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#anyways it’s too early for this shit but is it ever too early to write smut?

brotpqueen · 2 days

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Okay listen I’m working on the next chapter but Gabriel is a bitch to write for. I am neither a man nor an overconfident little bastard (though that last one is debatable) so I don’t relate to him as much as the others which makes writing more complicated. This bitch is tiring. Also as y’all know I have no idea how to write romantic tension, especially not of the enemies-to-lovers variety. Here’s some incorrect quotes while you guys wait (with some lore drops about the AU if you look hard enough). Thanks for being so patient, gang.

Hairdresser: How would you like your hair cut? Beelzebub: Preferably with scissors, but a sword could be badass.

(if you read chapter one you already know my Beez makes terrible decisions about their hair.)

Anathema: I'm at a loss for words! Newt: Despite being ‘at a loss for words’, Anathema yelled at me for the next 45 minutes.

(Newt is the incompetent one in the group but he’s so sweet they keep him around anyway)

Gabriel: There. How do I look? Shax: Like a cheap French harlot. Gabriel: French?!

(Former Cyberbully VS Also Former Cyberbully. At least Shax is creative with it.)

Aziraphale: Crowley, can you help me? All of my clothes keep disappearing for some reason. Crowley, wearing a hoodie that's 5 times bigger than their size: Spooky.

(…Obviously.)

Aziraphale: What the fuck is wrong with you?? Beelzebub: What? No good morning? Aziraphale: Good morning, what the fuck is wrong with you??

(This is literally all of their conversations up until they were like fourteen and Aziraphale gave up on being a good influence and joined in the batshit)

Shax: You're smiling. What happened? Crowley: What? Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Aziraphale: Gabriel tripped and fell down the stairs today.

(They’re the worst brothers ever <3)

Beelzebub: When I was your age- Aziraphale, mocking Beelzebub: When I was your height. Beelzebub: Beelzebub: Listen here you little shit-

(Beez is completely ignoring that Aziraphale is literally like a month older than them)

Hastur: I wouldn’t put it in those words exactly. Newt: Why not? Hastur: Because I don't know what they mean.

(Hastur is a himbo. In this context both affectionate and derogatory. Love ya, ya dumbass.)

The Squad is gathered in the living room for a meeting Maggie: walks in and sits on Nina’s lap The Squad: … Newt: Why are you sitting there? Maggie: There’s no free seats! Newt: But we made sure there was enough room for- Nina: hugs Maggie tightly There are no free seats.

(Nina and Maggie are just here to cuddle and see shit go down tbh.)

Aziraphale: I honestly feel like some of our conversations here are almost word-for-word accurate to the generator. Anathema: Yup. Beelzebub: Maybe the generator is watching us. Aziraphale: Wouldn't that imply this conversation will be added? Aziraphale: … Aziraphale: Wait—

(Never let the smart ones™️ near alcohol they’re existential little fucks already we don’t need a philosophical debate at the campfire)

Shax: Some of us are still ‘it’ from a childhood game of tag. Uriel: Way to just fuck me up on a Tuesday.

(Shax is studying psychology at college/uni SOLELY so she can use it to fuck with people.)

Crowley: We need a plan to beat them. Aziraphale: Okay, listen up. First, we fill their shoes with wet cat food. Crowley: Aziraphale: Judge me all you want, I get results.

(And people say Bee is a bad influence. Really! He’s much better at being a devious little shit now, so I’d call that a good influence!)

One of the campers: running towards Beelzebub with open arms Beelzebub: moves out of the way One of the campers: Hey, why'd you move?! Beelzebub: I thought you were going to attack me. One of the campers: I was going to hug you! Beelzebub: Why would you hug me? One of the campers: WHY WOULD I ATTACK YOU!?

(They have issues okay. Stay tuned for that shit show!)

Shax: I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally.

(She’s the worst I love her.)

Beelzebub: It’s too early in the morning for this. sent at 11:57 AM

(Aziraphale at many points throughout the years since they chose their name: your name is Beelzebub not Belphegor. Get up and go eat.)

Crowley: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities. Crowley, playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

(He looses all morals when it comes to board games. Also shut up Crowley your mother is like as rich as God…almost literally.)

Hastur: Hey, Aziraphale you're smart, tell me what would happen if I chugged 3 gallons of chloroform. Aziraphale: Have you ever been to a mortuary? Hastur: Yea, my grandma lives there. Uriel: That is the worst response to that question.

Aziraphale: I literally cannot believe I let you talk me into this. Beelzebub: I literally said “I have an idea,” and you just went along with it without question.

(This is just their entire dynamic in this fic. Literally. This is how they end up in so many situations™️)

Beelzebub, to Nina: You know, Gabriel can be really aggressive, so it's important to take all the necessary precautions when approaching. Beelzebub: blows airhorn at Gabriel GET FUCKED!

(They’re still in the enemies stage of enemies-to-lovers…Also Crowley approves this method.)

Beelzebub: I've met a lot of pricks in my time, but you, Gabriel, are a fucking cactus.

(Wait why is that just something I would have them say.)

Uriel: We need to distract these guys. Shax: Leave it to me. Shax: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss. The smart ones™️: immediately begin arguing

(More psych student Shax knowing her friends eerily well! She’s a nightmare!)

Gabriel: What have I done wrong?! Crowley: Everything. For your entire life.

(They are in SEVERE need of character development…shame no one around here is doing that. *whistles totally inconspicuously, definitely not ignoring the WIP that’s open in my notes right now*)

Maggie: Which country has the most birds? Maggie: Portu-geese! Uriel: That's a language. Maggie: Portu-gull? Uriel: Good recovery. Newt: I think you mean good re-dovery. Anathema: TURKEY. HOW DID WE MISS TURKEY?

(This is what’s happening while the MCs are off doing MC shit)

Crowley: We’re going to have to split up, like in Scooby Doo. Crowley, to Newt and Hastur: You guys are Scooby and Shaggy. You can search the bathrooms. Crowley, to Aziraphale: Velma, you get the spooky looking fridge in the basement. Aziraphale: What? Why am I Velma? And why do I get the… dubious looking device? Crowley: Because only Velma would say “dubious device”. Aziraphale gets the spooky fridge in the basement. Gabriel: And what does that make you, Fred? Crowley: Bitch, I’m Daphne.

(The real reason Crowley and Gabriel hate eachother so much is that there’s only room for one dramatic little bitch in their family and they both think it should be them.)

Maggie: I'm not superstitious… But I am a little stitious.

(My underrated queen!)

Hastur: I know where you live. Uriel: Where? Hastur: In a house.

(Uriel spends half of their time at camp facepalming. This is what they get for being normal in a sea of weirdos.)

Okay that’s it for now see y’all soon hopefully with the next chapter!

#camp armagetalong #Good omens 2 #Good Omens AU #Beelzebub Good Omens #Good Omens Beelzebub #Aziraphale #Crowley #Anthony J Crowley #Also literally everyone else I don’t have the energy to tag #Ineffable Bureaucracy #Ineffable Husbands #Aziracrow

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allalrightagain · 8 months

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Accidentally woke up (and got up, and got ready for work) a whole hour early, so now I’m chilling on my couch eating a muffin and trying to decide if I have the brain cells for writing yet.

#apparently I do not know my numbers yet #since I mixed up 5:15 and 6:15 #anyways it’s too early for this shit but is it ever too early to write smut?#LT talks

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allurilove · 22 days

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Yandere Classmate x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Headcanons of stalking, obsessive behavior, unhinged man lowkey, sexual fantasies, perverted and lewd behavior, stealing, male masturbation, gender neutral reader, grumpy x sunshine,

*He has no name, and is only referred to as “your classmate” his only existence is to be obsessed with the reader, and without you, he ceases to exist. This yandere classmate is different from the other one I have wrote about. Here is the second part! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: You wish on a shooting star for a boyfriend. Your classmate has an unhealthy obsession with you, he’s almost entranced, and he follows you around like a lost puppy. He doesn’t know what you have done to him, but he won’t let you go. No, he’ll hunt you down and make sure you’ll stay with him forever.

When you wished to be in a relationship with a man that was utterly obsessed with you— joking or not joking— the universe heard you loud and clear.

It was like he was here on earth just to be with you. Every single part of his body was screaming, clawing, and dragging his feet towards you. It was hard to get close, and near damn annoying that you were surrounded by your friends all the time.

Your classmate was entranced the moment you walked past him, and whenever you did and he heard your sweet laugh… his legs immediately made him get up from his spot to follow you.

You were just the sweetest being he has ever seen. Always nice and kind to others, even if they didn’t deserve it. He felt like he had a responsibility to protect you from assholes that would take advantage of you.

He began to follow you around. Listening in to your conversations, and he would take mental notes of what would make you laugh. He was determined to make you smile, to make you laugh harder than that fool in front of you.

He gave up on his education to pursue you. I mean he was learning… just happened to skip some of his classes to sneak into yours. You were a more interesting subject anyways. He would sit somewhat far away, and switch it up every time. He didn’t want you to notice him, not yet anyways.

Your classmate really wanted to sit next you, or maybe offer to buy you lunch. When you went to the bathroom, and left your cup on the table, there was a faint lip mark on it. He gulped, his hand slowly reaching for it. If he couldn’t kiss you soon, this was the next best thing. He pressed his lips where yours were previously, his tongue flicking the rim. He savored your saliva, and out of adrenaline he decided to keep the cup all together.

Whenever you were gone, or didn’t come to school that day, he had to visit your locker. It was after gym class, and no one was around as he leaned in to sniff at the little vents. Your scent had been brewing in there for a couple of hours, and he groaned.

He desperately tried to lap up every scent — he inhaled and licked the air— his hands palming the tent in his shorts. If only he knew your locker combination.

Your classmate pulled his shorts down, and his boxers followed suit. He finally freed himself from his confinements, and he rubbed his hand up and down his length. He masturbated at the thought of you often. He only needed an image of you, a scent, or an item of yours. Either way, his dick would be in his hands, twitching and cumming.

When he wasn’t stalking you and literally trying to learn everything about you, he took the liberty to primp himself. He wanted to look good for you after all. He would wake up early, shave and even wax his body clean of body hair, cut his nails, and do shit to his cuticles. He went to the barbershop and got a new hair cut, and made sure his face was clean and shaven. If that wasn’t your thing he would grow it all out.

He was a bit hesitant to do much with his lower body. But he sucked it up and made sure to trim down there too. He wasn’t used to shaving, and had to buy a couple of bandaids. A sanrio bandaid near his crotch.

And he realized he was deeply out of shape. Shit. When you were running on the tracks, so was he. He had to hold his breath to hide his deep and hard breathing. He soon found out he shouldn’t have done that.

You came over to him after he briefly passed out cold on the ground. He slowly opened his eyes, and you came into the view, and he saw a tiny bit up your shorts. That was enough for him to go into a frenzy.

He bought all of the fruits he could find, he read on the internet that the best way to eat someone out, and practice, was to use fruit. The peaches juices were dripping down his neck as he continued to tongue, and devour the hole. He imagined that he was on the ground and you were sitting on his face, his arms would lock you down onto him, making you put your full weight on him. Suffocate him for all he cares, he just wanted to hear you say his name. Or at least acknowledge that he exists.

He isn’t popular like you are, but he has his own group of friends. And by friends, he means your siblings. The only natural way to get close to you, was through your family after all. Plus, if you two were to get married, he already had an in with the family.

It also meant he could see your room. He snuck away for a minute to examine where you slept. He slowly knelt down, his hips aligned with corner of the mattress, and he digs his face into your sheets. His hands gripped the soft plush of your blanket, his cock rubbing against the corner. He whined as wanted more, he just wanted to bury himself deep inside you, and feel your warmth around him. He bets that it would feel like heaven.

Your classmate quickly retracted as he felt a tiny wet spot growing on his pants, his face flushed as he sat back down onto his ass. When he does so, his hands land on a piece of fabric. Out of instinct his hands curl around it and he picked it up, he inspected it and his eyes widens. Your underwear. In his hand.

His hand was tightly gripped around his mouth and the other was around his cock. His back was arched and he locked himself away in your bathroom. He loved the feeling of your underwear rubbing on his tip, and his hips snapped against his hand. He closed his eyes and he imagined you were giving him a handjob instead. Fuck, he just needed to smell you instead. He smelled your underwear, as he climaxed, his cum dribbling on the floor.

When you applied for college, he did too. He found out every single one you wanted to go to from your siblings. He got waitlisted. You got accepted. It wasn’t even a straight up rejection, it wasn’t a yes, and it was just a damn maybe.

He winced, his eyes almost closing as he smiled for the picture. It turned out alright and he paid the fee. A couple of months later, he got his passport in the mail. He booked his flight, and he lied right to your face. He convinced you to get an apartment with him instead of going to a dorm, and he followed you around campus, even though he doesnt have a single class there.

Allure: This is a bit of a different format from how I usually write, and idk how to feel about it lol!

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again?

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad.

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good.

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi?

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous.

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there.

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know.

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger.

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage.

— You’re too young to stop believing in it.

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir.

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him.

— Could you two please stop fucking each other?

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space.

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement.

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time.

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge.

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention.

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention.

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something.

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son.

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing.

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends.

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore.

— I’m not in the mood right now.

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul.

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other.

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did.

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts.

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife.

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you.

— I’m not dumb!

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly.

— You just call me a different type of dumb.

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter.

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this.

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street.

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week.

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir?

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him.

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good.

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer.

— I wanted to study.

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house.

— You mean you and your ex’s house.

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again.

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again.

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying.

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions.

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s.

— Why you need a job?

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money.

— You have me.

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir.

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost.

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone.

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later.

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #yandere cod #cod x you #fem reader #konig cod #konig x you

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 month

Text

could be

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

this ficlet is brought to you by @iamasaddie's writing challenge! my assigned color was "pretty clicker" (which tbh idk if we needed to include the color but I did anyway lol).

genre: pwp (I tried my best) prompt: "whoa, that's a new one."

words: 1.7k

summary: jackson is not your home. joel miller is not your boyfriend. but they could be.

warnings: pwp, oral (m&f receiving), handjob, fingering, joel and reader are astoundingly bad at emotions, a few playful spanks, tommy makes an off-screen cameo, old man joel my beloved, antics, absolutely no proofreading or beta reading whatsoever rip sorry

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Whoa, that’s a new one,” drawls the man as he steps out of the shadow of the copse. “ If it ain’t the prettiest little clicker I’ve ever seen.”

You scowl, tugging the hat off, boot scuffing the dirt as you grind the frustration of being caught out into the soil. It gives with some difficulty, the late autumn’s early frost already turning the ground to stone. “Shut up, Joel,” you mutter.

“That always work for ya? How haven’t you gotten shot yet?” He says, jerking his head down at the ball cap you’ve adorned with the decapitated clicker’s face.

(Or should you say disembodied? Dessicated? Desecrated? Whatever, you cut the fucking mushrooms off a dead fucker and stuck them on a hat. The terms don’t matter.)

“Yep. Not too many fools out here who will go looking for a clicker when they hear one.”

“It’s a good impression, darlin’, but it’s not quite enough to trick me.” He’s drawn close, maybe too close, and curls two fingers under your chin, drawing your gaze to his grizzled face.

You roll your eyes. “You a clicker whisperer or something?”

His lips curl. “Not quite, no.” He lets his hand fall from your chin, and you watch it go.

When you look back up at his face, you’re caught. Trapped. His grin is solemn, as if he, too, feels the snare.

“You got somewhere to stay tonight?” he says, instead of acknowledging the way you’ve drawn a breadth closer.

“Sure do,” you drawl.

He chuckles. “Alright, keep your secrets. But, uh—my back ain’t what it used to be, so the forest floor ain’t gonna work for me today.”

Your lips curl. “Presumptuous, are we?”

“You’re lookin’ at me like a piece of meat, sweetheart.”

“Well, ain’tcha?”

“Guess you must be desperate, then, ‘f’you’re back for an old man like me.”

“Guess so,” you hum and give in. “How d’you always find me?”

“Hmm, don’t you worry ‘bout that, alright? All you gotta know is that I do always find you, and I’ve got some of Tommy’s peanut butter cookies in my bag for ya.”

“My hero,” you press one hand over your heart while the other makes the universal ‘gimmie’ gesture at his backpack.

“Could be, y’know,” he mumbles.

You both ignore the slip. He rifles around in the bag and pulls out a tin. You try to snatch it from him, but he pulls away with a wagging finger.

“Nope, not yet,” he says with a teasing lilt, his drawl drawing out. He hands you one precious sweet and tucks the rest back into his bag. “If I give it to you now, you’ll just run off, and then what’ll I have?”

“A sense of satisfaction from being kind?”

You share a laugh at your joke as he leads you not to the safe “house” but up to the old, creepy lodge you avoid like the plague. Or. Well. Like the Infected.

“Calm down, I already cleared it,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s got a real bed, though, sweetheart, so I can take my time with ya.”

“You mean so you don’t break a knee fuckin’ me over a log?”

“It didn’t break. Jesus. How old do you take me for?”

“Old as shit,” you mutter.

He just grins.

“What?”

“Nothin’. You just get brattier the longer you’re away. Ain’t got any good cock back home?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, but it’s close to the truth. There’s cock back home, sure, but then you’d have to fuck one of those losers, and you just know Joel’s ruined you.

Ruined you with intent and precision, and now he’s taking you by the hand and leading you up into the lodge’s dusty halls and into what must have once been a nice guest room.

You whistle. “Did you clean this just for me?” You ask, batting your lashes.

“If I say yes, you gonna be sweet for me?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I was.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, lying down on the bed with his hands behind his head. “So get your ass up here.”

You quickly shimmy out of your sweats and climb up to straddle him, but his grin splits wider in a lecherous stretch.

“You think I brought you here for you to ride me? Y’can do that shit in the woods. Get up here.”

You hesitate. “I live in a fucking camp, Joel.” The “without running water” bit is obvious but unspoken.

“I do not give a shit,” he says bluntly. “Get up here.”

“Your funeral,” you say with a shrug, and let him help you settle over his face. You’re barely steady when he grabs your hips and pulls, bringing you to meet him.

It’s been… longer than you can even remember, and oh shit. Either your memory hasn’t done this justice, or the last man to eat you out was fuckin’ terrible because this is nothing like you’ve ever known.

But he doesn’t dive in and rush it. He doesn’t go straight to sucking on your clit; he doesn’t push three fingers into your cunt to work you open for his cock.

Oh, no. You’ve been had, you think. This setup was an elaborate trap to wipe your mind clean and replace everything with thoughts of him. He’s brought you here to the second closest place of safety he knows so he can take his fuckin’ time with you.

His hands are gentle on you, and he nuzzles into your mound to part your folds, his wide nose pushing between to seek out his prize. The tip of his tongue pushes out to help, tracing the tiny slit of your cunt. At the first taste of you, he groans, drawn out and filthy.

“Shit,” he pants, hot breath scattering across the soft peaks and valleys. “It’s been too goddamn long.” He seems to be talking to himself, which is good because you can’t wrangle more than a tangled gasping whimper in response.

He brings his hands up underneath you to grip your inner thighs, pulling to spread you more so he can watch you start to glisten. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, nuzzling back in to lap it up. “Mmm, baby, is all this for me?”

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t shut up,” you mutter, even though you’re addicted to his filthy mouth most of the time.

“Shut me up then,” he says in a way you simply cannot refuse.

You grind down on his face, expecting protest, but he moans in a way you can only classify as slutty. He buries his face between your thighs with a growl and gets to work.

You can barely hold yourself up after the first orgasm he coaxes from you, all powerful tongue and gentle lips.

“Y’ain’t quittin’ on me, are ya?” He taunts.

“I thought you were gonna shut up.”

He smacks your ass. “Turn around.”

When you do, he pushes you down to lay on him. “Get nice and cozy with my cock, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

You take the invitation but before you can pull him free from his jeans, he’s diving back into his personal all you can eat buffet and showing no sign of slowing.

Eventually, you manage to pry his ridiculous monster cock from its denim confines and try, really try, to focus on it, but it’s so hard (you giggle as you tell him) when he keeps doing that thing with his teeth and your clit. After the third time, you find yourself just moaning and drooling around it; you give up and rest your head on his thigh, content to hold it in your hand and lick.

He spanks you again. “Don’t be a tease.”

You try to protest, but he bests you by attempting to suck your soul out of your clit while hammering two thick fingers against your g-spot, and it’s all over for your brain. Poor thing never stood a chance against Joel anyway.

You squirm away from the menace when he attempts to keep going and smack him in the face with a pillow when he whines. He wipes his beard on it and throws it back at you.

You can’t hold back your questions now that you’re back up and running. “How d’you have the time for this?”

“Hmm?” Joel grunts, a hand tugging lazily at his dick while he surreptitiously slides his hand down the length of your thigh and back up.

You turn on your back, swatting his hand away. “You’re usually in a rush.”

He turns a little pink. “Don’t matter.”

“Uh, it clearly does. I’m asking.”

“Well, it’s nunya.”

You groan. “Think I liked it better when you were too busy eating me out to talk.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

You throw the cum-stained pillow back at him but miss by an embarrassing overshot. It arcs over him and into the floor between his side of the bed and the wall.

You shrug. “Gone forever,” you say and throw an arm over your eyes dramatically.

It’s a good thing, too, since the pillow hits you in the face.

“I’m on watch here,” he says once you stop screeching indignantly.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it,” you let him know solemnly.

“Ain’t alone. M’brother—Tommy,” he clarifies unnecessarily, “S’here too. He’s got it handled.”

“Oh my god, did you ask your brother to cover for you so you could get laid?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Aw, Miller. You really know how to make a girl feel special,” you drawl.

He plays it off with another eye roll and scoffs, but the thing is—you know. He stopped asking you to think about moving to Jackson a long time ago. But slowly, he’s been taking you closer and closer to town when you meet up.

And you’re pretty sure he’s using Tommy’s cookies as a reward. Each time he lures you closer, he brings more treats the next time. You’d be mad at the absolute gall, but… it’s not not working, so you only have yourself to blame.

When you catch his eye again, he makes a point to hold your gaze and draw it down to his leaking cock, and you know he knows. You won’t go with him, so he’ll have you here. Jackson is not your home. But that quiet drawl in your head that sounds unnervingly similar to the man sprawled before you whispers, it could be.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #fic: joel drabble #fic: could be

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capacityfornirvana · 10 days

Text

”Tommy can only be a stepping stone for Buck. Buck needs to explore his sexuality more, before settling down, especially if it’s with a man.”

Whoa, the biphobia is strong with this one. You also wouldn’t be saying this if Eddie had been Buck’s first same-sex partner, let’s keep it transparent here.

“Tommy ending his first date with Buck early is a sign that Tommy is rude and doesn’t care.”

No, it’s a sign that Tommy is a grown ass man who isn’t afraid to advocate for himself and call a spade a spade.

Buck was all over the place during that first date. He was also rude and inconsiderate. But that’s alright, because going out with a man was something completely new to him, and it’s understandable that he struggled to navigate that, especially when his best friend, who he wasn’t out to yet, showed up out of the blue.

But… that doesn’t mean Tommy is in any way obligated to be okay with that. He has every right to observe that things aren’t going well, and he has every right to (correctly) determine that Buck wasn’t ready (at least, at that moment), and remove himself from the equation.

He also extended a lot of grace by finishing dinner and letting Buck down gently outside. And furthermore, he extended a lot of grace by agreeing to meet Buck after the fact, let him explain and advocate for himself—and then take him at his word— and even agree to be his date at his sister’s wedding. That should all speak for itself, but some people are committed to winning those gold medals in selective amnesia and bitter nitpicking.

“Tommy couldn’t get a day off for his date’s wedding? WOW, yeah, what effort….”

Tell me you’ve never worked without telling me you’ve never worked, especially in a public safety job like firefighting. And tell me you have no realistic concept of what being ‘on call’ entails… because you don’t (and if you do, then, congrats! You’re at the bitch eating crackers level of angry and petty when it comes to Tommy). And yet, Tommy still showed up. To the bachelor party, and to the hospital after a long and brutal shift. Would you look at that! And Buck, being the adult man he also is, noticed that, appreciated that, loved that.

“Tommy couldn’t even dress up? WOW, what effort.”

Now you’re just desperate to hate a character. And if that’s the best you’ve got, you already lost. And let’s be honest, you don’t actually give a shit about this. If Eddie had been the one to not dress up, you would be showering him with praise about how ~quirky~ he is, or how Buck loves him anyway because ~it’s Eddie~, and “they don’t need something as silly as themed clothing to gauge how unbreakable their relationship is!” Yeah.

“B-but! Tommy was rude about Buck’s coffee order!”

If something like that genuinely upsets you and feels like grounds to determine that someone doesn’t care/is not a good partner, then… I’m genuinely sorry, and I hope that you develop a healthier perspective, and get to partake in fulfilling adult relationships as you advance forward in life. That’s all.

In conclusion…

It’s a good thing some of you don't write the show. And it’s a good thing you’re not Buck, who seems completely smitten and quite arguably the most content he’s ever been while with a partner. Because unlike some of you, Buck is an experienced, generally mature adult, who is capable of recognizing and appreciating when someone makes an effort while still having to navigate real world concepts like work and communication and just general adulthood. You’ll have to navigate all of that, too, and I hope you try to do it with some actual perspective.

#911 abc #bucktommy #text

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undercovercameron · 11 months

Text

sunspent

summary: you're relaxed and calm in the obx summer heat, and rafe simply cannot have that.

notes: filthy filthy filthy! sorry not sorry bout it. also minor obx 3 spoilers; ie his parents are on that damn island and its just him in their big ole house. semi public sex kink and def a choking kink beware or be scared! i truly cannot write anything without that damn hand around reader's throat.. that's my b. enjoy! also thank you so much for all the love on my fics and the followers... so excited for all i will write in the future and so incredibly full of love from you guys <3

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2542

The whole day had been perfect.

You woke up around 9:30, brushed your teeth, and went downstairs to have some oatmeal. By 10:30 you were in a bikini and setting out a towel on the back deck.

The sun was fairly hot, but the early warnings of a storm gave a cooler breeze. Your towel was in the perfect spot between the shade where you could get full sun coverage without moving too much.

Gentle music was playing from your speaker, something that sounded like what your mom listened to in highschool, and a couple vodka seltzers laid unopened in a small cooler for you to enjoy later. You were also halfway through a mystery book, and between the pages of every chapter you let the time drift away from you.

The most relaxing part of the start of your day? Rafe had left the house around 9 and had yet to return by the time you cracked open your seltzer at 1 o’clock. No ranting, no typical Rafe-isms— just sunshine and Paula Abdul. You wished he was able to do this with you.

It was so relaxing that you drifted off to sleep a little more than halfway through your drink, head resting on your folded arms.

“Y/N.” Something rigid and distinctly shoe-like nudges your arm. “Baby.”

You just groan and turn over onto your back, arms following to protect your eyes from the sunlight.

“Hi,” you croak, squinting, and peer up at him. He looks like the Statue of Liberty in this light— if the statue of liberty wore light wash jeans and slutty little beer brand t-shirts. (So on brand for him.)

“How long have you been out here?” He asks, bending to pick up what’s left of your seltzer for one final swig.

“Since like 10:45.” Your face breaks in a yawn and your arms fall to the deck as your eyes get used to the light. A smile creeps onto your face. “What’ve you been doing?” You sit up on your hands, scanning his body. He looks kinda sweaty.

“Um,” he starts, scratching at his forehead with a sigh. “Buncha shit. Went into a couple places to close Ward’s accounts with them—oh, I saw your mom at Cold Stone by the way.”

“Why were you at Cold Stone?” You grin, crossing your legs and pushing at his calf with your foot. He makes an innocent face, hands on his hips. He looks to the trees, playfully exasperated.

“Sometimes I need a milkshake, Y/N. What kind of question is that?” You snort. “Anyway— I think we should go out for dinner. It’s getting to be—shit, it’s almost 4.”

You’re silent, save for some puny, whiny noise you make at the mention of going out. You struggle to get up, a little wobbly on your feet, but Rafe catches you and hauls you up with a hand on your waist.

“What?” He brushes the wispy hairs out of your face. “You don’t want to go out?” He searches your face, blue eyes squinting down at you, and you just pout. In the most mature way a 20-something can when faced with leaving her very rich boyfriend’s very nice house who has asked her to stay with him graciously for the very near future while his parents are retired on some island in the middle of the ocean.

You curl a finger around the collar of his t-shirt, playing with it while you formulate an answer.

“Where would we go?” Is what you settle on, ever the people pleaser.

“I don’t know…” Rafe thinks, gaze drifting from you as he chews at his lip. You wind your arms around his shoulders, hands splayed across his wingspan. You pet the skin of his neck with your thumb, warm all over. You’re content just looking at him forever.

“What if I’m hungry now?” You ask, ever so innocently, and Rafe thinks you’re serious until he catches the look on your face.

“That right?” He grins, hand sliding down your back. He grabs at your ass and you squeak. “How hungry? Wait until after dinner?” He’s just teasing you honestly; it’s almost a hobby to see how desperate you get for him.

“Rafe.” You pinch his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

He just hums noncommittally, and dips to press a kiss to your neck. You shift up onto your tiptoes, wanting to be closer, and he hikes one of your legs up onto his hip. You can’t help the noise you make.

“Rafe,” you breathe, grabbing at him. “We have to go inside.” He bows forward, dangling you towards the wood of the deck, and you just hold tighter onto his shoulders.

“Why?” He murmurs, lost in your taste, and presses a kiss to your mouth that makes you shiver. “I don’t see why we have to.” He falls into a kneel, bringing you with him, and you suck in a surprised gasp. “Nobody’s around.”

“Somebody could be, baby,” you say, chancing a look around, and huff out a sigh when he lays you onto your back. This man.

“I don’t care,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world before following you down.

This bikini might be his favorite. He likes anything that will leave as little to the imagination as possible, but this one is his favorite shade of blue. Almost matches his eyes.

Your warm skin feels like silk on him, and when you wriggle when he presses a hand to your inner thigh, his dick jumps.

“Relax, Y/N,” he breathes. You roll your eyes.

“How can I, Rafe? You’re so—aggravating.” You huff. He’s still wearing his shirt, too. You tug at the sleeves of it.

“Oh, yeah?” He cocks his head, lips pursed. You just nod, pulling again at the fabric of his shirt. “Why’re you so wet, then?” He fumbles with the buckle of his jeans and your eyes lock on it.

“I’m not.” You look back up at him, self-assured to a fault, and try to will the dampness between your legs away. He just stares down at you, unimpressed. “I-I’m not.” Your thighs close.

“That right?” He murmurs, and wrestles your legs open again with an arm. His fingertips brush the crotch of your bottoms and you jolt, breathing hard out your nose. He lifts your hips and pulls them clean off, tossing them to the side.

He’s silent then, gaze locked between your legs, and he carefully guides your legs back until you can grab them by the back of your thighs and keep them out of his way.

“Not wet, my ass,” he murmurs to himself. His thumb rubs at your clit, and your sigh of pleasure ends in an impatient whine. He spits. “This pussy—,” he starts, but can’t finish.

He just bows and gets his mouth on you like he’s been thinking about since he left the house. Your head slams back against the deck almost immediately.

His large palm flattens to the back of your thigh and pushes your leg even further. The muscle strains but you can handle it.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue pushes hard through your folds. You’re really fucking wet. You wonder briefly if it’s because of how hot it was today, then cast that out of your mind completely when you hear Rafe groan. Your body vibrates with it.

His hands suddenly drag you by your hips, closer to his face, and he hums again.

“Taste so fucking good,” he muses, spitting at you, and glances up at your face. You can barely keep your mouth closed like this. “Brat, lying to me.”

You whine, every second of him talking taking his mouth away from where it so desperately needs to be absolute torture, but settle when his thumb begins tracing circles into your clit.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, back arching and leg muscles straining, and Rafe just laughs into your cunt.

“I will,” he murmurs, and you would roll your eyes if you could— but he pushes two fingers into you. His thumb spurs back into motion as you sing, throat already sore. He knows exactly where and when to curl his fingers, and you let him know right there is where they need to be.

“There you go.” He spits a third time, watching it mix with your slick. “Squeezing me so tight, honey,” he assures you, smoothing a hand down your thigh. If you could find words you’d agree.

You manage a “yes, shit,” before you go mute and your eyes roll back into your head. You squeeze around him like a vice, your legs flooding with warmth, and he fingers you through your orgasm. He can’t pull himself away when you get like this— you’re so soft and warm and perfect that he genuinely wonders if he could ever fuck someone else again. He knows the answer is no.

Your abdominal muscles spasm and jolt as you come down, neck straining to look at where his fingers give you a final stroke and find their way to his mouth.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you half-laugh and half-moan, head falling against the deck. You chest heaves as you catch your breath. “This is embarrassing.”

“What?” He says, voice hushed, and presses a kiss to your mouth. “Being on the deck or how quick I can make you cum?” He grins.

This time you can and do roll your eyes.

“Both,” you sigh, legs falling to their place around his hips. You curl up into a sitting position and pet his arm, coming back to reality. He smells like sunshine. “But you still haven’t fucked me yet.”

Your fingers trail down to his jeans, fingertips ghosting over his zipper. He hums in agreement, eyes following. You play with the button for a second, just wanting to tease, but pop it and unzip the fly.

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” You ask, reaching up his shirt to feel his hot skin. “That time on the beach,” you purr, voice hushed and eyes wild.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip and sits back on his ass, taking you with him in his lap. Your knees bend and you sit comfortably on the seat that is only yours. “You thinking about my hand?”

“Mhm.” You lean and kiss at his cheek, trailing down to his jaw. “And something else.” You dig a hand down into his boxers and curl your fingers around his dick.

He’s hot and almost slippery, so hard you’re sure it’s painful. Your wrist slides against the tip and his hand on your ass curls into a fist.

You lean back, wanting to see his face, and watch as your touch washes over his body. He blinks rapidly, eyes focusing, and you smile sweetly.

It’s then that you shift into your knees, hand squeezing his dick, and sink down onto him.

His fingers fly up to your strained face and grasp your neck, immediately tight around your throat. Not tight enough to suffocate, but tight enough for your pulse to quicken.

Exactly what you’d imagined.

“You like that?” He pants, breath fanning over your cheek when you turn slightly and grip his shoulder for stability. You just nod and circle your hips.

His thumb on your chin guides your face back to his, wanting to see you fall apart, and you make a whiny noise. He feels where it starts and ends between his fingertips.

You ride between the strain of his hand around your throat and the movement of his body, head tilted back and mouth wide. Your fingers grip his shoulder and bicep as you ride.

It’s a difficult job, balancing the rhythm of your hips with the ache blooming from the muscles in your thighs, but you make it work.

You hear the bashfully whiny groans he’s exhaling into your ear and you make it work.

“You feel so good,” you whisper hoarsely as his hold tightens, chin tilting towards the sky. He grits his teeth and pushes his hips up into yours.

You scramble to grab onto his forearm and hold back your shriek.

The tightness of his fingers around your throat blur the lines of pleasure and pain, making it hard to catch a deep breath and ride him at the same time.

“Fuck, harder,” he stutters, almost whispering, and you nod furiously. Your thighs meet his lap, over and over with a noise that makes you blush even more than you already are, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises or at the very least a red mark.

He releases your throat and anchors himself with your hip and the small of your back, and when you finally gasp for air at the loss of his pressure on your neck he uses all his lower back strength to wedge himself deep into you.

You know you’ll have bruises there.

You push hard against his forearm as your back arches and the tension in your lower abdomen comes to a peak. Your toes curl where they are at his side.

Your vision comes in and out of focus as you cum again, blood white-hot in your veins. The climax is almost numbing. Addicting.

At this point you have no idea the noises you’re making, probably all gibberish and definitely humiliating, but the rushing in your ears is too much.

Rafe shudders and groans loudly into your ear, spending himself inside of you with a grunt, and you follow him as he falls back into the deck. You catch yourself with a palm on the sun scorched wood.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, heart pounding and chest heaving. Sweat coats his buzzed hair in a shiny sheen, and your whole body is so sticky you feel like you could peel the layer of perspiration off of your body.

His hands still lazily hold your waist and they begin their ascent to your neck. He feels your pulse with the space between his thumb and forefinger, and his face splits into a grin at the feeling.

“I definitely am going to need some food after this.” You push yourself back up into a sitting position and put your hands on your hips as you finally catch your breath.

He looks so beautiful, half in the shade and half in the sun. Laid out beneath you. Still inside. Like some kind of god.

The hot sun is in his eyes, and his body is numb with the tension spent in his muscles. Rafe half wonders if his dick is still fucking there.

He barely feels when you crawl off of him and stumble into standing. He jerks up into a sitting position, that familiar ache in his back present, and grabs for your leg. He winces at the stretch. You should really be paying his chiropractor bill.

“Where are you going?” He accuses, voice scratchy in his throat.

“I need to shower, baby.” You bend to pick up your bikini bottoms. “We’re going to dinner, aren’t we?” You smile and turn back around to go inside, ass bare and a huge red mark in the shape of a large hand curved around the trunk of your throat.

Yeah, drive-up it is.

#obx #obx 3 #obx 3 spoilers #rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #obx x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron imagine

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itsonlydana · 2 months

Text

"Can you meet me halfway (I'll meet you halfway" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

you went out clubbing on new years eve when a gorgeous rich couple hits on you and invites you back to their apartment to finish what you started right on the dancefloor

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️, modern!AU, threesome, oral sex (male & female), dirty talk, semi-public-sex, soft dom! bard and bratty dom!thranduil, protected sex, fingering, passing out during sex, slight overstimulation, age-gap (reader is of age, though its described that thranduil and bard are older), hairpulling, aftercare,

words: 13,8k

an: this is by far the dirtiest thing i've ever written and my god i'm not a smut writer; i get too flustered over my own writing lmao. Hopefully you can enjoy this out-of-character story even if it isn't new years anymore!

inspired by early 2000s club bangers like Kesha, Britney Spears, Black Eyed Peas (that's where the title came from) and Lady Gaga

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments or anonymous messages in my inbox are very appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"What?!"

"I said," the barkeeper leaned closer and pushed a filled to the rim shotglass over the counter, "this one is from the pretty one to your right!"

With a myriad of people in this club who fit your definition of "pretty" you found yourself on the brink of shouting at the red-haired bartender once more.

This would mark the third attempt, given that the club's 2000s music was blaring to the extent that communication was damn near impossible if you weren't screaming or using your hands trying to get orders across the sticky, littered with neon glowstick wristbands counter.

Before you could ask her who the hell she'd meant, the bartender had turned away, leaving you to figure out the mystery man for yourself.

You lifted the shot glass to your nose and took a deep breath— pure tequila.

At least you would enjoy this one; the last few shots other men had sent over to you had been nothing but disgusting, ranging from vodka to Jägermeister and one you didn't even bother to drink.

The world spun a little when you turned your head over your shoulder and for a second the flashy lights blurred the people crowding the bar into one mass, unidentifiable and mushed together; then your eyes zeroed in on him and pretty didn't even begin to cover it.

Next to the bar, holding out his own shot glass in hands that could've fit three or five of them, stood a man that was intimidatingly gorgeous and decently tall even as he rested his hip cheekily against one of the chairs, elbow on the wooden top while he flicked his fingers against the rim of the glass.

Not even that he was just tall, and he was –surely taller than most of the men standing between you two –, but he had this quality about him that let him stand out of the crowd.

Maybe it was the hair, blonde like starlight and pulled into a long and messy ponytail, with just a few loose strands framing his strong jawline. Or maybe it was the smug look on his face, the smirk that tugged on his lips when you dragged your eyes over the see-through shirt that clung to his well... and oh so– so well-defined chest.

On any other occasion, you would have simply raised the glass and disappeared back into the crowd of dancing people, but tonight felt different.

New Year's Eve had that ring to it. The careless "Fuck it all, it's all going to shit anyway"-attitude.

Any newspaper or media marked today the last day of yet another frustrating, wonderful, soul-crushing, draining, exciting, and overall overwhelming year, full of things you regretted having done, and as you stared at the man meeting your gaze with a questioning arch of a dark eyebrow, you found yourself giving a flying fuck about whether you'll add another mark on that board.

There was a surge of power washing through your body as you toasted the glass in his direction before tipping it against your lips and letting the tequila rush into your mouth.

The alcohol went down burning, hot, and dry and left a warm trail down your throat into your stomach.

"I see you not only bear a resemblance to the devil, you drink like her as well," a sultry voice drawled, sufficiently loud for you to lift your head.

Somehow the man had managed to appear right next to you within seconds and got so close that you were confronted with a very exciting view of his chest.

You eyed it, naturally because who wouldn't take their time looking at the flexing pecs covered in silver glitter and sweat?

Slowly, you dragged your gaze upwards, only faltering for a moment at the sight of a pink tongue running over plush lips. You met his eyes again, this time with no more than half a meter separating you and you were glad your knees didn't buckle like they threatened to do.

"And what are you? Some angel that has fallen from heaven?" Your counter was weak, a bad example of what was usually some excellent flirting, if you dare say yourself, but it's all you could manage with those cerulean eyes staring down at you in interest.

He laughed, thank fucking god, and tilted his head to the side. "It must be fate that we met, is it not?"

"Buy me another drink and we'll see"

Somehow, it didn't surprise you that he simply raised his pointer finger and the server immediately rushed to prepare whatever order he'd signaled her.

"Unfair, I waited, like at least five minutes for some water," you complained, not really putting any real annoyance into it but pouting nonetheless for the effect.

It went a long way because the stranger stepped closer, up into the little bit of personal space one could have in an overcrowded club, and cooed, "What a shame. Who could ever pass such a lovely face and not serve you right away?"

"I don't know," you sighed and smiled at him sweeter than sugar, "I do know that we shouldn't let that tequila go to waste though"

"Then be a good girl and drink up"

Oh, yeah.

Suppose you hadn't already contemplated sleeping with him, that certainly solidified your decision.

This wasn't just fate, this must be compensation for all the shit you've been through this year, wrapped up nicely in 6 feet and more of dripping sex and sultry smiles.

Eyes locked, you both clinked the glasses together before throwing them back. You couldn't help it when your lashes flutter shut.

Once again, the tequila burned all the way down to your stomach, adding to the cocktail of drinks that lowered your inhibitions and made your core throb in excitement.

You would've asked him for salt and lemon if he hadn't looked so unbothered by the pure taste. His lips didn't twitch, while you're sure yours were pulled into a grimace.

"Thank you, Sir," the words left your mouth without a second thought.

Thinking, in general, started to become more of a theory than something you were willing to do tonight; much too exhausting if you could simply let your tongue run wild.

He rewarded you for that decision, for his eyes widened and he stepped even closer, now slotting one of those long legs - and fuck, was he really wearing leather pants? Who had access to your wet dreams?- between yours as he leaned down.

"I must say you caught my interest the moment I saw you on the dance floor," He placed a hand on the countertop, not touching you yet, though the invitation he gave you, the silent question for permission, spoke for itself.

The second move was on you to lure him in and you blinked up at him while you trailed your fingers over the arm, scratching hairless skin with the tip of your nails until it changed into the fishnet top and you placed the hand to rest on one strong shoulder. The red color of your nail polish made such a beautiful contrast to his fair skin that your mind conjured imagines of how they must look on other parts of him.

Surely, with the size of him…

Now that you initiated the contact, he drove forward with his second hand, and the large palm cupped your chin.

While the touch was hot in how it's delivered, so dominating, and fuck if that didn't send warm licks of pleasure down your spine, his hand itself was surprisingly cold.

The temperature in the club was almost unbearable, only manageable through refreshing drinks and a trip or two to the bathrooms, and the spikes of the cool touch fought the heat pooling in your body.

One of those silky locks of hair brushed your neckline, falling right into the cut out of your dress that his eyes shamelessly took in from his higher-up viewpoint.

You took a deep breath, maybe even pushed out your chest as he eyed it in the knowledge that the lace bra was showing through.

All you inhaled was the intoxicating smell of his cologne, vanilla (even though you suspected he is anything but...), and something sweet and without a doubt expensive.

You're addicted to it the moment it hit your nose and clouded your mind.

"Do you not believe that an appropriate thank you is in order?" he inquired; no, he demanded.

You decided to play dumb, not because you thought he's into that – on the contrary, he seemed the kind of man who admired eloquence and intellect rather than dullness – but because it's a game you both enjoyed playing.

There was intrigue in tip-toeing around what is most obvious (lust as well as the urge to rip each other's clothes off as soon as possible, maybe even a fuck in the bathrooms).

"I thought I already said thank you," you mused, pushing out your lower lip into a pout again, "and that lousy shot is hardly worth more than a few words. You can't expect something greater if there is nothing to thank for."

He raised a dark eyebrow – you wondered if he colored his hair or eyebrows – and the hand around your chin lifted your head to twist it right and left.

One smooth thumb brushed over the pout, and he clicked his tongue. "Now now, I would consider this greedy if you were not in the right. You poor thing must be exhausted after all the dancing"

His eyes flashed when yours widened; he really did notice you before, had watched you.

"Yes," he drawled as if he read your mind, and his lips curved into a smirk that flashed a row of perfect bright teeth, "I saw how you moved out there, how wanton you presented yourself. However, it did not escape my notice that you rebuffed anyone who dared to approach."

When you opened your mouth to say something, his finger swiped over your lip again. Without hesitation, you sucked on the fingertip, collecting a few drops of tequila that you made a show of swallowing.

The protest disappeared with it down your throat.

He was right, why deny it?

The way you danced was just an expression of how comfortable you felt in your own body, the rhythm provided by provocative music a tool to follow the movements.

Everything you did, you did for yourself, not for the men who attempted to touch you simply because they were captivated by the dancing. As if you would accept some clammy hands grabbing for you.

"Maybe it was wanton," you said after releasing his finger, but not without scratching your teeth over it.

His pupils dilated, his chest raised at a sudden inhale of air; he apparently underestimated you.

You nodded your head toward the dance floor, "maybe I came here to look for a good fuck, but it's my decision who I take and not theirs"

"As you should. Those boys who tried and failed miserably were amusing to watch. None of them were good enough for you, right, sweetheart?"

You hummed in agreement as well as disagreement. "I'm not searching for anyone good enough," you thought back to all the good-guys who had lured you in with promises of treasuring you only to become insufferable with their need to control in the end.

"Then what do you need?"

"I want someone bad," the tone in your voice was challenging, just like the stare you gave him. "I want someone who won't be afraid to break me"

There was a slight tug on your chin, his hand pulled you in slightly but any further without any movement from you, it would've cause a strain in your neck.

You craved it.

The blonde god, he must be, the thought became clearer with any passing second, a gift, a god, an angel, crushed his mouth against yours. There was a fleeting moment where you realized you didn't know his name, but then his other hand wrapped around your neck, and your teeth clashed, and you found yourself not caring one bit.

You're sure he wouldn't mind if you moaned "God" instead of his name. Maybe he would even get off to it.

Only one way to find out.

It turned out quite hard to manage saying anything at all, his kisses stole every last bit of oxygen, robbing you of the ability to string together words and turning you into a whimpering mess with his tongue and wandering hands.

He called you a devil yet here he was, corrupting you in a way that will ruin you for any other person.

"You taste divine," he sounded as breathless as you felt when you separated and dizziness cultivated in your lust-clouded head at the compliment rasped in that deep voice of his.

"Do not worry," he continued, smearing the string of spit that connected you over your plush lips, "If you allow me I will try my very best to break you"

Hell or heaven, wherever he was leading you right now, your need tripped over itself eagerly.

When was the last time you were this aroused? You felt yourself growing wetter and wetter, and that only through his words and kisses; the state he could push you into if he truly fucked you would be completely new territory, you realized.

A nod is all you could manage.

The last you saw on his face was a wide grin before he kissed you again, this time though, he moved on to your jaw and then your neck. You beared it to him by tilting your head, eyes falling on the ceiling where the neon lights hushed over black brick, coloring your sight while your face took on a flushed red.

The blond devil nipped and bit, sucked and scratched in a manner so animalistic you wouldn't have thought a surely unquestionably sophisticated man to be able to.

You whimpered again, and your hands rose to grab something, anything and you found that ponytail the most accessible. Your fingers twirled a few soft strands as you gasped when his teeth sunk into the delicate skin right where your neck and shoulder met, and the slight pain following wasn't unwelcome.

It made you feel alive.

You're close to pulling him away to the bathroom– an amused laugh to your side prevented that thought from festering any further.

"I'm away for one smoke and you just couldn' wait?"

Unable to think straight after the assault on your neck, it took a moment for you to come back to your senses that don't revolve around lips, kiss, bite, fuck, suck…

Your sight spun as you snapped your head back, nearly knocking your chin into the man still busy marking you up, unbothered that there was another man watching you and clearly waiting for an answer.

So you decided to do the only thing that must convince him to let go, and you pulled on his hair.

He growled, fucking growled, and his lips twisted, flashing his teeth again.

Your heart dropped into your wet panties until you found he wasn't pinning you to the floor with the hard stare but the new arrival.

"Did you not see that I was busy?" he snapped at the dark-haired man, and while you felt slightly scared he was going to rip his handsome head off, the man only sported an annoyed expression.

"Yes, exactly. If I remember correctly, we decided to wait until I get back?"

Decided, waited?

"You took too long"

The man threw his head back in a raspy laugh, "Incorrigible bastard. Will I have to sit you down with a toy to keep you busy while I'm away?"

The blonde turned back to you and smirked, "That will not be necessary as I am quite capable of finding my own toys"

"Hey!" you cut into the conversation, not amused that they talked as if you weren't right there, "I'm not a fucking toy!"

Both men turned to you now, towering over you in their height, and mustering you so intensely that you slightly squirmed under their gaze.

The man with salt and pepper hair chuckled. "I am so sorry, Darlin'. I hope Thranduil didn't play too hard?"

Considering that you still felt the scratch of his teeth on your neck and the wet spit he left there, you felt like some kind of chew toy one would throw their dog but nevertheless, you pushed your chin up high. "Nothing I can't take."

The blonde's, Thranduil's, hand on your waist pulled you into him possessively. "I told you there is some bite behind the pretty face," he smirked.

While it didn't escape you that this hinted to a previous conversation, a plan formed over you, it's the attractiveness of them that led you to turn a blind eye.

"Weren't you the one biting a minute ago?" The music made it hard to talk normally and you stood up on your tiptoes to yell the words, but all that it resulted in is a deep chuckle.

"Oh, I like you," the other man laughed as well.

You took him in, the tight pants that showed off strong thighs and the black and gold shirt with more buttons open than actually buttoned that presented muscles and hair leading down and oh–

"What a surprise," you said, looking up to meet his hungry eyes, "I find I like you too" You turned your head to Thranduil, who smirked and sent you a wink that had you blushing, "So how's this gonna work? I'm going to be blunt and say that five minutes ago I was convinced you and I were on the same page, what's with your friend?"

"Husband"

"Husband?!" you parroted, unconvinced yet when your eyes fell on their hands a gold ring flashed back at you from both fingers.

Heat curled in your body like molten lava at lustful and otherwise utterly inappropriate thoughts this provoked of these two married man having their way around your body.

Thranduil bowed his head lower again, playfully nipping at the part of your neck that surely was already bruising. "I have to admit that I promised Bard to wait for him to come back, though I found I could not follow through when I saw you approaching the bar."

You swallowed. Hard. Not that it helped your very dry throat.

Bard came closer, reclaiming your attention.

His face, more defined than Thranduil's, was adorned with a rugged layer of dark stubble, crow's feet framing his vivid green eyes when he smiled at you. He looked the picture of a soft soul, but you remembered that this couple was picking up a third partner on New Year's Eve, so you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

There was some spice behind the old-armchair-and-book-vibes.

"Will that be a problem, Darlin'?" he asked in that ruff voice, posh and Welsh accent dripping over you.

A refreshment to hear that accent in this city, so enthralling in how it wrapped around you; especially that damn nickname. There was no way you would say no to him.. both of them if he called you Darling one more time.

You shook your head. "No. I think I'll just need a bit more liquid encouragement if I am to survive this night."

"Oh, what a shame," Thranduils lips left where they continued to suck and lap on your neck, peppering kisses, leaving bruises, and moved to your earlobe. His voice dropped as much into a whisper as the music allowed it, "I had my hopes on fucking you into heavenly spheres"

There went the last string of sanity holding you back.

Hearing a man who was seemingly hell-bent on avoiding abbreviations like "don't" and "can't" at all costs speak in such a filthy way was something you never knew you needed.

"I hope you can follow through with that," you trailed a hand over his smooth chest, collecting glitter on your way and smeared it over his throat where his adams apple bobbed, "because if you break that promise like you did the one with your husband, I will just have to let him finish the job"

Thranduil yanked you back into him, back into a kiss that seared itself into your memories and burned the touch, taste, and movement of his lips into every cell of your body.

It was almost aggressive how much teeth went into the kiss, how he bit down and all you could do was gasp and whimper.

Briefly, you thought of the poor people around you, because if all you wanted to do was get a drink and were confronted with one person devouring the other, you would be seething but right now you were being the one he kissed, whose sounds he swallowed and whose hands held you to him.

So fuck them.

With your senses heightened now that you wanted these men all over you, the sensation of Bard leaning in, hair tips tickling your neck as he licked Thranduil's throat, led you to pull away from the blonde. You watched as Bard sprinkled something flaky and white onto the spot wet with spit, and only when he lifted a shot glass the thought crystalized that he salted Thranduil for you.

"Come on," Thranduil's smirk taunted you just as much as his words, "What is another lousy shot? We even made it easy for you poor baby, after you could not take the first one easily"

Rolling your eyes at the mocking, you dove in to copy Bard. The salt sticking to his neck coated your tongue and you took longer than necessary to lick the skin free of it. The rush that this sent through you was exhilarating.

As soon as you were finished, your head got tilted backward firm and yet gently.

Rough fingertips cupped your neck and one thumb moved to press against your jaw, as you felt a solid chest in your back.

"Open wide, Darlin'," Bard ordered and encouraged you to follow him as his other thumb pushed between your teeth.

You obeyed, never once breaking eye contact with Thranduil and taking in his lust-blown pupils, as Bard poured the tequila into your mouth, directly down your throat. Then, while you pulled a grimace, shutting your eyes for a second, Bard turned you around, sandwiching you between them.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw the green slice of lemon between his teeth and following the wink he sent you; you knew exactly what was to come next.

Kissing Bard was very different from getting kissed by Thranduil.

His lips were slightly cracked, not soft and they tasted like smokey whiskey and cigarettes, with hints of coffee and lime instead of fruity cocktails and rose chapstick. Lifting one hand to his face, your fingertips grazed the rough beard growing on his sharp jawline, the stubble scratching you in a promising way.

While you had been surprised when Thranduil had kissed you, you eagerly answered Bard's kiss with fervor. Your mind already teetered on the brink of shutting down and you poured the desperation into his mouth with a moan.

He chuckled, drawing back just enough that he could spit out the lemon – sucked empty – before wiping his thump over your lips.

"Sweet thing"

There was a softness in that gesture, but only short-lived before he kissed you again. His hands trailed your body, coming to rest on either side of your neck again and even that slight of pressure loaded a million images through your head.

A second pair of hands joined him on you, it's confusing until a large body pressed into your back and you realized- it was only Thranduil.

Well, only…

It had been clear that the man could and would not accept being reduced to anything. He radiated an attitude that you would call bratty but with his expensive clothes, that rich perfume, and the wave of the hand that brought him drinks, aristocratic diva seemed more fitting.

His demanding character became clear when his hands set on your waist, immediately fingering the seam of your jeans, pulling you more into him by the belt loops.

You followed that tug, though Bard deepened the kiss to keep you by him, his tongue exploring your mouth and enticing you to breathlessly moan against his smiling lips.

Despite the loud music, Thranduil's voice was loud in your ear.

"As stunning as you right now, I can not help but imagine you squirming on our silk sheets– moving those bewitching hips of yours," Thranduil playfully took the burning tip of your ear into his mouth, "If you want to follow this invitation, of course"

"Whatever you just said," Bard broke away from you to look over your shoulder at his husband, "It better have been the idea of finally getting out of here" he pushed his hips against yours for you to feel the hard outline of him, "because I don't want to wait til the ball drops"

"Is that a metaphor?"

"Thran–" There was a warning edge in Bard's voice, and you felt Thranduil huff.

"Funny, how this old man can not take a joke as soon as he is aroused"

It's absurd how casually he said this while his hands slid down the front of your jeans, earning himself a gasp from you.

Unashamed as a man only his status can be, he toyed with the seam of your underwear, not caring one bit for the glare of his husband.

Your body arched into him, answering the question he had whispered earlier.

The only thing keeping you from getting down on your knees to worship him and his obviously talented fingers was the blaring music, reminding you that you were not yet somewhere private and very much on display.

You briefly wondered if these two were rich enough to simply pay their way out of a public indecency arrest. You wouldn't be surprised if they wouldn't even get arrested.

Since Thranduil made no sign of disengaging himself from you, you stepped away from him, right against Bard's chest.

"Shall we go? Your husband mentioned luxury sheets which I bet are more comfortable than a threesome on the dance floor"

The way out of the club presented itself as more difficult than you would have thought.

With Bard shoving a path through the dancing crowd in front of you, holding on to one hand, Thranduil breathing down your neck and you pausing now and again because "Oh my gosh, I love this song!" it took a lot longer than necessary.

Not that any one of you minded.

Lost in the mass of people shouting, dancing, and pushing you three closer together and the tequila in your bloodstream you ended up undulating to Nicki Minaj's 'Pound The Alarm' completely lost on the fact that both men had stopped to watch you.

The lights were colorful and sharp and in their hues, Bards and Thranduil's jawlines looked even sharper tinted red, blue, green, and whenever the disco ball flashed white across their faces the lust in their eyes caused shivers on every part of you.

Thranduil's hands moved to your lower abdomen, making it easy to grind against him as you raised your hands to Bard's strong shoulders.

Two huge pairs of hands gripped your waist from either side and held you steady and close to themselves, keeping everyone else from getting any nearer than they allowed.

"Fucking hell– Darlin' you drive me crazy!" Bard yelled over the music as you suddenly decided to drop down intact with the beat, dragging your nails over his torso.

You laughed, low and full-heartedly.

Coming up, his hands moved to the flushed skin that your shirt had revealed by riding up, holding you tight to sweep you away into a kiss.

One thigh, leather, and flexing muscles shoved itself between your thighs and you responded eagerly, grinding against it without a second thought.

Just when you thought you were ready to finally go, the song ended and faded into yet another pop hit. 'LoveGame' by Lady Gaga and intact of the low thumping beat, Thranduil's hips circle against your behind, pressing what was an impressive hardness into your arse while his deep voice switched from singing to humming the lyrics.

One of his hands spread over your abdomen, the other arm blindly reached for Bard and pulled him into a kiss right over your head.

Amid the mass of sweaty people and the multicolor array of colors flashing over Thranduil's blonde hair, the 2000s music blaring through the speakers and resonating in every cell of your fevered body, they looked hot enough for the porn industry to sign them under contract.

You were never making it out of the club.

You did make it out eventually, sweat dripping down your temple, Thranduil's chest in your back whenever you stumbled, his hands steadying you.

On what you assumed was an oversight or blind eye of the club owners the crowd had doubled in the last hour.

Far too many people joined the floor and even with Bard's commanding presence leading you it had been close to impossible to step forward and not swerve out of the way of someone drunk.

Outside, the line curved around the block, and those who waited or didn't get into the club or even just hung in groups celebrating on the streets blocked the whole sidewalk.

A number of fireworks were already soaring into the air, sent up there by early birds who couldn't wait until midnight – cheered up by loud excited screams and laughter as the dark night sky lit up here and there with colorful explosions.

Quite sobered up, the dancing had contributed to that, you stared at them.

"How the fuck are we supposed to get out of here?" you asked and crossed your arms in front of you; the winds were biting cold and you hadn't bothered bringing a jacket, "It's madness."

"We will just get a cab"

You barked out a laugh though Bard stayed completely serious.

"Wait, that wasn't a joke?" you rubbed your palms over the naked skin, still warm and thrumming with the afterglow of the unbearable heat of the club, although the cold fought hard and unfairly.

"No, sweetheart, it wasn't," Thranduil said, not bothered by the chaos of people pushing each other, waving their hands like they're trying to flag down a spaceship.

On this day, the chances for that to happen were more likely than actually getting a cab.

He took one step into the busy street, and you yelped, overcome by the shock that he just walked into fucking traffic, his long ponytail swaying with his steps.

Then, like movie magic, a car swerved to the side and stopped right next to Thranduil.

Bard pulled you along, your hand cradled to his chest so as not to lose you. Thranduil opened the door, gracefully sitting down behind the empty passenger seat.

You stumbled onto the back seat next to him, and mumbled a half-hearted "Hello" to the driver, who gave you a nod – a nod, an hour before midnight, from a cap driver, fucking miracles– before shut the plastic window close.

"Holy crap," you exhaled. "Is this what the high life's like? Getting drinks and cabs without any fucking effort?"

Despite the crude and cutting words swinging in their direction, Bard and Thranduil chuckled. The synchronized deep sound reverberated in the quiet cab, warming up the space instantly.

"Do you really think that this" – Thranduil languidly gestures to all of him – "takes no effort?"

Bard huffed. He leaned into you as if he wanted to whisper a secret, but didn't lower his voice: "We were supposed to be here five hours ago. Took him that long to figure out what to wear." He shot a teasing grin at his husband.

"Oh, I have had enough of your whining," In one elegant movement Thranduil folded one long leg over the other. The point of his boot caught your shin in a soft tap that drew your attention to him.

He smirked, one eyebrow raised. "If you are interested, though, I could show you what it is like to ride the waves of the high life"

"Is that a metaphor?"

"No," Bard's lips ghosted over your neck, peppering more kisses to the skin there, "A promise for an unforgettable high"

You were unable to think of what they could propose.. well, you could, but they wouldn't, not here in this cap, right?

Bard's legs were spread a little far apart and, fuck, the flickering lights of the city flying by highlighted a very prominent bulge that he made no effort of hiding. Was he going commando?!

Your eyes snapped back, burning a hole into the roof of the cab.

A hand fell behind you on the headrest at the same moment as Thranduil's cold fingers slipped onto your thigh.

Thranduil's hand snuck to your jeans and played with the button and zipper before,

Oh-

he opened your jeans and immediately slid his cold, long, slender fingers down your panties.

Oh, fuck

Your hips twitched into his hand and you had to bite down on your finger to muffle the gasp that itched behind your teeth.

Without a care in the world, Thranduil cupped your sex, mumbling something to himself under his breath that sounded like a "So fucking wet- for us?" and worked his middle finger into you.

Pulling it out again, he started circling your clit, smearing your own slick over it, moving right over the spot where your nerve endings were sparking white and hot and you shuddered uncontrollably.

The chill of his fingertips heightened your sensitivity. Still flushed all hot from the club, you instinctively arched upward, a soft gasp escaping your lips as Thranduil's fingers tapped against your swollen wet clit.

The noise prompted his gaze to lock onto yours.

Your gasp broke off as your hips nearly flew off the seat and it was only for the belt snapping tightly against your lower abdomen that your head didn't make contact with the roof.

That, and the arm Bard put around your shoulders. He held you down and gave you his biceps to let your head fall against something that wasn't the uncomfortable seatrest.

Your cheeks flushed under Thranduils scrutiny, as well as at the general scene and obscenity of everything, and a subtle smirk played on his lips.

"Do you enjoy that?" His voice was flirty, and while you want to retort that it should be very clear how much you liked his fingers fucking into you, you only managed a nod.

"Say it." He leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eyes. His fingers stopped, clearly waiting for you to obey his order. "Use your words, you still know how, right? I haven't even started, clearly there must be something you could tell me."

"Yes," your admission was barely a whisper, but it sufficed.

Thranduil hummed, using his other hand to open your legs as wide as the tight jeans allowed it before he worked two agile fingers into your throbbing cunt.

You stared at him through half-lidded eyes, watching his relaxed demeanor while fingering you open without caring about anything else.

The heel of his hand pressed into your pelvis, giving him a reasonably steady hold in the jolting cab so that he could hit a spot inside you with precision and with every, goddamn, perfect, thrust of his fingers that made you pant out.

"Thran-" the nickname you heard Bard call him slipped out unconsciously, it's the only thing you could pull out of the depth of your mind, "Thran.. please"

"Beggin' already?" Bard chuckled, "Darlin' you have seen nothing yet and here you are, beggin' to cum in the back of a cab."

"Bard you have no idea how fucking wet she is. She's dripping down my hand, squeezing my fingers, and fuck she's so tight," Thranduil muttered and as he slipped his other hand to the one slipping and sliding against your g-spot in a maddening relentless rhythm, he rubbed them over your folds.

He collected some of your wetness on those fingers, circling your clit again before pulling them away, out of your pants, and to your horror, he held them up into the air, inspecting how his fingers glistened in the city lights.

He rubbed them together, all right in the view of the rear back mirror of the cab driver, who – thank god – kept his eyes on the road and only turned up the radio in unspoken ignorance of what was happening in his car.

God, you hoped these men would tip him adequately.

"Here," Thranduil reached his arm out past your half-opened lips and for a moment you thought he was going to offer you his fingers, but he leaned further forward.

A gasp broke out of you as you watched Bard open his mouth and greedily took both fingers right between his lips, and.. sucked.

His eyes fell shut with a contented sigh as if he were tasting his favorite drink.

You saw his tongue run thoroughly over Thranduil's patiently waiting fingers, cleaning them off every last bit of you, and god, you wanted to be those fingers so damn bad at that moment.

Then he looked at you again. There was such a deep hunger in those eyes that would look beautifully between your legs, brown hair falling messily into his sight as he ate you out.

Meanwhile, Thranduil's fingers inside you moved harder and faster, curling to brush every sensitive spot of your walls, in, out, in, another curl, and then out.

You clenched your entrance in anticipation, the feeling of two of his fingers filling you this deliciously and continuously.

You were so so close, almost there–

"Shit, you're the sweetest. I think I'll eat you for breakfast tomorrow"

The abrupt halt of the cab barely registered for you; instead, it finally propelled you over the edge.

Thranduil's precise movement hit that spot inside you perfectly, crooking his fingers just right to brush against it. Combined with Bard's downright filthy promise, you nearly let out a scream as the powerful orgasm surged through you and you had to flex your muscles so you didn't continue riding his hand.

Thranduil, however, didn't stop, even though there was no way he didn't know you climaxed and he kept up the same pace, same fucking precision and pressure that your body convulsed around those long talented fingers and you couldn't even go anywhere, the seatbelt cut off your escape to the front and you were so far into the seat that wasn't an option as well, and it took a soft broken whimper, for words were long lost, for Thranduil to press a kiss to your neck before he sucked his fingers dry.

Your legs were still shaking as the elevator took you up to the penthouse at the top of the skyscraper the cab had stopped in front of.

Four mirrors gave you a splendid view of Bard's broad back as he crowded you against one of the walls, his thick fingers down your jeans again, as he mouthed hot kisses onto your neck.

"Gonna have to work you open," Bard grunted, his slippery fingers curling inside your cunt in a sinful squelch that sounded absurdly loud in the confined space of the elevator. "You're really too tight, don't wanna hurt you"

Thranduil watched the whole scene leaning at the railing, hands curled around the pole behind him as his hips twitched whenever you let out another whimper; your hands trying to get a hold on his husband's shoulders.

The ride was far too short, Bard's fingers not fast enough for you to reach another peak though the constant movement kept your head in such a nice empty mindless space that you didn't complain.

As soon as the doors opened Thranduil led the way, sauntering into the darkness illuminated by the first exploding fireworks. He pulled on the tie holding his hair up and flung it away let his hair flow down his back, ending just barely over his exquisite arse.

You didn't get to see much of the penthouse, all three of you were very eager to take this party finally somewhere comfortable and you only made out a giant white couch in front of a fireplace, an open kitchen with two glasses, one crystal with golden stains of whiskey, and the other high, the rim still dripping red wine, and a few bookshelves.

"You can get the full tour tomorrow," Bard said while you two kicked away your shoes, leaving them behind on the dark wooden parquet.

You stumbled over his left sneaker and halted in your tracks at the offer. While you had considered his promise of breakfast a spur-of-the-moment chit-chat, it now settled in your head that this wouldn't be like any one-nightstand you had in the past.

This observation only solidified as Bard caught your hand and raised it to press an open-mouthed kiss to your palm. "Do you need anything before we go into the bedroom? Any wishes or no-gos? Safeword?"

"Red," you immediately answered, and he nodded in acknowledgment, "and no, well– maybe hold me a bit afterward?" You blushed at the question though this should be the least embarrassing thing after all these two did to you in the span of a few hours. You continued to ramble, "And sometimes I cry, so.. you don't have to stop then. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed but you can continue your.. thing. Don't bother, I'll be fine on my own–"

Bard's eyebrows scrunched together the more you babbled, the look in his eyes becoming more confused until he shushed you with a quick kiss.

"Darlin', there is no need to explain what you want or don't want. If this is what you need then we won't question those demands," his eyes wandered over your face, making sure you were listening; which you were, heart pounding fast in your chest.

"And it's important you don't push yourself just because of us. It's not our intention to use you for a simple release. Thranduil and I don't take whoever is the first best, especially not to our home. We're looking for someone who suits us, with whom we feel completely comfortable and that should also be equally important to you."

You trusted them both, Bard as well as Thranduil.

The fact that Bard was asking you, nevertheless listening and responding to you was feeding something very primal.

They had done this before, unlike you. They had experience in this, but you were willing to learn, to submit yourself to these imposing men who surely would change something inside you forever.

The pride you felt at his admission of choosing you specifically mingled with the need to get this perfect man inside you quickly, especially now that he said such meaningful and reassuring words.

You nodded and croaked out a soft: "Alright, then please hold me after we're done" which he rewarded with another soft yet sensual kiss.

"Good girl"

Then his hands traveled south and slapped your ass so that your hips flew towards him.

"Now, let's not keep Thran waiting any longer. He tends to get a bit… impatient if left on his own for too long, as you've probably noticed."

Bratty.

You were so on the money earlier.

With that as well as the guess that the blonde was more kinky than the vanilla of his perfume.

At that moment the deep voice of his called out from down the hall.

"I swear, if you two started without me, I will fuck you until neither of you can walk for a week!"

Bard chuckled, then caught your widened eyes.

"He's joking," he said and you let out a relieved breath.

Bard pulled you along, a wink thrown over his shoulder.

"Mhm, partly; he won't fuck me tonight."

You needed a deep breather to ready yourself for what was about to happen, then you nearly tripped over your own feet as you raced after him through the dark hallway and to the only opened door.

You crashed fully into Bard, who for whatever reason, stood right in the doorframe of their bedroom.

"It seems Thranduil got tired of waiting," he chuckled and you wondered what he could mean when he turned sideways.

Your eyes instantly fell onto Thranduil, spread out on the enormous bed in the corner of the room– completely naked except for black, very tight boxers.

There was no air in your lungs, not a single breath left to take as you drank in the sight of him, fair and marble skin shining in the moonlight that fell through the big window next to the bed; the remaining glitter gave his body an unearthly glow. His hair fanned out all over the pillows, silver against grey, moving with him as he lazily lifted his head to stare at you.

There was an indescribable beauty in this man, he could lounge in the bed, his long legs opened in an invitation that you yearned to take, and his lean yet softly defined body posed as if he was waiting for someone to draw him.

"There you are," the corner of his mouth twitched into his smirk, "Strip"

His words, spoken in a gentle tone, boomed loud in your ears.

Your hands flew to your jeans in no second, though they were stopped by Bard, who covered them with his larger, rougher ones.

"No, Darlin', let me"

He stood behind you, taking over the job of undressing you. He did it much slower than you would have, not ripping everything apart in a hurry to obey the command of the blonde whose eyes were heavy on your body, taking in every bit of skin that got revealed.

Bard unbuttoned your jeans first, then his large and warm hands rubbed over your arms.

"Are you cold, sweetheart?"

You shook your head. "No, not cold. I– I feel like I'm burning up"

It was the truth, and nothing but the full, honest truth; you felt as hot as you did in the club, though the reason wasn't the hundreds of people and the alcohol but rather the sight of Thranduil, whose hands trailed over his own body and teasingly played with the waistband of his underwear.

Bard followed your fixated gaze to his coyly smiling husband.

"Should we turn down the heating? We would not want you melting away," Thranduil blinked his long lashes at you in faux-concern. He must've known the goosebumps covering your skin were his doing.

You would've rolled your eyes if you were able to look somewhere else than Thranduil. The man had to be magical, how else could you explain the spell he put you under if not for some supernatural powers?

"Stop the teasing, Thran," Bard cut in, slipping his hands under your shirt and kissing your shoulder. You melted into his touch, comforted that he took care of you like this when he continued, "This poor sweet thing hasn't even all her clothes off. It would be a shame to make her blush like this and not see it"

"Oh, and who's fault is that? Certainly not mine, I have been waiting so long I was close to wrapping things up myself"

Bard pulled your shirt over your head, covering your sight long enough for a wave of braveness to surge through you. "I sure hope you wrap it up," you said and heard both of them snicker.

"Do not worry," Thranduil began.

"There is enough protection for weeks," Bard finished and the band of your bra snapped against your skin.

Despite the warmness of the room your nipples puckered as soon as the lace fell away, growing hard under the avid eyes, cerulean and green, so different yet similar in the way both are dominated by the blackness of their pupils.

Bard's hands came up to your front and he cupped your breasts first tenderly, mapping out how perfectly they fit into his large palm, then rougher as his fingers found the hard buts of your nipples and rubbed them between them until every pinch had your legs trembling and you whimpering.

You cried out, body bucking on its own.

"Oh how nice," Thranduil's comment was full of sarcasm, followed by a click of his tongue against teeth, "Why, let me lay here and play all on your own, why not? After all, I am nothing but pure decoration"

Bard huffed a puff of hot air onto you, "Grow a pair of tits like this and maybe I will get to you first"

Thranduil's dark eyebrows raised to his hairline, passing an unspoken threat that had Bard scoff before he grabbed the waistband of your jeans. He pulled them down slowly, getting on his knees as he did and you were acutely aware of how wet your panties were when you feel his lips kiss your ass.

"This must be uncomfortable," he murmured, holding one leg to help you step out of the jeans. He kneaded your thigh, fingertips against muscles and flesh, before moving on to do the same on your other leg.

He used the moment where you lifted the second leg, to dive his hand to your cunt again, dragging his knuckles over the dark-colored patch, and he laughed as you buckled into the touch. "Oh, the fun we'll have"

Finally, undressed to your panties that cling to your crotch like a second skin, you were free to walk toward the bed. You would've lied if you said you didn't swing your hips a little bit, relishing the raspy groan this evoked from Bard.

Feeling like you should await further commands you stopped (un)patiently when your knees hit the mattress.

Thranduil's lips curved into a devilish smirk at this sign of submission.

He let his legs fall open wider, waving in an elegant gesture into the space in between. "Come here, sweetheart"

The bed was raised and you rose to your tiptoes and, making sure your eyes were trained on Thranduil, you crawled over the mattress, knees digging into the silk duvet he had promised you.

He reached out as soon as he could, one hand curving around your neck to pull and you landed directly on him, legs spread on either side of his thighs, hands somehow, despite their nervous trembling, found their place against his collarbones, standing out from his broad chest rather delicate.

Not that you hadn't suspected and expected him to be big, but, fuck, he was long and hard, a pulsing pressure against your stomach.

"Be a good girl and remove this unnecessary fabric, will you?" Thranduil whispered and you scrambled to lose your panties, throwing them off into the distance only to turn again and find him smirking. "I meant my boxers, but it fills me with joy seeing you this eager"

Lowering your head to hide your laughter, you grabbed his boxers. He lifted his hips just barely for you to pull on the black boxers, rolling them over his tight ass, and after giving you a loving pat on the head, he crossed his arms behind his head, relaxing into the pillows.

His cock sprung free from the containment of the tight boxers, twitching as it hit his abdomen and you felt your throat dry out.

Of course, he was smooth everywhere; not one bit of hair covering the flushed beauty of him.

You sat up, hands pushed into his flexing thighs, to take him all in. No one should look this perfect, this utterly ridiculously beautiful, right? There should be something on him, a scar, a mole, anything to prove he wasn't straight-up carved out of marble, but you found nothing.

You glared at him as you sat down a bit lower, ass in the air, and spit into your hand before you wrapped it around his cock. The sight of his size had your mouth water, and seeing how your fingers couldn't meet had your cunt clench around nothing.

No way any of their preparation had been enough for this intimidating masterpiece of Mother Nature's creation.

"Tell me, how is it fair that you are rich and have a dick like that?" you asked and just as Thranduil opened his pretty lips for probably another witty answer, you interrupted him by letting his cock slide over your tongue deep into your throat until you gagged around him.

Whatever he wanted to say was forgotten.

Instead, Thranduil groaned a low: "Fuck" and threw his head back.

You wanted to see him come undone, to unravel him until he lost this bratty attitude and reduce him to that wild behavior he had shown in the club.

You had the feeling that that's only possible if he thought he had the upper hand.

You bobbed your head, taking him a bit past what you could manage without gagging before lifting your head again.

"Use me," you said and his eyes flew open.

"What?"

Cocking your head, you shot him a confused look, while spreading his precum over the head of his cock with your thumb. "I said," – you spit again, mixing it and coating his dick further – "Fuck - my - mouth"

Every word was punctuated with a kiss to his slit, and you swore you could see his eyes darken further; black taking over blue – desire fought whatever held him back to fucking give into whatever you offered.

Behind you, Bard swore nearly breathlessly: "Fuck me" though you stayed focused on Thranduil.

"Are you sure?" his voice was raw, his facade of composure cracking ever so slightly.

"Wouldn't ask if I wasn't"

His hand was behind your head in seconds, drawing you down his cock again and you opened your mouth wide to not hurt him. He pushed you down until you choked on him and although your eyes watered, you couldn't take them away from the sight of his mouth and the low throaty groans that passed the opened lips.

The lack of air cut off your moan, the tip of his cock bullying the back of your throat just barely short of painful. Reminding yourself to breathe through your nose, you inhaled deeply.

"Good girl," Thranduil's hips bucked, pulling back until he was only half-lodged in your throat, "Just like that, fuck"

He gave an experimental thrust, keeping his sharp eyes on you, his hand in your neck, ready to stop if he saw any discomfort, but all you showed him was how you choked on spit and salty precum.

"Oh, you sweet girl. Behaving so well," his voice was ruined, and he thrusted again, punching away the little breath left in the tiniest space that wasn't occupied by his thick cock.

This was by far the first time you have ever given a blowjob, but it was a first to let someone use you like this. Controlling when you could suck or when you just had to take what he gave you.

And oh– how much you loved it.

So much that you wanted to rub your thighs together only to be stopped by rough hands grabbing them.

A confused sound left you, no more than a choked "Huh?" vibrating around Thranduils cock continuing to fuck into you, just like you had asked him, hindering you from turning to see what Bard was up to.

He didn't leave you wondering for long, just as Thranduil's thrusts took on a sharper edge, hitting the back of your throat every time, filling your mouth like no man ever had, Bard's flattened tongue licked through your exposed cunt and the moan you let out sounded so pornographic you surprised yourself.

"Do it again," Thranduil took in the sight of your wet lips, the drool dripping out of the corners of your mouth, his cock disappearing so deep inside you that felt him in your lungs, "Fuck, Bard, do that again now!–"

He talked for you, praising Bard as he licked your pussy again, this time using his fingers to pry you open further and there was the delicious scratch of his beard stubbles, burning on your skin.

You cried out, tried to do, stopped by Thranduils cock stuffing your mouth again and again, his hands curled around your neck as if he wanted to feel the imprint of himself pushing through.

"Prettiest woman out there," Thranduil groaned. His thump reached over to stuff some of the spit back into your mouth, opening your jaw up impossibly wide.

Bard's tongue was as precise as their fingers have been, covering your folds, fucking into your hole and sucking on your clit with expertise that no man should be allowed to have. Two of his wet fingers slid into you while his tongue mercilessly attacked your clit, the other hand buried itself in the soft flesh of your ass, kneading and pulling, opening you up further for his face.

"C'mon," his voice was muffled by your thighs, drowning you in his accent while he drowned his tongue inside your opening, circling the rim in maddening figures, "Give me one more, gorgeous."

Electricity flowed through your body, hot tingles of nothing but fire spreading into your fingertips wrapped around the inches of Thranduil's cock that didn't fit into your mouth, to your nipples that brushed against his muscular thighs.

"Fuck Bard, please–"

Not sure what you were begging for, for his tongue to stop the attack on your clit, for his fingers constantly finding that spot inside your spongy walls that had you wailing and rolling your hips into his face, or for him to get on with it and get you over that build-up.

Bard kept going, somehow finding a rhythm that matched the one his husband hammered down your throat and you were helplessly stuck trying to hold on.

Until you lost the fight to keep yourself upright. Your hands slipped on Thranduil's thighs, your body crashed down and if it wouldn't have been for his quick reaction of pulling himself out of you, you would for sure have impaled your head on his still hard and throbbing cock.

Instead, it just wetly slapped your face as you collapsed into his lap.

Bard's rough hands grip your thighs, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he maneuvered your legs around to give his head more space.

The other pair of hands, soft, delicate, Thranduil's, cupped your face, lifting it gently yet demanding, giving him the perfect view of your cute face, all scrunched up as you gasped and mewled, and your backside, ass arched into the air under Bard's commanding hands.

"Such a beautiful thing," Thranduil mused.

His fingers danced over your cheeks until he used another whine, another desperate moan when Bard alternated between open-mouthed, sloppy kisses and using the point of his tongue, to slip his thumb into your mouth.

As soon as he did, you closed your lips around him. Staring up at him, begging him silently for a release only Bard could give you, you started sucking on his finger as you would have done on his cock if not for the stars dancing in your field of vision.

Thranduil tutted, "So needy as well. Bard, if you were so kind as to stop, I can not stand seeing her this distraught. I think you are working her up far too much"

"Nooo! Please, please, I'm alright, I'm– please, so close," The desperate scream that came out of your mouth at his words was probably loud enough to alert the neighbors, followed by a cry and sob as Bard kissed your clit one last time.

"Of course, babe" The words were muffled, spoken directly into your dripping cunt.

Which he then shuffled away from, beard stubble scratching you, his fingers letting loose on your thighs.

"No, no please, please," you were already babbling, reaching behind you in a sad effort to force him back between your legs, "Please, I'll be good, please!"

"You sweet thing," Thranduils arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you up into a kiss, "I think–" his voice dropped deeper and you heard the rustle of plastic, felt Bard's hand rolling the condom over Thranduil's cock pressing into your stomach, "–you have behaved so well, you deserve a reward"

You nodded fast, legs spread wide apart sitting on his thighs and your cunt stretched open.

Staring into his eyes, you saw how much his pupils were dilated, how he only watched you, only saw you.

You could see and feel his chest lift as his cock slid through your folds, finding you drenched from all their playing around.

"Eyes stay on me"

Your pussy was wet enough for the tip of his cock to slip right into you and right away you wanted to shut your eyes at the sensation of him spearing you open.

"Please–," you gasped, and tried to move your hips to get more of him into you than just those few inches, but he didn't budge, didn't loosen his grip on your waist, "Please, Thranduil. Green, my color is green, fuck me, I can take it!"

"Yes, and if not," his voice was back to the self-controlled powerful tone, "I'll make you take it, sweetheart."

Thranduil let go of you the second he snapped his hips upwards and suddenly, you were split open.

You keened as his cock sunk into you in one fast, swift, hard movement. There was a burn, in your thighs as you flexed them, in your throat as you cried out, in your pussy at the intrusion of his long cock.

When Thranduil bottomed out, his head shoved against your cervix, the whole length forcing you to stretch, to make room, and fuck you wanted your pussy to be carved into the shape of that perfect cock.

It should've been uncomfortable, but you only groaned as you appreciated the second he gave you to relax while making room where they shouldn't be some.

"Fuck–" he moaned, "you are tight, so fucking tight"

Bard moved next to you, and you could only get one short look at his naked body, the brown hair coating his muscular chest, the happy trail leading down to his thick cock, before Thranduil began to fuck you.

His strokes were fast, hips snapping into you and nearly throwing you off his lap at the speed and brute force and you fell into his chest, clinging to his arms.

This, him rutting into you like your pussy could quench a year-long thirst at a punishing pace, this was surely the epitome of getting fucked. How he knew how to fuck you just right, hitting your g-spot with every single thrust was a riddle you couldn't and wouldn't want to solve; not with his cock penetrating you hard enough you swore you felt him in your throat as you called for him through moans.

You had no chance of even trying to meet his thrusts, not while he pounded into you like a madman.

"F-Fuck, good fucking girl– so tight," Thranduil groaned out his gritted teeth, his face turning a beautiful shade of rosé, "Even tighter than you, Bard–"

Bard, you totally forgot he was even there, laughed and moved on the bed again, slipping back behind you, "Yeah? Tell me more"

And you wanted to scream, to yell at them to stop talking in words that only added to the overstimulation, that spun around your head without meaning because how could anything have ever any meaning more important that Thranduil's cock fucking you a little further, a little deeper.

"So tight, s-so hot, clamping down on me like this sweet, fuck, pussy doesn't want me to leave"

"Mhm, I can see that," Bard hummed and his hands caressed your shaking thighs, before leaving his mark on your ass with a soft slap that had you wailing into Thranduil's shoulder.

It was too much and not enough at the same time.

You were going to lose your mind like this, fucked to near-unconsciousness.

"More, I–" your speech was slurred, brain scrambled into loose words hanging onto thin threads.

You tried to hold on to Thranduil but it was impossible with your sweat and the glitter covering him.

Luckily for you, Bard found the time to stop ever kindly toying with the pearl of your clit to lean forward.

"Put them inside his hair, Darlin'. He doesn't mind" There was a lopsided smirk on his face that you could barely see out of the corners of your eyes.

You still hadn't stopped looking at Thranduil.

The attempt to tentatively guide your hands to his head was prevailed by another particular hard thrust, and your fingers slid through blonde locks, grabbing onto them as you fell back down on Thranduil's cock.

You tugged on them much harsher than intended.

Thranduil's eyes blew wide.

You wanted to apologize when his lips quivered and his hips snapped into yours even faster.

Quickly you reached for him again, nails scraping his scalp as you readjusted, gripping more, much tighter.

"That's it, Darlin'.. that's my girl," Bard leaned back, and not shortly after his fingers were back on your clit, tapping intact of Thranduil's thrusts.

It was only a matter of seconds until the pleasure became too much.

Thranduil's hips fell into a stutter as your walls clenched around him; even for someone with his stamina the heat of you surrounding him, and your sweet moans drove him into a raging need to imprint the shape of his cock inside you.

"F-fuck.. Thran–" you whimpered, hands fisting his hair, trying to get a literal grip as reality started to shift around you.

Outside, close to the windows, there was a whistle as the first of many fireworks greet the New Year and just as Thranduil pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking and tensing up as you screamed his name, the darkness of the sky exploded into an arrangement of thousands of colors.

The white fuzziness that enveloped your vision transformed into creeping darkness at the edges.

Your eyelids closed shut as you descended into blissful oblivion.

When you came back to yourself, it was to the murmur of deep voices mixed into the loud bangs of fireworks.

For a moment you had no idea where you were, enveloped in a haziness inside your mind, but the gentle nudge of something against your lips forced you to open your eyes.

There were two faces very close to yours, was the first realization.

Then, following up, you let out a giggle.

"Don't look so concerned, I'm fine," you greedily took a sip from the water bottle that the very flushed blonde held in his hands.

"You said it was possible you would cry, not bloody pass out on Thran's dick!" Bard wiped the drops you couldn't swallow away from the corner of your mouth with one hand and continued to rub your thighs with his others.

You hadn't noticed they were still shaking.

"Yeah, that never happened before," you shot a smirk up to Thranduil, "Never had a guy fuck me like this as well"

He snorted into the bottle of water, "Believe me, I never had someone lose their consciousness on me before as well. I came shortly after you and when I opened my eyes to find you completely out of it I nearly passed out on the spot as well"

"Would have been quite a shock for you," you said and let your head fall to the side to look at Bard, "both of us orgasm into fainting"

"Not funny, Darlin'," Bard warned, though he laughed as you stuck his tongue out at him.

Stretching your hands over your head and raking them into the air until your bones cracked, you sighed happily. Blissfulness was all you felt after cumming harder than you ever had.

For the first time, you could really enjoy the sight of both men in the nude, you hadn't had the chance to appreciate how fit Bard was while Thranduil had fucked you and you reached out to run your hands over his chest. Twirling some of the hair on there, traveling lower to scratch nails down his happy trail like a route description straight to his still-hard cock.

Stopping shortly before his pubic hair, you glanced up at him, a coy smile playing your lips. "You haven't cum yet." It was much a purr as it was an invitation, your legs falling open right when Bard's hand came to a still on your thighs.

He shook his head, chestnut hair swaying with the movement. "No, Darlin', no! You just passed out. I won't force myself on you. Thran can suck me off or I'll take care of it myself if you want to rest"

Your heart contracted in adoration for this man, and an embarrassing amount of slick gushed out of you.

"Bard," you said, voice wavering as you suppressed a whimper. Somehow this turned you on even more, "Bard, there is enough time to be this caring later but please–" Once again you were begging, and the man wasn't even inside of you yet, "please fuck me"

On the other side of you, Thranduil chuckled, "Insatiable, I knew it. Bard is right though, if you are not well, then he can fuck me"

Slowly but surely you were losing your patience.

As sweet as their concern was, the fact that these two gods were both sitting naked in front of you, one sweaty because he just knocked you out, and the other hard as steel and flushed, only aroused that much more.

Without saying anything else, you maneuvered yourself in the bed until you could rest your head on Thranduil's stretched legs and angled your legs in an invitation.

"Come on you stud. It's the new year after all"

The brunette scanned you with a piercing gaze, you could see him struggling with himself, but the twitch of his cock told you what he'd decided before he nodded.

"Thran, condom please"

You giggled again, excitement and the need to be catapulted to new heights spreading warmly in your stomach.

As Bard put the condom on, you wiggled around, your hand on the move to beat time, but Thranduil reached over you.

He caught your wrist before you reached your center, grasping it with his much larger hand and pulling your arm back with him enough that it forced your shoulders up, a "Tze, tze, tze" admonishing the behavior.

"Impatient brat, make up your mind!" he hissed and tugged some more until you whined, "Feel free to use those pathetic little fingers, knowing they will never fill you the way Bard could" Now that Thranduil knew you were on the same page, his voice dropped into that rebuking tone that left you whining and pouting.

He was so good, so fucking mean in the right amount you never knew you needed a man to act in bed.

"I just wanted–"

"I know baby," he cooed, and patted your cheek, "you just need your cunt to be filled, right? Just need to be stuffed full. Bard will do that for you, no need to worry your pretty head about it"

"That's right, Darlin'," Bard shuffled in between your legs, hooking them both over his thighs as he leaned over you. His cock landed on your abdomen, pressing against your pulsating clit, "Tell me what you want," he grabed himself, guiding it slowly toward where you leaked for him, completely drenched from the orgasms they had already given to you.

"I can go slow, or I can go fast"

You contemplated for a moment and lift the free hand to stroke over his handsome face. His beard tickled the inside of your palm, the chestnut waves silky as the sheets.

"Slow," you whispered, "I want you slow first"

"Alright," he gently nudged his nose against yours before capturing your lips in a kiss.

Although you were still sensitive, still pulsing and throbbing due to Thranduil (who caressed your face and your neck, having let to of your hand to arrange the pillows in his back for more comfort), you relished the stretch and sting of Bard as he guided his cock into you.

He was thicker than Thranduil, not by much but that inch made itself known, splitting you open heavenly so. You gasped into the kiss, giving up the fight of tongues to swallow back the drool that collected the further Bard pushed inside you.

It's just a little bit, one inch at a time, but you cried out all the same.

The thrum of excitement pulses, leaves you trembling and begging in incoherent moans and whimpers.

You could feel him throbbing inside you.

"Good girl," Thranduil's praise washed over you, chilled fingers tweaking one of your nipples as a reward for the exhausted smile you gifted him at that, "Has anyone ever told you that you make just the sweetest sounds? Give me one more?"

He twisted your other nipple; you moaned again.

"Fuck, Thran, you were so right," Bard grunted, his fingernails digging into where he held you by the waist, leaving crescent moon-shaped imprints that you hoped wouldn't fade for a while, "She's fuckin' tight; how are you still this tight?"

"For you," you fisted your hands into his hair again, hoping he enjoyed it just as much as his husband, "J-just for you, everything, ngh– for you"

With one last push, he sheated himself in you completely, filling you up just like Thranduil told you he would, stretching your walls thin.

You felt him everywhere, in every part of your body.

Every nerve, every tendon, every cell burns and was lit aflame, sizzling hot fire licking your skin and bursting when he dragged himself out, leaving barely the tip and pushed back in.

His cock nestled deep inside you, Bard stilled.

There was a silent vigilance in his mesmerizing green eyes. "Talk to me beautiful, is this alright?"

You nodded and pulled him down on his hair into another kiss. "Yes, god, yes"

That's all he needed to hear and while licking over your lips, entangling your tongue with his playfully, he set a slow rhythm. Nevertheless the tempo, he brushed that spot inside you with every stroke.

Pins and needles all over your skin, goosebumps wherever Thranduil's fingers wandered.

There were more fireworks, lightening up the bedroom filled with gasps and grunts, whispers of encouragement and begging. The sound of Bard's hips snapping into yours, the wet squelch of his cock driving itself inside of your pussy again and again.

"There we go," he murmured and positioned his arms on either side of you, using the balance it gives him to roll his hips instead of just thrusting. Mumbling between kisses, he talked against your lips: "Aren't you just the sweetest? Darlin', I couln' believe my eyes when I saw you in that club, shining far brighter than anyone else"

He swallowed your gasps with kisses, nipping at your lip then moved to your earlobe, "You are so perfect, letting us fuck you like this"

In one swift movement, he dragged Thranduil towards him, long blonde hair curling at the edges hanging into your vision in a starlight waterfall. Their kiss left you breathless and you would have felt left out if Thranduil didn't lean down further to you, kissing your lips upside down.

This time it was his fingers that found your slick, poor and abused clit. A couple of firm circles had your hips bucking up to meet Thranduil's fingers, crying out for both men in a mix of their names.

You whimpered as the next orgasm build up fucking fast, your breath catching in your throat.

"Bard," your hips moved on their own, trying to get him to fuck you faster, "Please– more, I need m-more,"

"Darlin'," Bards forehead pressed against yours, his grunts strained as if he was holding back himself but kept the same and steady pace you asked him for, "You sure?"

Grabbing his hair again, you weaved your fingers through it, tousling it haphazardly, achieving nothing but adding to its wild appearance.

When you met his gaze again, his eyes were fixed on you, it felt electric and charged, akin to lightning, causing you to momentarily forget to breathe.

"Yes"

He obeyed instantly, with the next thrust you screamed at the pure force of it. Bard wa spiraling the same way you were, becoming erratic as his teeth grazed over your collarbone, biting every mark they have left on you.

Raising your legs to keep him close, your ankles locked behind his back, heels digging into the tight muscles of his ass. The new angle allowed him to drive impossibly deep, reaching pleasure points inside you you didn't knew existed before him.

The pleasure was blinding, high electricity running through your veins and into every part of your body and soul. This was nothing you have ever experienced before, not with anyone and they made sure it would never feel like this with anyone ever.

Bard, feeling how your walls clenched around him, fluttering and pulsating, begging him to stay inside, sucked on your nipple, hard.

"I need you to come, fuck. Let me feel this pussy come, I'm right there with you," he rasped, voice like gravel, leaving you to scream for him, head knocking into Thranduil's legs, who dared to add to the crescendo of your pleasure and pressed down on your clit.

You found yourself gripping the bed covers, fingers twisting, in an attempt to anchor yourself, sobbing and shaking.

Instead, the coil inside you snapped.

Soaking Bard's cock choking and sobbing, tears spilling out of the corners of your eyes as every limp of you tensed up, he pushed you over the edge, his moans in your ear the most erotic thing.

You felt Bard following you, felt him spilling inside the condom, his cock twitching inside of you as he reached his peak moaning and burying himself to the deepest point, hips flushed close against yours, still rolling and shoving into you.

Moments of silence and heavy breathing followed. Of broken sobs, hushed murmurs of praise, even more affirmations.

Thranduil scootched closer to you, laying down next to you while Bard's weight on top of you was just what you needed. The heaviness of his much larger frame and Thranduil's long arms wrapped around you held back the cold that threatened to take a hold of you as the shivers of pleasure subsided.

"Gods," Bard exhaled, chest moving, pressing more into you. "That was something"

"Happy New Year" Thranduil rumbled.

Minutes passed, more fireworks exploded, celebrations of the New Year while you weren't even sure you even knew what time was anymore.

Bard tried to move, though your legs must have cramped for they felt disconnected to your body.

"Darlin'," he dropped another kiss to your neck, laughing low as your head lolled to the side.

"Mhm-mhm," you groaned, eyes still shut close, "Stay"

His lips moved to your ear, continuing to bathe you in soft kisses that leave you floating in that blissful headspace. "I know, I know–"

Thranduil's hands cupped your face, caressing your glowing cheeks and wiped away the loose tears that rolled over them. "Aftercare first, then cuddling," he whispered and cradled your head, massaging the spot in your neck that started to ache after Bard had folded you in half.

Despite knowing he was right, that you needed to use the bathroom, the warmth their bodies provided held you back.

You whined, arching your back into Bard's chest as he pried your legs away and slowly pulled himself out of you, stopping when your hips twitched at the overstimulation and only continued after a soothing kiss.

As soon as he left to stand up, tying up the used condom and going into the ensuite bathroom, Thranduil's steady hands on your back helped you sit up on the edge of the bed, where he wrapped the covers around your shoulders and gently tapped your nose, before scratching his nails over your head.

"You did very well, sweetheart," One finger tipped your chin up. "Thank you, you are a wonderful partner."

Thranduil, crouched to your level in front of you, still naked as the day he was born, simply picked you up. Legs folded over one arm, your head fell against his glittery chest that was covered in red streaks of where your nails had scratched him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up"

The afterglow of the very much fantastic sex lulled all three of you in a comfort that blurred the barriers of you being a stranger in their home, laughter and giggles as the shower washed away sweat and glitter.

While there was a liveness to massaging soap into hair, hands rubbing away soreness and splashing water around until the mirror was all but fogged up and steam filled the entire bathroom, the exhaustion of the night caught up close after Thranduil dressed you in one of Bard's large sweaters.

Smelling like wood shavings, pine and toothpaste, hair still damp and eyes dropping close even though you tried to stay awake, Thranduil carried you to the bed.

The sheets were changed, encasing you in laundry detergent and brushing against your naked legs as you let yourself be placed on the pillows.

Outside, the world still celebrated and you did as well, in your own way.

There was a shuffle, a murmur of voices, then the bed dipped on either side as Bard climbed to your right side and Thranduil to your left, leaving not much room between all of you, legs entangling with each other, more giggling until everyone lied down comfortably.

Face tugged under Bard's chin, one arm of his reaching over your head so that Thranduil could nestle his face into it and the blonde wrapped around your back, you were surrounded by something you couldn't put into words.

"Maybe– maybe you can stay for breakfast and lunch," Bard's low words were murmured with a deep sigh, his other hand sliding down under his sweater, resting just below where your heart sung contenly.

"And dinner," Thranduil added and you heard him kiss Bard's hand.

"No talky-talky," you snuggled your face deeper into Bard, nose bumping into his neck, "But I would like that, very much"

Just as you fell asleep, held tightly by them both, you could hear them exchange quiet I love you's and you smiled, feeling their love seep deep into your bones.

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fettuccin-e · 1 year

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Better Than Nine to Five

hi guys i wrote this quite a while ago!! i had trouble with the beginning but, like with most things i write, the words started coming as soon as the characters started coming (get it?? get it cause like cum) but ANYWAY pls enjoy the poly!steddie content!!

Tags: Steve Harrington x Reader x Eddie Munson, established poly, dp in one hole, brief use of sex toys, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv

Steve can barely ever get off work these days. He hasn’t been as fortunate in the job market as you or Eddie; the both of you have pretty strict 9 to 5 jobs, able to sit and relax after a day at work, knowing what your schedule will be the next week, and the week after that. Steve’s schedule, at best, is random and wildly inconvenient, working late shifts almost every night and waking up the next day with you and Eddie already gone to work, alone in your shared bed.

He hates it, you and Eddie know he does, but he puts up with it, wanting to help all of you save up for a house, a pretty one that’s the exact opposite of the run-down, shitty apartment that you all live in.

You and Eddie also know, however, that Steve needs a chance to fucking relax for once. And if there’s anything you both know how to do, it’s how to make your sweet, loving Stevie let out some steam.

It’s Eddie who calls Keith and tells him to let Steve out early for the day. “He needs tomorrow off too,” Eddie says, twisting his finger around the phone cord.

“No fucking way, Munson. I’m already doing a favor for him by letting him out today, but he’s coming in tomorrow, whether he likes it or not.”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, eyes narrowed and angry, but you rip the phone from hics grasp.

“Look Keith, either you let Steve off tomorrow, or I'm going to the cops to tell them about the stash of weed you’ve got in your office. That we an smell it all throughout the damn store. And wouldn’t that just be a crying shame?” you snarl into the receiver.

“It was your freak boyfriend who sold me that shit in the first place!”

You nearly laugh at the high-pitched indignance in his voice. “Are you really gonna tell them that, Keith? Maybe I’ll also throw in the fact that they should probably look into your tax records, right? I bet there are some glaring inconsistencies, aren’t there?”

“You fucking bitc-” You hear Keith stop himself, sighing angrily. You hear a loud crash in the background just before he says, “I’ll let him off tomorrow, but you stay the fuck out of my business, you got that? I’ll-”

“Not a chance, maybe try being less of a shit person. Bye Keith!” You don’t give him a chance to respond, slamming the phone down.

Eddie watches you with wide eyes, before smirking, pupils blown and dark as he grabs your waist to pull you in for a hot, messy kiss. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad like that, baby.”

You giggle, reaching a hand up to play with his messy curls. “Gotta stand up for my boys, don’t I baby?” You step away from him, grabbing his hand to drag him to your bedroom. “C’mon, Eds, you gotta get me ready for Stevie, right?”

Eddie nearly faceplants into the carpet in his race to get to the bed.

It’s only an hour later that Steve unlocks the door to the apartment, stripping his vest off. Keith had stumbled out of his office earlier that day, mumbling something about, “go home early, Harrington, shit. Just wait till like, six or something, and you can go.” Steve had been confused, but decided not to question it, his heart galloping at the thought of spending the evening with the both of you for the first time in far too long.

Except the apartment seems almost empty when he walks in, all of the lights off and the living room and kitchen empty, devoid of both yours and Eddie’s presence. His heart drops, only for a second, thinking that he’s alone in the apartment, before he hears a loud, keening whine come from the bedroom.

Your unmistakable whine, followed by Eddie’s familiar whispered praises of “shh… baby I know, I know. It’s a lot, but I think he’s home, did you hear the door open baby? He’s gonna think you’re so pretty baby, so good, planning all this out for him.”

You answer Eddie with a choked sob, and Steve’s pants suddenly are far too tight, cock bulging almost immediately. He goes to open the door, and the sight that greets him almost makes him pass out on the spot.

You, with your hips hiked up in Eddie’s grasp, your flushed face pushed into the mattress as Eddie works his cock into you, his pretty hips slapping against your plush ass. Eddie’s head snaps over to the bedroom door, mouth pulled into a self-satisfied smirk while he keeps fucking you.

“Look, baby,” Eddie grunts, lifting his hand to give your ass a loud smack. You jerk, head turning to see what Eddie wants, and smile blearily at the sight of Steve.

“S-Stevie, you’re, ah, home,” you slur, struggling to get the words out between Eddie’s strong thrusts into your needy pussy.

Eddie watches as Steve’s eyes darken, his big hand moving down to palm at the bulge of his cock through his pants. “She’s been waiting for you, Harrington,” Eddie says, sounding almost like he isn’t fucking you stupid. “She had this all planned out, wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, uh, consider-” Steve coughs, eyes trained on Eddie disappearing into your pretty cunt over and over. “Consider me surprised baby.”

Eddie chuckles, and Steve’s eyes snap from where you both are connected. “Steve, this isn’t even the best part.”

“What?”

“C’mere,” Eddie mumbles, and you whine as he stops his thrusts. Eddie beckons Steve over with a playful finger, and Steve moves next to him, kneeling on the bed to see what Eddie thinks is so important.

Steve nearly chokes on his spit. Because there, in your dripping cunt, is a pretty blue dildo, shoved inside you right alongside Eddie’s cock.

“She wanted to take both of us today,” Eddie whispers into his ear, and Steve can hear Eddie’s smug smile. “Been working her open for the past hour, waiting for you to get home.”

Oh fuck. “Oh fuck,” Steve says, echoing his own thoughts. He smooths a hand over the soft skin of your ass, and you whimper softly.

“You like it?” you ask, almost tentatively, and Steve almost laughs at the absurdity of the question.

“Like it?” Steve says softly. His hand moves from your ass to push lightly on the base of the dildo, making you gasp sharply. “Baby, I love it. God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“You gonna take your clothes off, Harrington?” Eddie murmurs. “She’s been waiting so long for us, it seems cruel to make her wait any longer.”

Steve follows Eddie’s vaguely concealed demand at an almost frantic speed, ripping off his shirt so fast it gets stuck on his arm for a second. He ignores Eddie’s tiny laugh. He stands off the bed to untie his shoes and shuck his pants off, his hard cock slapping harshly against his stomach.

“C’mon baby,” Eddie whispers to you, “gotta let Stevie lay down, right? So you can sit on his pretty cock, yeah?” Eddie's mouth waters just a little at the sight of his boyfriend, hard cock glistening and hairy chest heaving. He looks fucking illegal, Eddie thinks. You nod your assent, but still whine as Eddie shuffles back, his cock slipping out of you along with the dildo, leaving you painfully empty for the first time in an hour.

Steve follows Eddie’s instruction, laying down on the bed, while you kneel up, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him. You lean forward to brush your lips against his, smiling softly.

“Hi, Stevie,” you whisper, and he smiles back at you, curling his fingers into your hair.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers back, before crushing his mouth to yours. He feels Eddie grab his cock, notching it up against the entrance of your pussy, and suddenly you’re sinking down, down, sucking him into your sticky walls, making all three of you moan in unison. You and Steve breathe heavily into each other’s mouths as your ass finally meets Steve’s heavy balls, buried all the way inside.

“God, fucking shit, you both are so fucking hot, Jesus,” Eddie grunts from behind you, and you both can hear the unmistakable sound of Eddie’s hand slipping up and down his cock, still sticky with your juices.

You turn, smiling softly at Eddie’s blushing face, his lips parted as he looks at you both. “Eddie,” you whisper, “You can’t cum yet. Y’gotta fuck me too, right baby?”

Eddie curses again, before kneeling behind you, just like he had been a few minutes before. ”You are a fucking minx, you know that?” He mumbles, and you would giggle if it weren’t for the blunt tip of Eddie’s cock nudging against your opening, right beside Steve.

“Ah- Oh God-d” you whine as Eddie’s fat cockhead pops into your stretched out pussy. You thought you would be prepared for it, with the dildo, but you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for this. Eddie’s sticky cock nudging along Steve’s as he sinks deep into you, Steve’s warm hairy body beneath you, his big hands on your waist while Eddie radiates heat above you.

Steve’s not doing much better, his eyes rolling into the back of his head at the feeling of Eddie’s gorgeous cock squished against his, the hot walls of your pussy strangling the both of them. Eddie’s hands are clutched into the bedsheets beside your sweaty bodies, and Steve takes his hands off your waist for just a second to grab Eddie’s hands, entwining their fingers together to hold onto your waist at the same time. You all take a minute to just breathe, allowing your pussy to adjust to the stretch of both of them.

They’re both whispering breathless praises into your ears, trying to get through to your cloudy brain. “So, so good for us, baby, taking us so good,” and “Can’t believe we’ve got you baby, you’re so pretty, so, so good for us. Y’feel so good, princess, fuck.” You can’t even discern whose voice is whose anymore, lost in a sea of pleasure and nearly-painful fullness, their cocks reaching so deep inside, pressing into every crevice of your sensitive pussy.

And then they start to move.

You try to gasp air into your empty lungs through your screams and cries of pure fucking pleasure, the both of them thrusting in tandem to bully your pretty pussy open for them again and again. Eddie’s face is nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing comforting kisses into your skin between whispers of “doing so good, princess,” and “y’feel how wide you’re stretched baby? Fuck, you’re so sexy, sweetheart, how’d we manage to land you?”

Steve’s groaning praises of his own, primal grunts of “so fucking sexy,” and “our pretty, gorgeous baby. God, can’t believe I’ve got you both,” before licking into your mouth in messy kisses.

You knew, even while planning this, that none of you were going to last long, and you’re a strange mixture of pleased and slightly disappointed to learn that you’re right. The knot in your stomach is tight, tightening and tightening as they rock into you, the overwhelming stretch of both of them keeping them pressing into your g-spot. You’re choking on your own spit as moans try to escape your throat.

It’s going to be over far too soon, but knowing that you can take them both, that you three could do this again, makes your pussy clench, your clit throbbing.

After only a few minutes of Steve’s and Eddie’s strong thrusts into your dripping cunt, grinding overwhelmingly against the spot that makes you sob, you reach your hands into both Steve’s and Eddie’s hair, your hips jerking uncontrollably.

“I’m gonna, oh God, I-I can’t, I’m gonna,” you gasp painfully, tears leaking down your flushed face, not even able to get the words out, before your pussy is clenching hard around both Steve and Eddie. You’re shaking like a leaf, overwhelmed and wrung dry as Steve and Eddie rub their joined hands up and down your waist.

“Shit, baby, you’re so fucking t-tight,” Eddie whimpers, composure fully lost. “Steve, I gotta-I gotta, gotta cum.”

Steve nods frantically, unable to form words, before he’s releasing one of Eddie’s hands to instead cup around his boyfriend’s head, dragging him down to meet his lips, licking into his mouth over your shoulder. Their hips stutter as they finally, finally cum, flooding your dripping pussy with a mixture of both of them.

You all breathe heavily for a moment, the room feeling hazy. Like heaven, Steve thinks, this is like heaven. You know you can’t move, feeling drunk and ripped apart, but your boys know it too. They slip gently out of your used pussy, Steve moving you to his side to cuddle you into him gently. Eddie steps out for just a moment, coming back in with a warm, damp cloth.

“Baby, Eds is going to clean you up real quick, okay?” Steve whispers, and you whimper softly, nodding your head, your eyes still closed. Eddie takes the permission to wipe the sweat off your body, and clean up a little of the mess between your legs.

“Good girl, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers when he’s done, pecking you softly on your sleepy lips, before turning to give Steve a quick kiss. He throws the cloth in the hamper, knowing you would hate to make up to it laying on the floor, before laying on the other side of you, pressing himself comfortingly against your naked body. Steve reaches down to tug to the sheets over each of you, and grabs Eddie’s hand to hold, their palms resting atop your warm body.

“Shit, I’m gonna have t’call off work tomorrow,” Steve mutters into your hair.

“Don’ worry bout it,” you slur, sleep already whisking you away. “I took care of it.”

“She did,” Eddie smiles. “I’ll have to tell you about it tomorrow, she was fucking hot.”

“She always is,” Steve smiles, chest hurting with happiness and sheer, unadulterated love. “Our perfect girl.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #steddie x reader oh yea #steddie x reader #steddie x you #poly!steddie #stranger things smut

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leclercss · 11 months

Text

Tainted Love, Part 1 (Charles Leclerc)

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: this is based on a story that i was writing in my spare time but thought it would be interesting to use Charles and a couple of other drivers as characters instead. so Charles is used as a character inspo rather than it including his life as an f1 driver. would love to hear your thoughts and if you'd be open for a part 2. i'm thinking of making this a longer fic.

word count: 4.8k

"[Y/N!]”

You don't really hear your name being called at first. You've been stuck in your own thoughts for the last five minutes, staring at nothing in particular.

"[Y/N]!" It's a little louder this time but still not enough to knock you out of the deep trance you've found yourself in. It's only when you get an elbow into your side and the champagne that's in your hand falls onto your lap that you finally snap out of it.

"Shit!' you squeal as you look down at the champagne that now soaks the bottom of your dress.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry," the girl beside you laughs, "We've been trying to your attention for the last minute."

You look up at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can't remember her name. Was it Bethany? Stephanie? You didn't care, to be honest. It didn't really matter anyway; she wasn't your friend. You were only here as you were roped into pre-drinks before a girls' night out by your best friend, who was the only person you know here.

"It's fine, I was totally out of it," you mumble as you reach out for a napkin to dry the bottom of your dress.

"No shit," you hear a familiar voice say with a hint of smugness. You look across the table and see your best friend Whitney holding back a smirk. "You're on your fourth glass of champagne. I'd be out of it too if I was drinking as quickly as you've been".

You chuckle half-heartedly. Laughing it off as if it was the bottle of Moet that you mostly managed to get through on your own which caused you to be zoned out for so long. Not the fact that you’ve been replaying the arguments that you’ve been having with your husband over the last few weeks in your head. Nor the fact that you’ve been thinking about your shambles of a marriage.

As Whitney takes her attention off you to start cleaning up the mess, you let out a little sigh to yourself and go back to your previous thoughts.

How had your marriage gotten to this point?

You had been so in love with your husband when you first met. In fact, he’d been the only person you had ever been in love with. There was a ten-year age gap between the two of you but that hadn’t stopped you both falling for each other so quickly. He was one of the first people you had gotten to know when you first moved to London six years ago. You’d met on a night out about three months after moving to the city. The physical attraction was instant but that blossomed into something much deeper and within two years you had gotten married. He was your rock, your entire world. And maybe that was a bit of a risk for a girl, who at that point was in her early twenties, to depend on somebody so much and so quickly.

You had a few sceptics when it came to your relationship back in the early days. A few friends from back home had told you it was just a whirlwind romance with a hot older guy. Your mother had been unsure about the age gap. What would a girl in her early twenties need from a man in his early thirties? And what would a man in his early thirties need from a woman in her early twenties?

Your brother had joked that it was probably daddy issues.

You married him anyway. And the first two years of marriage had been bliss. Until about eighteen months ago when things had started to change. Your husband spent more time away from home (he said it was work related), the sex had become less regular (not by a lack of trying on your part) and you slowly started to feel like a spare part in your marriage.

You started to have a feeling that someone else was now involved in your marriage. And that feeling was unofficially confirmed to you when your husband had brought up the possibility of having an open relationship - basically, he could fuck whoever he wanted, and you couldn’t (and wouldn’t) complain about it. You reluctantly agreed. You loved your husband, and you were willing to make this sacrifice if it means that you could start to repair your marriage. But you were so wrong.

Deep down you knew that you were never going to leave him. And your husband knew that too. Six months into your “open relationship” and your husband had been taking full advantage of the arrangement. Meanwhile, you took the opposite approach and hadn’t slept with anyone outside of your marriage. Despite that, your jealousy grew towards your husbands’ new partners and your loyalty was wearing thin. You had initially been quiet about your doubts when it came to your arrangement. But lately you had been more vocal to your husband about your feelings. Of course, he dismissed those feelings. That’s why you were arguing lately. He had told you that it was something you both needed in your marriage, you guys were too dependent on one other. You told him that you should be enough for him, you didn’t need other people to fill whatever void he was feeling. But you were beginning to realise that maybe you weren’t enough for him.

“Oi! Snap out of it. I’ve poured you another glass. But you better drink it quickly. And fix your dress because the Uber is getting here in ten minutes,” Whitney scolds as she shoves the champagne glass back into your hand.

“Thanks, Whit.” You can’t help but smile at her. Apart from your husband, Whitney had been your only other source of love and stability during your years in London. And that was why she had dragged you out tonight to pull you out of your recent misery.

“You know what you need? A girl’s night out! And before you roll your eyes and tell me how you’re officially too old for clubbing, we’re going out. You need to spend time with someone else other than him. And it’s been so long since you’ve been shitfaced,” is what Whitney had said when you had told her that you and your husband had been arguing more and more these days. You still hadn’t told her about the open marriage thing. She’d never forgive you for agreeing to it.

You flash her a smile before downing your last glass of champagne. Despite your hesitation, maybe a girls’ night out was what you needed.

“To getting shitfaced!” you yell before throwing the hard liquor down your throat. You try not to gag as you slam the empty shot glass down on the bar. Despite your previous doubts of this girl’s night out, you had been having a good time. It wasn’t your usual scene, but you had made an effort to join in and found yourself in a tipsy but playful mood.

“Come on, Stephanie has found a group of hot guys who’ve got a table,” Whitney shouts in your ear. You look at her and giggle, “Seriously?”

“Seriously! Now come on, I think they’re French.”

You allow yourself to be dragged over to the table where the other girls were mingling and flirting with a group of guys. You take a quick glance; they look about two or three years younger than you. Not your type (there was no harm in looking) but they were definitely good-looking.

“This is my friend Whitney, she’s single by the way. And this is her friend, [Y/N},” you hear Stephanie tell them. “But she’s married”.

One of the guys looks at you and lets out a laugh, “What a shame. Lucky guy”. You try to fake a smile at his remark, but your mind momentarily flashes back to your husband.

Rather than trying to come up with a response, you look around the table for something to drink. “Who’s up for some shots?” you ask before grabbing whatever alcohol you can find on the table. God, the hangover is going to be deadly tomorrow.

Just as you’re about to pour yourself something, you feel someone lean over to place a tray of Jager bombs on the table in front of you. “Did someone say shots?” he shouts before being met with a round of cheers. Before you have a chance to look up, the guy has sat down beside you. He leans over and whispers in your ear, “Weren’t you just doing tequila at the bar?” His breath is hot in your ear, his accent even hotter.

“Didn’t know there was a limit to how many shots a girl could have,” you tease, your playful mood apparent.

As you turn to face him, you’re met with a pair of piercing green eyes staring back at you. Fuck, they’re gorgeous. He’s said something to you but you’re too busy staring into his eyes that’s you have no idea what he’s said to you. “Huh?”

You only break eye contact with him as you notice his eyes start to scan your face, most notably he’s looking at your lips before lowering his eyes towards your cleavage. His eyes stay there for a moment before he’s looking into your eyes again. A knot begins to tie in your stomach.

You feel yourself starting to blush at the intense eye contact when you see his mouth start to move again. You really have no clue what he’s said this time.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He chuckles. He quickly scans your face again, smirk still intact, before leaning over to your ear once more. “I said, there’s no limit as long as it doesn’t stop me dancing with you later.”

As he leans back, you can’t help but admire his face. He has a light amount of facial hair, making his somewhat boyish face slightly more mature and handsome. You notice his dimples as he continues to smirk at you before taking a not-so-subtle glance at his lips. As you look back up at his eyes, you realised your staring is painfully obvious.

He leans over you and grabs two glasses from the tray of shots, handing you one. His eyes are back on yours again as he clinks his glass against yours, “Cheers!” You down the shot, wincing in the process before slamming the glass back on the table. “That was disgusting,” you groan before letting out a giggle.

You look back at the Frenchman who’s smiling at you. “Now I’ve gotten you a drink, are you going to tell me your name?” he asks. As he does so, he leans in slightly, so his face is a little closer to yours.

“It’s [Y/N],” you reply. “And yours?”

But before he has a chance to respond, the guy sitting behind your drinking companion leans over and chuckles, “Leave the girl alone, Charles. She’s married,” before turning back to his previous conversation. The beautiful man in front of you, who you’re assuming is Charles, looks back at you. “Married, huh?” He doesn’t look phased.

You nod. “And he’s not with you tonight?”

“No, it’s girls’ night. No husbands or boyfriends allowed,” you reply.

“And what other rules do you have on these girls’ nights?”

“Get as drunk as humanly possible with a group of hot guys.”

You’ve spent quite a while talking to Charles. He’s still flirting with you, lightly pushing the boundaries of “I know you’re married”. You’ve learned he’s from Monaco, not France. And he’s been living in London for about a year with a group of his friends from back home. He’s single (you’re not entirely sure how when he looks like that) and he’s better at handling his alcohol than you are.

You’ve spent a short amount of time getting to know some of his friends. His best friend Joris has been getting cosy with Whitney. You didn’t even get a chance to learn one guy’s name before he had started making out with Stephanie. The others you’re too drunk to remember they’re even here. However, your attention always falls back on Charles. And his attention always falls back on you.

You hadn’t even spared a thought about your husband until you saw your phone light up. First you notice your phone background, a picture of you and your husband kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower (and you’re aware that Charles is looking at your phone too). Then his name pops up on your screen. You glance at the message through your alcohol-blurred vision. It says something along the lines of how your night was going and if you were coming back home tonight. You roll eyes before swiping away the message.

“Husband?” Charles asks you. His finger has been tracing your knee for the last few minutes. You nod, trying to push the face of your husband to the back of your mind.

“Yeah, nothing important.”

Charles smiles at you. “How long have you two been married?”

“Four years, together for six.”

“Six years, you must have been late teens when you got together right?” you think it’s his attempt of saying you look good for your late twenties (as if that’s old). But it works on you momentarily, or it’s the fact that the finger tracing your leg has now turned into a hand.

“Well, I was twenty-one. He’s ten years older,” you tell him.

“And how’s that going? Is he okay with these girls’ nights out?”

You’re not sure why he’s quizzing you. It’s probably because of the face you pulled when you saw your husband’s name pop up on your screen. Or the fact that you haven’t mentioned him once all night. Most girls Charles has come across quickly name-drop their partner into conversations quite quickly if they aren’t interested but not you. Your body language has changed since the mention of your husband. And you’ve only been giving short answers when being questioned about him which tells Charles that your husband may be the reason you’re here tonight.

“He has his nights out, I have mine,” you lie before having a quick look around the table. “I’m not here to talk about married life.”

You momentarily look back to Charles who seems a bit taken back by your bluntness before looking back across at Whitney who’s no longer being occupied by Joris. “Whitney, can we go dancing?”

“Let’s do it!”

You stand up from your seat and look down at Charles. “I’m going to go dance. Whenever you want to do another shot come grab me,” you tell him before Whitney takes your arm and leads you to the dance floor. You feel a bit rude for ending your conversation with Charles so abruptly. But you weren’t here to spend the night talking about a man you’re trying to avoid.

Swaying your hips to the music and dancing with your best friend was exactly what you needed. The alcohol was well and truly coursing through your body at this point and it gave you the confidence you needed to feel sexy on the dancefloor. You weren’t a bad dancer by any means, but the numerous shots and glasses of champagne were a big help.

Whitney had reunited with Joris on the dancefloor, grinding and making out with one another. You didn’t mind dancing on your own. You were lost in the rhythm of the music, attracting some bystanders who you subtly moved away from when they got too close.

That was until you felt someone place their arm around your waist from behind. The hand felt familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it until you felt a mouth press against your ear. “You were looking a little lonely, thought I’d come and join you.”

You could get used to that voice whispering in your ear.

You look up at him and smile, “How thoughtful of you, Charles.” You were a little too drunk to care about the fact that his other hand found itself around your waist, pulling your body towards gently towards him. Mostly because you were enjoying it.

You felt his torso press against your back, and you leaned against his body as his hips joined yours in swaying to the music. As the both of you found your rhythm, you pressed your ass against his crotch and grinded a little harder on him. Truly letting yourself get lost in the moment with him. You think you hear Whitney cheer at the sight in front of her, but your only focus is on your movements against Charles. You feel one of his hands slide from your waist towards your ass, squeezing it a little before running it back up your waist to just below your breasts.

Fuck, that felt good.

You lean the back of your head against Charles’ chest and peer up at him through your lashes. He’s looking down at you and slowly moves his face towards yours, hips still moving in synchronisation. You look into his eyes, his attention fully on you before you take a quick glance at his lips. They’re slightly parted and if you didn’t have a slight nagging voice in the back of your head you totally would have kissed him. You’re suddenly nervous, you haven’t felt like this with a guy since you first met your husband. It’s new territory but it excites you. Is this why your husband wanted an open relationship? For the thrill and excitement of being so close and almost intimate with someone that wasn’t you?

Charles notices that you’ve gotten lost in your thoughts but wants your attention back on him. He lifts your chin with his thumb, so your face is closer to his and mimics your actions from a few moments ago – looking into your eyes before looking at your lips. You can feel his breath hitting your face and so you lick your lips. If he wants to kiss you, he’s going to have to make the first move.

He senses this and leans in; your parted lips meet his. You’re not sure if it’s nerves but it’s almost like you’ve forgotten how to kiss. The feeling of Charles’ lips against yours has caused all thoughts and logic to leave your body. You’re thankful that he takes the initiative once again and starts to move his lips against yours. You find your momentum again as your place one of your arms behind your head and place your hands on Charles’ cheek, your back still firmly pressed against his torso. As you continue to kiss, you notice that his crotch is still placed firmly against your ass, the bulge in his pants is slightly harder this time and it causes you to feel a slight tingle in your underwear.

As your kiss becomes more passionate, Charles turns you around so you’re face to face. He cups your cheeks with one of his hands, his thumb firmly under your chin and he reconnects your lips together. This time he slips his tongue into your mouth, and it begins to move against yours. The tingly sensation in your underwear is back again and it causes you to moan against Charles mouth. You can feel him smile against your lips, but it doesn’t stop him, it only encourages him to deepen this kiss even further. It’s like you’re the only two people in the room. Your body is tightly pressed against his, slowly tracing his chest with your fingers while Charles’ hands are covering as much body surface as possible. The hand that was cupping your cheek is now on your breast, his thumb grazing over the area where your nipple is. You’re not wearing a bra, so your nipple hardens at his touch, causing him to smile into your kiss once again. His other hand is very low on your back, his fingers spread across the top of your bum.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing for, it could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes but you don’t want to stop. One of your hands finds its way into his silky brown hair and you tug on it lightly. In retaliation, he squeezes one your bum cheeks. This time you’re the one smiling against his lips.

After what feels like an eternity, you both part from the kiss. Your eyes meet his and it feels like you’re in a trance with him. All you can do is just look at him, only him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing like this, your hands on his chests, his on your waist. Once again, it’s Charles that takes the initiative but this time in conversation.

He leans down to your ear, your body lightly pressed against his. “Do you want to come back with me tonight?” He leans his head back slightly to gage your reaction. You quickly lick your lips. Your body is telling you to say yes – the tingle in your underwear is only getting bigger. But your head is pounding and you’re not able to open your mouth. The only thing you can do is move and so you move one of your hands from his chest up to Charles’ cheek, your thumb slow soothing the soft skin beneath you.

He's still waiting for an answer. His green eyes staring into yours.

As you finally muster up the courage to speak you feel you feel a strange hand placed on your shoulder. You jump slightly at the sudden touch of contact which clearly isn’t from Charles and turn your head into the direction it came from. Stephanie, the queen of impeccable timing, is smiling at you. She’s saying something to you but you’re not really paying attention.

Only until she starts waving your phone in front of your face do you realise what she’s saying. You thank her before taking your phone and looking at the screen.

It’s your husband. Out of all the nights he could have given you attention, it had to be tonight. You quickly look at your phone and see a missed call accompanied by three or four more unread texts. From a quick glance, you see he’s a bit concerned that you hadn’t responded to his previous message telling him what time you’d been home. He’d never usually ask so it’s a bit baffling to you why he’d suddenly care now. Then again, it’s the first “girls’ night” you’d gone out to in about two years. And you remembered the arguments you guys had been having for the past few weeks and the way you stormed out of the flat this morning.

And what you didn’t realise is that he had seen you pack one of your more revealing dresses in anger when you told him you were going out with Whitney and a few of her girlfriends tonight.

He was worried. Not about you. But about what you might be doing.

“Is everything okay?” Charles voice brings you back to reality and you look up at him for the first time since Stephanie had given you your phone. You hope he hasn’t seen you gulp but he has. He notices a flicker of hesitation in your eyes.

You nod and smile at him, but he’s not convinced. Your husband’s messages have brought you back to reality and your body language has become closed off. You’re no longer touching Charles. He removes his hands from your waist and you’re both left standing there awkwardly on the dancefloor.

You open your mouth to say something but at first nothing comes out. You let out a deep breath before you finally allow yourself to speak, “I can’t. I’m… I’m married, Charles.” He breaks eye contact with you and place his hands into his jean pockets. He’s nodding but doesn’t really say anything.

You both stand there awkwardly for a few moments before you speak again, “I think I need to go. I’m sorry, Charles”. You lean up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. His posture softens a little bit, but he’s disappointed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. It sounds a little deflated and you can’t help but feel guilty. Moments before Stephanie had handed you your phone, you would have easily said yes to anything Charles would have asked you but now you find yourself in a weird mindset. You’re curious and you want to know what going home with him feels like, but your husbands’ messages are now imprinted in your brain. And so, you take the easier option which is to go home to your husband and be the loyal wife you’ve talked yourself into being for the last eighteen months.

“Have a good night, Charles,” you say softly before flashing a sympathetic smile. You turn away to leave the dancefloor when you feel Charles’ hand wrap around your arm. He tugs you back towards him and grabs your phone out of your hand. He gestures for you to put in your pin, and you oblige. He takes your phone once again and taps away on the keyboard before handing your phone back to you. You look at your screen to see he’s put his number into your phone.

“For whenever you need another “girls’ night”,” he whispers into your ear before letting you leave.

You quickly search for Whitney to let her know that you’re leaving before ordering an Uber home. As you hug Whitney goodbye, she leans in and whispers, “I hope you had fun tonight. I won’t say anything”. And you know she’s referring to the kiss that you’ve shared with Charles not so long ago. You thank her before making your way out of the club and getting into the Uber which arrives a few minutes later.

You rest your head against the window as you the Uber takes you through the busy London streets. You can’t help but feel disappointed with how your night ended and your mind flashes back to the look on Charles’ face when you told him you were leaving. A part of you wishing you had stayed.

You let out a little sigh and shut your eyes, pushing the image of Charles and the feeling of his lips against yours to the back of your head before opening your eyes again. Your phone lights up, catching your attention and you see a text from Whitney asking if you had made it home yet. You scroll down a little further on your notifications to see the unread text messages and missed calls from your husband.

You unlock your phone and start to type up your replies.

The first text.

Whitney: Just in the Uber now, be home in 20 x

The second text.

Lewis ♥: Staying at Whitney’s tonight. I’ll be home before noon tomorrow. Love you xx

You close your conversation with your husband and click on the + icon to open a new message. You let out another sigh before you begin typing the message.

To Charles: Hey, it’s [Y/N]. We didn’t get to finish our dance, mind if I come to yours? X

Your thumb hovers over the send button. You’ve typed your message, now all you have to do is send the it. Shit! You’re such a coward. You tell yourself that if you count to five you’ll send the message. Okay…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Sent.

You quickly lock your phone out of embarrassment and throw it onto the seat beside you. Shit, why did you just do that? You refuse to look at your phone and tell yourself it was a dumb idea to message Charles. You just need to get home, get to bed and pretend like it never happened.

It’s about fifteen or so minutes later and you’re only a few streets away from your apartment. You’ve told yourself not to look at your phone but at the same time you’re curious to see if Charles has responded.

You pick up your phone quickly and see a couple of texts.

First from Whitney:

Text me when you’re in. Love you! Thanks so much for a great night xxx

Then from your husband:

Okay, text me if you need me to pick you up in the morning. Night, love you x

But it’s the third message that piques your interest the most. From Charles:

You changed your mind? We’re on the way home now. Here’s my address if you’re still up for it? X

You can’t help but smile to yourself. As the Uber driver pulls up outside of your apartment building, you look up towards your apartment window, the curtains are closed but a flicker of light is breaking out from the lamp on inside. Knowing Lewis is awake prompts you to make your next decision and you hand your phone to the Uber driver.

“Sorry, I need to go to this address instead”.

The Uber drive grunts at you but he begrudgingly types in the new address before pulling off. You can’t help but smile to yourself as he drives away from your building , and you let out a little giggle as excitement starts to course through your body. That tingly sensation is back as you type your next text:

Charles: I’m on my way x

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 x you

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wheresarizona · 2 months

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Learning to Live Part 32

summary: It’s the night of his bachelor party, and a sober Javier gets a call from his very drunk fiancée asking him to pick her up from her bachelorette party. Three days later, it’s their wedding day, and Javier hasn’t seen or talked to his bride since the night before—they’d agreed not to see each other until it was time to say ‘I do,’ and his father took it one step further by having her guarded to keep Javier away. Will that really stop him from going to her before the big event (with his eyes covered)?

rating: M (This chapter is very story-driven, BUT there’s a little bit of inappropriate touching. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), Drunk!Reader, bachelor/bachelorette parties, emotional hurt/comfort, dysfunctional family, Javier taking care of you while you’re drunk and when you get sick (it’s very sweet), grief, discussion of pregnancy, WEDDING, getting ready for the wedding, Chucho hardcore not letting you see each other before the wedding, blindfolded Javier sneaking to where you are anyway, tying his bow tie, nerves, panic attack, EMOTIONS, Javier crying when he sees you in your dress, EXTREMELY romantic things said, Javier being cute with kids, you both wrote your own vows (did I mention emotions and romantic things said?), Chucho being a great officiant, (1) bible verse about love with no mention of God/Jesus/anything religious, crying, comedy sprinkled in, a fun and heartfelt chapter)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (no physical descriptions)

word count: 23k+ (Tumblr hates my long chapters and might not let you reblog with a comment. Since reblogs are super important, if you wish to comment, feel free to do it in the comments on the post or send me an ask. 🥰🥰🥰)

a/n: Get your tissues ready; it’s time to get married! 🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭 First of all, Happy Birthday to this story! 2 years old! I just want to thank everyone who’s continued reading this labor of my love. All the comments, reblogs, and likes mean the world to me! They make me want to write more, too. I know there’s no smut in this one, but, in my opinion, I think it’s still really good, and the people who’ve read it agree. There also was literally no opportunity for them to be alone and do anything more than touching—you can blame Chucho for keeping them apart. But the next chapter? Oh, it’s on. It’s gonna be so horny. Lol Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing. I love you.

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

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In the year 1981, Ronald Reagan was sworn in as the 40th President of the United States and almost assassinated two months later; the Space Shuttle Columbia became the first crewed reusable spacecraft to return from orbit successfully, and the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer was watched by over 750 million people worldwide.

It also happened to be the year Javier Peña’s life went to shit.

Looking back at all that happened, he could pinpoint the exact moment everything went wrong. It wasn’t disappearing in the early hours on the day he was supposed to be wed; it was six months earlier when he let a pretty girl, who never once acknowledged his existence in the several years they went to school together, buy him a drink—that was the beginning of the end. That was the start of his downfall and had his life veering off course.

By the time his wedding to Lorraine had rolled around in early September, Javier was at the lowest he'd ever been in his twenty-two years of life—so depressed, hopeless, and scared that he became numb and was just existing instead of living. Back then, he still had buddies in Laredo with whom he'd gone to high school, and though Lorraine didn't let him hang out with them much, she approved of them throwing him a bachelor party the weekend before their nuptials were supposed to take place.

He hadn't wanted one.

Who would want to celebrate marrying someone they didn't love or even liked? Marriage to Lorraine was a prison sentence, and his only crime had been dating the wrong woman. It’d also be a cruel reminder that he’d lose what little freedom he had in a week’s time.

His friends had known him for many years, having practically grown up together, and they were well aware of Javier’s dread. They had tried to talk him out of going through with it on multiple occasions, but he always stood firm that he wouldn’t abandon his child and their mother, and that he got himself into the mess, and he needed to own up to it—plus there was Lorraine’s father who told Javier he’d never meet his kid if he didn’t marry her.

To stop his pals from worrying about him, he finally agreed to the party and tried his best to act like he was fine when, in reality, his world was crumbling.

It may come as a surprise, but he was once a very social creature who had a lot of friends in his youth—his three closest had been Benito Esquivel, Salvador ‘Sal’ Soto, and Ken Miller. These were the guys who packed him into Sal’s moss green colored ‘72 Chevrolet Blazer and took him on a road trip to Austin, where they went bar hopping and ended up at a strip club, as was the course for bachelor parties.

Javier drank so much that night his memory was spotty on all that had happened, yet he distinctly remembered a moment when he was completely wasted in a private room at the club, crying while getting a lap dance and the kind stripper comforting him in the middle of it.

His first bachelor party didn’t go so well and wasn’t something he liked to think back on. He wished he could rip that entire chapter out of his life, but it was important for shaping the man he became—it began a chain of events that would eventually lead him to finding the perfect woman he was meant to be with—the one who truly loved him, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, and filled that part of him he’d always been missing.

Cielito was the love of his life, his soulmate, his media naranja.

And they shared the same kind of love his parents once had, which he’d always dreamed of having but never imagined he’d actually get to experience.

His buddies had tried to keep in contact with him after he ran away, but he was too ashamed of how he left and didn't want their pity. It wasn't until his mother's funeral in '91 that he saw most of them again, and though he appreciated them being there, he kept them at arm's length. Even when he returned home in '93 and '96, he continued avoiding them because he wasn’t the same Javi they once knew, and he didn’t want to see the looks on their faces when they realized how fucked up he’d become.

Now, he was having his second bachelor party seventeen years after the first, and he couldn’t be happier celebrating that he was getting married in a few days.

This time around, his dad planned the party, and there wasn’t any bar hopping or strip clubs. Instead, Chucho got Javier’s tíos (uncles) and male primos (cousins) together for an asada (barbecue) in his backyard.

It was close to midnight, and he knew the party wouldn’t end any time soon. His family were sitting in groups, taking up the picnic table, or sitting with him in lawn chairs around the large fire pit, which was currently ablaze, with the tall flames licking up toward the sky. He’d already eaten and was nursing his third beer over the many hours he’d been there, the bottle in his hand resting on his jean-clad thigh. The fire and his black leather jacket were keeping him warm while he listened to his friend Ken, sitting beside him talking about his four-year-old daughter’s recent T-ball game.

“—so she hits the ball off the tee,” he said, “and throws her bat as hard as she can behind her at the backstop—which, thank fuck they don’t have catchers—and starts runnin’ as fast as her little legs can go, only to stop halfway to first base to pick up the ball and chuck it with all her might out of bounds.”

Javier chuckled and sipped his drink—he couldn’t wait to tell these kinds of stories about his own children.

“Clever kid,” Benito replied, sitting on his other side. “How pissed off was Emily when she didn’t get to stay on first base?”

“You know Em, Benny. That little girl is more fiery than the hair on her head.” Her father had dark blonde hair, and she had bright red, yet both shared ocean-blue eyes.

A few months back, Javier felt like he was finally in a place where he could reconnect with his old friends. He’d gone out for drinks with Benito and Ken a few times to catch up, and they’d shown him pictures of their families; Ken had three daughters, and Emily was his youngest and the only one with red hair. He’d even introduced his wif-fiancée to them and took her to have dinner with them and their wives—it was nice.

He tried to reach out to Sal, but the other man was a part of the Special Forces in the army and had spent more time deployed than at home since Desert Storm—Benito and Ken said he was okay, or as okay as a guy can be after spending so many years in active duty. It made Javier feel like a real asshole for avoiding them for so long when they’d just wanted to be there for him like they were for Sal, who’d been through more dangerous and worse shit than him.

By no means were he and his old friends back to having the tight bond they shared when they were twenty-two or had anything close to his relationship with Steve—they’d grown too far apart and were virtually strangers now. That didn’t mean it wasn’t great to hang out with people who knew him before Lorraine and hadn’t taken her side or were judgemental of the choices he made.

“Big tantrum?” Benito asked.

“A complete meltdown. You’re gonna love havin’ kids, Jav.” Ken patted him on the shoulder.

“They have their moments,” Benito added, “pero, dios mio, mi vida no sería la misma sin ellos (but, my god, my life wouldn’t be the same without them). I love my little terrors.” He had five children; his littlest wasn’t even a year old.

“Yeah,” Javier said fondly. “I’m really fucking excited to have kids and get married.”

The other two men were smiling.

“And that’s how it always should’ve been,” Ken replied. “That’s how we know you’re marryin’ the right girl this time. It’s great to see how happy you are—and Benny and I can tell you’re actually happy.”

“Yeah,” Benito said, “‘Cause you’re smiling this time around and not crying—that stripper, though, what was her name? Diamond? Ruby? Shit, what was it?”

“Jade, maybe?” Ken answered. “You should remember, Benny, you’re the one she took home.”

“I can remember her amazing tits and ass, but couldn’t tell you what the hell she looked like or her name.”

Javier couldn’t remember what she looked like or her name either, which made him frown.

“Do you guys have that one woman you can remember every fucking detail about the first time you hooked up?” Benito asked. “She haunts you—I’m talking her face is burned in your brain, and you can remember everything like what she smelled like or how soft her skin was?”

“Yeah,” Ken said. “That girl, my third year in college.” He raised his beer bottle.

“The one who deepthroated you for the first time? You wouldn’t shut up about her.”

“That’s the one—too bad she wasn’t lookin’ for anythin’ serious. Best sex I’ve ever had; don’t tell my wife that.” Ken and Benito chuckled.

“Mine was Carmen’s roommate.” Carmen was Benito’s wife and someone they went to school with. “We had a casual thing before I started dating Carmen—her name was Valentina, and mi mamá would not have liked her, which was fine; she wasn’t wife material anyway.”

What did he mean by that?

“What about you, Javi?” Ken asked.

“I’m marrying mine,” he answered and took a drink of his beer.

Benito scoffed. “Are you just saying that shit, or do you mean it?”

He met the other man’s eyes.

“I’m being completely serious. She’s it, and I’m marrying her.”

Benito blew out air, shaking his head. “You lucky pendejo (asshole).”

“Now you gotta tell us what she’s like,” Ken said, and this conversation just took a turn in a direction he did not want to go in—even when he was younger, he didn’t like to brag about what went on in the bedroom.

Javier had never been happier for his cell phone to ring, but the feeling only lasted a moment as he pulled it off his belt before panic slammed into him that something was wrong because it was Cielito calling him. She was out having her bachelorette party with her girlfriends at the town bar.

“I gotta take this,” he said, setting his beer on the ground and groaning as he got up from his chair. He briskly walked out of earshot of everyone else.

His heart was pounding a mile a minute. He hit the accept button and answered when the Nokia phone was at his ear, “Hello?”

“Ohhh myyy god,” his wif-fiancée slurred on the other end. “How do you make ans’ring the phone sooo sexy?”

He let out a breath that she didn’t sound like she was in trouble.

“I don’t know—are you okay, baby?”

"Nooo, I miss you, and I wan’ you and I need you to come ge’ me—can you pleeease come ge’ me? I don' wanna be out anymore—I wanna be at home with you and naked in our bed; wait, have I told you how amazing you fuck? If there-was like an Olympics for fucking, you'd ge’ all the gold medals tha’s how good you are.” She inhaled before she continued speaking. “And your face, god, I miss your stupidly han’some face with your big baby cow eyes tha’ Daphne and Velma totally inherited from you, and tha’ gorgeous nose, and your lips—everything on tha’ mug of yours is perfec,’ and I canno’ believe you’re marrying me. Me?! How the fuck did I ge’ so lucky?! Like, you’re too pretty for me, and usu’lly, the pretty boys jus’ wan’ my family’s money—like fucking Daniel,” she fumed. “But you jus’ like me for me, and I’m sooo in love with you tha’ I canno’ stand bein’ so far away from you righ’ now. Javiii, can you pleeease come pick me up?"

Oh, she was drunk and missed him.

With how sloshed she sounded, it had him worried she hadn’t eaten much food or had enough water, and he wanted to go to her right that second to get her home and sober her up so she wasn’t too miserable the next day. He was trying to ignore what she said about her ex, but the more he learned about the guy, the higher the chances rose that he’d kick the fucker’s ass if they ever met.

"Are you sure you want to leave early?" he asked.

"Yesss, pleeease. I wanna go home wit’ you."

"Are you somewhere safe, cariño (sweetheart)?" It didn’t sound like she was inside the bar.

“I’m ou’side the backdoor where people smoke—Stacy and Arleta from the grocery store are ou’ here wit’ meee. Say hi to Javi!”

He could tell she held the phone toward them.

“Hi, Javi,” he heard the two women say. “Are you coming to ge’ me?” Cielito asked.

“Yes, mi amor. I just need to tell everyone bye—don’t hang up.”

He didn't as he quickly walked over to say goodbye and thank his dad, friends, and family for the lovely night, telling them his fiancée wasn't feeling good and he needed to go pick her up—the plan had always been he’d be her designated driver since he hadn’t wanted to drink too much; the rest of the people at her party had their own rides.

His long legs had him striding toward where his pickup was parked.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked her.

His truck door squealed as he opened it and got inside.

“Yesss! There was karaoke and I had a lot of tequila. Like a lot. Like sooo much, I sang “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic withou’ anyone daring me to—tha’ movie is sooo fucking sad. If we were in the freezing water and you pu’ me on a door or whatever piece of wood, you beh your ass I’m gonna figure ou’ a way to ge’ you on it with me. I’m not gonna be a fucking liar and say I won’ leggo and fucking leggo! You’re gonna be like nex’ to me, or hell, you could ge’ on top of me, and we’d survive—I’d make sure we both survived.”

She made him smile because this wasn’t the first time she’d gone on this rant.

He was already on the road heading toward town.

“I’d make sure we survived, too, baby. I’d use my body heat to keep you warm.”

“Why is tha’ sooo romantic? Honestly, I think you’d figure ou’ a way to ge’ us into one of the lifeboats.”

“Probably.” He shrugged.

“And then we’d ge’ to Amer’ca and start our new life together and have sooo many babies.”

He was still smiling. “Yeah—so many babies?”

“It was ye olden times when the only thing women could do was take care of their husbands and babies, plus there was basic’ly no birth control and you only cream pie, sooo yeah, we’d hav’ a ridic’lous amoun’ of babies.”

“I wanna have a ridiculous amount of babies with you now.”

“God, I know you do, and I wanna have all your babies, all of them, ‘cause you’re gonna be the bes’ dad. Like, the bes’, and our kids will be sooo lucky to have you, and they’re gonna love you sooo much and be so cute—I hope they look like you—you were sush a cutie, and I’d love to have a bunch of mini yous.”

“I want them to look like the both of us.”

“Meh, you’re cuter.”

“Stop that, you’re fucking adorable, and I’d love if our kids looked like you.”

“Fine.”

“Why’d you drink so much tequila, mi amor? That stuff makes us—”

“Horny?” she finished for him. “Our clothes magic’ly disappear.” Her speech was still slurring. “Robyn got us Tequila Sunrises, then Cat—” That was the wife of one of her coworkers at the hospital; they hung out with the couple occasionally. “—got us another round of them, bu’ Alma—” His prima (cousin) and sister of Sebastián. “—got us all tequila shots, and I also got us tequila shots, and I think there was another round—too much tequila, whish is why I called you to pick me up.”

His mouth turned down in a frown.

“Please tell me you had some food, too, and water.”

“Yesss, I knew you’d worry, so I ate a plate of fries and shared mozz-mozzarella.” She giggled. “Tha’s a fun word to say—I shared mozzarella sticks with the girls, and I drank water—had a glass aft’r ev’ry drink ‘cause I was-like, ‘If my Javi were here righ’ now, he’d wan’ me staying hydrated,’ and I couldn’ le’ you down.”

He smiled. “Thank you, baby. I’m proud of you.”

There was someone in the background who sounded just as drunk as her, asking her, “Wha’ are you doin’ out here?” It was Robyn.

“Calling Javi,” Cielito answered.

“Come back inside. You said you were goin’ pee.”

“I wen’ and Javi’s comin’ to pick me up. I’m waitin’ for him to ge’ here.”

“Girl, it’s barely pas’ midnigh’, and your bachelorette party! Leave the man alone and have fun with us! We’ll get pie after here at the diner.” It was open twenty-four hours.

“I need him,” she whined.

“Oh my god, you’re ditchin’ us for dick!”

“It’s really good dick, and I need it!”

“Mi amor?” Javi said to get her attention.

“Yes?” she answered.

“I’m not gonna fool around with you while you’re fucked up…”

“I know,” she whispered. “Don’ tell anyone, bu’ I’m too drunk, and I hate it. I wanna go home.”

“Okay, cariño (sweetheart). I’ll be there soon to pick you up.”

Another voice was heard on her end. “Why are you guys ou’ here?” He was pretty sure it was his prima, Alma.

“She’s ditchin’ us for dick!” Robyn exclaimed.

“I told you it’s really good dick!” Cielito said just as loud.

“Gross!” Alma was slurring her words, too, and sounded disgusted. “You’re gonna-make-me puke!”

“Sorry, Alma,” the other two women replied in unison.

“It’s okay,” Alma said. “You’re leaving already? I don’ wan’ you to go. We’re having so mush fun!”

“Yeah, don’ go!” He thought that was Cat. “This is the only night I can go ou’ alone this month! Le’s keep partying!”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Cielito responded. “Tequila was a mistake, and I need to go home.”

Javier figured she’d forgotten he was on the phone with her.

“I’m horny, too,” Robyn said, “bu’ you don’ see me booty callin’ my boyfriend to ge’ me, and he’s got really good dick, too!”

“¡Guácala (Gross)!” Alma interjected. “No sé por qué salgo contigo (I don’t know why I hang out with you).”

“Because we’re fun!” Robyn said. “Don’ lie, you loved it when I got our bride-to-be to rap “Shoop” with me.” Javier only knew that Salt-N-Pepa song because he’d heard his bride-to-be rap it on many occasions—she was really good, to be honest.

“You are fun, bu’ who wan’s to hear about their brother and cousin’s sex lives?”

“Sorry, Alma,” Robyn and Cielito said again.

“You all can still have fun withou’ me!” his wif-fiancée told them.

“A bachelorette party withou’ a bachelorette?” Robyn asked.

“I think that jus’ makes it a girls' night out—yeah, you can have a girls' night out! Fuck, where’s Javi? Did I tell you guys he’s comin’ to ge’ me? Wait, my phone! Javi, are you still there?”

“Yes, baby, I’m still here.”

“Where are you?”

“Maybe ten minutes away.”

“Ugh, okay.” She whispered the next bit loudly, “Robyn’s mad at me.”

“Damn straigh,’ I’m mad at you!” Robyn said. “It’s your bachelorette party, and you’re abandonin’ us for a man!”

“But he’s like a really grea’ man, and wonderful, and han’some, and the bes’, and I love him so, so, so, sooo, mush and wanna have his babies. So, I’m not abandonin’ you for ‘a man,’ I’m abandonin’ you for the greates’ man alive, and you can’ be mad at me for tha’.”

What she said had Javier grinning.

“Y’all are too disgustingly in love, but wha’ever, nex’ girls' night, no fuckin’ tequila.”

She forgot he was on the phone with her again and listened to their drunken discussion about what they should do for a girls' night, going off topic a few times. Her friends stayed with her until he arrived.

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the back of the building where he saw the group of women and some other bar patrons hanging out by the door, the area lit by two lights on the building.

“Cielito?” he said, hoping it’d get her attention. “Are you still there?”

“Oh my god, Javi!” Came her exclamation. “Where are you?!”

The truck was put into park, and he kept it idling as he got out.

“To your left.”

Her head turned to the right, making him snort with a smile on his lips.

“Your other left, mi amor,” he said. He’d walked around to open the passenger door, and her gaze finally landed on him under the orangeish glow of a towering street light.

“He’s here!” she squealed, and he ended the call, putting his phone back on his belt. He watched her shove her own in her purse before she hugged all of her friends goodbye.

Javier had seen the dress she was going to wear tonight; he just hadn’t seen her wearing it. When she turned his way and he got a good look at her, his mouth fell open, and he thought his heart would beat out of his chest like a cartoon character in love.

The champagne-colored mini dress was long-sleeved and covered in sequins, the neckline plunging to accentuate her breasts, the skirt ending just a little above her knees, a white sash across her chest reading in fancy black script, ‘Bride-to-Be,’ and she looked fucking stunning.

His awe ended when he suddenly had to act fast and catch the woman he loved who flung herself into his arms—he grunted at her body slamming into him, her lips crashing into his, wrapping his arms around her back to feel her skin from the deep V down her back.

The smell of booze hit him almost as hard as she did, along with the undertones of her perfume, Javier tensing when she grabbed his ass. With how she was hitching her leg up on his waist, he thought she was trying to climb him like a goddamn tree.

“Mmm… hi, baby,” his muffled voice said.

His hand went to her face, his thumb under her chin, and fingers splayed along her cheek as he gently pushed to separate her mouth from his. Her eyelids were closed, and her lips pursed.

“Hi, baby,” he said again. “Did you miss me?”

She smiled. “Yesss.” Her glassy, bloodshot eyes blinked open, and it was obvious she was utterly blitzed; there was no way in hell she could pass a field sobriety test. “God, you’re sooo gorgeous—look at your cute nose—” She poked the tip of it. “—boop. Your eyes are sooo pretty, and you smell sooo good—you always smell so fucking good. I love you so, sooo much.” She pecked him on the lips. “I’m sooo happy you’re here.”

She looked so cute and it had him smiling.

“Yeah?” He shrugged off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.

“Mmm, tha’s nice and warm. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Cielito. You ready to go?”

“Oh my god, yesss!”

“Okay, let’s get you into the truck, hermosa (beautiful).”

He helped her get up into the cab, closing the door behind her. Seconds later, he was in the driver’s seat, with her pressed right against him.

“I’m sooo happy we’re going home,” she said, hugging his arm closest to her.

“I’m happy we’re going home, too, Cielito—let’s get you buckled.”

He leaned over her to grab the seatbelt, getting it over her lap and buckling it in, ensuring it wasn’t loose, before getting his own belt on.

The short drive to their apartment had her in his space, kissing his cheek and neck while telling him how much she loved him, and it was so sweet that warmth spread through his body.

When they arrived, Javier had to keep her steady as they walked with an arm around her waist, making her lean into him. Once inside, he propped her against the front door to remove his coat from her shoulders and her sash, hanging them with the other jackets on the wall. Then, he pulled her purse from her arm, putting it on the console table, and he helped her remove the flats on her feet, kicking off his shoes afterward.

Her eyes were closed most of the time while she mumbled, a lot of it he didn’t understand, but what he did make out was her confessing her love for him and waxing poetic about how attractive she found him—it was adorable.

He wanted to get her sober, so he helped steady her as they made their way to the kitchen, moving past the counters and appliances to the small connected dining room and having her sit in a kitchen chair, pushing her close to the table in order to keep her from falling onto the floor.

Javier’s palm rubbed circles into her back. “Cielito?”

Her head tilted up in his direction, looking at him with red, glossy eyes and a big, dreamy smile.

“You’re pretty.” Her speech wasn’t slurring as much. “And you’re marrying me. I can’t believe you’re marrying me. We should blow this popsicle stand and go back to our place to have premarital sex—gotta do as much of that as we can before we’re married and our sexy times become legal.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean by the sex becoming legal?” he asked.

“You know, sex is only legal to God when the couple is married—we won’t be living in sin anymore; gosh, that’s gonna make your dad sooo happy. I love your dad. He’s the fucking best. Let's make him your mom’s flan next weekend ‘cause that dude deserves it—man, I’m hungry.”

“We’ll make him flan, baby.” His hand cupped her cheek. “Can I make you some buttered toast?” That seemed like a safe choice and shouldn’t make her sick.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, toast sounds fucking amazing!”

He smiled. “Okay, mi amor. I’ll make you some.”

Javier bent to kiss the top of her head before padding into the kitchen.

Making her two slices of toast and having her eat them, along with drinking a large glass of water, didn’t take too long—there were a few times he had to remind her about the bread because she was so chatty; at one point she went on an entertaining tangent about how those mythical half horse, half human creatures, centaurs, would wear pants, and even made him tear off a page from the notepad on the fridge, so she could draw him visuals on why the correct answer was the pants would go on the back part of their horse body.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucking in love with her.

He felt better after she finished her snack and drink with how her speech sounded clearer and that she didn’t seem as fucked up as when she called him from the bar—she was definitely still a little drunk since she couldn’t walk without stumbling, and her eyes were having a hard time staying open.

His next priority was making her comfortable. He led her to the bedroom, where he carefully replaced her dress and bra with his olive green t-shirt, leaving her in the shirt and her cute cotton panties she already had on that were covered in red hearts.

He took her to the bathroom, where he sat her up on the countertop and stood between her legs to keep her in place.

“Cielito,” he said, grabbing a wet wipe, “I’m gonna clean off your makeup, okay?”

There was a big smile on her face, her eyelids shut. “Mmmkay, you’re sooo nice.”

He pressed it to her face to begin removing her makeup. When that was done, he used a warm washcloth to dampen the skin he’d cleaned and grabbed her face wash off the counter, which was amongst her other skincare products. He used his fingertips to apply it to her skin, starting with her cheeks, then down her jaw to her chin, and back up to spread it along her nose before doing her forehead last.

He used the wet cloth to wipe away the cleanser when she spoke.

“Did you just wash my face?” she asked.

“Yeah?” He’d finished, and her skin was finally completely clean and looking dewy. Her face wash was put away, and his eyes squinted as he read the labels of the other products until he found what he needed and picked it up. He’d seen her do her skincare routine more times than he could count and had the basics down; the serums and special creams intimidated him, though.

His fingers were massaging the moisturizer into her skin along the same path they’d taken with the cleanser.

“Is that moisturizer?”

“Yes.”

Her breath stuttered, her mouth turning into a frown, and he matched her look.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, leaning toward the sink when he was done to wash his hands. He then dried them with the towel on his other side hanging on the wall.

Her bottom lip was trembling, and it worried him.

“You love me,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said and kissed her forehead. “I love you so fucking much.” His hands rubbed over her bare thighs.

She opened her eyes, and they were welling up, glistening under the lights above.

“You love me,” she repeated.

He held her cheeks. “Yes, sweetheart, I love you—I love you more than anything.”

Her voice was so small. “Why doesn’t my family love me?” With tears rolling down her face, her question shattered his heart into a million pieces.

“Oh, Cielito, baby.” His tone was soft, and he wrapped her up in his arms, hugging her tight, her face going into the crook of his neck. “They’re assholes and they don’t deserve you.”

Her body started shaking with sobs, and it had his chest squeezing tight, his eyes getting watery, wishing with every cell of his being to make her feel better.

She was the strongest and bravest woman he knew, who didn’t like to show any sign of weakness, and ever since her parents’ unexpected and unwanted visit earlier in the week, she had acted like she was fine in an attempt to hide her sadness.

The day after he was offered a large sum of money to leave her, they’d gone over to his father’s to use the fax machine in his office—the office was in its own little building across the driveway from his house—and she faxed Jerry, her parents’ lawyer, a typed letter that conveyed her disappointment in how they acted and also told them to never contact her again which she signed at the bottom. She changed her home and cell phone numbers and discussed with him possibly moving to the ranch earlier than they originally planned.

He’d tried to talk to her about everything, but she’d put on this smile he knew wasn’t genuine by the lack of its usual luster, and she was unable to keep the sorrow from showing in her eyes—it killed him how her usual happy glow had dimmed from her hurt. She’d reassure him she was okay, reminding him that her family made their choice and had to live with the consequences of it, but she also had to live with the consequences of their actions and deal with the emotions of never seeing or speaking to her loved ones again. He was expecting the façade to break at some point, and it took inebriation to cause her carefully crafted walls to finally crumble.

To add salt to their wounds, Javier was served at work the following day after the fax was sent, with a lawsuit for breach of contract from her mom and dad.

What were they trying to sue him for? Going against his word to not tell their daughter about their visit and proposition, thus breaching a verbal contract that was made. He’d laughed as he called Chucho’s attorney because they never fucking agreed with his terms and, instead, had countered with the damn prenup. They didn’t have a fucking case, and it was dropped by the next day.

Javier was so unbelievably pissed off at these people for what they’d done to the woman he loved that he knew there was no way in hell he’d ever be able to have a civil conversation with them again. It was possible it’d turn into a physical altercation, and he’d end up in jail, which he honestly thought would be worth it if he got the chance to punch her dad in his stupid fucking face.

“They’re my family,” she choked out, “they’re supposed to love me—why don’t they love me? Why am I so unlovable?”

“Mi amor, you’re not unlovable—I love you, Pop loves you, my tías (aunts), tíos (uncles), and primos (cousins) love you, Robyn loves you, mi mamá loves you—you’re loved. We love you, baby. Those people you’re related to are shitty and so blinded by their obsession with money and how they’re perceived that they wouldn’t know what unconditional love was if it bit them in the ass. They’re horrible fucking people, and you don’t need them, Cielito. You don’t.”

“But they’re my family!” she cried. Her tears were soaking through his shirt. “It doesn’t feel right that they aren’t going to be at our wedding, and it hurts so fucking much that they don’t support us!”

He kissed her hair, rubbing circles on her back with his palm. “I know, cariño (sweetheart). I know you’re hurt and that it’s fucked they won’t be there.” It was hard for him to swallow around the lump that’d formed, his eyes burning, and he squeezed them shut. “I’m sorry you fell in love with me and that I’m not good enough for them or good enough for you. I’m sorry for causing all this shit and the pain you’re feeling. I’m sorry, baby—it’s all my fault,” his voice cracked on the last word. He had to clear his throat. “But I’d do it all again because you deserve to be loved—you deserve all the fucking love in the world. Your family is supposed to love you because they’re your family, and our kids will love you no matter what because you’re their amazing mom, but me? I’m choosing to love you with every fucking thing I have because you’re incredible and so lovable.” His cheeks were wet from his own tears. “I love you, Cielito—I promise I’ll love you enough to make up for them. I promise I’ll love you so much you’ll get sick of me. I love you, Cielito. You’re my everything, and I hope my love’s enough…”

She sniffled loudly, her head rising, and he opened his eyes to meet her reddened ones, her face streaked with wetness.

Her voice was hoarse. “It’s not your fault,” she said, her hands in the small space between their bodies, clutching his button-up shirt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, and you’re enough—you’ve always been enough. It just hurts how hateful the people who are supposed to want me to be happy are toward what makes me happy.” More tears fell down her cheeks. “You’re what makes me happy, and they don’t accept you.” Her lower lip was wobbling. “I’m mad and sad, and I don’t want them to be a part of our lives, but it feels… it feels like they’ve died,” she said quietly. “It feels weird grieving over people who are still breathing, who are just a phone call or a plane ride away. I’m grieving them like they’re dead—are they dead to me? Why am I grieving what little relationship we had, yet also grieving the relationship we could’ve had? One where they welcomed you with open arms, and even if it wasn’t your favorite thing to do, we visited them once a year—you’d joke around with my brother, we’d fawn over his many children, and my parents would actually be impressed with what you did in Colombia and brag to their friends about their son-in-law who helped take down Pablo fucking Escobar and did take out the Cali cartel. Why am I so fucking sad about living people and a fantasy?”

He stroked his fingers along her cheek to cup it. “I don’t remember much from my mother’s funeral ‘cause my head was pretty fucked up, but there was something the Priest said that stuck with me. ‘Grief is just all the love you had for someone that suddenly has nowhere to go.’ So, it collects inside you, makes your chest ache, and leaks from your eyes—it fills all the places that were left empty by their loss. I’ll always feel my mom here—” He put a hand over his heart. “—but over time, a lot of my grief slowly disappeared, and you’ve made it easier to live with what’s left.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t think what you’re feeling is weird. They might be alive, but you lost the only family you’ve ever known and are grieving the death of your relationship with them—now there’s all that love you still have for them that has no place to go, so it’s filling the emptiness they left behind, and it’s gonna take some time to heal.” He held her face in both of his hands. “It’s okay that you're sad, Cielito, but you don’t need to hide it from me or pretend that you’re okay because I know you’re not, and I don’t want you going through this alone. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on; I’ll hold you or talk things out with you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help ease your pain. Just please don’t shut me out.”

She was frowning, her eyes darting away as she spoke softly, “I knew if you saw I was upset, it’d make you sad, and I didn’t wanna make you sad so close to our wedding—this should be a happy time for us, but all I wanna do is lay in the dark and cry.”

“Baby?” His finger went under her chin to make her look at him, their gazes meeting. “Don’t worry about my feelings, and let me be there for you—I’d rather be sad with you than have you suffer alone in silence. Now, let me get you to bed so I can hold you while you cry.”

Her smile was small, and her eyes were glossy with tears. “I’d like that.” Suddenly, she looked panicked, her hand going to her mouth. “Move,” said her muffled voice. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Shit.” He immediately helped her off the counter, for her to stumble the handful of steps and drop to her knees in front of the toilet, where she did, in fact, get sick.

It took a lot to gross out Javier—he grew up on a ranch, where he witnessed animal births and deaths regularly. Combine that with the horrible things he’d seen in Colombia, someone throwing up was a welcome change.

“Oh, mi probecita (my poor thing),” he said, spinning around to the wall opposite the bathroom vanity to get a small rag from the linen closet before moving back to the sink to wet it with cold water. “Déjame cuidarte, Cielito (Let me take care of you, Cielito). Sé que no te gusta enfermarte (I know you don’t like getting sick).”

She’d told him that when she had a little too much fun at a party playing drinking games with his primos (cousins) and found herself on his old bathroom floor, hugging porcelain with Javier there for support—they’d ended up being too drunk to drive home and spent the night in his childhood bed.

He wrung out the washcloth and walked over to her, a grunt leaving him and knees popping as he lowered himself to kneel next to her. He pressed the cloth to the back of her neck with one hand while the other rubbed comforting circles over her spine.

His tone was warm and gentle. “Get it all out, baby. I know it’s awful, and you hate it, but it’ll make you feel better.”

It didn’t take long for her stomach to empty and her heaving to stop. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and Javier took care of flushing the toilet. He scooted back and pulled her with him, the tiled floor cool underneath them, until he had room to stretch out his legs in front of him while she sat between them with her spine to his chest, her eyes closed.

He held the wet cloth to her forehead, the fingers of his free hand laced with hers, and kissed her hair.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered.

“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbled.

He huffed amusedly and smiled, placing a kiss behind her ear.

“Liar,” he said. “You said that last time you drank too much.”

“I mean it this time.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“I do—this is embarrassing.”

“I think it’s good practice.”

He knew the look on her face was one of confusion without seeing it. “Practice for what?”

“If you get morning sickness.” He kissed the side of her neck.

“Oh, god,” she whined. “Why can’t we be seahorses?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Seahorses?”

“Yeah, male seahorses do the whole pregnancy and birth thing—that’s the fucking dream.”

He thought about it for a second, taking into account how badly he wanted kids, and it was really fucking weird to say this out loud, “If I could… I’d, uh, do that for us…”

He could hear her smiling. “You’d have my babies?”

Javier inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “...yes.”

“I know the scenario is weirding you out, and it’s sweet of you to say you would, but I’m not sure if, given the opportunity, you’d actually do it—which is fine. Pregnancy and childbirth are scary, and it just proves that mothers are more badass than fathers.”

“You’re definitely more badass than me.”

“I appreciate you saying that, man who literally hunted bad guys for a living and had a bounty on his head.”

“You are, and since you’re taking the brunt of everything for us to have a kid, I promise I’ll do whatever possible, so all you’ll have to worry about is growing our baby and working.” She’d made it clear that when she got pregnant, she was still going to work until either the baby was born or the Doctor told her to stop.

“You know, I think we’re gonna crush being married and becoming parents.”

He smiled. “We are because we’re equals, even if you’re more badass than me.”

“We are equals, and thank you for acknowledging my badassery, man who helped eliminate two of the biggest cartels in the world.”

He snorted. “Smartass. How are you feeling?”

“A little drunk, sad, and I’ve got the spins.”

“Do you still feel sick?”

“Not really—just dizzy.”

“Do you want me to help you brush your teeth and then get you comfortable in bed?”

“That actually sounds wonderful because my mouth feels icky, and I’d like to cuddle.”

“Okay, mi amor.”

He started to move, but she stopped him with her hand on his arm as she said, “Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“You’re worth it.”

“Worth what…?”

“The pain and sadness over my family. You bring me so much love and happiness that I know it’ll outshine the hurt in no time, and this low I’m in is only temporary. You’re worth it and more than enough—your love is all I need. I love you.”

His throat was feeling tight, and he spoke softly. “I love you, too.” His arms went around her middle, and he didn’t squeeze as he hugged her to not hurt her stomach. He still wanted to hold her, his chin resting on her shoulder and their heads touching. “I’m happy I’m worth it to you, and just know that I’m yours; I’m here for you—good, bad, it doesn’t fucking matter because I’m not going anywhere, and we’ll get through anything together.” His lips pressed to her hair. “I tell you I love you a lot, but I hope you understand that I love you more than words can accurately describe—I love you, Cielito. I love you, and I promise I’ll be yours forever.”

Her hand came up behind her to press her fingers into his hair. “Yeah, we’re gonna crush being husband and wife.”

She made him smile. “Less than seventy-two hours, Mrs. Peña.”

“And I can’t fucking wait, Mr. Peña.”

The town of Laredo was buzzing with the news Javier Peña was getting married—yes, the same Javier Peña who left his first bride at the altar, had tumbled in the hay with many of the girls he’d gone to school with, and was apparently some kind of lothario in South America.

It really bothered you how fucking interested and judgmental the townspeople were of his sex life.

Your wedding with him was all anyone could talk about, and the bar was even taking bets on whether or not he’d disappear again, which was fucked up, but Chucho gladly put five hundred dollars on his son marrying you because he knew it was easy money. There was so much interest in how things would turn out that people you either barely knew or had never met approached you both like they were old friends of Javi’s to try and get invites—they were politely rejected with the excuse there wasn’t enough room.

According to Robyn, your wedding had the same amount of hype as your fiancé’s first, and though Javi hated that, you really hoped it annoyed the fuck out of his ex.

When you discussed how you wanted to tie the knot, your husband-to-be agreed the ceremony should be attended by a select few, and afterward, there’d be a big party to celebrate with the rest of your friends and family. Once the date was decided, the planning started immediately since there was so little time.

Chucho and his sisters would make a killing as wedding planners. They sat you and Javi down to get an idea of what you wanted the party to be like, a color scheme, and a budget, then told you guys not to worry and that they’d take care of everything. All the two of you had to do was approve things, hand over cash, and get your rings, which wasn’t too much of a hassle since you wanted simple matching gold bands.

Something you loved about the family you were marrying into was how they were all there for each other and so tight-knit—your fiancé's dad and tías managed to get all that was needed in less than a month with the help of his primos, and by calling in favors from their friends.

Javier and you didn't want anything extravagant. The party would occur in Chucho's backyard, under a giant white pole tent. Tables, chairs, and a dance floor had to be rented, and it was highway robbery how much the local place wanted to charge—Lorraine’s family frequently used them for their events, and you wouldn’t put it past her father to be the cause of such an exorbitant price just to spite Javi for wasting the absurd amount of money he spent on Lorraine’s first wedding. Luckily, on such short notice, tía Lupita’s oldest son, Matías, had a friend who knew a guy an hour away in Zapata who ran a party rental store and could get them everything at a reasonable price.

The tías, along with their daughters/daughters in law were handling food; Anna, who was friends with Javi in high school, had a bakery and was taking care of making the cake and Mexican wedding cookies that were tiny, buttery, ball-shaped, melt-in-your-mouth, powdered sugar-covered cookies, dotted with crushed nuts like pecans, walnuts, and almonds, and traditionally served at weddings and Christmas; tío Ángel and tía María’s husband were in charge of getting alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, and Ángel’s youngest son Diego was going to DJ, as it was his side hustle and he’d been paid to do gigs at other parties in town and in a couple of big city clubs.

An hour and a half before you were to be wed, practically every family member of Javi's who lived locally was at the ranch. Many had been there all day setting up the backyard or in the kitchen making food, and every time you tried to help cook, you were shooed away, but your presence was wanted outside to instruct those putting things together on how to arrange and decorate everything inside and out of the tent, and that ended up being what you did until it was time to start getting ready.

Most of Javier’s family and you were there, yet your groom was nowhere to be found and hadn’t set foot on the property in a good sixteen hours.

In that time, you hadn’t seen or talked to him either, and your last interaction was the previous night when he dropped you off at his dad’s—that’s where you spent the night, and thank goodness, Chucho had already gone to sleep when Javi helped you get settled in his old room, because he had a hard time leaving and it led to him fucking you slow and passionately in his ridiculously squeaky bed one last time.

Why were you staying at the ranch? The two of you, encouraged by Javi’s dad, made the decision not to see each other on the day of your nuptials. Since your almost father-in-law would be driving you to where the ceremony was taking place, it made sense for you to sleepover and get ready at his house—the moment Javi left you there in his room that smelled like him, under his sheets that smelled like him, in one of his white t-shirts that smelled like him, you realized it was going to be really difficult and a test of your strength to be away from him for so long, and you both knew, if you spoke even a single word over the phone, the resolve between you would shatter, and he’d be back at Chucho’s for you in record time.

That led to the lack of communication and him getting ready alone at your shared apartment.

You were sitting in a kitchen chair you’d brought into Javi’s old bathroom, wearing a white satin robe cinched tight over your clean body, fresh from the shower and the special undergarments you'd chosen for the big day. Robyn was in front of you in her matching black robe as she did your makeup, something she offered to do and you happily accepted due to how good she was at it. She'd already smoothed out your complexion and hid any imperfections; currently, she was working on your eye shadow.

"Between you and Javi," she said, her attention focused on what she was doing, "your kids are gonna have some pretty eyes."

You smiled. "I think his eyes are prettier, and just imagine tiny versions of them; they'll give me the sad puppy dog eyes, and I'll have no choice but to give them whatever they want."

She giggled. "Your babies will be spoiled."

"I have already accepted that fact—hopefully, they'll take after their dad and be spoiled, but sweet, caring, and well-behaved, and not some little assholes." You frowned. "My brother was a spoiled asshole."

She paused what she was doing to meet your eyes. "Hey, now, we agreed not to think or speak about those people today. We aren't lettin' them sour the best day of your life so far."

"I know," you sighed.

It was the right choice to sever your ties with your family, and you had no regrets; that didn't mean it wasn't hard or hurt any less. Especially today, with it being your wedding day—your mom wasn’t there to help you get ready, nor your dad for a father-daughter dance. They should’ve been there supporting you on the happiest day of your life. Instead, they destroyed whatever relationship you had with them, and it hurt a lot. Even suspecting for years that they had no love for you didn't ease much of the pain of discovering it was true. You felt stupid for caring about these people when they cared so little for you, and you weren't sure why you hadn't cut them out sooner. Was it naively thinking they'd change? Or the ingrained notion that even if you didn't like them, you had to suck it up because they were your family?

It didn't matter now because what they'd done and how they treated the man you loved was unforgivable. There was no chance in hell you’d ever trust them again, and you didn’t want the new life you were starting with Javi to be tainted by their toxicity.

Robyn's cell phone was sitting on the bathroom counter next to your open makeup bag, and it started ringing—nobody wanted to bother you while you got ready, so Robyn was made the point of contact to either deal with what was going on or talk it out with you.

She straightened and turned around to pick it up.

"Why's he callin’?" she mumbled, hitting the accept button and putting the phone to her ear. "What's shakin' bacon? Robyn speakin,’" she answered. "...yes," she told them, "I'm doin' her makeup right now... No... No, you can't... Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? No one is supposed to see her before the wedding... You're a fuckin' liar, and Chucho wouldn’t let you in here anyway... You're ridiculous," she said in exasperation. "But if you swear, on your mama's grave, you won't peek, then I'll allow it... Okay, fine. Give us a sec, then quietly knock—I don't want anyone knowin' you’re here... bye."

She set the phone down and the eyeshadow palette, spinning on her heel to face you and grab your hand.

"Was that who I think it was?" you asked.

She was smiling. "If you’re thinkin’ someone annoyin’ who could get me in more trouble than an armadillo on the highway with your father-in-law, yes—come with me."

Robyn tugged you up to stand and led you into the bedroom, where you both came to a stop.

There were two large windows on the opposite wall beside each side of the bed, sitting half a foot above the floor with closed blinds and red curtains over them. A soft knocking sounded on the one in front of you. You followed Robyn and watched her push apart the curtains, pulling on the string to raise the blinds. Her body blocked your view as she unlocked the window and shoved it up.

"How many fingers am I holdin' up?" she asked the person outside.

"I don't know," Javi answered. "I can't see shit with this thing on."

The sound of his voice had your heart beating faster.

"Good," Robyn said, moving out of your way to look at you.

With the window's position, you could only see your fiancé from the thighs up, wearing black tuxedo pants and a white long-sleeved dress shirt tucked into them. Your sleep mask covered his eyes, and there was a loose regular tie and bow tie around his neck that matched the color of his slacks, the ends of each resting over both sides of his chest. Aside from his perfectly trimmed mustache, his face was freshly shaved, and he looked unbelievably handsome as always.

"This annoyin' man—" Robyn pointed at him with her thumb. "—says it's an emergency—he needs you to tell him how you want his hair done and which tie you’d like."

It made you smile because his hair was already how you wanted it—you had given him a haircut a couple of days ago, so the sides looked nice and clean cut down, and he combed the longer top and bangs to swoop over to the other side of his head, holding it all in place with his favorite pomade, that kept his hair soft.

He also knew damn well which tie you’d chosen.

It had you feeling gooey that he couldn't wait any longer to see you.

You walked toward him, and Robyn made herself scarce by disappearing into the bathroom. At the window, you got down on your knees to make it easier to talk to him, Javier still standing above you with his height.

"An emergency, huh?" you asked, and he smiled. Taking his outstretched hand, you guided him closer.

“Are we alone?" he countered

His palms began mapping your body, sliding over your arms and shoulders and along your neck up to your head, where he avoided your face but carefully felt your ears and hair.

"Yep."

“You feel beautiful.”

Air huffed from your nose in amusement. “Well, you look handsome, even without being fully dressed.” You rubbed your hands up his thighs to rest them on his tiny hips. “Your hair looks perfect,” you continued. “Did you really forget which tie I wanted?”

He smirked. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the only way I knew I could get Robyn to betray Pop’s orders and let me see you; well, talk to you.”

Your eyebrows creased. “Orders? What orders?”

“He might’ve made it sound like a suggestion, the whole us not seeing each other today, but Pop is super fucking superstitious like mi mamá was—he doesn’t think he is—believe me, he is, and it made him feel better we agreed to do it. So, he has everyone out here on strict orders to keep us apart, including Robyn. One of my tíos is sitting at the end of the kitchen table right now so he can watch the front and back door; another is on the living room couch to stay close to my room in case he’s gotta intercept me. You’re being guarded like a fucking high-security witness with a hit out on them. I had to park my truck down the road and have Seb hide me in the trunk of his Bronco to get here without anyone seeing.”

“That is insane.”

He sighed. “At least Pop kinda gave us a choice; my mom wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have let us take any risk of getting bad luck because I saw you.”

“It’s sweet and extremely intense.”

“Yeah, and I can’t see you, so we’re good.”

You smiled. “Gotta love loopholes.”

He was smiling, too. “Yeah. I missed you so much. I just needed to touch you and talk to you.” He grabbed your hands off his waist, stroking his thumbs over the back of them. “I couldn’t sleep last night without you—even when I tried sleeping on your side.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep either, and I missed you, too. I’m happy you’re here so we can talk. I’ve got butterflies in my tummy, and I can’t tell if they’re nerves or excitement.”

“Maybe both?”

“Could be. Don’t know what I have to be nervous about.”

“I’m nervous about having to say my sappy bullshit in front of other people and have it recorded.”

“That’s actually a good point—if we leave now, we can make it to the courthouse before it closes and skip all of that.”

He huffed out a breath. “It’s too late for that, mi amor. Pop’s excited about being a part of the ceremony and getting to walk you to me.”

There wouldn’t be an aisle per se, just a small trail of rose petals leading you to where Javi would be standing in front of the tree. Chucho cried happy tears when you asked him to give you away.

When your soon-to-be father-in-law heard about your parents' impromptu visit, you’d never seen him so angry—his face had gone red, and he went off in Spanish about what terrible people they were. He was so mad he repeatedly tried to get you to give him their phone number so he could tell them himself how lowly he thought of them and that they were awful parents; he wanted them to know that their loss was his gain and you were his daughter now; you would finally be loved and cherished by a proud parent and that it was God’s will you came into his and his son’s lives. He also needed them to be aware that their pride and greed had turned them villainous, and he’d be praying that they someday realized the error of their ways and saw you for the blessing you were.

His anger toward those who wronged you was fueled by a protective father’s love for their child, and it made you incredibly emotional that after so many years without one, you had a parent who loved you unconditionally, wanted nothing more than your happiness, and would selflessly fight battles for you.

Chucho was the best dad you’d ever had, and you were happy that in less than two hours, you’d share a last name with him, too.

“Ugh, you’re right,” you said, “Pop deserves his moment. Hey, babe?”

“Yes, mi amor?”

“When you’re saying your sappy bullshit, focus on me. It'll just be the two of us in that moment, no one else, and believe me when I say all of my tears will be happy.”

His smile was brighter than the sun. He lifted your hand to kiss each of your knuckles, saying when he finished. “All of my tears will be happy, too, and you do the same thing—it’s just us, nobody else. Will you, uh, tie my bow tie?”

His question had you smiling. “I’d love to.”

He pulled off the regular tie and stuffed it into his pocket, bending his knees and crouching with a grunt to put his neck within reach. You took the ends of the bow tie, your attention focused on what you were doing.

"This is why you had me learn how to tie a bow tie, huh?" You started going through the steps—ensuring one end was longer than the other, then crossing it over the shorter end, bringing it up from under the loop and through it.

"Yes."

The bow tie had taken shape, and you were almost done.

"What was your plan if Robyn didn't let you see me?"

"I would've called you and gotten you to sneak away."

You finished tying it, and it wasn't perfect, but it didn't look too bad.

"And I would've with zero hesitation," you said, patting the bow tie. "You look so good." You leaned out to peck him on the cheek.

"Not as good as you."

You huffed out air. "Obviously, you can't see me because only half of my makeup is done—there's literally eyeshadow on only one side. I look like a mess."

Your hands were on his shoulders, and he rubbed his hands back and forth on your arms.

"A beautiful mess."

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm in love."

"I'm in love, too—madly, as a matter of fact. Oh, your dad took me out for breakfast this morning in the Mustang. He filled up the tank on our way home, and when we got back before everyone came over, he polished it, so I think it’s safe to assume you’re gonna get to drive it at some point in the next twenty-four hours—you can’t see, but I’m wagging my eyebrows.” You were.

His lips pouted, and his hands remained still. “Who drove to and from the diner?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I just wanna know.”

“But why does it matter?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“No, I’m just curious why you need to know who drove.”

His shoulders slumped. “I think I have my answer—how many times has he let you drive it now? Was that four or five?”

“Six. He let me drive with him in the passenger seat and Robyn in the back when we went wedding dress shopping.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you get weird like you are now that he lets me drive it—I can’t help that he thinks my cooking is Mustang-driving-worthy.”

“But you didn’t make him anything when you went wedding dress shopping…”

“No, but he was so touched I wanted him there to help me pick out a dress, he thought the special occasion warranted me getting to drive.”

“He didn’t let me drive the Mustang when we went to find a tux…” he grumbled.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, babe, but my wedding dress I bought and am going to save in case our future daughter wants to wear it one day is a little more special than your rented tux that has been worn many times before you by strangers. Now, stop being jealous, and get excited that you’re finally going to drive it, and unlike me, you’ll be allowed to drive it wherever the fuck you want, so there, you have one up on me.”

He seemed to be thinking long and hard about that last bit.

“That is better…”

“It sure is. Lean in and kiss me. It’ll make you less grumpy.”

“As much as I’m dying to kiss you right now, I, um, wanna wait, so it’s kinda special…”

“I respect that and understand what you mean. Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married today, and I hope you like my dress.”

He smiled brightly. “I’m really fucking happy we’re getting married, too. I’m gonna love your dress.”

“I hope so.”

“Baby, you could show up in a paper bag, and I’d be blown away.”

“The bar is so low. Do you wanna feel what I’ll be wearing under the dress?”

The pink of his tongue quickly peeked between his lips, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

His timbre deepened. “Yes.”

You poked your head out the window to ensure no one was around, then loosened the belt, holding your robe shut. Taking his hand, you started at your shoulder beneath the silk, letting his fingertips graze over the bare skin, trailing them down to the lacy cup of your strapless bra. He couldn’t help himself and palmed your covered breast before you moved his hand once more to continue the journey downward, where he got to feel the smooth, stretchy material hugging your middle; you let his fingers find that the spandex covering the warmth between your thighs, too.

“Not very sexy,” you said. “Well, the bra is cute. The rest is so I don’t look lumpy in the dress or have panty lines.”

He was about to say something, but you spoke before he had a chance. “Yes, Javier, I know you love my natural body, including the bits I don’t, but I wanna look my very best, and that means Spanx.”

He was frowning. “Are they uncomfortable?”

It warmed your heart that he was concerned for your comfort.

"Not really," you answered truthfully. "They're like my bicycle shorts, so stretchy and breathable. Will it make you feel better to know I have sexier bottoms I'm gonna wear when I change into my comfier dress after food and our first dance?"

He didn't know what your wedding dress looked like, but he had seen the one you were changing into after it.

His free hand went to the window frame, feeling along it until he found where the opened window stopped and ducked his head under it. His face was close to yours, one of his palms still between your legs, the other carefully sliding up the edge of your open robe.

"I'd prefer you wear no panties," he rasped, pulling the silk off your shoulder. His mouth pressed to the newly revealed skin, the soft kiss of his lips and tickle of his mustache, paired with his hand on your pussy beginning to rub, had sparks dancing down your spine. "It's gonna make me hard," his words were muffled between kisses as he moved across your shoulder toward your neck, "seeing you in your wedding dress.” Your fingers went into the hair at the back of his head, his spare hand palming your breast. “I'm gonna lose my fucking mind hearing you say 'I do.'" He was kissing and nibbling at your throat now, the added friction of his palm at the crux of your thighs making it hard to think. "It's gonna drive me fucking crazy that you're my wife—my wife,” he repeated against your throat. “And I’ll be your husband—I already want you, but all I’ll be able to think about after we’re pronounced husband and wife is getting you alone, and if you’re not wearing panties, it’ll make it easier for me to lift up that pretty—“

“No, Javier!” Robyn interrupted, and you felt cold water mist against your bare skin, the spray bottle hissing near your ear. “Bad!”

“Fuck!” he yelped, his head narrowly missing the bottom of the raised window as he pushed back from you so fast you’d think he was burned. His expression had turned grumpy as he stood. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I promised your daddy I wouldn’t let you see her,” she said, looking mad. “But out of the kindness of my heart—” She pressed a hand to the left side of her chest. “—I went against my word to your father, and how do you repay me? By wastin’ time gettin’ fresh with your fiancée when I’m riskin’ your daddy bein’ madder than a box of frogs at me for not doin’ what I said I’d do—you’re bein’ real rude Javier Peña, exploitin’ my niceness and I’d appreciate you sayin’ your goodbyes, and bein’ on your way.”

His eyes were covered, but it was visible how his face shifted from grumpy to guilty.

“I’m sorry, Robyn,” he said.

“Apology accepted. Say goodbye, and then we gotta get back to work.”

“Okay,” he replied.

The other woman headed back to the en suite. Leaning forward, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to step toward you.

“Thank you for coming to see me or, you know, talk to me,” you told him.

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “There was zero chance of me waiting to talk to you until the wedding. I love you too much.”

“I’m happy you did, and I love you, too.”

He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know you will, and I’ll be there.”

Javi sighed. “I better go. Bye, Cielito,” he said and didn’t move.

“You’re gonna see me in a little bit—get going, babe.”

He sighed again. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

This time, he quickly pecked the back of your hand and started quietly walking along the front of the house. You assumed he had taken off the sleep mask to sneak away.

You closed and locked the window, shutting the blinds and curtains, feeling happy that you'd be seeing him again soon.

It took some time to finish getting ready, as you wanted to look perfect. Robyn did a fantastic job on your makeup, and your hair turned out well. When you saw yourself all dolled up and wearing your dress, you almost couldn't believe it was your reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

The white, silky satin hugged your curves as it cascaded to the ground to pool around your feet, the fabric having some stretch to it so your movements weren’t hindered. The neckline dipped in a slight V, your upper back bare from under your armpits up, and thin straps went over your shoulders connecting the two sides.

With how the satin draped over your figure, perfectly fitting the contours of your body, then flared out below your knees, it had a Morticia Addams feel to it—change the color of it to black, add sleeves, and you’d find it in her closet.

Javi was right. You looked so amazing that he was absolutely going to get a boner when he saw you.

And wasn't that just the sweetest thing?

A man so in love with you he gets aroused even when you're fully clothed because he thinks you're that pretty. He was also the kind of guy who sometimes got too excited from a kiss, and you had to wait a little while in the car for him to calm down…

"What do you think?" Robyn asked beside you. She'd put on her dress—a lavender-colored, A-line, floor-length gown with ruffled short sleeves and a V-neckline that, as an added bonus, had pockets.

You met her eyes in the mirror. "That I've never looked more beautiful—if you ever wanted to get out of nursing, you'd be a fantastic makeup artist."

She smiled, her full lips painted in rose-pink lipstick. "Thank you, but I prefer doin' it as a hobby and bein' able to help my friends out."

"Well, thank you for making me look insanely pretty."

"All I did was enhance what was already there, girl—Javi's gonna lose it."

"I hope he does."

A knock sounded from the bedroom door, and without a word, your friend went to see who it was.

"Is it okay for Chucho to see you?" Robyn called from the other room.

"Yes!" you answered, and nerves started fluttering in your belly over what he'd think.

Within seconds, your father-in-law was standing in the doorway, where you faced him with a grin.

"Dios mío (My God)," he gasped, his hand going to his mouth, “eres tan hermosa (you’re so beautiful)!” His dark eyes behind his glasses started to shine.

He was wearing light grey slacks, a white long-sleeved dress shirt, and a tie in the same shade as Robyn’s dress resting against his chest from a perfect Windsor knot at his throat, his camera dangling from a strap around his neck; as usual, his long hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.

“Ese vestido es perfecto (That dress is perfect)!” he said. “Estoy tan feliz de que lo hayas elegido porque te ves increíble (I’m so happy you chose it because you look amazing). Javi se va a volver loco (Javi is going to go crazy)."

"You really think so?" you asked, looking down at your outfit.

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "He's not going to leave you alone. We'll have to get a crowbar to pry him away from you."

You giggled, looking at him. "Yeah, I have a feeling he's gonna be stuck to me all night."

"When isn't he?"

The question made you laugh. "Touché."

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to," the older man started, "but I went through mi amor's jewelry to see if there was anything I thought you might want to wear—it could be your something old—” You hadn’t figured out what to do for something old; your something new was the perfume Javi got you for Christmas that you saved for today so he’d have a scent memory. Something borrowed was Chucho’s land, where your ceremony and party would take place, and something blue was a garter from Robyn around your thigh under your dress. “—and I found this necklace,” he said.

That's when you realized he was holding a large, thin, black leather box in his other hand.

Chucho walked closer to you, holding it in a palm, while the other lifted the hinged top—the necklace was made up of many silver waves connected together, purple sapphires resting in each dip, that you counted seventeen in total. It was stunning, the metal and precious gemstones glimmering beneath the lighting.

"I gave this to mi Antonia on our twentieth anniversary," he told you. "We'd visit her family in Mexico two, three times a year, and always for Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). On one visit, she saw this necklace and fell in love with it—it's Taxco silver and known for its high quality; many pieces made with it are crafted by hand and marked, so you know it's real. She wouldn't let me buy it for her because she thought it was too expensive for something she’d hardly wear, but the way she looked at it, I had to get it for her anyway, so I did and surprised her with it on our anniversary; she yelled at me," he chuckled, smiling. "Then had me put it on her and covered my face in kisses." He sighed fondly. "I think if she were here today, this is what she would've chosen for you, too—if you don’t like it, we can go upstairs for you to pick something else out..."

"No, Pop," you said quickly, meeting his gaze. There was a lump in your throat at the thought he'd put into finding you this piece of jewelry. "It's perfect, and I'd love to wear it. Can you help me put it on, please?"

"Yes, Mija." He set the open box on the bathroom counter and picked up the necklace with the same care as you would a newborn. Turning so your back was to him, he had an end in each hand as his arm went over your head to get the silver and sapphires around the front of your neck, clasping it at the back. He stepped away, and you faced him again.

There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were soft. "Mi hija hermosa (My beautiful daughter).” The sentence had your breath hitching. “¿Ella es preciosa, no (She is gorgeous, right)?" he asked Robyn. She understood Spanish but had a hard time speaking it.

The other woman was beside him, grinning. "She sure is," she agreed. "A real stunner."

"I'm so happy this day has finally come." Tears were brimming on his eyelids, and he took off his glasses to wipe them away. "I just wish mi amor was here to see our son marry such a wonderful woman."

Your eyes were burning as you held back from crying. He'd put his eyeglasses back on, and you stepped forward to hug him, being careful of your makeup. His arms went around you, squeezing you back.

"I wish she was here, too," you said. "At least we've got you, the best dad in the whole world. I love you, Pop."

"I love you, too, Mija. Thank you for loving my son and making him the happiest I've ever seen. We're blessed to have you in our lives, and I can't tell you how much joy I feel that you've decided to take our last name; I think it suits you better."

"I think it suits me better, too."

“You’re gonna kill the grass if you keep walking back and forth like that,” the other man told him.

They were at the oak tree on the hill, and the sun was getting close to setting. Javier had his whole outfit on: a black tuxedo and bow tie, white shirt, and lavender pocket square—he’d borrowed a pair of his father’s golden cufflinks, and one of his mother’s violet roses was pinned to his lapel. He didn’t have a cigarette to calm his nerves, so he was pacing, but the comment had him stopping with a sigh.

"Are you wearing a hole in the ground 'cause you're being impatient?" Steve continued. "Or are you nervous?"

His gaze went to his best friend, who was standing in front of him holding a small, white, heart-shaped pillow adorned in lace that went around the edges—there were two golden rings, one bigger than the other, secured to the top of it by a satin ribbon tied into a bow. The older man was dressed in a charcoal-colored suit he regularly wore to work, with a new tie provided by Javier that matched his lavender pocket square. Nate was in a carrier on his back; the parents put the one-year-old in a onesie that made him look like he was wearing a tuxedo and some dark pants, the child happily chewing on a football-shaped teething toy.

His hands went to his hips as he frowned. “Both?” Javier answered. “I can’t wait to see her, and I’m nervous about saying shi-stuff—“ He quickly corrected himself with the children present. “—I usually save for when we’re alone.”

Steve was giving him a weird look. “My kids are here. This ‘stuff’ is appropriate for them to hear, right…? It’s not anything… lewd…?”

Javier’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s not anything like that, you judgemental pri-prude.”

The blonde man’s free hand went up in a placating gesture. “Hey, you said you save it for when you’re alone, and y’all have stayed at our house—any time the two of you were alone, you… folded laundry.”

“Folded laundry…?”

“Javi,” Connie said to get his attention, and he looked over to where she was fussing with the purple bow in Olivia’s hair. “You know when there’s a big load of laundry that requires two adults to fold, and they have to lock the bedroom door so there aren’t any distractions.”

Oh, ‘folding laundry’ was their code word for sex—that was smart.

“Mom and Dad have been folding a lot of laundry together lately,” Olivia added with a quizzical expression. “I didn’t know it was so hard to do alone—the baskets don’t seem that big.”

Javier smiled, his head turning from one parent to the other, seeing they were avoiding his eyes and blushing—good for them, fucking regularly.

“It’s more satisfying to do laundry with someone, so it gets done quicker,” he said.

“Doesn’t seem to get done quicker,” she replied.

Steve cleared his throat before he spoke. “Anyways, enough about laundry—what are you planning to say that’s got you nervous, Jav?”

He stopped smiling and scratched his mustache. “Uh, like, lovey-dovey, romantic crap…”

His best friend’s smile grew into a shit-eating grin. “What, like, super cheesy stuff? Are you gonna read the poetry you wrote about her eyes in your diary or something?”

Javier ground his teeth.

"Leave him alone, Steve," Connie said. "In our wedding video, before I walked down the aisle, you were clearly figuring out where all of the nearest exits were in the church. It’s refreshing and sweet that Javi’s gonna be vulnerable in front of everyone for the woman he loves.”

"I was checking where the exits were in case of a fire!" Steve rebuked. "All those candles they lit made me nervous."

"If that's what you tell yourself." She didn’t sound convinced.

“I was! Why did we need to be here forty-five minutes early?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “I was really enjoying the food your aunties were feeding us back at the house.”

There wasn’t a chance for Javier to respond; the answer to the question was he wanted to show how eager he was to marry the woman he actually loved and avoid any chance of being late—it also was a ‘fuck you’ to the people betting against him at the bar.

"Tío, tío!" The three-year-old Stevie shouted, running up to him; he was holding a Ninja Turtle action figure he'd been playing with in the grass.

Javier smiled, his attention moving to the child, crouching to be at his level. "Yes, mi principito (my little prince)?"

"We match!" His tiny finger pointed at his little light purple bow tie over his white dress shirt. The kid refused to wear a regular tie like his dad, and the only way they got him to agree to the clip-on bow tie was by telling him Javier had one, too.

His friends weren't by any means struggling with money, but Javier and his wif-fiancée, sent them a check to pay for their trip to Texas, which included flights, lodging, a rental car, and clothes for the wedding since they wanted those at the ceremony to match—Olivia got a new dress and so did her mom in the shade of lavender everyone else was wearing.

The family had gotten into town the day before. Cielito and Javier had shown them around town and taken them out to the ranch where Chucho and Connie finally got to meet in person—there was a lot of hugging—and that evening, they all, including his father, went out to dinner. Today, he’d spent more time with his friends before they all needed to get ready, then they followed him out to the ranch to distract Chucho while Javier covertly went to see, or, well, talk to his bride-to-be—the sleep mask was Connie’s idea, and she thought them sneakily meeting without anyone knowing was incredibly romantic.

"We do, bud,” he said. “You look so cool." He gently patted the child's arm.

Stevie was grinning. "I'm gonna walk from Mommy to Daddy and give him the rings?"

The hill they were on wasn’t too steep; Olivia was fine with walking up it from the bottom—she was excited to do it. For her younger brother, it was too much for him, so Connie was going to stand with Stevie a little before the land evened out at the top to signal when it was time for him to walk to his father.

"Yes," he nodded. "You'll walk while holding the pillow with the rings and hand it to your dad."

"It's a special job?"

"It's very special."

"Sissy's gonna throw flowers?"

"Yes, flower petals."

"It's a special job, too?"

"It is. They’re both important. Thank you for helping me, mi principito (my little prince).” He ruffled the child’s dirty blonde hair, making Stevie laugh.

Javier’s primos, Sebastián, and his tía Rebeca's daughter, Angelita, were taking care of the videography and photography, respectively. Seb had the video camera Javier bought, and Angelita had her own gear since she was a professional photographer—when you had fourteen cousins on just your father’s side, the odds were in your favor, one of them could either help with what you needed or knew somebody who could.

Photos were taken of Javier with the Murphys when they all first got there, and then his primos told everyone to pretend they weren’t there while they got candids and views of the scenery—his cousins arrived together in Sebastián’s SUV.

“Hey, Javi?” Seb said as he walked toward him.

"I gotta talk to him, buddy," Javier told Stevie. "I'll be back." He rose up with a groan, taking a few steps to reach his primo. "Yeah?" he answered.

When camcorders first came out, they were big and had to be rested on the operator’s shoulder, but the one Seb was using, he held in one of his hands with the side pulled open to see the little screen that previewed what was being recorded. The younger man hit a button on the video camera to pause what he’d been doing. “Do you want me to interview people?” Seb asked. “Ask how they like the wedding, if they have any advice, that kinda stuff.”

"Uh." He thought about it and Cielito would probably enjoy that. "Sure.”

"Perfecto (Perfect)." Seb nodded, hitting the button to record again.

Javier immediately regretted his decision when the camera was put in his face.

“It’s your big day, primo,” Seb said. “How are you feeling?”

“Um, excited and nervous.”

“The audience would like to hear how you met your bride.”

Javier smiled, heat rising on his cheeks. “At the grocery store, in the produce department—I guess it was obvious I was struggling to pick out a tomato, and she came to my rescue and showed me what to look for.”

“What was your first impression of her?”

He scratched at the back of his neck while looking away. “Uh, that she was sweet for helping me out, and beautiful. I could tell she had a good, kind heart and—” he lowered his voice so the children wouldn’t hear him. “—no fuckin’ clue who I was.” He chuckled. “I was hooked from that first conversation; an instant connection—there was something about her that told me she was going to be someone important to me, and I’d never felt that with anyone else.”

“What’d you do for your first date?”

His immediate thought was what happened after the bar, and his face felt hot. “We, uh, went out for drinks.”

“When did you know you loved her?”

He looked at the camera. “Honestly? Our third date. We were dancing in her kitchen to “¿Y cómo es él?”—”

“Mi mamá loves that song,” Seb said.

Javier huffed, smiling. “All my tías do. So, uh, we were dancing in her kitchen, and I realized she was the woman I was going to marry. I could see us having a future and was picturing what our Sunday mornings would look like—which, they’re exactly how I imagined—yeah, I knew I loved her on the third date and that we were going to get married one day.” He cleared his throat. “When my dad tells the story of the first time he saw my mother, he says his gut told him she was the one, and I always thought he was talking out of his—ass,” he whispered. “But it’s real and crazy to know deep down inside that you’ve found the person who completes you—feeling that confirmed she was it and that I truly did love her.”

“I think I know the feeling you’re talking about, and it’s great.”

“It is, and at your wedding, I’m gonna grill you on camera about it.”

“Hey, your wife is gonna eat this up, and you both want kids; think about your hijos (children) watching this one day and seeing how much you love their mom on your wedding day.”

The thought of sitting on the couch surrounded by his wife and kids, watching this wedding video, made him soften to the point he was putty—he wanted it to be a reality one day.

“What’s something you want to say to the bride before you get married?” Seb asked.

“I love you, and today is the best day of my entire fucking life—”

“—Eso es un dólar en la jarra, tío (That’s a dollar in the jar, uncle).” Olivia interrupted.

She meant the swear jar.

Javier sighed. “Lo siento, mi tesorito (I’m sorry, my little treasure). As I was saying, mi Cielito, I love you, and today is the best day of my entire freaking life. Happy isn’t enough to describe how I feel about us starting this new chapter of being husband and wife, and I’m looking forward to our future full of love, happiness, and hopefully, a lot of kids.” He smiled big. “I love you more than anything, and I will tell you that every day for the rest of our lives. Te amo, mi amor (I love you, my love).” To end the sentence, he blew a kiss at the camera lens.

In order to get to where Javi was, it involved Chucho driving you off-road, and the trip was bumpy; you sat in the passenger seat, and Robyn was in the backseat, and because your father-in-law was probably as nervous as you were about speaking in front of people, he held your hand the entire way.

The previous day, when you brought the Murphys out to the ranch, you’d taken them to where you were going to be wed to do a quick rehearsal on how things would go; Olivia was beyond ecstatic to be a flower girl, and Stevie didn’t really understand what was going on, except that his tío Javi had an important job for him.

Chucho pulled up and parked at the base of the hill with your door opposite it so you couldn’t get a closer look at everyone atop it. The butterflies in your belly were flapping around so hard you thought they might get out, while your mind was racing with what could go wrong like you falling—that was a reason you wore flats, but with how much of your dress touched the ground, there was a chance of it tripping you up. Or what if Javi’s handsomeness made your brain stop working, and you couldn’t speak a single coherent word? Something that has happened before. God, your heart was pounding, and you thought you might be having a minor panic attack due to your vision starting to tunnel—a small silver flask was held up in front of your face, the cap already twisted off.

“Take a drink, Mija,” Chucho’s soothing voice said. “It’ll calm you down.”

The man was a lifesaver.

You grabbed it, taking a big swig, and your face pinched as the whiskey burned down your throat—from the taste and smoothness, you recognized it as Javi’s favorite, which was top shelf, a little spendy, and probably came from the bottle your fiancé gifted his dad to thank him for his help in getting you to give the green light to start your family.

The effect the alcohol had on you was almost immediate, feeling all of the tense muscles in your body relax at the same time. Your father-in-law took the flask from you and knocked it back with a drink of his own.

“Robyn?” he asked when he finished, holding it up for her to reach.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied, accepting it from him to take a gulp.

“I couldn’t see Antonia before our wedding,” he said, his head turned your way, “or talk to her. We were kept apart at the church, and I was so nervous that I was shaking like a leaf.” He chuckled. “Not about getting married, but having to stand in front of so many people. It had to be minutes before I needed to go out with the priest that mi amor’s maid of honor, her best friend, found me to give me an opened bottle of tequila and a note written by Antonia that read, ‘Mi amor, un trago para el coraje (My love, a drink for courage). Yo también necesitaba uno (I needed one, too).’ And she left a lipstick stamp of her lips at the bottom, where she kissed the paper. I won’t deny it. I kissed where her lips had been and took two shots.”

The story made you smile.

Chucho had put on a jacket that matched his light grey pants, and you watched as he pulled something from the inside pocket. It was a small folded piece of paper that’d been ripped from the notepad he kept by the answering machine at his house to write down messages. He passed it over to you, and you unfolded it, finding Javi’s scratchy handwriting. You read what he wrote:

Cielito, You said you were never drinking again, but I think this can be an exception since you’re probably freaking the fuck out about embarrassing yourself like I am. I’m worried I’ll see how beautiful you are and forget how to talk, or my brain will stop working. Have a drink to calm your nerves, and know it will all be okay because we’re doing this together. I love you, Your husband

The note was touching, especially since he knew how you’d be feeling.

“When did he write this?” you asked Chucho, whose eyes you met, the man smiling.

“When he met up with Connie and all of them at the house before they came out here. I’d given him the flask when he got there as a gift, but he told me to keep it for you and asked if he could write you a message. It reminded me so much of his mother, I couldn’t say no.”

“Thanks, Pop. I needed it.”

“I know you did, Mija.” He patted your leg.

When Javier saw his father's truck in the distance, his heart rate increased, and by the time they parked at the bottom of the hill, his heart was beating so fast that he was sure it was going to beat right out of his chest.

With where he was standing at the tree and how the land sloped, he didn’t have a visual. Steve was beside him with Nate still in the carrier, Connie and Stevie, who was holding the pillow with the rings, had walked to the top of the hill and were looking down it, probably watching Olivia, who booked it to join the people at the truck. Seb was near Steve's wife and kid with the camcorder and a battery-powered boombox on the ground he was supposed to hit play on when Robyn gave him the signal.

Sweat was forming on his brow and on his palms. He turned to Steve.

"Do I look okay?" he asked his friend. "How's my hair? And the bow tie?" He lifted his chin.

The other man was wearing an amused smile. "Hair and bow tie look as fine as they did when you asked five minutes ago." He put a hand on Javier's shoulder and squeezed. "Relax, man—you look great. She's gonna love what she sees."

"I fucking hope so."

The sun had started its descent on the horizon and was the backdrop for the place they’d be standing; the sky where it met land was lit up in burning orange, bleeding into golden yellow where the sun was positioned, and high above that, it turned into a calming mauve.

The soft, melodic sound of a piano began, and it was Javier's cue to face the others. Christine McVie’s voice floated through the air as she sang the opening to the Fleetwood Mac song, "Songbird:"

“For you there'll be no more crying For you the Sun will be shining And I feel that when I'm with you It's alright, I know it's right.”

Seconds later, Robyn came into view, smiling while holding a small bouquet of sunflowers with a lavender ribbon wrapped around the stems. She shot her boyfriend, Sebastián, a wink as she passed him. She took her spot across from Javier beside where Cielito would be.

When he discussed with his wife-to-be the music for today, she only knew for sure what she wanted them to dance their first dance to, and since Javier didn’t object to it, she left what she’d walk down the aisle to up to him. He knew she’d hate the traditional “Bridal Chorus,” a couple of Elvis Presley songs came to mind, “No Sé Tú” by Luis Miguel perfectly described how Javier felt when they met and was a good option, “At Last” by Etta James would be appropriate, too, and “I Could Fall in Love” by Selena was in the running, because, Selena, but then he remembered this song on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours—his favorite album, and for good reason with it having some of the band’s best classics like “The Chain,” “Dreams,” and “Go Your Own Way;” it was also seeping with palpable heartbreak of a messy breakup, except for the track, “Songbird.” It was a major tonal shift from all the angst with its pretty piano and Christine McVie crooning her love. What sold him on it were the lines:

“To you, I’ll give the world To you, I’ll never be cold ‘Cause I feel that when I’m with you It’s alright, I know it’s right.”

He loved it when he heard it played live at the band's concert twenty-three years ago—he’d been seventeen and still in high school; he and his buddies snuck off to Fort Worth to see them, and “Songbird” was the last song of their set before the encore.

It was his three-year-old sobrino’s (nephew’s) turn to walk forward, his mom sending him to his dad with the rings—they all laughed at how he ran as fast as he could, making Javier smile.

"Here, Daddy," the child said to Steve, holding up the pillow.

His father accepted it.

"Great job, kiddo—high-five." His friend had to bend a little to gently hit his palm to Stevie’s tinier one, and the toddler turned to Javier expectantly, who, of course, bent his knees and high-fived him.

"You did good, buddy,” he said.

Steve told his son to stand with him, and Connie went to be next to Robyn as everyone watched Olivia walk up, tossing red rose petals from a small white basket, leaving a trail of them behind her. He hum-sang under his breath along with the song:

“And the songbirds are singing Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you Like never before.”

Finally, his bride came into view, her eyes locking onto his, and all the love he had for, all of his happiness, and thanks he had to the universe for making this day happen overflowed from him, falling as tears down his face and made his smile so big, he could feel the dimple in his cheek.

She was breathtaking and better than anything he could’ve imagined; this moment would be seared into his brain for all eternity, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt this happy in his entire life—he almost told Steve to make sure he didn’t float away.

Her bouquet was made up of roses from his mother’s garden, and his heart felt like it would burst. Then the dress—Jesus Christ, the dress was perfect with how it molded to her body and showed off her tits from the neckline V-ing between them. His fingers were itching to see if the fabric was as buttery smooth as it looked, wanting to explore the expanse with his fingertips, mapping out every curve, line, and dip he’d already ventured countless times before but now on a new canvas; He desired to feel her softness under his palms and cradle her beautiful face to kiss those delectable lips he so loved; he wanted to hold her in his arms, her familiar shape he knew as intimately as his own, pressed against him, where she belonged.

All of it was getting him too excited, and his pants were feeling tighter, just as he suspected might happen.

Javier’s dream wedding night would have them partying with their friends and family well into the later hours and holding off on consummating their marriage until they retired to the room he rented at the nicest hotel in town he was surprising her with. He’d been determined to do just that up until he had to spend the previous evening by himself where he was alone with his thoughts and ruminated on how beautiful she was going to look, that she was going to be his wife, and one day soon, the mother of his children; since she wasn’t there to distract him by simply being in his vicinity, he worked himself up until he was rock hard and had to take a freezing shower.

He didn’t see there being any chance they’d make it to the hotel without them fucking at least once beforehand.

God, she was so fucking gorgeous.

He had to wipe at the wetness on his face, his smile continuing to shine.

Telling her his feelings in front of everyone wasn’t all he’d been nervous about; his brain was a real asshole, and there’d been a tiny thread of worry she wasn’t going to show—it was stupid, to have even fathomed something so absurd, yet looking at how shitty his luck was up until they met, he thought it wouldn’t have been too surprising that this time he’d be the one left at the altar.

But she was here! She came! And he was so overjoyed he couldn’t stop crying.

Wait.

Oh, fuck, she was close now—what was he supposed to do? It only just registered that she was walking with his dad, and they were almost to him, and he couldn’t remember what needed to happen when she got to him. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he was starting to panic that he didn’t know what his next move was, worried he was going to fuck it all up; it was unbelievable that he’d been in gunfights, had to think on the fly to stay alive many times, and put on press conferences, yet at this moment when there wasn’t any danger or eager reporters, he was so overwhelmed by the woman he loved’s beauty, and that she was marrying him, his brain had ceased functioning entirely, and he was spiraling at embarrassing himself with so many onlookers.

Javi was having a panic attack.

The change in his eyes, how they went from bright and happy to panicked, clued you in, and any nervousness you felt flew out the window because your only concern was helping him.

Unhooking your arm from Chucho, you held out the hand, not holding flowers to Robyn.

“Flask me,” you said. Quickly, she pulled it from her pocket and passed it to you, taking your bouquet in return. You stepped in front of your betrothed as you unscrewed the cap on the container of booze. “Hey, baby,” you said in a soothing tone. “You’re okay.” You grabbed his hand and put the flask in it, pushing it toward his face. “Have a drink to calm your nerves. Everything is gonna be okay, honey. Remember, we’re doing this together—it’s just us.”

The music had stopped playing.

He shook his head once like he was trying to shake the bad stuff out, and he took a drink, or several, with how his Adam’s apple kept bobbing.

“Looks like I’ll be driving us after this.” The adults surrounding you chuckled, and you smiled.

His hand lowered, and his vision focused on you, a pink flush spreading over his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“No reason to be sorry—I freaked out in the car.” You took the flask from him, screwed on the cap, and handed it back to Robyn without looking. “Feeling better?” you asked, smoothing your fingers over his bangs while his eyes were on yours.

“Much,” he answered with a small smile, his palms moving to rest on your hips.

“Wanna get married?”

“More than anything.”

“Good—liquid courage helps.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek, then put your lips near his ear for only him to hear, “Say the word, and we’ll pack up, go party with everyone, and hit the courthouse tomorrow.”

He spoke softly in your ear, “Thank you, Cielito, but I promise I’m okay.” He kissed your cheek. “I told you I’d see how beautiful you are and forget how to function.”

You giggled, pulling back to look at him, taking in the black tuxedo jacket and bow tie over his crisp white shirt and the lavender pocket square and the pinned violet rose for a pop of color—his hair still looked good, and you rubbed away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

When he saw you in your wedding dress, the expression on his face was something you’d never forget—it was a look of pure, uninhibited joy, and you were sure you saw hearts in his eyes with how they beamed his immense love and devotion. The way that it had him crying happy tears made you feel emotional that someone loved you with such magnitude. It’s why your immediate thought when you saw him panicking wasn’t that he wanted to back out, knowing from his note that he was freaking the fuck out about embarrassing himself, and the nerves got him.

“Let’s get married.” His head turned to kiss one of your palms.

“Let’s get married.”

Turning to your almost-father-in-law, you gave him a quick hug, and he kissed your forehead before he moved to give Javi a side hug, careful of the stuff held in one of his hands and whispering something in his son’s ear, you didn’t catch.

The elder Peña went to stand at his place in front of the tree, holding his worn, soft leather bible, with a picture of Javi’s mother stuck to the cover and a note card sticking out from between the pages to mark a spot.

Javier took your hand, and you both walked the few steps to your spots before his father; he grasped your other palm in his once you faced one another, Chucho on your left and Javi’s right.

Your husband-to-be mouthed, ‘I love you,’ and you silently replied with the movement of your lips, ‘I love you, too.’

Chucho cleared his throat, and your attention went to him.

“Welcome, loved ones,” he started, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God and each other to bear witness to the perfect union of Javier, and—” He said your name. “What a joyous day we get to share with them as they embark on this new journey of a life together in matrimony that will, no doubt, be long, healthy, and filled with love, happiness, and laughter.

“Mijo, Mija,” he addressed you both, “I called this union between you perfect, and I meant it. Besides my marriage to my dear Antonia, que en paz descanse (may she rest in peace), I cannot think of two other people more suited to share a life together. It’s clear the good you bring out in one another and how happy you make each other.” His eyes landed on you. “And you truly make my son happy. This might come as a shock,” he said to everyone in attendance, “but Javier is a smiley guy when he’s happy, and I haven’t seen him smile so much in a long, long time.

“He also has never been able to hide his feelings because that handsome face of his tells his secrets—it’s his—” He glanced at you. “—I’m stealing this from you, Mija—it’s his puppy dog eyes, he got from his mother, and she suffered the same problem.” His gaze stayed on you. “I know Javier loves you more than there’s blue in all the sky because he looks at you the same way mi amor looked at me, and as we know, their eyes don’t lie.”

He was right, and it made you choke up that he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such honesty and the weight of so much love.

Chucho looked at his son. “Your media naranja (soulmate) isn’t much better.” He nodded toward you. “Her eyes betray her, too, even when she does her damndest to hide behind a mask. When she looks at you, though, the truth of her love is revealed—her thoughts are loud when she stares at you, and sometimes I think I can hear them; the declaration of ‘I love you,’ she’s repeating over and over again. She looks at you like you’re her whole world, and I know it’s true from those looks, how she treats and cares for you, the things she does for you, even when you don’t ask, and the effort she puts into cultivating your relationship.”

He spoke to you both again. “Marriage can be wonderful with the right person, but it isn’t always easy; I want to take a moment and give you some advice that kept my marriage happy.

“Be best friends—talk about everything, even when you don’t want to or it’s a hard subject. Communicate your needs and wants constantly, and don’t stop talking to each other. Be best friends who share everything, and I mean everything, because your relationship needs to be built upon trust, and there’s nothing better than spending your life with your best friend.

“Keep having fun—joke around, cook together, dance in the kitchen, don’t stop having fun. And keep dating each other. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean that the dating stops. Go out, stay in, just have romantic time you dedicate to one another; that way, the spark stays alive. I know it’ll be harder to do when you have kids; you’ll be exhausted and won’t have much energy. Dating still needs to be a priority, and it doesn’t have to be anything exciting; it can be as simple as putting the kids to bed, staying up, watching a movie together, or baking cookies.”

“—or folding laundry together,” Steve interjected.

Javi chuckled, and you were confused. He leaned toward you to whisper in your ear, “It’s their code word for sex.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” you said as he straightened.

A furrow was between Chucho’s eyebrows. “I guess folding laundry can be romantic…” the older man said. “Now, where was I?” He opened his bible and pulled out the notecard, his eyes scanning over. “Oh, yes—anyone can fall in love; it’s nurturing that love, sharing your life with the other, facing challenges together, and growing as one that makes it real love, and what you have is real. The love you share and I had with my wife is beautiful, but it’s also fierce, it’s powerful, and all consuming; it’s not something anyone can get between and will live on even when you no longer walk the earth. I know you didn’t want a religious ceremony, but there’s a scripture I’d like to share that perfectly describes what I mean. May I?” he asked, his bible already open to the page.

Javier and you figured he’d slip in a verse or two simply because he was a devout Christian man. It was nice of him to ask permission first, though. You turned your head to meet your almost-husband’s eyes and shrugged that you were fine with it. He smiled, his attention going back to his father.

“Go ahead,” Javi said.

Chucho had a toothy grin. “Wonderful—it’s in Songs of Solomon 8 and reads: Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If one offered for love all the wealth of one’s house, it would be utterly scorned.”

He shut the bible with one hand, his notes resting atop it.

“I wish more people got to experience that kind of love—it’d do the world a whole lot of good. Javier—” He looked at his son, then over to you, saying your name. “I know with how you feel for each other, it’s natural to think marriage is the next step in your relationship. I want you to be sure you know what you’re getting into.” His eyes were moving between you both. “This is a lifelong commitment that will have its ups and downs, highs and lows, and you’ll need to challenge yourselves to love the other more completely each and every day. Are you ready to take this step?”

Without missing a beat, Javi and you said simultaneously, ‘Yes,’ your hands still in his.

Chucho smiled. “Wonderful. Javier—” His eyes went to his son. “—do you take—” He said your name. “—to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor her, cherish her, love, trust, and commit to her and her alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Javi said.

His father turned his attention to you and addressed you by name. “—do you take Javier to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you honor him, cherish him, love, trust, and commit to him and him alone, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever else life may throw at you both, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” you answered.

“It’s time for you to share the vows you’ve written for one another before you exchange rings. Who’d like to go first?”

“Me!” you said immediately, and everyone laughed. “I need to get them out of the way before Javi makes me a blubbering mess. Robyn, vows me.” Turning her way, you put out your hand, and she juggled the two bouquets she held to pull a folded piece of paper from her pocket to hand to you. “Have I told you your dress is amazing?” you asked her.

“Thank you—I look good and have pockets. What could be better?”

“Dresses with pockets are a game-changer.” You faced Javi, and heat bloomed up your neck and on your face at remembering you had to say how you felt in front of people.

“Hey,” Javi said to get your attention, and your gazes locked. “It’s just me,” he whispered. “Talk to me—no one else is here.”

“Right.” You smiled, then focused on the lined notebook paper you unfolded that had your writing on it. “Javier Jesús Peña López,” you began, “the first of his name, King of my heart, Lord of our tiny apartment, and Protector of me—”

“Just Javi’s fine,” he said.

You giggled. “Javi, not a day goes by that I am unaware of how lucky I am to have found you. When I think about how much time you spent away from this town—that I both love and hate—all the people you’ve met, the life you’ve lived, and the things you’ve gone through, it’s a miracle our paths crossed, and possibly Divine Intervention or the universe doing me a solid, that after everything that’s happened to you, you’ve ended up here, with me.

“It’s crazy the number of obstacles we’ve had to face together and how many people are obsessed with making your life difficult—this isn’t me complaining. I’m weirdly thankful for it; it’s kept us on our toes and tested our bond. It’s improved our communication and has built a strong foundation for our relationship.

“Something I’m also thankful for is the trust we share. I can count on you. I know you’re true to your word, and I have no reason to worry about you ever being deceitful.

“What’s also reassuring is your star signs back up the faith I have in you—as a Sagittarius, you value honesty, and when you find someone you think is really worth it, you commit, and you commit hard. With Capricorn and Scorpio in your top three, you’re super loyal, a little possessive, and definitely a relationship guy. To sum all of that up, you’re pretty much perfect and an amazing partner.

“You’re a good man, the best I’ve known. My life is better with you in it. Thank you for loving me.” Tears started to distort your vision, the emotion coming through in your voice. “Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for your unwavering support and for being my rock. Thank you for being my protector and making me feel so safe with you. Thank you for being my best friend and the love of my life.”

You had to take a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Here are my promises to you,” you said, “I promise to love you until the end of time, and if I happen to go first, haunt you until we can be together again.” He chuckled. “I promise to be your protector and to always have your back; I will go to battle for you in a heartbeat, and hopefully, you know that. I promise to be honest, and it should go without saying because, as we’ve established, you’re perfect, but I promise to be faithful. I promise to keep making you laugh and smile. I promise to put you first and to always be your best friend—sorry, Steve.”

“You can have him,” Steve replied, and everyone laughed.

You continued speaking, “I promise to make your mother’s tamales a couple times a year—I promise to make you one of her other recipes on the days you miss her particularly bad. I promise to keep reminding you that you’re sexier and better than Harrison Ford.” That one made him and the others crack up. “I promise to rap “Whatta Man” for you every time it comes on, so you don’t forget whatta man you are. I promise to dance with you in the kitchen every chance we get. I promise to try, keyword here, try, not to recite the movies word for word when we watch Star Wars or Addams Family Values. I promise to always make sure we don’t run out of limes or your hot sauce or side-eye you when you put either on the perfectly seasoned food I made. I promise to always leave you the last of the ice cream because you’re a dirty liar when you say you don’t want it. I promise to tell you I love you every day until the day I die. I promise that you and your love will always be enough, and I’ll always pick you; I’ll always choose you over anyone else.

“Today, the separate books of our lives have come to an end, and we’re starting the next one together—I can’t wait to see what each new chapter will bring. What I know for sure—” You glanced over at Chucho. “—I’m stealing this from you, Pop—” Your eyes went to Javi’s, and his were reddened, his face glistening from crying and flushed from the alcohol. “—What I know for sure,” you said, “is this new adventure we’re beginning, will be filled with love, happiness, and laughter.

“Javi, you are my person. You’re the love of my life, my one true love, mi media naranja, the person I want to go to sleep with every night and wake up with every morning. You’re my best friend and my forever.

“I love you, Javier Jesús Peña López and I am so happy I get to spend eternity with you.”

His smile was big enough his dimple was showing and you hated that you couldn’t kiss him.

Chucho sniffled, putting his bible under his arm to get his handkerchief from his pocket, lifting his glasses to wipe away his tears.

“That was beautiful, Mija. When you’re ready, Javi, go ahead.”

All she said had Javier feeling so unbelievably happy that he couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks, and he thought his smile might be permanently stuck on his face—he was sure the alcohol wasn’t helping him to keep his composure.

His dad’s speech had gotten him, too, especially about how Chucho could see her feelings for him and said their love was real. He always wondered if the intensity of what he felt for her was normal, and hearing that his parents were the same way reassured him that they just had a strong connection. His father’s advice was helpful, too, and he planned on following it.

She looked incredible and smelled amazing; her perfume wasn’t one she’d worn before, but he knew the scent because he got it for her as a Christmas present—it was intoxicating, and he was dying to shove his face into her neck to drown himself in it. With the emotions she was eliciting from him, her beauty, the perfume, and the whiskey he drank, it was a heady combination that had him feeling buzzed, and he was so caught up in all of it that it had completely slipped his mind that he had to speak.

“Shit,” he said under his breath and barely pulled open the left side of his jacket to get into the inside pocket. First, he grabbed his reading glasses, which he put on, then the folded piece of yellow, lined paper he’d taken from a legal pad at work.

“I am literally the luckiest woman in the world,” Cielito said, and his eyes lifted to her. She was smiling, her eyelashes wet, and she looked incredibly delighted.

“The glasses?” he asked with a smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she answered. “You’re spoiling me. I get glasses Javi in a tuxedo, and he’s gonna say pretty, romantic things about how much he loves me—talk about the best day ever.”

“With how you look?” he said. “It’s my best day ever, too.”

She playfully smacked his arm. “Stop it, don’t make me want to suck—”

Robyn started coughing loudly, and his wife-to-be’s eyes widened.

“—hug you more,” she tried to save and cringed. “Hugs, not drugs, am I right?” She chuckled nervously.

He snorted, shaking his head. “You ready?” he asked.

“Wait.” Her upper body twisted so she could look behind her. “Tissue me,” she said to Robyn, and her friend got a clean one out of her pocket and exchanged it for Cielito’s folded paper. She faced him again. “Okay, I’m ready. Remember to focus on me. No one else is here.”

“That’ll be easy.” He cleared his throat, his eyes moving to what he’d written. It wasn’t something he said often, but he let her first name slide off his tongue, thinking how perfect it was going to sound paired with his last. “—mi Cielito, mi amor, mi alma, mi media naranja, y ahora, mi esposa (My Cielito, my love, my soul, my soulmate, and now, my wife), my life didn’t begin until the moment I met you; what I mean by that, is I was alive, yes, I was breathing, I had a pulse, but I didn’t start living until we met. You made me want to live and be happy—for so long, I thought I would die miserable and alone, and you showed me that I deserved happiness and to be loved.” His eyes were burning, and the following sentence made him choke up. “You showed me I deserved a family of my own.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I thank the universe, the powers that be. I thank whoever let you find me because I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”

He went off script to look into her beautiful, teary eyes. “Pop was right; I love you more than there’s blue in the sky, I love you more than there’s water in all the depths of the oceans, I love you more than there are stars in the entire galaxy—I love you more than anything, and I mean anything.”

He focused on what he’d written again. “I once told you I didn’t believe in true love, and I didn’t—that was just made-up stuff in the cartoon movies I watched with Olivia. Or at least I thought it was before you, and then, having you in my life, I discovered it was real. With you, ‘media naranja (soulmate)’ isn’t just a term of endearment; it’s an acknowledgment that you’re my other half and that we’re two parts meant to be together. Love with you transcends what most people have; we feel it deeper than our bones, all the way down into our souls, where we’re connected.

“Our love is true love.”

Wetness was dripping from his eyes to splatter onto the paper.

“Those fairytale movies got something right, and it’s that this kind of love would make a person fight dragons and sea witches for their true love. As my father said, it’s fierce, powerful, and all-consuming. It doesn’t end when our hearts stop beating; it continues on—it’s infinite—what we feel for one another is more than a single life can handle, and I’ll follow you when this one’s over; we’ll find each other again, and live another life together because there is no me without you or you without me.

“From the first day we met, I knew you were special. We spent hours talking in that bar, and I’ve never felt such peace or so comfortable with someone; with you, I don’t have to keep my guard up. I can be vulnerable, speak what’s on my mind, and openly show my affection. With you, I’m safe, and from the first night, you were my Cielito, my little heaven—there’s no better name for you, not with how happy you make me, how you make me feel, and how much better my life is with you.

“You’re my little heaven, mi Cielito, my everything. You’ve shown me more love than I’ve ever known—thank you.” His voice faltered, and he had to wipe at his eyes as best he could beneath his glasses. “Those two words aren’t enough to express my gratitude, and I will spend every waking moment showing you how thankful I am for you and all you’ve done.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, “it’s not enough, but thank you.”

He sounded gravelly, the words thick. “In you, I’ve found love, a wife, a partner for life, a best friend, an incredible lover, a home, a teacher to show me how to live; someone who makes me happy, makes me laugh, someone to have a family with, who supports me, inspires me, and makes me want to be a better man.

“Thank you for being all of this and more. Thank you for marrying me today and making me the happiest man in the entire goddamn universe.

“Fuck,” he breathed, taking off his readers to hold with the paper while his other hand scrubbed away the tears. “I really hoped I wouldn’t cry this much—it’s embarrassing.”

“I love it,” she reassured. “It just shows you really mean what you’re saying.”

He put the lenses back on and looked at her, seeing her eyes were red from crying, the tissue in her hand stained with mascara—she’d managed to keep from ruining the rest of her makeup.

“I do mean it all,” he said.

She was smiling. “I know.”

Javier composed himself by taking a deep breath and clearing his throat. Finally, he was ready to speak again. “It was hard figuring out my vows because I wanted to promise you everything your heart could possibly desire, but Pop said that was boring.” He frowned.

“And that he needed to do better,” Chucho added.

Javier sighed.

“I would’ve been fine with that vow,” Cielito said.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Pop was right. You deserve the best.” He took another deep breath and slowly let it out, looking at what he’d written and patting himself on the back for making notes—he was definitely too emotional and tipsy to have remembered everything he wanted to say. “Cielito,” he started, “you have all my love and devotion, and I give you myself; my mind, body, and soul belong to you. I vow to never stop loving you, even when this earth is no more and the stars stop shining. I vow to make you feel loved and cherished until the end of my days. I vow to always be your best friend, your confidant, your shoulder to cry on, y un chismoso contigo (and a gossiper with you)—me encanta chismear contigo (I love to gossip with you).”

She giggled, and he smiled.

“I vow to be your equal in everything and give more than I take. I vow to always be there for you no matter what, in sickness and health, when life is easy and hard, I’ll stand by you and be your anchor.” The next one made his smile get bigger. “I vow to treat you like una reina (a queen) and be the best husband you could ask for so when you brag to your girlfriends, they can see their worth and deserve to be treated like queens, too. I vow to be the best father, one you can rely on, and doesn’t call watching my own children babysitting; I’ll pull my weight, I’ll never let you get overwhelmed, and I’ll be an active parent who loves our kids so fu-freaking much.”

“I vow to keep you safe and always make you feel safe; I’ll protect you and our children with my life. I vow to make sure all of your needs are met.” He smirked, glancing at her. “I vow to ‘fold laundry’ with you whenever you ask.” He winked, and she laughed.

“Why are adults so obsessed with laundry?” He heard Olivia ask.

“I’m wonderin’ the same thing, kiddo,” Robyn said. “I’m not obsessed with it.”

“Oh, believe me, you are,” Connie replied.

“I know the stars,” Javier said, “that astrology stuff you love, told you this already, but I want you to hear it from me, too: I vow to be loyal to you and faithful, always—to me, you are the only woman I see, or will ever want; I vow to put you and our family before all else.”

He looked at her with a smile. “I have some more things I’m gonna promise after hearing yours. I vow to always give you my pickles.” Her grin was big and happy as she giggled. “I vow to always let you sing Freddie Mercury’s parts in Bohemian Rhapsody while I do the guitar solo, and I’ll always leave you the last piece of cheesecake because I love you and value my life.” That made her giggle harder. “I vow to try, the keyword here is try, to not, as you put it, ‘creepily watch you while you sleep,’ even though you’re guilty of the same thing.” Her giggles transformed into laughter. “I vow to always dance with you when we’re cleaning the house and in the kitchen while we cook together. I vow to pretend—I mean, agree that you’re the best driver in Laredo and always know your way around, even when you don’t.”

There was a reason he drove them the majority of the time.

“Rude!” she gasped. “I’m an amazing driver!”

“I agree, mi amor, you’re the best in Laredo.” He winked again, folded his paper, and put it back in his inner pocket. He spoke as he took off his reading glasses. “There’s one more thing I vow,” he said, putting the lenses away. His hands were free and he grabbed hers, ignoring the tissue clenched in one of her palms, and stared adoringly into her eyes. “I vow that years from now—decades—after our kids are grown, and we’ve retired, maybe we’ll be living in Florida like other retirees, or we’ll still be here where our family lives and we made our best memories; I vow that when we’re old and grey and can’t hear or see shit without hearing aids or glasses, that we’ll look back on our life together, and we’ll have no regrets.

“Zero,” he said.

“We did everything we wanted and lived the life we shared to the fullest, filled with love, happiness, and laughter.”

Her shoulders started to shake, and she had to let go of his hand to blot at her eyes.

“Javier!” she cried, and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. “Why would you end with something so sweet?”

“Para que sepas cómo nuestro futuro será (So you know what our future together will be like). Quería que vieras que cuando me des ese anillo, te daré mi futuro y lo que venga después de eso (I wanted you to see that when you give me that ring, I’ll give you my future and whatever comes after that).”

She leaned back to look at him, and he was impressed that only her mascara had gotten messed up. She poked him in the chest and said, “That ring is going on your finger right this second.” Javier chuckled as her head turned to his dad. “Can we do the rings now, please?”

Chucho laughed. “Yes, Mija, you can do the rings. Who has them?” he asked aloud.

“Me!” Steve answered and moved to stand next to the older man, being careful not to bump Nate, who’d fallen asleep in the backpack carrier. At some point, the three-year-old Stevie had gone over to his mom and was now sitting in the grass next to her, eating Goldfish crackers out of a plastic baggy from the diaper bag near them. Steve untied the ribbon keeping the gold bands secured, then picked them both up, the pillow getting shoved under his arm. “Here, Jav.” Javier turned a little, holding out his palm to his friend, and her ring was set in it. He faced his bride again.

“At this time, they will exchange rings,” Chucho said, holding his bible in front of him with the notecard atop it. “Javier, go ahead and place it on her finger.” She looked adorably giddy, presenting her left hand to him, and he held it in his palm as he slid the band onto the finger with her engagement ring, pressing it against the other. “Now, repeat after me,” his dad said, reading his notes, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

Javier’s eyes fastened onto hers, and he repeated what his father said: “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving husband forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.” When he finished speaking, he lifted her hand to press his lips to the new addition on her finger with a kiss, keeping his gaze on her watery one.

“I love you,” she told him.

His thumb rubbed over the gold as he lowered her arm. “I love you, too.”

“Mija,” Chucho said, “it’s your turn.”

Javier held his hand out for her to take, and when she did, goosebumps rose on his skin, practically vibrating from anticipation. Her palm was smaller and softer than his, and he watched as Steve passed her the remaining ring. A big smile formed on his face at her not waiting for his father’s instruction, putting the band onto his finger immediately—it got stuck on his knuckle, and she had to wiggle it a little to finally slide it home.

“Repeat after me,” Chucho said, “‘with this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

She held his larger palm in both of her smaller ones, gazing into his eyes and smiling as she said, “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your loving wife forevermore, and just as it has no end, neither shall my love for you.”

His breath hitched as he watched her raise his hand to kiss the band, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

His father started speaking to them, “Now that you’ve proclaimed your love for one another and exchanged rings as a seal of the promises you made today in front of these witnesses and myself, by the power vested in me by the great State of Texas, I am so happy to pronounce you husband and wife! Javier, you may now kiss your bride!”

There was clapping and hollering, someone patted his back, and Javier didn’t waste any time—he was told he could finally kiss this stunning woman in front of him, who he loved more than anything; she completed him and made him happy like no one else—ella es su vida (she is his life), su amor (his love), su media naranja (his soulmate), finalmente su esposa (finally his wife), his Cielito.

The fingers of one of his hands traced over the familiar line of her jaw, the other pulling her tight to his chest, finding the fabric of her dress was as buttery soft as he suspected. The sun had barely sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky fiery in its wake, and as it descended, so did Javier’s mouth onto hers, crushing his lips to hers. At the first touch, it felt like electricity was thrumming just below his skin, his heart racing, the press of her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck making tingles wash down his spine.

It was almost like he was kissing her for the first time, and it started out gentle, wanting to savor this moment with his wife—his wife—they were married. He was a husband and wearing a ring, the metal currently pressed to the warm skin of her cheek. His excitement got the better of him, and he deepened the kiss, licking in her mouth, her soft moan causing arousal to erupt in his belly, feeling blood begin to rush to his groin. She seemed to be just as ravenous as him, their tongues tangling and her hands gripping handfuls of his hair.

Javier didn’t think he could be happier than he was at this moment.

This was the best day of his entire fucking life.

He was a married man with an amazing wife and their lives were intertwined now, becoming one they both shared. What wound him up even more was her taking his last name—not in a possessive way, but because it was another thing they’d share, and Javier wanted to share everything with her. Name, life, home, things, children, all of it, he wanted to have and with her by his side.

His dad’s voice showed amusement when he heard him speak. “We’ll just let them get that out of their system.” People laughed. “It’s my great pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Peña!”

Mr. and Mrs. Peña.

Nothing sounded more perfect.

They hadn’t stopped kissing, too caught up in each other.

“Why are they trying to eat each other’s faces?” Olivia asked, clearly confused.

Steve shouted, “Cover her eyes, Connie!”

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a/n: The song she walked down the aisle to was "Songbird" by Fleetwood Mac. The bible verse mentioned is Song of Solomon 8:6-7 (RSVCE).

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!

#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #Javier Peña/you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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merakiui · 11 days

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I NEED to hear your thoughts on regretful yanderes in the twst cast. i’m starving for crumbs pls just write the most depraved shit imaginable😭

👁 👁 regretful yans!!!!!

Floyd who regrets being so rough with you initially because now you’re terrified of him and he’s trying so hard to change your perception of him—to no avail, for you’re always going to feel uneasy around him. </3 still, he won’t give up in this pursuit.

Jade who regrets breaking you too early. It’s just no fun if there’s nothing new to pick apart. He doesn’t regret your circumstances, nor does he feel a shred of remorse. He does, however, regret his own lack of patience. Had he acted differently, perhaps you wouldn’t be a shell of your former self just months into captivity. What a shame. He really was hoping for more.

Jamil who regrets not coming between you and Kalim sooner. If he’d done so, perhaps you wouldn’t have been made to be Kalim’s partner and maybe then you’d still have some semblance of freedom despite being a servant like he is. Maybe it was better when it was you and Jamil because at least then you were equals who could confide in one another. But now he serves you, and you’re always meant to be just out of his reach, as are many of life’s greatest pleasures.

Malleus who regrets not meeting you sooner. There’s something about you that sticks with him. It’s like the two of you click. Like you’re one of the missing puzzle pieces needed to make him feel whole. You’re so bright and sweet. It’s a shame he couldn’t have met you sooner. Perhaps your presence would have served to soothe the ache of ever-present loneliness back when he was but a small youth.

Sebek who regrets treating you so harshly. Because of this, you’re so averse to him. It doesn’t help that he’s finally come to terms with what he’s been feeling all this time. How is he to confess if you’re always avoiding him!!! Just when he thinks he ought to turn his nose up and huff, grumble about how he shouldn’t even bother giving a human his heart, he realizes you’d probably never accept it anyway. You’ve made your dislike of him clear, and he’s been told countless times by Silver and Lilia that his behavior drives you away and any hope of forming a friendship is strained by his views on you. Sebek just has a complicated jumble of feelings, and his love for you makes it even more confusing. One day you’ll come around to him. One day…

Riddle who regrets subjecting you to the same treatment his mother did to him when he was little. Because of this, you trip over yourself in an effort to be his perfect partner, to keep yourself in check lest you break some absurd rules that give Riddle reason to punish you. At one point, you just,,,, break. And now you’re nothing more than a sad, empty doll. Riddle feels horrible! It’s all his fault you’ve been reduced to this. >_<

Cater who regrets pushing you away. He’s always standing at the edge of “more than friends,” but he never surpasses that. He can never know best friends (even though he calls everyone his bestie). He can never know love (even though he likes to call himself a master matchmaker). He can never know what lies beyond that line of temporary relationships because every part of his life has been temporary and fleeting, as if it’s merely a film roll destined to burn away much sooner than he anticipates. So Cater keeps you at an arm’s length, if only to spare himself the heartbreak. And as a result he turns to stalking you, to immersing himself in your Magicam presence to keep up with you outside of his very casual friendship with you. He was content to push and push because you kept within his orbit, so stubborn despite his best efforts. But now all of the pushing has finally worked and for the first time he realizes it’s not enough to simply watch from afar.

#twisted chit chat

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stitched-mouth-vs-the-world · 8 months

Text

Making Porn With The Number One Pro Hero

Pairing: Toshinori Yagi (All Might/Skinny Might) x Fem! Pro-Hero! Reader.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Jealous sex (?), Mirror sex, Oral sex (fem receiving), Secret ((established)) relationship, Recording sex (so y'all make porn), Minor hair pulling, Semi-public sex, Intercourse (P in V), Daddy Kink, you two are almost caught in the act, mention of you two previously being caught in the act, I finally used a condom!! (I usually write about creampies but this time I didn't), Some bitch tries to touch our All Might but fails, We accidentally punch her in the face, Toshi is pussy whipped.

Summary: You have a sex dream about your boyfriend which leads to a fantasy, All Might wants to achieve that fantasy with you after you punch another All Might slut in the face. The fantasy doesn't TOTALLY go to planned.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 2.

Writing Time: 7 hours (with no breaks, longest amount of time I've ever spent on a fic).

Word Count: 3,308.

A/N:

Day 2 of Kinktober! Enjoy!

The introduction is ridiculously fucking long, idk why but skip to the first —-//— if you're like me and only interested in the sex. I hate the beginning part anyway and it's very obvious my writing has suffered from my hiatus, but oh well. It will get better.Technically you get railed by Skinny All Might in his Silver Age suit, hope that's ok.I have to give this thing a part 2 at some point, this is way too hot and I'm so proud of it.

I kept writing then deleting then rewriting this shit (which is why it took 7 hours) so y'all better let me know if you like it :)

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober 2023 works.

---///---

Being in an secret relationship with the Number 1 Hero was difficult to say the least.

Having to sneak around everyone was fun and slightly erotic at first, but slowly became annoying and a bit painful at times.

You had recently told Toshinori about a sexy fantasy you had of him. To have him fuck you in his dressing room right before an interview, ideally from behind in front of a mirror whilst you record, you two had made porn before (for only you two's eyes, no one else's!!) so recording sex wasn't new to you guys.

Toshinori had giggled like a little schoolboy and covered his growing erection when you told him about your little fantasy, and said it sounded very hot. But after you kissed him and gave him a handy right then and there, he calmed down a bit and explained to you how unlikely it was to happen, he feared someone would walk in and catch you both (one person had before) and possibly tell someone.

Sadly your lover had made it clear countless times before he didn't want a public relationship for the sake of protecting you and others. You understood completely and was happy Toshinori valued protecting you over everything, but that didn't mean you didn't long to hold his hand in public.

Very few knew about you two; Young Midoriya, David Shield, Sir Nighteye (RIP) and Aizawa (Aizawa finding out was an accident, he had caught you two in a compromising position in Toshinori's classroom after school hours). But you both was content with those who knew about you two, you trusted all of them, and didn't plan on adding anyone else to the list.

Early on into your pro-hero career, you were introduced to one journalist and news reporter who you honestly couldn't remember the name of. She was young and very attractive, no doubt becoming the face of her news station because of her pretty face and impressive figure. She was well known to interview pro heroes and flirt with them, and unsurprisingly lot of them would flirt back.

She had interviewed All Might a few times and like usual she would flirt a lot. He'd see straight through her and politely respond in a professional way, so you had no problems with her because you trusted your boyfriend to shut down her advances. She wouldn't be the first girl to throw themselves at the Number 1 Hero and definitely wouldn't be the last, so you were used to seeing Toshinori be placed in uncomfortable situations which made you feel bad for him but due to your relationship being a secret you didn't feel like it was your place to cut in. But Toshinori always handled it well.

One interview you didn't see coming though.

It was a standard scheduled interview on set of a news station, like Good Morning America or something. Several pro heroes were in to be interviewed, including both you and All Might. With All Might becoming weaker and weaker by the day and unable to hold his form for long periods of time, this was his last scheduled interview. And you were so happy you could be there with him.

You were lucky enough to be able to be interviewed with your boyfriend.

"So, Mr All Might, I'd love to go over some of your best fights of your career..." The news anchor smiled and batted her eyelashes at him.

"Of course! I'd love to!" All Might grinned.

For the millionth time? Really? You rolled your eyes.

"BUT before we do that, I'd like to talk about your more personal life first..." She grinned back, moving closer to him on the long couch you were all sharing.

You moved uncomfortably in your seat and looked around, not really knowing what to do with yourself.

"Ok, sadly I can't promise I can all questions about my personal life but you can absolutely ask." All Might smiled.

"Great! So... you have had quite a long career as a pro hero who is very much so in the public eye, I imagine forming and keeping relationships in your personal life can be difficult?" She asked.

All Might moved his head to both sides as if he agreed and disagreed with her assumption, "Well it's definitely not easy forming them, but keeping the ones I have been lucky enough to form is easy. I'm very lucky to be surrounded by friends and family who I know care about me both as All Might and Toshinori."

The reporter nodded, "Right. As you mentioned family, are you planning on starting a family?"

You raised an eyebrow, feeling although the question was a bit strange.

All Might laughed, his laugh boomed loudly in your poor ears, "HA HA! Oh no Dear, I don't so. I am an old man now, I unfortunately missed the opportunity for a family years ago."

You and Toshinori had only briefly discussed children, you desperately wanting a child later on in your career and Toshinori feel although being Number 1 Hero made having kids not an option and that by the time he retired he was too old. It wasn't really a conversation you two had managed to find a conclusion to, so you were a little annoyed All Might was talking as if it had been decided.

"Well a lot of young ladies like older men, Sir. I know I sure do. And a lot of young ladies would be more than willing to bear The All Might's children." The reporter giggled and moved closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

She had never actually touched him before.

All Might chuckled uncomfortably and carefully leaned back to make her hand fall off him, but her hand stayed put. Without really thinking, you leaned over and picked up the foreign hand on your boyfriend's shoulder, and threw it back into the reporter's face. She almost punched herself in the face with her own hand.

You gasped and stood up, "Oh I'm sorry!"

You really didn't mean to do that. You were only trying to get her hands off your man. You hadn't meant you almost punch her.

She quickly fixed her hair and glasses and glared at you for only a split second, before laughing nervously and looking into the camera in front of all of you, "Oh Dear! No worries! We can edit that out, this isn't live."

The cameraman nodded at her and three of you continued your now incredibly awkward interview. All Might breathed a small sigh and grabbed your hand, you couldn't tell what the sigh was for.

—-///—-

Backstage you were sat at your vanity table with your head down on the desk, sighing sadly. You felt so embarrassed, you should of just left Toshinori handle her unnecessary touching. The interview went terribly after that and the reporter remained cold to you until the end.

You were also concerned about people questioning your actions, why were you so concerned about some girl touching All Might? It was such a obvious sign of jealously. Oh Well... at least she didn't touch him again.

A small knock was pressed against your dressing room door and without a response it was opened, "Darling?"

All Might.

He stepped into your room and closer the door behind him as you turned to face him. He immediately deflated in front of you, leaving his skinny scrawny figure in place.

"Hi Love." You sighed and walked over to him.

He quickly wrapped his long arms around you, pulled you close and began kissing your neck.

You blinked in shock, "Toshi?"

"Oh my Love. I never thought I'd ever see you jealous." He whispered against you before biting down on you skin.

You moaned in delight, "S-So you're not mad?"

"Why would I ever be mad Princess?" He laughed a bit, in his Skinny form his laugh sounded so good and didn't burst your eardrum.

Toshinori carefully walked you back over to your vanity table and placed you down in your vanity chair and stared down at you. You looked up at your lover with nothing but love and lust and crossing your legs, feeling yourself get hot down there.

With you sitting down and him standing in front of you, you could see the massive bulge in his pants. Whilst shamelessly staring at his covered dick, you hiked up your legs and pulled everything covering your lower half off and happily showed your lover your wet pussy. You felt no shame (he had seen it all before anyway), only the desire to be fucked. Finally, your filthy fantasy was coming true.

"Oh my Love..." Toshinori sighed again at the completely lewd sight of you and dropped to his knees.

He grabbed your thighs in his massive hands and gave your pussy a sweet kitten lick. You threw your head back and moaned again. He started kissing and licking you slowly before sucking.

God, his tongue felt good. You were going to lose yourself to it.

"Oh baby I want you so much..." Toshinori whispered in between eating you out, whilst pulling you closer and closer to his hungry mouth, scaring you for a brief second into thinking you'd fall out of the chair.

It was dangerous but Toshi wouldn't let you fall, ever.

You pulled his head up from your heat and he whined, "Toshi... I'm so empty now...you need to just fuck me..."

Your lewd expression and hushed tone only made him strain against his suit. Without thinking much, Toshinori stood up and ripped a hole into the crotch area of his Silver Age suit.

You gasped, "Toshi! Your suit!"

"This suit can be fixed, Dear. But later I'll need you to go to my dressing room and bring back something to wear when we're done." He smiled softly while pulling you up and out of the chair.

Toshinori picked up the chair by the armrests and placed it against the door, locking you both in. He turned back to you and smiled again.

You smiled back before turning against and bending over against the vanity table, giving your lover another nice view of your ass and pussycat. You watched him in the mirror grin at your behind and give you a nice loving smack. You bit your lip from the harsh contact and moved your legs further apart for him.

"Fuck..." Toshinori whispered, he was incredibly turned on by the sight of you bent over showing him everything you had to offer.

He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a Trojan, ripping the wrapper off with his teeth and pulling it down his proud length. You could tell by his fast movements, he was just as eager to get inside of you as you was.

Toshinori then rubbed your aching entrance with his great throbbing cock. You whined for him to just put it in and he was happy to appease you.

Toshinori always started with slow gentle strokes only with the tip but that wasn't good enough for you now, he had already worked you up from eating you out just a few seconds earlier and the idea of your fantasy had you too desperate now. So you whined again and tried to fuck yourself on his cock at the pace you need. Toshinori caught on pretty quickly and grabbed your hips and pulled you fully around him.

Both of you groaned from the sudden action. Toshinori began moving again, this time fast and rough. You managed to pick up your phone that you had left on the table, turn on the camera, point it at the mirror in front of you and hit record.

The sight was beyond erotic. The Number 1 Hero drilling his secret lover from behind in dressing room on set of a news station. God, it made you so wet. The grin on your face with your moans made it evident.

Because of the mirror, both of you were able to see each other's faces. Toshinori's brow full of sweat and mouth covered in your cum and his own salvia was godly. Not to mention his look of determination as he continued pounding you brought you closer and closer to edge.

"All Might!" You cried, not really hearing yourself over the sound of his balls slapping your cheeks.

But he heard you (and possibly some others in the building) and he groaned in your ear, "Princess! Oh my good little girl!"

Fuck!

He knew calling you 'little girl' made you crazy.

"Oh All Might please!" You begged.

You knew you sounded like a bad pornstar, but you didn't care. You knew Toshi loved it and was about to give into your begging.

But before he could, the worst thing you could imagine happened next. A loud knock on the door.

"Miss?"

Both you and Toshinori froze and stared at each other in the mirror in fear and shook.

"Y-Yes?!" You answered.

"Miss, your driver is here waiting for you. They are outside." It was likely one of the crew members of the station. They turned the door handle, shooting fear through you so bad you could scream, but it didn't open.

The chair Toshinori had put against the door temporarily saved you two. Realising this, he slowly began moving inside of you again. You moaned softly at the feeling and quickly covered your mouth with your free hand (hand not holding up your phone that was still recording).

The crew member must of wondered why the door wasn't opening, considering none of the dressing room doors had locks on them for safety reasons, but didn't ask why or for you to open the door and instead just let go of the handle.

"Oh o-okay...t-thank you. Out in a miiintue!" You quickly choked out.

"Great. Do you happen to know where Mr. All Might is? His car arrived first but he isn't in his dressing room."

"Nooo!" You whined.

You could see the see the evil smile on your boyfriend's face in the mirror. No question, you were going to (try to) kick his ass after this.

"Ok, no worries. Thank you for coming Miss!"

Footsteps were heard leaving the door, presumably to go find your man. Toshinori laughed slightly and pulled your head back by your hair and started moving at the same fast pace he was before.

You groaned at the small pain and glared up at your soulmate, "You like torturing me, asshole?"

"Maybe a little." He smiled.

"Oh please just make me cum, Toshinori." You sighed, giving him your best doe eyed desperate-for-sex expression.

Your lover was more than happy to fulfil your request. This was definitely by far would be the best sex tape you two ever made.

—///—

Later on the two of you were getting ready for better, you had finally finished your night skin care routine and was headed back to you and Toshinori's shared bedroom. He was still up reading a book in bed like usual, he looked and smiled when you walked into the room.

"Toshi," You began as you got comfortable in the bed, "What changed your mind today?"

"About what, Love?" He asked and put his book away to pull you closer to him.

"When I told you about my sex dream, you said it wouldn't happen." You pouted at him.

Toshinori's cheeks darkened, "Well, you got me all hot and bothered during the interview."

"How?" You raised an eyebrow.

"I like to see you handle touchy women for me." Toshinori smiled shyly now.

"Oh really?" You giggled, "You like having a jealous girlfriend?"

"A bit, yes." He admitted.

"Aw... maybe I should set them straight more often." You grinned and kissed his neck.

Toshinori shivered, both from the idea and the attention you was suddenly showing his neck, "Yes please...good girl."

You felt your heat burn at his words as well as his erection grow under the duvet and you eagerly wanted to head down under the duvet. But you both still had something to say.

"I'm sorry love, I was just a little scared about people finding out about us, and being intimate outside our home has got us caught before...and I feel like we already take a big risk with recording our moments together." Toshinori sighed.

"So you don't want to record anymore?" You looked heartbroken.

"Oh no, Princess! Of course not!" He pulled you into his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist (you could feel his lover's boner, which you wonder if he forgot about), "I love have something to remind myself of our best moments."

"We don't have to record anymore if you're worried it could get out." You replied, still looking sad.

"Honey, that's not what I was saying.." Toshinori kissed your head, "I love you and I love how excited you get by the camera. And I love watching our little videos."

You looked up at him, "I love you Toshi. And I just want you to be comfortable."

"I am comfortable, I'm always comfortable when I'm alone with you." Toshinori smiled.

You turned to look at him and kissed one of his sunken cheeks, "Ok... so if I keep your female fans in line... what will you do for me?"

"What do you want love?" Toshinori asked.

"I want a reward, All Might." You grinned and slowly stroked your lover's excited friend.

He shivered again. Mustering up all his strength, Toshinori transformed into All Might. His erection underneath you went from poking you ass to almost straight up penetrating you. A loud moan came from your throat, the ending of it was muffled from All Might gently pushing you off his lap and all the way down till you were face down onto the end of the bed and ass up.

The muscular blonde Silver Fox gently rubbed your ass with one hand whilst the other fought off this sweat pants (that did absolutely nothing to hide his lower reigns). Once his pants were off and his length was fully exposed, All Might picked up his phone from his nightstand, pointed the camera down at you and hit record.

"Little Princess... do you think my cock at full size is a good enough reward for being such a good girl for me?"

The camera got a very lovely shot of your wetness soaking through your sweatpants just from his words. You felt your cunt clench around nothing and you looked back at your lover.

"Yes please Daddy."

933 notes · View notes

theprettynosferatu · 9 months

Text

CW: Orientation play/conversion. Remember that your sexuality is valid, and conversion is NOT a thing beyond fantasy. Also, fuck "conversion therapy"

“All I’m saying is…”

“Look, you’re speaking out of your ass”, Ava said, barely containing her frustration.

“How am I speaking out of my ass? It has been done and thoroughly…”, he tried to reply.

“Yes, yes, Pavlov, blah blah blah. But you’re talking about something else entirely, not conditioning reactions”

“Not Pavlov, Skinner! Actions can be conditioned too. Look around you! Mobile games, casinos, even the goddamn army uses conditioning to…”

“Can we agree that there’s a difference between conditioning obedience in a controlled setting and whatever the fuck it is you’re suggesting? You’re not talking about tapping on impulse to buy funbucks in a game! You are talking…”

“It’s only a difference of degree, not of kind. With the right combination of techniques…”

“No, there’s a core there that you can’t just… overwrite. Some things can’t be changed. Like… like how you can’t hypnotize someone into doing something they would never do”

“You know that’s bullshit, right? The whole hypnosis thing. You absolutely can make someone do whatever the fuck you want. It’s just a matter of how you approach it. Like, you would never harm a person, okay? But if I change what your idea of ‘person’ is, say, by making it more narrow you would absolutely harm someone I made you see as a not-person. Or maybe you can be made to believe you’re helping them, not harming them”

“That’s some creepy cult shit, dude. And anyway you can’t write a paper on this because a) there’s no evidence and b) doing the research to get evidence would be absolutely immoral. So I say look for another topic and for the love of God don’t go around spewing that bullshit if you want to ever get laid. Oh, speaking of! Linda will be arriving shortly and we have a date night, so please, please try to be a normal roommate and not freak her out. For me, okay?”

“When have I ever freaked her out? Linda loves me! And who knows, maybe she has an opinion on our little debate”

“Dude, she’s an Art student. I doubt she’ll be interested in our weird Psych dissertations”

“Perfect! Fresh eyes!”

“See, that’s the kind of weird shit I-”

The buzzer cut through the air, and a moment later Linda was inside the apartment, all smiles as usual. He took a moment to watch them as they embraced.

They were almost comical in their contrast. Linda was tall, taller than he was, willowy and slender, her limbs graceful and shapely, her hair a long, flowing river of playful copper that almost seemed to dance on its own volition– with her green sundress she appeared to him as some sort of elven princess ripped from the pages of a fantasy novel and stuck into a mortal world in which she didn’t really fit. Ava, on the other hand, was probably the shortest adult he had ever seen. He might be tempted to call her petite, but that had a connotation of a lithe frame, almost like a tastefully proportioned doll. Ava was the complete opposite of that. Sometimes he felt Ava was an experiment aimed at testing how much of a person’s weight could be tits and ass, held up by strong, thick thighs. He felt quite guilty about such thoughts, and he understood why she wore nothing but oversized t-shirts and hoodies. It was logical: an early, spectacular growth spurt, heightened by her small size, had made her the target of relentless bullying by jealous classmates and awkward come-ons by hormonal teen males. It enraged him, he realized. Ava was beautiful and the cruelty of idiots had made her feel pain about it instead of pride. He made a point to never stare at her, even if he sometimes failed. It made their relationship as roommates a tad hard, he had to admit.

Not that he had a shadow of a shot, of course. Ava had no interest in men.

Unless, of course, he was right in his theory. And he had good reason to think he was.

“So, Linda: Ava and I were having a bit of a debate…”

“Don’t start, dude”, said Ava.

“Oh, a debate! Do tell!” chirped Linda.

“Do you think we can be completely conditioned and changed, or is there some part of us that cannot be modified, no matter what?”

“Huh. Hard one. Like… a soul? I don’t know I buy it. I feel there isn’t really a self, you know? Like… Buddhism. The self is an illusion and all that”

“Come on, you can’t be serious! You can’t change who someone fundamentally is, and it’s sick to even consider it!”, said Ava.

“Well… what if I could prove to you it can be done?”, he stated, barely able to hold back. He know what he was going to do. He had been reluctant, but now it felt like a certainty.

“You can’t, so stop being an ass”, said Ava.

Fine. Game on.

“Linda, I love your socks! Pride socks!”

“Yup!”, said Linda

“What the hell–”, mumbled Ava.

He took a deep breath.

“Linda: rainbow socks…”

She replied in an instant.

“Are for sucking cocks!”

Ava felt as if reality had shifted into some horrible, twisted nightmare. She was about to scream something, anything really, to make Linda take that back before something stopped her in her tracks. Her body heard it before her mind did: her roommate's voice simply commanding her. Watch.

And she watched. She watched as the love of her life smiled and went on her knees. Ava could do nothing but watch in disbelief and pain. Linda had never been with a man. Ever.

“I might have… started testing my theories. On you both. Not that you’d remember, obviously”, he stated casually as the beautiful girl in front of him lovingly undid his pants. “I’d say Linda’s sexuality is part of her core self, wouldn’t you? Let’s see how that holds up after the months of conditioning I’ve subjected her to”

He felt guilty, sure; but there was such a high to it, such an entrancing quality to the combination of seeing instant, complete obedience and the final, definitive proof of the truth he had known to be right all along. Was it wrong? Yes. Did he care? Not at the moment. Ava’s eyes were a poem to him. Suddenly he was ripped from his reverie by the soft, loving touch of Linda’s tongue on his dick. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten hard just from the sense of complete power, of total, undeniable conquest. This was a primal, ancient arousal. Ava could do nothing but watch, and he took that sight in. God, he could almost taste it.

Linda moaned. The cock was so beautiful. So perfect. She felt so… silly, like she was now, for the first time, seeing in color and realizing the sky was, in fact, blue. It was obvious. Simple. Natural. Cock deserved worship. Cock deserved devotion. Cock demanded obedience. It was as if it was growing in her mind, taking over more and more of her, pushing who she had been out effortlessly. It expanded. It corrupted. It twisted and shifted all within. Cock. Cock. Cock. She kissed it with reverence, in awe of it. It was all that existed to her. All that mattered. She needed to please it. Needed to feel it throbbing inside her. Needed to be taken by it.

Ava saw her girlfriend slide a hand between her legs and felt nauseous. As much as she knew this wasn’t Linda’s fault, she could feel her heart breaking, her anger rising… and worse, her pussy getting wet. Her body betraying her. She hated him, and she hated Linda, and she hated herself most of all.

Suddenly, Linda couldn’t contain herself. She relaxed her throat, looked up at her Master and took his entire manhood inside her mouth. She almost came instantly. It was peaceful and sexy and just simple, like his cock was the puzzle piece that fit her perfectly, completed her, made her whole. She existed to be conquered, and realizing she was putting his pleasure over her ability to breathe was the final sign of her complete, loving surrender. She let it out, watched it glisten with her spit, and started licking it and loving it and she didn’t know how much came from her own need and how much it was a silent command by the man who had shown her the light. Her mind was too fuzzy to make such distinctions anymore.

He took a deep breath, fighting back the first signs of an orgasm. He needed to make a point.

“Linda… do you love Ava?”

The blonde stopped for a moment, shocked by a myriad of contradictions.

“Yes”, she decided. Her voice was shaking.

“Tell her”

Linda looked at Ava, the woman she had loved above all others.

“I love you…”

“But you have more to say, don’t you?”

“I… hmph… I…”

“Tell her”

“I love you… but… but… I love his cock so much more! Fuck! I need it! I need to feel it, to suck it, to be fucked by it… I’m sorry… but… I love it, I love it, I love it! I want it to fuck my throat, to take my cunt, to ram my ass! I need it! I need to be a slave to it, a whore for it, a fucking living toy!”

“What if you had to choose between Ava and my cock?”

“Fuck her! Sorry, my love… I do love you, but… You can never do to me what… what Master does to me, what his cock makes me feel! I hope I won’t have to dump you but… I would leave you for this cock in a minute! I’d do anything. Anything. Anything!” If she had more to add, her need to serve cock snuffed it. She took it all in with desperation, with total, shameless abandon. She needed to feel... used. In her proper place.

Ava felt a tear roll down her cheek. Her knees buckled in defeat. She didn’t even care. It was all gone. Her life, her love, all gone. And she could feel her eyes drawn again and again to the cock that had destroyed her. She felt her mouth watering.

“Linda, would you say you’re a lesbian?”

“Fuck no!”, she said before immediately wrapping her lips around the cock’s head.

He felt a swell of pride. Of triumph. He knew Ava sensed the truth as well. He was right. He had proven his point. And now Ava’s full conditioning would take hold. A little bet with himself, making her own mental acknowledgment of his theory her final trigger. She took off her t-shirt. She would never wear it again. No more shame, no more pain about her figure. Only arousal and pride. His gift to her.

She crawled to him on all fours. The girls kissed– but now, they kissed for him, to arouse him. They were lovers, only they both knew there was a higher love. A truer love. Ava looked up at her owner and opened her mouth, greedily awaiting his blessing. Linda used her skillful hands, aiming his cock and teasing it, jacking it off, using just the right amount of pressure and speed.

No man could resist such a sight.

In a few seconds, Ava was covered in his cum, more beautiful than she had ever been. Linda certainly felt that way, and she licked and kissed her sister slut clean.

He watched carefully, looking for signs of defiance, and finding none. In fact, Linda put his fears to rest with a simple statement.

“Ava, we need to buy you a pair of rainbow socks”

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu !!

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aezuria · 2 months

Note

hiii i love ur writing sm!! i was wondering if u would do leo valdez x reader headcanons? ty!!!

*ੈ✎ keep your head still, i'll be your thrill

—all the small things, blink-182

content: leo valdez x reader

warnings: cursing again

librarian's annotations: the title has no connection to the hcs but it came up while i was writing this also IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER 🙏🙏🙏

super clingy i do not make the rules

oh you thought you were gonna get up and be productive?? not today!

fuck everyone else tbh

LOVEEES gossip sessions with u

hes so invested in all the drama u have

probably laying on his stomach and swinging his feet and gasping incredulously. "what!? no she did not..."

got very pouty that you did not invite him to the girls night bc he didnt want to "miss out on the tea" (lwk stealing from my own work oops)

who can blame him tbh

LOVE LOVES DANCING

loves teaching u too (even if u suck)

like imagine him holding your waist and moving you to the beat as you fumble along, his chest pressed up against your own

GOOD LORD

"forward, back, left- there you go," he murmured into your ear, looking down at your feet. you stepped on his shoes a lot more than you should've; did he ever think that his proximity was why you were messing up!?

"you suck at this, don't you?" he laughed, but twirled you around anyway.

"did you ever think you're just a shit teacher?"

"rude!"

also this man was born a star

can probably hit super high notes as if its nothing

ok so we all know how hes a genius right

oh my GOD imagine him explaining how his stuff works and using words you're sure don't even exist and he's so into it and he just sounds so SMART

intelligence is so attractive why does no one talk abt that

you wanted to watch him work on the engine, so you pulled up a stool next to him. you stared at his side, his tank top dirty with grease and sticky with sweat. how long had he been working since you got here?

you'd get mad at him for not taking a break later. right now? you were admiring the view. who wouldn't?

"hey leo?"

he hummed in response, still hyper-focused on the engine.

"how does all that work, exactly?" you were never one for machines—good thing you have a mechanic boyfriend!

he looks to you, a happy glimmer in his eyes. "you really wanna know? so basically— this part connects to that part and then..."

you don't know how long you've been zoned out, too busy staring at his perfect

"y/n?" he finally realizes you haven't been paying attention. "you with me, now?" he raises an eyebrow with a grin on his face.

"huh? what?" you straightened up, fumbling over your words. "yeah! why wouldn't i be?" you tried to act as if you weren't just ogling him seconds before.

"oh y'know.. cause you were checking me out." he winked, leaning back against the engine as he put himself on display. "i mean, you obviously couldn't help it. i mean, look at me!"

someone humble him

its not like he doesn't do the same tho

if he accidentally walks in on you he'd be like "oh my gods-! sorry!" and cover his eyes with his hands, but his fingers are parted so he could still look through. literally the 🫣 emoji

"GET OUT!"

"OKAY I'M GOING DON'T HIT ME- OW!"

he is SUPER ticklish and you WILL use this to your advantage

esp his ears

one time you touched them out of curiosity cause theyre pointer than average and he was like "eek!"

pause

"aww i didn't know you could make that sound!" you poked some more fun at him because that was adorable

"shut up!"

another time he's laying on you, ruining your plans of getting up early and being active. you tried rolling out from underneath him but his arms snake around you like a vice, squeezing a groan out of you.

"leo get off!" you tried shoving him off, but that didn't work either. he simply buried his face into your neck, mumbling a tired no.

you really had shit to do, so you resorted to the last possible tactic. "i didn't wanna have to do this..." you warned. (you so wanted to do this)

you slipped your hands under his shirt and started tickling his stomach, effectively getting him writhing off you with laughter.

"stop-! that tickles!" he tried doing the same back, but he was squirming far too much.

ok real talk now

love loves staying up late with you until its past midnight and you guys are just rambling about random topics. he's just so relaxed with you, his heart feels so full and there's no space anymore, so his bottled up emotions spill out

which is usually a closely-guarded secret because he's just the funny guy of the group, right?

what does he know about feelings? isn't it his job to just keep everyone else happy? joking about everything will take away the pain, won't it?

(it doesn't)

"i don't know, i just- feel like i don't really fit in with everyone. they all have these cool powers, and i'm just.. me." he laughed dryly, face devoid of his usual happiness as he stared at the ceiling. "sometimes, i feel like you could do so much better. but at the same time?" his voice lowered as he rolled onto his side, staring into your eyes. "i want to keep you to myself. i really, really don't want to lose you."

you were glad he finally opened up to you, but your heart ached at the way he thought of himself. how could he not see how highly everyone thought of him, especially you?

"just you? leo, you're the coolest person i know. you're so, so smart, you can fix just about anything, you're funny, you're kind, you can cook; what's not to love?" you smiled softly. you could go on and on about this man. for him to think that he was the lucky one? it was quite the opposite.

"and you don't have to worry," you whispered, cuddling closer to him and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "i'll always be with you."

#*ੈ✎ stories #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackon and the olympians

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