair behind his ear, you begin to read aloud to him. From time to time you peer behind the spine and catch his eye, and it makes you fumble over your words a little when you spot him. He’s gazing up at you as if you were perfection incarnate, and for the first time in his sorrowful life, Roman Roy begins his next year on this planet with one hopeful thought smacking around the inside of his head: perhaps this year, he won’t have to suffer just for being Roman.
#succession#succession imagine#roman roy#roman roy imagine#roman roy x reader#roman roy headcanons#kieran culkin#x reader#succession fanfic#succession fanfiction#kendall roy#shiv roy#logan roy#connor roy
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It happened. Let's talk about it under the fucking cut.
Hello! I am here to regale you with the tale of how my Saturday at Fan Expo went! So it started with how I could not fucking sleep the night before. Fitful, I kept waking up over and over and finally got out of bed before nine. I hung around for a while, did a face mask, painted my nails, showered, got ready and into my fit for the day. We departed slightly after noon and grabbed some food and made our way to Toronto. We get there and park in the usual place and make the couple block hike to the convention centre, the check in process went smoothly and then, it was time to shop around.
We went from the North building to the South building, much more interested in checking out niche’ vendors and artists’ alley, I was in there for less than an hour before I had to break away to run to the photo op. Mr.Bex gives me a kiss on the cheek and told me, “Try not to cum in front of them.”
“Easier said than done!” I called as I run off. Now, last year it took me forever to get back to the North building, so I left with an hour before my time I had to be there. On the way, I see a Ghostface in a very cute almost magical girl outfit, short flouncy skirt and a bedazzled pink mask. I am looking at them, they see me looking, and they give me a pose and a peace sign, I grin and give one back, a super fun moment. I get to the North building and the photo op space in less than twenty minutes. So that means I get to toddle around the dealers floor. I do so, take in some cosplays, contemplate some purchases, they had an old full sized classic Scream one poster for twenty bucks, but I passed on it.
Finally, it’s time to go get into the actual line. I’m in line 13, in the first group for the Matt and Skeet time slot, and I made like six friends while in line. Everyone was very into my outfit, one girl had a tattoo on her arm that said, “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me.” We were all losing it. Another girl was there with her partner and she was in a 600 dollar custom fitted movie accurate Ghostface costume, with the glitter fabric and all, it was shockingly impressive. She especially liked my shirt and was impressed by the fact I made it, and asked aloud, “Why don’t they make shirts like those and sell them?” I laughed and told her, “Well, I’ve considered it, I won’t lie.”
It is a surreal experience listening to this assortment of hot gothy early twenty-something scream fans, many who came from whole provinces away just for this, just to be here for them, talking about how hot they are and how down bad they are while I stand next to them, having written a couple of hundred thousand words about the characters they love in question. I almost told em I wrote fic, almost.
While waiting around, Matt ended up coming out into the line-up space?! There was a fan in a wheelchair, and he wheeled em back personally while chatting them up and giving high-fives, he was five feet from me. The photo op starts late, I don’t care, it’s fine. We scan tickets, drop bags and then are in the same curtained off space as them, they let in small groups at a time to keep it moving smoothly. My heart is fucking pounding. We make it back, there was a family in front of me, their middle kid was dressed as Ghostface and their baby was in a scooby doo onesie and Matt held him for the picture, so cute.
Our especially extra Ghostface friend from the line was right in front of me, and then it’s my turn. I make sure my extra shirt is pulled to the side, Two Boys Are Better Than One proudly displayed, and I move. I greet them with a “Hi!”
Skeet gave me a very cool sounding “Hey” and Matthew made eye contact with me and gave me a polite nod with a, “Hello.” That I can only say was said in a very him way.
I asked, as I was moving in, “Can I be in the middle?”
And Matt had this expression with that sort of half smile he does, brows pinched together as he nods, telling me like it should be obvious, “Oh of course.”
I get in between them, and Matt’s hand is on my shoulder, Skeet’s hand is on my lower back and my hand is on Matt’s lower back and my other hand holding onto Skeet’s side (and fucks sake he is firm.)
I got an extra second because the photographer directed me to lower my head, so I wouldn’t get glasses glare, I assume. I revel in the extra seconds and contact, the picture is snapped, and I break away, without thinking I sort of pat Skeet’s side, and he returns the gesture and tells me, “Good job.”
Skeet fucking Ulrich told me good job.
Bury me now. I am done for.
I get my bag, I get my picture, I get it framed, and I go find Mr.Bex. He and I leave the con, we get back to our car, and then go to a tattoo shop where my friend Mel gave me my You Might Be The Killer tattoo. We drove home, I slammed several slices of pizza, and now I am writing this for you!
It was. Fucking amazing, I loved it so much, it was more than worth every penny. Now I can officially say, I am That Cunt that wore a shirt baring my super pornographic smut fic’s title on my tits while getting a picture with the two guys who inspired it all.
And speaking of inspiration, just you wait to see the fic I am going to write after this.
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the soulmate factory ➥ teaser [sungchan]
➥ teaser word count: 1.3k | full fic: 28.9k
➥ warnings: none for the teaser!
➥ genre: angst heavy at the beginning then fluff, science fantasy au, soulmate au (red string), speculative fiction, star crossed lovers, a little mystery-ish, artist sungchan
➥ estimated release: wednesday, february 14, 2024 6:00 p.m. eastern time
Swiping your badge at the access panel, the door clicked to unlock, and you pushed it open. There were a couple of other matchmakers already in there, who didn’t offer you a single glance or any indication that they were even aware of your presence. Sitting at your station, you were face-to-face with a quaintly archaic-looking computer. Compared to the newest monitors at every desk in the main bullpen, which could display images in a resolution so crisp it was hard to tell the difference between that and real life, the small, square glass and pixelated text that was in front of you seemed so out of place. But this was the system.
Pressing the Enter button on your keyboard, your screen came to life, already giving you your first match.
N!#83LPd5D4ZR$PYQ^KLT6WnY##4GYVm74v^f@96#q#hheeRYgLLf3Ft9KQw
‘Matchmaker’ was a misnomer, really. You didn’t set people up to be soulmates whatsoever. The computer gave you the results, all you did was read them. Take the seemingly random string of letters, numbers, and characters, and parse out the meaning. Your training consisted of watching other matchmakers work, then trying your hand at doing some on your own, being told that you were wrong or right, with no explanation as to why either way—until you stopped getting them wrong. And whenever it would be your turn to train a matchmaker, that would be exactly how you’d train them. Because there was no way to tell them what exactly you were seeing, or how to do it. They just had to do.
The longest part was looking up the profile numbers in the program, selecting them, and sending off the match results. As soon as you submitted that one, your next match came up.
jkD%NVSC3%JCacN%vWS5#k!Z4GqGW#ZfMyqGUfc@wQT5L5vK2uWU5N*5Lg&6
Your body moved as if by itself, in understanding with the machine, the program. The matchmakers often talked about entering a sort of trance when working, becoming one mind with the computer, completely unaware of their surroundings, time, or bodily needs. Only the next match.
That’s why all of your screens had to be simultaneously forced into a shut-off at lunchtime, or else none of you would take a lunch break, then again at the end of the workday.
Blinking a few times to readjust from the hours spent interfacing with the program, you looked around you at the other matchmakers slowly getting up from their seats as well. With a sigh, you stood up and shuffled out after them. Jaemin was still at his desk when you got back to yours, fervently clacking away at his keyboard.
You grabbed your coffee mug, went to wash it out in the breakroom and set it up to dry, then returned to your desk. Swallowing in an attempt to wet your dry throat, you asked him, “So how was your thrilling day of data synthesis?”
“Not over yet,” he groaned, scrolling down in his spreadsheet. “Hey, wait up a minute, would you?”
Checking the time on your watch, you nodded. “My bus doesn’t come for another twenty-five. They let us out early again.”
“Yeah, I heard the Director on the phone to somebody a while ago. He sounded pissed. Apparently, there’s some concerns over the Factory’s energy usage. They must be cutting you guys a few minutes early every day to try to help since you still use old hardware, right?”
“Mm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, could be.”
“You’d think we’d be the one agency that wouldn’t be hit with budget cuts,” he scoffed, clicking a few things before his monitor displayed the login screen again. He spun around in his chair, giving you a wide smile. “Alright, ready?”
“Sure.” You grabbed your backpack from your seat.
Jaemin and you headed down the stairs, awash in pinks and oranges from the sunset streaming in from outside.
“So, I already know what the answer is going to be, but I have to be able to say that I asked, alright?” Your coworker began, making you scrunch up your face in confusion.
“Huh?”
“My sister wanted me to ask if you’ve done hers yet? Na Minhee?”
You sighed, “Jaemin, you know I don’t know any of that—”
“I know—”
“—it’s all just… stuff. And you’ve compiled profiles, those are completely anonymous.”
“I know, I know,” he reassured you. “I just needed to be able to tell her that I asked, and that’s what you said. She wouldn’t take my word for it.”
“She’d know if hers has already been done, anyway.” You held up your hand, wiggling your pinky finger. “Why ask you?”
“Because she’s impatient.”
“Well, I can’t help her.” You shrugged. “It’ll happen when it happens.”
“I’ll tell her that. Thanks!”
“Yeah, no problem, dude.”
“When does your bus come?”
You checked the time again. “Fifteen minutes or so.”
“You want me to wait with you?” He offered, looking around the empty bus stop. “Kind of dark.”
“I’m alright, thanks. Go break your sister’s heart, champ.” You gave him a mock punch on the shoulder.
“Right.” Your coworker shook his head. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”
“See you tomorrow, Jaemin.”
On your own again, you took your phone and headphones out, popping one earbud in your ear as you went to choose your playlist. As you scrolled, tapped, and swiped through your phone to try to pick the perfect song, some fuzz fell from your jumpsuit onto your right pinky finger, and you absentmindedly shook it off as your focus stayed on your music library. But it was stubborn, and the red fleck didn’t budge. You wiped the digit on your pants, eyes on where you had finally gotten the perfect choice, the song starting up as you lifted your now-clean hand back up.
Except it was still there. You looked at your hand for the first time, really looked at it, and felt your stomach drop. A thin, bright red string, the same color as your jumpsuit, was tied around your right pinky finger, just above the juncture where the finger met your hand. The string hung off in the air, becoming transparent and disappearing altogether less than a finger’s length away. You turned your hand over, palm to back to palm to back, and the string moved with it, the end fluttering with each of your movements. Stupidly, you tried to grab it, as if to pull it off, but when you took hold of the silken thread and gave it a yank, it didn’t budge. For a split second, amputation came to mind, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away. There were stories of people losing fingers or entire limbs and their strings reappearing on the other hand, or in new places altogether if they had no hands at all.
You looked around for any of your coworkers. Nobody else except the two people on either end of the string could see it, but you still didn’t want anybody to be observing your behavior, and then have to try to explain said behavior right now. It was easy to explain why you were doing what you were doing—you just got a red string; but not how—you weren’t supposed to get one. Ever.
The area around you was empty, the majority of your coworkers driving, taking the subway, or not having left work yet. You looked over your shoulder, at the pink marble building looming in the distance.
The squeal of brakes and hiss of compressed air as the doors of a bus were flung open made you turn around. Rushing up the steps onto the bus, you then plopped into your usual seat, keeping your backpack on your lap and instinctively tucking your right hand between the bag and your body to keep the string hidden. You didn’t know who could possibly be your soulmate now, you had to be vigilant.
➥ masterlist
#sungchan#sungchan x reader#riize x reader#riize#nct#nct x reader#sungchan imagine#riize imagine#nct imagine#sungchan fluff#riize fluff#nct fluff#jung sungchan#i: sungchan#f: tsf#tsf: teaser#text#mine#writing#bias tag
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Could you write some fluff of my favorite pretty boy deidara? :)
He’s so cutie and I need to see him go on a date and be happy for once
I apologize for my absence loves. It’s been busy and then my health went to shit for a while so I decided to take a break from most of my socials to fully unwind and heal.
But I’m feeling much better and I’m planning on sending out some requests over the next few days. Also, as I’ve mentioned before, I’d love to get some jjk requests in since I recently finished watching the show and would love to add some characters to my write list!
Fluff, deidara x GN reader first date 🫶🏻
•
-the two of you first met when Deidara visited your weaponry shop for a custom order
-the adorable blonde acting stoic but with a hint of pink blush to his cheeks as he ushered out a thanks before leaving
-just like the rest of the akatsuki, he visited monthly for a fresh set of weaponry. Kunai’s, shuriken, sheaths, the usual
-it wasn’t until his fifth time visiting that the words fell from his lips. “Um, want to go dinner sometime?” And of course, you said yes. Giving him a date and time
-the night came, and from hours before, Deidara was in his room, making sure his liner came out nice and nothing was smeared or smudged.
-the same goes for his hair. He brushed it out(multiple times may I add) making sure there were no knots or frizz
-he even annoyed the hell out of poor Sasori. “You sure I look okay?”, “don’t lie to get me to shut up ya know”
-after Sasori, and Itachi’s reassurance. The explosive blonde made his way towards your place. Your address scribbled on a piece of paper in your neat scrawl
-after knocking, he waited patiently, a small bouquet of flowers sitting in his grip.
-Konan was the one to explain that it’s ‘custom’ to bring some sort of small gift, flowers, or even chocolate to a first date
-and coming from a woman, he took her advice seriously. Picking out a beautiful, yet simple flower bouquet. Deidara didn’t want to go over board in case you ended up thinking he was weird, or overwhelming
-his cheeks flushed a bright red when you opened the door. A gentle smile plastered across your face as you gazed up at him. Your hair styled nicely, on top of a casual yet classy outfit
-just like deidara, you didn’t want to go overboard with your clothing. Wanting something comfortable yet stylish, but also sophisticated and casual
-deidara had picked a cozy, family owned restaurant about twenty minutes from your village
-the food was delicious, and filling. The two of you chit chatting about multiple different things. Mostly how it was being a member of the akatsuki and how it was being a blacksmith for rogue ninjas
-as the night wore down, Deidara walked you home. His fingers grazing your hand for most of the walk. It wasn’t until you took the initiative to hold his hand. Yours fitting so perfectly against his
-not minding his mouth hands in the slightest. Bringing you back to the day you two first met and you complimenting them
-“tonight was great, I had fun” deidara would say softly, his voice even but an underlying tone of nervousness was apparent
-despite the two of you having fun on the date, he was scared that you would ghost him, or simply say you weren’t interested in him anymore
-it wasn’t until you stood on your toes, placing a soft peck to his cheek with the words “I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay with you” fell past your lips as you gazed up at him, your two hands holding onto his that he finally relaxed
-“how does next Friday sound?” He asked you kindly, a soft smile etched on his features
-deidara then walked home, a huge smile on his face, one full of pride and happiness as your soft voice echoed in his mind
-“I’d love that, I’ll see you then” repeating over and over in his mind as he approached the compound
-excited to see you once again
#akatsuki#akatsuki members#deidara x you#deidara x reader#deidara headcanon#deidara#deidara fluff#deidara akatsuki
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