#he got to go do things like run domestic errands together with him. as if they could have been something more than what they were at the en

[feroluce]

Lucid Dreamer (1/2)

part 2

Gepard notices that it's been. Quiet lately. Like weirdly quiet. TOO quiet. He hasn't seen Sampo Koski in almost a week, which is about the longest he's ever been absent. And he is NOT worried. He's not! So what if they've been getting along more lately! So what if Gepard sometimes looks for him in his favorite hiding places! So what if he's been dreaming about blue hair and green eyes! It's nothing!!

But they're….strange, these dreams. Gepard doesn't usually remember what he's dreamt. It's out of his mind seconds within waking up. But these stick with him, they won't leave him be, they feel different somehow.

He dreams of Sampo bringing food to the frontlines and eating breakfast in his tent with him. Sampo always sneaks him extras. He dreams of chasing Sampo through the alleyways, Sampo sometimes letting himself be caught, Gepard sometimes catching him, and trying to ignore how it feels more like a game now more than anything else. He even dreams that Sampo tags along with him on one of his few civilian days. Sampo runs errands with him, prattles about inane bullshit while Gepard picks out groceries for the week, drags Gepard into some bakery he's never been to but he thinks Serval mentioned once.

And sometimes, it feels so close to reality, that Gepard half expects to see Sampo, shamelessly swaggering into the frontlines with all the guards' breakfast like his wanted poster wasn't only recently taken off the walls of Belobog. He's disappointed when it's always someone else instead. He tells himself his disappointment is ridiculous and if Sampo wants to go prowl around the Snow Plains or wherever he is, then fine. It's not any of his business.

…But it IS his job to investigate any unusual criminal activity relating to the frontlines. And the frontlines are Sampo's usual haunting grounds, and this is unusual activity, and Sampo IS technically a criminal, so it is absolutely part of his duty to look into this - is what Gepard tells himself the entire tram ride down into the Underground.

Natasha tells him he's gone, and Gepard has to steel himself. He knew Sampo made enemies wherever he went, there are a lot of people who would love his head on a platter, but he didn't think-

Natasha corrects him that she means literally gone. As in off-planet. Sampo always leaves her a note before he goes anywhere, so she knows not to expect any supply runs from him. He should be back in exactly two weeks. Thank the Preservation.

Gepard goes back home. He waits.

The uneasiness doesn't leave him.

"Where did you go?" Sampo stops dead in the middle of some story about Seele, and how you'd think someone with as blunt a mouth as her wouldn't have so much trouble asking a woman out, even if that woman IS the Supreme Guardian, and stares at him. He nearly fumbles his cigarette.

"Ahaha, what do you mean, I'm right here?" Sampo smiles at him the same way he always does. Gepard has no idea why he asked. It just popped out. He can never tell when Sampo is lying, anyway.

"I don't know. I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time." Gepard idly mouths at his own cigarette. He almost never smokes, but he wants to ration their stocks of Blizzard Immunity, and it helps with the cold. It's seemed colder lately, for some reason.

Gepard flicks his lighter once, twice, sighs at the third time because a metal prosthetic and thick gloves make the damn things so difficult. Sampo reaches over and wordlessly kisses the end of his cigarette to Gepard's, lighting it. "Thank you."

Nothing happens for almost a full 30 seconds. Something churns behind Gepard's ribcage. Because Sampo never leaves a "thank you" hanging. This is the part where he gives his spiel about how helpful and kind he is and Gepard either brings up how long his rap sheet was before Bronya helped clear his name, or just stares deadpan because seeing Sampo squirm is weirdly satisfying.

"…I'll be back in one more week."

Gepard jolts awake in his cot, mouth dry and eyes bleary.

The hell.

The next dream he has, Sampo looks tired. Sometimes he seems normal. Sometimes he says strange things, like how he wishes he'd gone to some restaurant in Belobog. Ate his favorite food more recently. Brought something with him. Gepard asks why he can't do that now. Where would he bring something? Sampo only shrugs. His rebuttals have less energy.

Gepard doesn't know if he wants to dream more, or less.

He ticks down the days on his calendar. Natasha hasn't told him any different. She promised she would if she got any kind of message. Sampo returns tomorrow, from whatever vacation or seedy business dealings he's been off having. He is not excited about it. He is not looking forward to it. He's not!!

Gepard falls asleep late that night, unable to settle. He dreams again.

He's alone. There are tons of people everywhere, the frontlines are always crowded. But he's alone. They all pass right by him as though he were a ghost. Gepard starts to walk before he realizes his feet are even moving.

He checks the trashcans in the dead end alley. He checks the supply crates that someone always stacks too high because they don't feel like finding more space for them. He pauses to check the soldiers that march past him, watching their footprints in the snow.

He finally finds Sampo on the rooftop along the northernmost wall, the one that looks out over the plains, towards Everwinter Hill, towards where the Stellaron had once been kept. With a full moon and an entire land of white snow, Gepard can almost see clear out to the horizon.

"Found you." Sampo stiffens, and Gepard is almost prepared for him to sprint off the roof. He doesn't. But he doesn't relax either. Gepard sits down next to him and stares out at the wastelands.

"…I fucked up." It wasn't what Gepard had been expecting. Sampo never 'fucks up,' Sampo just gets into incidents that are entirely, supposedly, not his fault and that he just happens to always be within the vicinity of.

"What did you do now?" It must be really bad if Sampo is coming to the Silvermanes for protection.

Instead, Sampo ignores his question completely. "See out over there? Right on the other side of that mountain. There's a safe house that way. It's hidden under a lot of snow and dead trees, but it's there. And in that safe house is a box full of letters. I need you to deliver those letters for me."

Gepard's brow furrows. It's a weird favor to ask. Sampo would never tell anyone where his hidden safehouses were. It defeated the whole purpose of a hidden safe house.

Something is wrong, something is really really wrong.

Gepard turns back to look at him again and startles, all of his questions dying in his throat, because the entire left side of Sampo's head is suddenly matted down, dark and sticky, his skin is dyed red red red-

"In three more months, there's gonna be something big happening." Gepard grabs Sampo's hand and it feels slick and warm against his palm. "I won't be here. So I need you to do my end of things for me." Gepard tries to keep hold, but something is fading, something is slowing, the sun is coming up but the colors are all wrong, everything feels like encroaching fog, Sampo's hand slides right through his. "I was gonna come back with my mask to finish setting the stage, but…" Gepard makes a frantic grab for Sampo's wrist, the air twists, he comes back empty-handed. "They have you. And you're the Iron Wall of Belobog. So it'll be ok."

Gepard finally manages to find his grip, snatches the front of Sampo's dark wet jacket and yanks him forward to hold onto him, and this close up, he can see it better, his colors are bleaching out, leaking outside the lines as if Sampo will become part of the background, as if he's fading into the strange fog that's been closing in on them. His fingers are already starting to feel empty again.

"Wake up."

Gepard jolts awake, uncurls his hands from where they're fisted in the blanket, scrubs the dampness off his face. Breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Today is supposed to be the day.

He throws on his civilian clothes, and he goes down to the shipyard the IPC had built. He finds a spot where he can see every person that returns to Belobog, and he waits.

And he waits and he waits and he waits.

No one he recognizes appears.

#sampard #gepo #hsr gepard #hsr sampo #gepard landau #sampo koski #honkai star rail #hsr #blood #my fics #lucid dreamer #there was more to this but it didn't feel right included here so part 2 tomorrow maybe? #I just think Penacony being the land of dreams presents some FASCINATING possibilities like showing up in other people's dreams #the end of masquerade duet killed me just beat me dead #Sampo going through all this trouble just to protect Belobog... #poor Ray got such an earful that night haha #In the Penacony dreamscape someone can change their appearance however they want but I think in this case where one of the dreamers AREN'T- #-on Penacony it would take more concentration to keep that illusion up #and if someone were say. hurt and badly bleeding. it would start to fall apart eventually as they lost their concentration. #but oh my heart #Sampo being away and missing Belobog so badly he shows up in his friends' dreams just to do the same mundane shit they always do... #He probably showed up to everyone #he sat around and kept Natasha company in her clinic. he pestered Seele until he provoked her into asking Bronya on a date. #he played one last song with Pela and Serval. he told them he'd always kept his old bass guitar. #he took Hook out on one last joyride on his scooter and he even let her sit up front and steer like she'd always wanted. #and he stood around to shoot the shit with Gepard #he got to go do things like run domestic errands together with him. as if they could have been something more than what they were at the en #it was nice to get the chance to do all that #it was nice

[justporo]

Headcanons about living with Astarion

I thought about some of this lately and since yesterday's warmup got out of hand... (Behold him lounging:)

First things first, if you think living with Astarion will be neat and organised just because he himself always looks put well together: you are in for a surprise

This man - as much as he cares for aesthetics - tends to be messy

Especially since it's been forever that he could actually have and keep stuff, so expect books everywhere, cups left on surfaces, stuff laying around on the floor (and let's be honest, growing up as a noble before didn't teach him anything about being domestic...)

He'll learn though, especially when you reach a point where you could almost throw stuff at him (but he still struggles with it and him buying so many books surely doesn't help)

Astarion is basically cat: lounging everywhere - no surface is safe! Although a comfy sofa or chaiselongue are preferred spots!

Especially when you've sat somewhere and it's still nice and warm and smells of you; "Was that your seat, darling? Well, not anymore!"

But then he would pull you in with a chuckle and have you cuddle up on his lap and also refuse to let you go ("Love, I've only just gotten comfortable, you can't leave now!")

What he lacks in order he makes up with style - to a point it might make your blood boil: "Astarion, please, I couldn't care less if the red of the drapes matches the pillow cases!" "Yes, well, darling - don't take it personally - but I wouldn't have expected you to care anyway." Then he has to dodge several pillows being flung at his head)

Astarion leaves little notes for you to find, like for example if he's gone to run some errands or maybe just because - to tell you he loves you; at some point it kind of becomes a game of him hiding notes somewhere in the house and waiting how long you take to find them - scolding you if you take too long! ("My sweet, a trained donkey would have found it by now! Open your eyes, love, you can't possibly be that distracted by my beautiful face!")

Astarion learns about companionable silence with you - obviously he's very chatty and you love nights just wasted away with talking and joking - about everything and anything; but he also learns how pleasant it can be to just sit there, all cozied up with you and feeling the deep peace of easy silence with you

That or spending some quality time together: him spending time with reading or doing embroidery, you with drawing, also reading or anything else - as long as you're together

At least for a while Astarion really enjoys having a place where he can just... be; obviously this eager little vampire can't sit still forever but he revels in the knowledge of having a place he can always return to, somewhere to be safe and comfy, somewhere he can always be with you

Alright - at least that's how I could very well imagine living with Astarion might be, hihi. This man keeps living in my head - by now I'm sure he's changed my brain chemistry forever, for good...

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #bg3 #headcanons #astarion headcanons #imagine #poro headcanons #astarion x you #astarion fluff

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 22

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

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

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now you were celebrating another holiday with them. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were in trouble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Javier,” you exclaimed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course—I trust you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope,” you defiantly replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He moved to look you in the eyes. 

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

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

“I’m good.” You nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had you there. 

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

“I’m not a sex god.”

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

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

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

“I am definitely not a sex goddess.”

He frowned, his eyebrows dipping together. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the kicker?” 

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

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

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

“Maybe we can all go out for drinks?” 

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

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

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

“Yeah…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw flexed. “It was implied.” 

“Javi, baby?”

“Yes, Cielito?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then we will.” 

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

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

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

“Sí, siempre (Yes, always).”

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

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

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

He chuckled, his head moving to kiss your lips. 

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

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

He laughed, focusing on the road. 

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

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

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

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

And you couldn’t agree more.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Pop!” you greeted with a smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

Antonia López Peña 

November 17, 1937 - January 31, 1991

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled. “To oversee us?” 

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

“Yes, it does,” you agreed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your boyfriend’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spoiled,” Javi answered, the man pouting. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, mi alma (my soul).” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until his mom died. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please,” she replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?” she asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d unwrapped the corn husk from one of his tamales, putting his disposable dish beside him on the blanket to ensure he served her.

“How many?” he asked Cielito, holding an empty paper plate. 

“Um, two,” she answered. He piled them on, then handed it to her.

“Thank you, babe.” She came in for a kiss that he happily reciprocated, all short and sweet. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” he said when they broke apart with a smile, picking up his tamales again. “Your question: No.” 

“Ate out a lot?”

“Yeah, or Connie fed me.” He held a tamale, taking a bite, his eyes closing at how good it was—they tasted like home and when things were simpler, but he was happy he got to eat them now, with the person who owned his heart. 

Almost half of their freezer was filled with tamales, and he was very pleased about it.

Swallowing, his head turned toward her, meeting her eyes as he continued, “With my mom, she’d give me the ingredients and instructions, and we’d cook. I never learned how to tell if fruits or vegetables were good at the grocery store ‘cause she always gave them to me—which wasn’t her fault. I don’t think it ever crossed her mind, and I never thought to ask.” He shrugged. An amused breath left his nose, a smile curling up on his lips. “She also never told me measurements either. The hot chocolate, I can wing, but when I was gone and wanted pozole? I had to call her for the recipe from her card.”

“No radishes, right?” She smiled. 

He chuckled. “Yeah, no radishes. I didn’t make many of her recipes because I had no fucking clue how to get most of the ingredients and didn’t want to ask anyone for help.” 

“‘Cause you, my love, are very stubborn—” She bounced her shoulder gently against his. “—and if I hadn’t helped you find a good tomato, you would’ve forced yourself to eat a lousy BLT.” 

He frowned, sighing, “Yeah…” 

“You know what, though?” 

“What?” 

“You’re an expert produce picker now and make her recipes all the time, and I know she’d be happy you do.” Her face came close, pecking him on the lips. 

“She’s right, Mijo,” his dad interjected. “Tu mamá (your mom) would love you making her food.”

It warmed his heart to hear them say that, his eyes beginning to burn, so he distracted himself by taking a big mouthful of his tamale, everyone else doing the same. 

Music from the little radio was playing, hearing children's screams as they played, and people talking and laughing in the distance. 

His dad finished eating. “Barriga llena, corazón contento (Full belly, happy heart),” Chucho told them, patting his stomach happily. He groaned as he bent over to get a napkin out of a bag to wipe his hands and face. “That was delicious,” he said, his garbage getting set down by his feet. “You outdid yourself, Mija.” 

“Thank you,” she replied, her plate also empty. Javi was done and gathered all of their garbage to put in the trash bag. “How late do we hang out here?” she asked. 

“As late as you want,” his dad said. “Some people stay until midnight. Others with kids leave earlier.” 

“Remember what mi mamá would always say when I’d go out?” he asked Chucho, thinking about the words he’d hear every time he left the house for the evening.

“No podré dormir si estás fuera toda la noche (I won’t be able to sleep if you’re out all night).” 

Javier smiled. “Yeah, and I’d always be home before midnight, and you guys were already asleep.” 

They laughed. 

“I promise she was worrying about you when she’d go to bed,” his dad said. 

“Sure, she was,” he replied, taking a sip of his beer. 

“She was.” His dad nodded. “She’d toss and turn and finally get up at about one in the morning to make sure you were home and come back to bed. She’d sleep like a baby when you were safe at home.” 

His stomach plummeted. “What, uh—” He scratched at the back of his head. “—what about when I was gone…?” he asked softly. 

A somber look came over Chucho’s face. “She couldn’t sleep until she prayed for you, and the days she talked to you and could hear your voice, she slept best.” 

He remembered while he was in South America, she ended every phone call with, ‘Te amo, mi nene—que Dios y la virgencita te acompañen y todo salga de la mejor manera (I love you, my baby boy—may god and the Virgin Mary guide you and everything goes in the best way possible).’ Her praying for him nightly didn’t surprise him. It was the fact she couldn’t sleep until she did, and he felt awful for putting her through that, his eyes starting to water.

Cielito’s hand rubbed circles against his spine, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm went behind her back, the other around her middle, hugging her tightly while kissing her hair, holding her, soothing the twinge of remorse he was feeling. 

“Javi,” his dad said to get his attention, turning his head to meet the other man’s eyes. “She was proud of you, Mijo, and knew you were doing good work—she’d tell anyone who’d listen that her son was going to catch Pablo Escobar and look at all you did; all the good. Sure, you made some mistakes and did things you shouldn’t have, but in the end, you helped make the world better, and I can tell you your mom would be proud of you and all you’ve done.” A tear rolled down Javier’s cheek, having to clear his throat. “You know your mother was a pious woman,” Chucho continued. “She found comfort in praying for your safety every night and lighting a candle for you at Mass—she just wanted to keep you safe in God’s light and knew you wouldn’t pray for yourself. She loved you more than anything, Mijo, and needed to make sure you’d make it back home to us.” 

Another teardrop fell. 

“I was too late,” he croaked out, thinking about how she was on her deathbed when he finally returned. Cielito wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. 

“For her, it was perfect timing—she got to see her nene precioso (precious baby boy) before leaving this world, and that was the greatest gift you could have given her, being the last face she saw and knowing you were safe.” His dad’s eyes were getting wet, him sniffling as he took off his glasses to wipe at them. “Now, this is supposed to be a happy day, and we can’t be sad. You should go see your tías (aunts) and tío (uncle)—your primo (cousin) Sebastián is back from Dallas, and you can finally introduce her to him.” He nodded at Cielito. 

Sebastián was his tío Ángel’s eldest son.

He let go of his wif—girlfriend as she sat up beside him and got him to turn his head toward her. He smiled when she fussed over him by wiping away his tears with her thumbs and pushing his bangs off his face.

“Are you feeling okay?” she softly asked him. 

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice a little rough. 

“Okay.” She nodded. “I know what will cheer you up even more.” 

His eyebrows dipped together. “What?” 

Her voice went lower, trying to mimic his as she dramatically said, “Necesito que me beses ahora mismo (I need you to kiss me right now). No puedo vivir sin tus besos (I can’t live without your kisses). No puedo respirar sin tus besos (I can’t breathe without your kisses). Bésame, mi amor (Kiss me, my love). Por Favor (Please).” She puckered her lips, closing her eyes.

Air escaped his nose, smiling big.

“No sueno así (I don’t sound like that)!” he laughed. “Eres tan linda y te amo mucho (You are so cute, and I love you a lot).” His hand cradled her jaw, moving closer to her. “Puedes tener tantos besos como quieras, mi amor (You can have as many kisses as you want, my love).” He pressed his mouth to hers hard, kissing her so tenderly it felt like he was melting into her. 

She had him feeling better, knowing his dad was right and that this was a happy day, and they shouldn’t be dwelling on the sadness—they were here to celebrate his mom and their other family members who were no longer with them. 

Seconds passed, and they were separating, both smiling at each other. 

“Let’s go see everyone,” he said. 

“Okay,” she replied. “This Sebastián, how old is he?” 

That was a good question, Javier wracking his brain to try and remember. “Maybe early thirties?” 

“Mhmm.” There was an inquisitive look on her face. “All of your male cousins in Laredo are either—” She held up a finger. “—married—” Another finger went up. “—in a serious relationship—” A third finger joined the other two. “—or are too young. I don’t know anything about this Sebastián. Is he… single?” 

“What?” He looked at her funny. 

Why did she want to know?

“Don’t look at me like that, Javier! You know I’m not asking for me!” 

His eyes squinted. “Then who…?”

“Robyn!” She threw up her hands. “We’ve struck out on setting her up with any of your Laredo primos (cousins), and now a new Peña has appeared! Give me the deets, babe. Is he single? Is he into women? What’s his star sign? Is he cute—that’s actually a dumb question because all of your cousins are hot! Like no wonder they’re all married or in serious relationships and having a ton of babies. Sexy is apparently one of the attributes of the Peña genes.” 

His dad was laughing, Javier’s cheeks heating. 

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m sorry, baby, but Seb is married.” 

“Damn.” She visibly deflated, shaking her head.

“No, he’s not,” Chucho piped up, both of them looking over at him. “He got divorced last year—that’s why he’s back here. He needed a change.” 

“Bachelor number one is back in the game!” Cielito exclaimed. “Oh my god, okay, so what’s he like?”

He was loving her excitement, smiling when he said, “We can go find him, and you can see?” His face fell. “But I thought you said Robyn met a guy she was into…?”

“Well, yeah, but this is a Peña, and she hasn’t stopped bugging us about finding her one of your cousins.” 

That was true. 

Just about every time she saw Javier, she asked if any of his primos (cousins) over thirty had become available and if this would get her off his ass…

“Let’s go find him, Cielito.” He kissed her quickly, then grabbed his beer from between his legs, chugging the little bit that remained, her doing the same, the empty bottles getting set with the rest of the trash.

Groaning as he got up from the slight ache in his lower back and knees, he put his arms out to his wife—girlfriend once standing. He frowned, helping to pull her up onto her feet. 

She smoothed her palms down her dress. 

“Do I look okay?” she asked, checking herself for any wrinkles in the fabric. 

“You look more than okay, hermosa (beautiful),” he answered, taking her hands into his and bringing them up to hold against his chest, their gazes meeting. “You’re fucking gorgeous, and I love that you got this dress for tonight—it’s perfect, and mi mamá would love it.” 

The dress had been a surprise, and when she came out of their shared bathroom wearing it, he’d forgotten how to breathe—she looked beyond beautiful, and it dazed him, not believing she’d chosen him to spend the rest of her life with. 

Basically, Javier found himself falling even more in love with her from all of the thought she’d put into honoring his mother—the dress, the food, and celebrating with his family. Head over heels wasn’t accurate to how he felt; he was completely head over ass, so gone on her, he’d do anything for her, anything, and that included protecting her, too. He’d die for her. He’d kill for her. She was the air he breathed and the blood that kept his heart pumping; she was his life and the most important person in the world to him, and she chose him. 

“El tiene razón (He’s right),” his dad added. “Te ves bonita con ese vestido, Mija (You look beautiful in that dress, Mija).” 

She shyly looked away from them. “Thank you,” she replied. 

His hand went to her jaw, making her look at him as he smiled warmly. 

“None of that,” he said, knowing she was doubting the truth of their words. “I’m being completely honest, Pop is, too, and I wish so fucking bad you could see how I see you.” His thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “How beautiful you are, how incredible—god, I love you so fucking much.” 

His lips took the place of his thumb, his arm going behind her back to pull her into him, trying to make her feel the love he felt for her in his kiss—her fingers slid into the short-cropped hair on the back of his head, Javier shivering when she lovingly dragged her nails along his nape. 

“Estos dos están pegados por completo, Antonia (These two are completely stuck together, Antonia),” he heard his dad say. “Tú verás que en cualquier momento, nos van hacer abuelos (You watch, any minute now they’re going to make us grandparents).”

Cielito snorted, breaking away from him, while Javier sighed, pressing his forehead to hers and rubbing his hands up and down her spine. 

“Pop,” he groaned. “Me abochornas (You’re embarrassing me).”

“¿Digo la verdad y te abochorna (I tell the truth and it embarasses you)?” Chucho asked. He clicked his tongue, dramatically continuing, “Es la maldición de los padres (It’s the parental curse).” 

Javier turned his head, finding his dad sitting there with a shit-eating grin under his cowboy hat and a hand over his chest. 

He rolled his eyes, ready to go. 

“Nos vamos ahora (We’re leaving now),” he said, taking his girlfriend’s hand. “Quédate aquí con mi mamá y cuéntale cómo sigues molestándonos para que te den nietos (Stay here with my mom and tell her about how you keep pestering us to give you grandchildren).” 

“Oh, tu mamá sabe (Oh, your mom knows).” He waved away Javier’s words. “Hablando de mis futuros nietos, tambien un día disfrutarás avergonzándolos (Speaking of my future grandkids, one day you will also enjoy embarrassing them). ¿Sabes por qué (Do you know why)?” 

“¿Por qué, Pop (Why, Pop)?”

“Porque serás un padre increíble como yo y amarás a tus hijos más que a nada (Because you will be an amazing father like me and love your kids more than anything).” 

Javier’s breath caught in his throat. 

Emotion had his voice going gravelly. “Espero ser un gran padre como tú (I hope I will be a great dad like you).” 

“Sé que lo harás (I know you will). Te amo, Javiercito (I love you, Javier). Ahora, ve a ver al resto de la familia (Now, go see the rest of the family).” 

“Está bien (Okay). Estaremos de vuelta pronto (We will be back soon).”

“No voy a irme a ninguna parte (I am not going anywhere).”

That was something Javier knew without a doubt and could always count on—both of his parents were there for him, and no matter the mistakes he’d made, it had never caused them to love him any less. On the rough days in Colombia, there was always the thought in the back of his mind to just give up and go home to them, knowing they would’ve welcomed him with open arms. He’d kept going, though, the ranch a last resort, and when he was sent back to Texas after he horribly fucked up, all his dad asked was when he needed to pick him up from the airport, there was no question that he was coming back to the house for however long he wanted to be there. 

Chucho wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, and Javier knew that, planning to plant his roots in Laredo and grow his family here, wanting to stay as close as possible to his dad and the place where his mother was resting. 

He nodded at his father, leading Cielito away. 

“So,” she started. “Who’s all buried here?”

He slowed down to have them walking next to each other, their hands linked, glancing over at her through his sunglasses as he answered, “My mom and my paternal abuelos (grandparents). My mother’s family is back in Mexico—her parents and my tío (uncle) are still alive down there, but I haven’t seen them since, fuck, her funeral? They all moved back after she married my dad, and we’d visit them a few times a year when I was growing up.”

“Were your dad’s parents born in Mexico, too?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, but they immigrated here before they started having kids.”

“Good to know. Have you thought about visiting your mom’s family?” 

Frowning, he replied, “Maybe? Some of my uncle’s kids live here in the US, I’m just not sure where, and he visits my dad occasionally. It’d be nice to see my abuelos (grandparents)…” 

They were probably in their early eighties by now. 

She got closer to his side, hugging his arm to her as she looked him in the eyes with a smile. 

“Well, maybe we’ll just have to go visit them.” 

That had him sobering up and thinking about the job he’d been doing with the Sheriff. 

In the months he worked for Sheriff Arturo, the narcotics unit had managed to seize almost double the drugs and weapons than the entire previous year combined—not to mention all of the arrests they made. It was so substantial the DEA had set up an in-person meeting with him for that Friday, when up to this point, they’ve only communicated by phone. The agent in charge of Rio Grande Valley was a real prick, and Javier had hung up on him more than once, so he really wasn’t looking forward to sitting down with the guy.

He kept his promise to Cielito about only doing office work, spending the majority of his time reading over arrest reports and seizures, writing up analyses, and creating strategies for the narcotics team to use. With all of the pages he read, he felt like there was something he was missing, some kind of connection that wasn’t making itself known amongst all of the letters and numbers his eyes had scanned over—it was starting to bother the fuck out of him that he wasn’t getting any closer to figuring out where the drugs were coming from than when he began looking. 

“Maybe,” he said distractedly. Changing the subject, he continued, pointing ahead of them with his free hand, “Looks like tío Ángel is with my tías and tíos—Sebastián must be close by.” 

His abuelos had a long, flat headstone that sat amongst the grass, with ‘Peña’ etched in the middle in large letters, and each of their names on either side where they were buried, along with their dates of birth and death. 

The second time he’d come here with his wif-girlfriend, his dad had been with them and showed them where his grandparents were since Javier wasn’t stateside when they passed.

He was ashamed to admit it, but when they died, he’d put his work before his family like he always fucking did—so focused on taking down the Cali cartel he didn’t even think about using any bereavement leave to come home for either of their funerals that were only months apart. At the time, his secretary sent flowers to the family with his condolences like the cold-hearted bastard he was who didn’t even bother calling his tías or tío. 

Looking back, he felt like shit for what his father must have gone through—in less than five years, Chucho lost his wife and both of his parents, his only son away on a completely different continent, barely remembering to pick up the phone for their monthly calls. 

Javier was a real piece of shit then and deserved the dressing down his tías gave him when he’d come back for good. Now, he had his head on straight, understanding that his family was the most important thing in his life, and he wouldn’t waste any more time with them.

His grandparents’ resting place was decorated similarly to his mother’s: marigold blooms were bordering the gravestone and surrounding a large framed photo of his abuelos that was propped up behind it along with two large vases of the flowers resting on the upper two corners of the stone. Candles were also on the hard surface, a couple of votives, the others plain red-waxed, and in the grass were ornaments that were just paper skulls on sticks. His tías had put down a colorful rectangular platter that they had set a bottle of his abuelo’s (grandfather’s) favorite tequila, two cups full of something he wasn’t sure of, and two plates filled with food—chicken legs and thighs covered in his abuela’s (grandmother’s) mole (moh-lay), a sauce made from blackened, burnt chiles, chocolate, and other ingredients Javier couldn’t remember; There was also arroz rojo (red rice), frijoles (beans), and the tamales they made over the weekend.  

His tías Lupita and Rebeca were sitting on a large dark blue striped picnic blanket with a couple of their grandkids who were maybe five or six, his aunts' husbands sitting nearby in camping chairs. Tía María was on the other side of them in a chair next to her husband, another blanket on the ground by them where their eldest son, Danny, was sitting with his wife and two kids—a four- and two-year-old, with another on the way. Everyone was eating except his tío Ángel who was standing and nursing a beer, his youngest son Diego, who was in his late-twenties, next to him, scooping food into his mouth from a paper plate while they all happily chatted between bites.

His tía María spotted them first. 

“Javi está aquí y trajo a nuestra Chula (Javi’s here and he brought our Cutie).”  

All of them looked in their direction with smiles and greetings as they approached. 

“Hola (Hi),” he said. 

“Hi!” Cielito greeted with a wave of her hand that wasn’t holding his. 

“Come eat with us,” tía Lupita ordered, moving to make them plates. 

He was pretty full from what they’d already eaten, sharing a look with his girlfriend, both knowing they’d have to eat some of it, unable to keep from sighing simultaneously.

Something you learned very quickly once being introduced to Javier’s extended family was you absolutely, under no circumstance, refused food you were offered—you’re not hungry? You’re full? You’re not sure it’s something you’ll like? It didn’t matter. You took what they gave you, thanked them, and ate as much as you could. 

Knowing how much time and effort went into making their dishes made it make sense and was honestly great, so you happily accepted the flimsy paper plate loaded with food, and a plastic fork, thanking tía Lupita. 

“How was the carne en su jugo?” Rebeca asked. 

“Almost exactly like mi mamá’s,” Javi proudly answered, picking at the food on his plate like you were and taking small bites. 

“Bueno (Good)!” 

María addressed you, “You’ll come over next time we make our mamá’s mole, so you can learn.” 

“I’d love that,” you replied with a smile. “I’m assuming that’s what this sauce is?” You got some chicken with the mole on your fork to hold up and put it in your mouth. 

“Yes.” She nodded. “How do you like it?” 

Answering after swallowing, “It’s very good.” It was a little spicy, a little sweet, and had an earthiness to it that wasn’t bad, and you had no clue what was in it, assuming chiles, for sure. 

“The tamales are increíble (incredible),” Javier’s tío Ángel’s gruff voice said.

The first time you saw tío Ángel, you thought he wasn’t happy to meet you with how mad he looked. Turned out he just had the same grumpy resting face as Javi, which must make it genetic. His tío was actually really nice, even though he gave off ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes, and it made sense why the asshole horse at the ranch, Enrique, only let him ride him. 

Javier’s tío hadn’t been at the tamalada since he was busy working on the ranch. 

“Thank you,” you replied. “I just followed Antonia’s recipe as best I could.” 

“Well, they turned out great.” He raised his beer to you. 

“¿Dónde está Sebastián (Where’s Sebastián)?” Javi asked. 

The rest of the group had gone back to talking amongst themselves.

“Está en la tumba de su abuelo con su madre, y su abuela (He is over at his grandfather’s grave with his mom, and grandma).” He pointed with his bottle in their direction.

“Sebastián llegó muy tarde (Sebastián arrived really late),” Diego said, disposing his empty plate into a black trash bag. 

Diego had long hair like his dad, but where his dad kept his pulled back in a ponytail, Diego let his gorgeous black locks fall down to his shoulders—he also had a smile that was absolutely contagious and radiated happiness. 

“¿Cuándo regresó a Laredo (When did he come back to Laredo)?” Javi inquired as he took a bite of some rice. 

“Llegó aquí el jueves, pero se fue todo el fin de semana (He got here on Thursday but he was gone all weekend).”

“¿Regresó a Dallas (Did he go back to Dallas)?” Javi’s eyebrows were knitted together. 

“No sé (I don’t know),” the younger man shrugged. “No nos dijo a dónde fue (He didn’t tell us where he went). El llegó tarde hoy y fresco de la ducha (He showed up late today and fresh from the shower).” A mischievous smile appeared on his face. “No creo que haya pasado el fin de semana solo (I don’t think he spent the weekend alone).” 

“¡Ay!” Ángel said. “Deja de chismear sobre tu hermano (Quit gossiping about your brother).”

“Hey,” Diego replied, putting up his hands in defense. “Es bueno para él seguir adelante (It’s good for him to move on).” 

That had you frowning, hoping he hadn’t met someone. 

Your head turned toward Javi. “I’d really like to meet this mystery cousin now—please introduce him to me.” 

His eyes met yours. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay.” Looking back at his tío Ángel, he pointed with his free hand in the direction his uncle said, “He’s over there?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while. What’s he wearing?” 

“Yes, over there—” He pointed with his beer again. “—and he’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Right, Mijo?” he asked his son. 

“Yes, papá (dad),” Diego answered. 

“Okay,” you replied. “On the lookout for a hot Peña in a black shirt and jeans—let’s go, babe!” Holding your plate in one hand, your other grabbed Javi’s arm as you started pulling him where you needed to go. 

Out of earshot of his family, you looked over your shoulder at him, “Hopefully he didn’t fall in love over the weekend. I wish we would’ve known there was an eligible Peña so we could’ve set him up with Robyn on a blind date or something.” 

Javi snorted. 

“You really think Robyn would agree to a blind date?” 

You thought about it for a second. 

“Yeah, I think she would, just for the fun of it.” 

He slowed down, dragging his feet to make you finally stop walking. 

“Cielito?” 

Confusion was on your face as you turned toward him. “Yes, Javi?” 

It looked like he was really choosing his words carefully. 

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up that we’ll somehow get them together…” he said the sentence gently. “You said in the car Robyn met a guy she actually liked, and with my primo being divorced, we don’t know if he’s even looking for anyone—divorce can fuck people up.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say is please don’t be upset if this doesn’t work out the way you want.” 

“Oh.” It felt like your stomach dropped down to the ground. “You’re right—we can’t force people together. But—” You smiled. “—we can test the waters, you know? See where your cousin’s at post-divorce. Like, is he just going through rebounds? Has he sworn off women? Is he ready to date again? We’ll just see how he’s doing and go from there.” 

He sighed, his eyes closing for a moment. “Okay, Cielito,” he replied, looking at you again. “We’ll test the waters.” 

“Thank you!” you squealed, moving into his space and being careful of the plates you were both holding to give him a kiss. When you pulled away, you grabbed his hand. “Let’s go find this elusive Peña!” you said, making him walk with you again. 

You were on the lookout as you passed other families around the graves of their loved ones and children playing with each other. The mood of the cemetery was upbeat and colorful from all of the marigolds and other decorations; some people including other flowers like purple orchids, pink carnations, white lilies, and chrysanthemums in various colors—music, laughter, talking, and children’s happy squeals could be heard as you continued walking down the row. 

Your eyes locked on a guy heading your way that matched Sebastián’s description, the unsuspecting man holding a beer bottle. 

Suddenly you stopped, Javi almost running into you. 

“Is that him?” you asked, letting go of his hand to point ahead. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes squinted. “Maybe…?” 

“I know this isn’t the time or place, but maybe we should look into getting you everyday glasses—and you can’t be upset about me suggesting it because you know how horny your reading glasses make me, so like, I just wouldn’t leave you alone.” 

You looked over at him to see he was frowning before it looked like he had a realization. 

“That’s… a good idea, but mi amor?”

“Yes, my sexy, hunky man who I love more than anything?” 

He snorted, his face getting close enough a shiver moved through you when his breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “You already don’t leave me alone, but I’m interested in seeing if the glasses really will make you wetter and needier for me—” His head moved abruptly, speaking louder, “¡Oye (Hey)! Seb!” 

The other man’s attention landed on you both, a smile turning up on his lips as he started walking faster. 

“¡Oye (Hey)! Primo!” he responded. 

Sebastián Peña was a little shorter than Javier, with a very defined jaw and cleft chin, his dark brown hair curly and cropped short to his head, his eyes a striking color of green, and as you assumed, he was very handsome. 

You could definitely see Robyn being into him. 

You watched as your boyfriend moved around you to hug his cousin carefully while holding his plate. 

“Hey, man,” Javi said when they separated. He patted Sebastián’s arm, smiling. “It’s been too long—did you get shorter?” 

His cousin laughed, and he had a good smile like his little brother. “No, pendejo (No, asshole),” he replied. “How’ve you been, Javi? I didn’t see you here last year.” 

“I, uh, had stuff going on, and I’m doing really fucking good. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned your way, grabbing your hand to pull you to stand next to him. "Primo, this is—“ He told him your name. “—y ella es mi esposa (and she is my wife).”

Your eyes rounded, Sebastián saying loudly, “¡¿Qué (What)?! Your wife?!”

The smile on your face was so big it made your cheeks hurt as Javi went red at realizing what he said, looking panicked. 

“Girlfriend!” he quickly corrected. “Ella es mi novia (She is my girlfriend).” 

“Actually,” you said, moving forward to hold out your free palm to Seb. “I’m his future wife—we’re basically pre-engaged, he’s just taking his sweet time to put a ring on it, and ‘wife’ is definitely a better descriptor than girlfriend.” You wrinkled your nose, Sebastián shaking your offered hand. 

“Oh, okay,” he said, releasing your palm. “Yeah, I knew Javi had a, uh, partner, and it’s nice to finally meet you.” He had a warm smile. “Mi familia (my family) has talked a lot about you and your cooking, especially the pork tamales you make like tía Antonia.” 

“Not as good,” you replied. “No one can top hers.” 

“Stop that,” Javi said, and you looked over to see him giving you a grumpy look. “She’s being modest—her tamales are fucking amazing, primo. You’ll love them.” 

“Well, enough about me,” you interjected. “So, Sebastián—”

“Call me Seb,” he interrupted, still smiling. “You’re family.” 

That had you feeling warm. 

Giving him the same look, you continued, “So, Seb, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living? When’s your birthday? Are you seeing anyone?”

“You a cop, too?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. 

“Just call me future Mrs. Detective Peña,” you answered with a wink. “But not really, I just don’t know anything about you, and I am beyond curious.”

He nodded, then took a drink of his beer. 

“Firefighter,” he finally said when the bottle lowered. “October 27th, and I’m not answering the last question, but I’m sure you already heard I’m divorced.” There was a frown on his face.

“Yeah,” Javi replied, frowning, too. “Sorry to hear about that.” His arm went around your back to pull you into his side. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about—don’t want someone who can’t be faithful.” He took another swig of his drink. 

“Oh, he’s definitely a Scorpio,” you said under your breath.

“Why do you say that?” Javi whispered to you. 

“They’re super loyal,” you answered just as quietly. “And possessive—it’s why I know I’ve got nothing to worry about with you since it’s in your top three.” 

He scoffed. “Didn’t need the fucking stars to tell you that.” 

“They’re reassuring.” You spoke normally, “So, Seb, how was your weekend? Do anything titillating?” 

He sputtered as he choked on his beer, going into a coughing fit. 

“Shit!” You moved to pat on his back. “I am so sorry. You’re just as bad as your cousin. Sometimes I worry I’m gonna accidentally make Javi choke to death.” 

Your boyfriend sighed, putting his hand on his hip and his weight to one side. “You always choose to say things that will get a reaction when I’m mid-drink, and I think you do it on purpose.” 

“I do not! It’s just a coincidence.” 

His eyebrow arched. “Uh-huh.” 

“It is! Are you okay, Seb?” 

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “My weekend was great,” he said, giving you a thumbs up.

Moving back to stand beside Javi, you decided to just cut straight to the chase. “Seb, here’s the deal. I heard you got divorced last year, and I’m trying to figure out if you’re even interested in dating again or if it’s more of a ‘fuck the pain away’ situation, which, honestly, either would work because I have this best friend who is amazing, and I think the two of you would get along swimmingly.” 

“You barely know anything about me…” he pointed out. 

“All I need to know is you’re a Scorpio and extremely compatible with my best friend, who’s a Leo.” 

He looked at Javi. “What is she talking about…?” 

“Astrology,” your boyfriend answered. “She likes that star shit, and some of it is pretty fucking accurate.” 

Sebastián didn’t look convinced. 

“Anyways,” you cut in. “I know this great girl I’d love to introduce you to.” 

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I met someone.” 

“Oh.”

“It’s… new, but I think there’s something between us.” 

You forced a smile, trying not to let your disappointment show. Maybe Robyn wouldn’t mind a younger man like Diego to get that Peña she wants—he was an adorable guy, and you knew he was single.

“That’s great that you’re moving on from your ex,” you replied. “That’s a really big step. We know you’ve been super hush-hush about this mystery person, but do you want to tell us about them? We won’t say anything to the rest of your family if that’s what you wish—I just bet you’d love to talk about them since they’ve caught your attention.” 

There was a visible change as his face went soft, knowing he was thinking about them. 

“She’s perfect,” he said. “Beautiful, funny, not afraid to order me around, a fiery personality, you know?” He gestured to your boyfriend with the glass bottle he was holding. 

“Oh, I know, and it’s great,” Javi replied, pulling you closer to kiss the side of your head, feeling like you were melting from the sweetness. 

“Yeah, I can see that. This girl is small and feisty with the most gorgeous long hair and red lips. She’s mi...” he said a Spanish word you didn’t understand. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, frowning. 

“She’s his what?” you asked Javi, looking at him and finding his eyes wide and mouth gone slack, not understanding what would get that kind of reaction. Maybe it was like when Javi called you his wife or something, and that was what had him shook. Suddenly he was speaking rapid Spanish to his cousin, which you were having trouble keeping up with. 

“What’s going on, babe?” you asked him. 

He stopped talking, bringing up the hand he held his plate in to look at his silver wristwatch.

“Shit,” he said, meeting his cousin’s eyes again. “We gotta get back to Pop, but we’ll see you around.”

That was a dirty fucking lie, and now you were dying to know what in the world was going on.

His empty hand went to your back to usher you away, feeling confused and curious.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Seb!” you called back at him. “See you around!”  

“It was nice to meet you, Prima (Cousin)!” he replied. 

“What’s going on, Javier?” you hissed at your boyfriend, trying to keep up with his long, brisk strides. 

“Hold on.” He turned you guys, heading for the cemetery entrance, him tossing his plate and yours in a trash can as you left the grounds toward the parking lot.

“Why are we out here?” you asked, him keeping you moving quickly. 

He only stopped when you made it to his truck, the two of you standing by the driver's side door, him looking around to make sure the coast was clear. 

Your gazes finally met as he said, “I’m sorry. I panicked.”

“About what…?”

“What he said.”

“What did he say?” A big smile appeared on his face looking pleased with himself, and he only looked like that when— “Oh my god.” Excitement bubbled up inside you. “You’ve got tea, spill—cuéntame el chisme (tell me the gossip),” you batted at his chest. 

There was a chance he’d literally start vibrating; he looked so giddy. 

“Baby, he said she’s his fucking petirrojito.”

Your eyes squinted. “I literally have no idea what that means? Is it something super romantic? Did he secretly get married over the weekend or something?”

“No, no—” He shook his head. “—petirrojo means robin..,” he said slowly.

With the -ito at the end, that’d make it—

“His little robin,” you gasped, your hand going to your mouth. “No fucking way, Javier. Maybe that’s just a cute endearment that’s purely coincidental–it can’t be what you’re suggesting, I’d know.” 

“It is.” His dimple was showing he was smiling so big while he nodded enthusiastically. 

No, you’d know if Robyn hooked up with one of Javi’s cousins. Unless she didn’t know. In all of the dirty details she spilled, she never once mentioned a name, but she was very descriptive of his looks, and now that you were thinking about it…

“Shut the fuck up,” you replied, your hand falling. “Are you positive? How can you be so sure?” 

“I double-checked and had him tell me more about what she looks like, and it’s Robyn, Cielito. It’s fucking her.”

The way he was so excited had you smiling, still unbelievably stunned your best friend actually bagged a Peña without your help. 

“More like he’s fucking her,” you said. 

Your boyfriend’s face fell, paling at what you assumed was him remembering your conversation in the truck. 

“No,” he said in a small voice. 

“Sorry, babe.” You patted his cheek. “You know too much about your cousin’s very adventurous sex life—can’t believe they fucked in the back of his Ford Bronco in the bar parking lot.” 

He made a disgusted face. “Don’t tell me that shit.” 

Amusement was on her face, and he had no fucking idea what she’d say next. 

Javier had been so excited about having what Cielito would call ‘hot gossip’ he’d wholly forgotten their talk on the way here. 

Pop Rocks blow job.

He shuddered, grimacing at remembering. 

“I mean,” she started, and all his attention went to her. “If they start dating, he’ll probably know too much about your very adventurous sex life.” She ended the sentence with a poke to his chest. 

He crossed his arms in front of him while his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why...?” 

Smiling, she answered, “‘Cause Robyn and I discuss, in pornographic detail, our sexual encounters—yes, she’s well aware you have a big dick, and I don’t want you to be mad. I just need someone I can brag to about the things you do to me.” That had his chest puffing up a little, making him smile. “Plus, we give each other pointers and ideas, which you’ve never complained about. I believe it was you—” She poked the tip of his nose. “—who had us get her a gift certificate to a spa after she convinced me to let you fuck my ass.”  

The memories of that had his pants feeling tighter. 

He nodded to himself. “Worth it,” he murmured. 

She looked so beautiful standing in front of him wearing her pretty dress. He grabbed her waist to back her up against the truck. 

Smiling, he told her, “I love you so fucking much.” 

She matched his expression. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“No.” He gently shook his head. “You don’t understand. I love you so fucking much—” He grabbed her palms in both of his and held them over his heart “—that I feel you here,” he said, pressing them into his chest. “That’s where you are—the place you live inside me, making my heart beat, or race, or thud. That’s you, giving me life. I love you so fucking much that you’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you, and this is our life now—fuck,” he sighed. 

Tears were brimming in her eyes as she smiled. “It’s taking everything in you not to ask me to marry you right now, isn’t it?” she asked. 

He huffed out a breath, his hands moving to hold her face. “Yeah,” he answered, not even surprised she knew. “I can’t do it without a ring, not after…” he trailed off, not wanting to say aloud his first proposal that he had hardly any choice in.

She made the cutest scrunched-up face. “Okay, yes, a ring is necessary, and honestly, I get it now.” 

“Get what?” 

“The whole wanting to go all out for the proposal because it’s your decision, you want to marry me, and want to propose in your own way, and that’s just really fucking sweet, Javi. Thank you for wanting to make it something special.” She kissed him, a relieved breath leaving him that he wasn’t expecting. 

“I love this,” he said softly when he pulled back. 

“What?” 

“How happy you make me, how relaxed, how we have fun—I have so much fucking fun with you, and it feels like I can breathe. I love this, I love you, god, I love everything about you.”

“Good.” She slid her hands up his shirt-covered chest to his shoulders. “Because I really fucking love you and everything about you, and you’re just so fucking perfect—I need you to kiss me right now, or I’m—” 

He didn’t let her finish the sentence, crushing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss, taking a step to have their bodies flush against each other as he eagerly licked into her mouth to tangle his tongue with hers. 

He felt the vibrations of her moans, groaning when her fingers moved into his hair, getting his thigh between her legs. 

It was like she inhabited every part of his being, feeling her in his heart, his soul, and along his skin like a sweet caress; She was everywhere within him, and he didn’t feel alone, knowing she was there with him always. 

It was crazy how he found himself somehow loving her more after all that happened. 

It felt like his future wife loved his mom with all she had done to show her respect and to honor her, making Javier feel like he might cry that they’d never get to meet. He knew without a doubt how much his mother would love her and approve of Cielito becoming her daughter-in-law, hell, she probably would’ve convinced him to propose by now. 

The way his family had taken in his future wife told him he was choosing the right woman—his dad loving her from their first meeting was all the evidence he needed.

She was the one, the only one.

There was no one before her, and there would be no one after—she was it for him, and he was beyond happy about it. 

“Javi,” she said between kisses. 

“Hmm?” He nipped at her bottom lip. 

Her mouth was on his again, her words muffled, “If you’re introducing me as your wife, are you gonna fuck me as your wife later?” 

He smiled against her lips. “I already fuck you like my wife.” 

She pulled on his hair to make him look at her seeing her delightfully smiling. 

“I fucking knew something was different when there was suddenly an influx of face-to-face positions!” She started kissing all over his face, not even caring his sunglasses were in the way as she said amongst presses of her lips, “You adorably, romantic, sap. You’re the sweetest fucking future husband anyone could ever ask for, and I love you so fucking much.” 

He was grinning, her placing a kiss on his dimple, then his lips, feeling so unbelievably happy he might burst. 

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her mouth. 

They would get this out of their system, then go rejoin his mom and dad, spending the evening together as the family they were—and maybe tomorrow, he’d go out to the ranch to pick up something his father was holding onto for him…

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[alwaysonthemend]

Author's Note: I got one request for Jake saying I love you for the first time and another one just asking for some Jake fluff in general. Figured I could easily make these into one fic. No smut (shocker I know) but figured it's okay since my next fic is FILTHY. I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2763

Warnings: Literally none. Jake is a sweetheart. There is some awful flirting though. (I'm a classics major I only know how to flirt with history nerds)

Song to Listen to While Reading:

.•° ✿ °•.❁.•° ✿ °•.

“Hey, Jake?” You call out, grabbing your keys from their hook on the wall as you slip your shoes on. 

“Yeah?” Jake’s face peaks out from around the corner to look at you, chestnut locks falling in messy waves on either side of his face.

“Since you’re so insistent on following me around today,” you say with a smile, turning to grab your purse from the kitchen table, “would you be so kind as to come with me on an errand?” 

“Sure!” He nods enthusiastically, stepping fully into the room with a wide smile on his face. “I love car rides.” 

You just shake your head fondly at him as he practically skips across the kitchen to follow you out the door.

Jake had arrived at your door earlier this morning, a coffee cup in hand and a glimmer in his eye as he’d announced his plan to spend the day with you. 

“Well, I don’t really have anything fun planned to do today…” You’d hedged, trying to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the knowledge that he wanted to spend time with you. 

“So?” He had shoved past you and walked into your house as if it were his own place and plopped himself down on your sofa. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. We can just have a chill day.” 

He’d kept true to his word, content to just spend time in your presence as you went about your boring Saturday. He’d gone with you to walk your dog and then had sat next to you as you folded laundry – all the while insisting that he didn’t mind what you two were doing so long as he was with you. It had all felt so domestic and you’re pretty sure that you had been blushing non-stop since he stepped through the door. But, you try to remind yourself that this is what best friends do. They hang out with each other. They do laundry together. They dance in the kitchen while they cook lunch. All totally normal best friend things to do. 

You keep reminding yourself that as Jake climbs into the passenger seat next to you and immediately hooks his phone up to the AUX because he knows you won’t ever tell him no. The afternoon light is spilling through the windows and painting his face in a warm glow and making his chocolate eyes reflect back a honeyed brown as he turns his head to look at you. 

“Where are we going?” 

The sound of Chris Stapleton wafts its way through your car’s speakers as you pull out of your driveway.

“I want to go buy some flowers. There’s a new shop down the road and I wanted to go check it out.”

He nods once, shuffling a little in his seat and as your eyes track the movement, you realize suddenly that he hasn’t buckled himself in. 

“Jacob Thomas, fasten your seat belt right now.” You scold, turning your eyes back to the road. 

“Ugh. Sorry, mom.” He grumbles but relents. “Why is my best friend so mean to me?” He elements, sarcasm evident in his tone.

The corners of your lips turn upwards despite yourself. 

“Don’t make me turn this car around.” 

He smiles – the one that makes his eyes crinkle around the edges and you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. Just friends, you remind yourself. 

“Whatever.” He says finally, fiddling a little bit with his white bracelet that’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t hesitate to tell him so. 

“It’s got character.” He tells you, fondly running his fingers over the knotted rope. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You look both ways before turning into the parking lot of the shop – Oak St Garden Shoppe painted lovingly on the side of the little building. You park the car and unfasten your seatbelt. 

Jake only shrugs before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You do the same and he catches your eye over the roof of the car.  

“Who are you getting flowers for, anyways?” 

“Myself. The kitchen needs some brightening up.” 

Jake follows you dutifully as you walk into the shop. He walks close enough that your shoulders brush and you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you at the feeling. As you both walk up to the front, your eye is captured by some potted sunflowers lining the walls of the patio. 

“Do you remember how we met?” Jake asks you, his mind clearly going where yours had at the sight of the flowers. 

“'Course I do.”

.•° ✿ °•.❁.•° ✿ °•.

“Y/n, baby?” You hear your mother’s voice call from downstairs, causing you to look up from your sketchbook in slight annoyance at being interrupted.  

“Yeah?” You call back, allowing your annoyance to bleed into your tone.

“Can you come down here please!” 

You huff a breath, closing your sketchbook and making your way downstairs as slowly as possible – just to spite her a little bit for bothering you. 

“What?” You snap, rounding the corner into the kitchen with heavy footfalls, only to stop dead in your tracks to see a woman you’ve never seen before sitting at your kitchen table. Her eyes, and the eyes of the two young boys who stand next to her, cut quickly to you. Your cheeks redden slightly. 

“Um. Hi.” You say, wringing your hands together a little. 

“These are our new neighbors.” Your mother says, coming up behind you and resting her hand on your shoulder. “I wanted you to come say hi.”

“Oh. Hi.” You give them a little wave, unsure of what else to do. 

“Hello.” The woman says, her kind eyes regarding you as she speaks, “I’m Karen. And these are my boys Josh and Jake.” She turns to look at them, nudging each of them subtly to speak. 

“Hi.”

“Hello.” 

They both speak at the same time and your eyes widen as you really look at them for the first time. They look exactly alike. Like, completely alike. 

Karen laughs lightly as she takes in your shocked expression as she rises from her seat at the table. 

“They're twins if you couldn’t tell.” 

Your mom laughs behind you and squeezes your shoulder lightly before stepping away. 

“Josh and Jake will be in the same grade as you once school starts.” Your mom says, walking over to the stove to stir whatever it is that she’s cooking. “It’ll be nice to know some people going in. Making friends in middle school can be a little scary sometimes.” 

“Oh cool.” You don’t really know what else to say to them, and Josh and Jake (you’re still not sure which is which) both look to be in the same boat. 

“Well,” Karen says, brushing her palms across her skirt as she looks down at her sons. “I suppose we should get going now. Your dad will be coming home soon. Jake?”

One of the boys – the one on the left, looks up at her. 

“Want to give Y/n here her gift?” 

Jake nods, stepping towards you tentatively and you realize now that he’s been holding something behind his back. He brings his arm forward and you see that he’s holding a single sunflower in his hand. He holds it out to you, eyes trained on the floor. 

“Th-thank you.” You tell him, taking the flower from his grasp. 

“You’re welcome.” He says, a tiny grin peeking out through his shyness.

You watched the three of them go before looking down at the flower in your hand. 

You had kept it for a very long time. 

.•° ✿ °•.❁.•° ✿ °•.

“You’re lucky.” Jake says, brushing past you to go look at some ferns hanging on some hooks on the awning. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Imagine if me and Josh hadn’t agreed to be friends with you. Middle school would’ve sucked for you.” 

“Oh, really?” You ask him, placing your hands on your hips. “The way I remember it, I was the one who decided to become friends with you two.”

“Mmm. Sure.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“I could have made plenty of other friends if it weren’t for you two ruining all my cool points.” You tell him, though you both know that you’re not serious. The three of you had been inseparable – completely content with only each other. You hadn’t needed (or wanted) anyone else.

Jake tosses his head back and laughs loudly, his eyes closing against the afternoon sun. Your heart feels like it might explode. 

“Pretty sure it was just Josh ruining all your street cred.” 

“And how do you figure that?”

He shrugs.

“He was a weird kid.” 

“And you were emo. Your point?” 

Jake turns to you, a hand placed dramatically over his heart as he drops his mouth open in mock offense. 

“And what’s wrong with being emo?” 

“Your music taste, for one.” You tell him, leading him away from the ferns to go look at some of the bouquets that line the opposite wall. 

“You wound me.” He says, giving you an over-the-top pout.

“And your hair.” 

“It was glorious. And hot.” He says with a cocky grin. “All the chicks loved it.” 

“Uh huh.” you giggle at him, grabbing his wrist and tugging him over to come stand next to you again. 

“Which one?” You ask him, gesturing towards the overwhelming amount of bouquets. 

Jake crouches down, the tip of his pointer finger coming to rest on his chin as he looks at the flowers and you take the opportunity to look at him instead. His hair is messy – like he’s been running his fingers through it incessantly (which you know he probably has, despite how many times you tell him to leave it alone). He’s wearing a pair of old jeans and a distressed old band tee and he’s got a bandana twisted up and tied around his neck along with a few necklaces. The afternoon sun once again bathes him in warmth – making his brown hair reflect almost auburn beneath its rays. He looks so… soft as he crouches there. The way he’s actually thinking about which one to pick (when most guys wouldn’t even care) makes your heart flutter and butterflies to once again take up residence in your tummy. You long to reach out and feel his soft hair or his warm skin beneath your fingertips. Your chest aches as you stand there watching him, feeling as though this moment is the first one where you’ve known true happiness – just basking in his presence and feeling lucky that even after his band has found success, he still is content to come and spend his day with you. You wish that this moment could last forever. You want to bottle up his warmth and sweetness and keep it in your pocket for rainy days when he’s gone. 

…All of which you remind yourself is totally normal to want around your best friend. 

“This one.” He finally says, snapping you from your thoughts as he stands back up. 

You cast your eyes downwards to look at the one he’s pointing at and your breath catches in your throat. It really is a beautiful bouquet. It’s mostly greenery – with white petunias, tulips, and daisies throughout. But at the very center are three sunflowers – their yellow petals contrasting beautifully with the green and white. 

“It’s perfect.” 

.•° ✿ °•.❁.•° ✿ °•.

Jake had insisted on paying and there’d been nothing you could do to change his mind – he’d claimed that it was a thank you for spending the day with him. Clearly, he didn’t realize just how much you wanted to be in his presence. 

“This really is a beautiful bouquet.” You tell him as you place the flowers into a vase of water on your kitchen counter. 

“What can I say? I’ve got a great eye.” He grins at you. 

You glance back downwards and your eyes widen as you see a bumble bee crawling pitifully across one of the sunflowers. 

“Oh no!” You cry, looking around frantically for something that might help the little thing. 

“What?” Jake asks, straightening up from where he’d been leaning against the counter. “What’s wrong?” 

“There’s a bumble bee in the flowers and he doesn’t look good.” You tell him, running to your fridge to grab a bottle of water. 

Jake visibly relaxes. 

“Oh. God.” He breathes out, leaning back against the counter again. “I thought something was really wrong.” 

“Something is really wrong, Jake.” Your voice trembles a little as you unscrew the top from the water bottle and carefully pour a little water into it. 

Jake, sensing your distress, strides over the flowers and looks at you a little guiltily. 

“You’re right. Sorry.” He says, looking down at the poor bee. “What can I do?”

You walk carefully over to him with the cap of water. 

“Can you pick him up and put him in the cap? He’s probably dehydrated."

Jake looks at you wide eyed.

“Won’t it sting?” 

“It’s a carpenter bee, so probably not.” You tell him, concern still painting your features. Jake looks unconvinced so you sigh and hold the cap out for him to take. “Fine. Switch with me.” 

Jake cups his palm around the cap and watches as you carefully lift the bee from the bouquet and place him on the rim of the cap. With no small amount of skill, the two of you manage to deposit the cap back into your palm without disturbing the bee as it drinks. Almost immediately, its little wings begin to perk up a bit and you smile widely down at it. 

“Thank god. It’s precious.” 

“Yeah.” Jake says quietly. “It is.”

You look up at him with a proud smile and you find him already looking at you fondly. 

“You are not keeping it, though.” He scolds, pointing his finger at you.

“Ugh. I know. Here.” You nod your head towards the double glass doors that lead to your backyard . “Will you open that for me?” 

Jake nods and unlocks it before opening it fully and holding it there so you can lift your palm up. The bee takes its cue and buzzes away, disappearing into the sky as you stand there watching it go. 

“God I love you.” 

Jake’s voice startles you and you turn your eyes away from where the bee had disappeared to look at him. He’s got a strange look on his face – one that you haven’t really seen before. His brown eyes regard you nervously, as if he's surprised himself by speaking.

“I love you too, Jake. You’re my best friend.” You tell him with a smile, patting his chest once before turning around to walk back inside to place the cap of water back on the counter.  

Jake follows, allowing the back door to close loudly behind him. 

“No, no. I mean… I’m in love with you, Y/n.” 

“What?” You don’t mean to say the word so loudly and you can physically see Jake recoil as if he’s been struck. You’re stuck there for a moment, frozen in place as you both stare at each other. 

Jake’s face falls and he drops his head, taking your silence as a rejection. It’s anything but that. You can hardly believe it. Years. You've spent years pining after him and wishing that he felt the same. And suddenly you realize that maybe he's been doing the exact same thing.

“I’m sorry. I-” 

You silence him by crossing the kitchen quickly and practically tackling him into a hug before pressing your lips to his. His eyes widen in shock before they flutter closed and a soft exhale escapes him. It's everything you've ever dreamed it would be.

As you pull away, you’re met with a wide-eyed Jake with a pretty blush spreading across his face. 

“I’m in love with you too, silly.” 

A smile spreads across his face, making his eyes glitter in a way that makes your knees weak. 

“Really?” 

“Really.” You tell him, lacing your fingers with his. “Just didn’t think you felt the same.”

“Neither did I.” 

Jake looks away suddenly, casting his gaze back towards the glass doors where the sunset is on full display. A tiny little laugh falls from between his plump lips. 

“What?” 

“Oh, nothing.” He says, turning back to look at you. “I’ve just always dreamed of kissing you in front of a sunset.”

“Oh.” You can feel the heat spreading across your face. “Maybe um. Maybe you should do it again. Just to make sure you remember the feeling.” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” He admits, before pressing his lips to yours once again.

.•° ✿ °•.❁.•° ✿ °•.

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If you're reading this, I love you! 💞

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#dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fluff #Spotify

[peterman-spideyparker]

Santa, Baby (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Sooooooooo this fic was supposed to come on December 23, but I procrastinated with it and didn’t end up finishing it until yesterday, and I don’t want to wait until next year to post because I’d put money on it that I’d forget. And it’s still December, so it counts. Enjoy :)

Summary: You want to do something on the sexier side to surprise Matt at Christmastime, but you don’t know how he’d take it. When Matt takes an unexpected night off from vigilantism, you put your plan into motion.

Warnings: Fluff (established couple, soft domestic sweetness, kisses), smut (holiday themed sexy outfits, oral - m and f receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie), swearing

Other Characters: Karen Page (Karen x Frank)

Word Count: 3,809

“Hey,” you say with a smile as you open the door, the office of Nelson, Murdock, and Page on the air of the quiet side of things for what you know has been a busy week for the trio. 

“Angel, what are you doing here?” Matt smiles, taking a few steps forward from Karen’s desk to meet you in the middle of the reception area. 

“I cut work early to run some errands and I was passing by, so I thought I’d pop up,” you hum, placing a quick, sweet kiss on his lips.

“Well, I don’t want to be a bummer, but I gotta go to court soon for a discovery hearing.”

“It’s okay, Matt. I actually came here to ask Karen a question.”

Surprised little “oh”s escape both of their lips, turning toward one another one shock. 

“I guess I’ll leave you to it. See you at home, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Matty. You’ll do great,” you say with a kiss to his cheek, waiting as he grabs his jacket and makes it out of the office. 

“So what’s up?” Karen asks with a smile as she sits on her desk, and you move to match her body language. 

“Well, I had an idea, but I don’t know if I should see it through,” you explain. “See, I wanted to do something for Matt for Christmas, but I don’t know if he’d get his knickers in a twist. I mean, I already got his present—which has been hell to hide from Mr. Super Senses—but I want to do a little something more for him.”

“Like what?”

You feel your cheeks burn hot, suddenly a little embarrassed. You don’t know why you are—you’ve talked to Karen about this kind of stuff plenty of times before, and she has to you. You just have that kind of bond and friendship. 

“Well, there was a really cute Santa babydoll dress that I was thinking of getting, but I don’t know if that’d be weird for Matt—making Christmas sexy like that.”

“He’s never hinted around anything in that sphere?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I guess I can understand where that might be an odd thing on different fronts. Making something that shouldn’t be sexy sexy, and then the religious element.”

“So it’s a bad idea then, huh?”

“Maybe that one specifically, but I’m sure there’s another. It’s fun to do sexy holiday things like that. Frank and I love doing them.”

“You do?” you smirk.

“That’s a story for another time with lots of wine,” she laughs. “But I’d look for other options, you know? If anything, Christmas and Valentine’s Day are perfect for something like that because of the softer fabrics, and I know Matt has a thing about that. Just poke around. I can even go shopping with you, if you want.”

“I’ll browse, and if I can’t find anything, we can look together. I’m assuming you’re trying to do something with Frank?”

She blushes deeply. “Yeah. But he doesn’t have a thing too much about Santa, so maybe send me the link for that babydoll?”

You laugh loudly in the quiet office. “Sure thing, Kare.”

As you dry the dishes from dinner, you feel Matt slip his arms around your middle, pressing you flush against his back and holding you close, his chin on your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“I think I’m gonna stay in tonight,” Matt whispers against your skin. “It’s chilly out.”

“The Devil is scared of a little wind chill?” you smile, trying and failing to turn around in Matt’s grip from behind. 

“He likes it a little warmer.“

“Poor thing,” you pout, craning your head to the side, giving him a kiss on the side of the nose. “You’d never survive New England winters.”

“Good thing we live in the best city in the world.”

“You know what I think?”

“Lay it on me, sweetheart.”

“I think my big strong devil is a snuggly, needy, softy. In all the best ways.”

“Me? Needy?”

“We’re all a bit needy, Matty. You, for example, need me.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” he smiles, letting you turn around in his grip, holding the side of his face and kissing him properly. 

“Well, I need you, too, so we’re perfect for one another. And, you’re my human radiator. Blankets don’t stand a chance against my man.”

“Can I get that in writing?” he smiles, his hands on your waist spinning you around to he can give you a kiss.

“Sure thing, baby,” you mutter against his lips.

“Let me put these away.”

“Dish duty is on me tonight. Don’t mess with the system, Matty.”

“Can the system go out the window for one night?”

“My creature of habit wanting to throw routine out of the window?”

“C’mon, angel.”

You lean forward once more, your lips meeting softly once more as you moan into the kiss.

“Okay,” you whisper, running your hands down his arms, moving from between the kitchen counter and his body and onto the couch.

Grabbing your laptop off of the coffee table, you whip it open and weed through your emails, deleting the copious and redundant notifications from different stores regarding sales, special memberships, and the like. Shortly after, Matt makes his way from the kitchen to the seat next to you, returning your computer to where you initially picked it up before he slides you into his lap.

“Hi sweetheart,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your neck.

“Hi Matty,” you hum, snuggling into him. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“What do you want to do? We can pop in a movie, play a game—.”

“You didn’t bring any work home?” you ask, surprised that’s night is completely free—including his Deviling duties.

“Not tonight. I wanted to focus just on you tonight.”

“Mm, that’s sweet.”

“What do you have in mind for tonight, angel?”

You let out a sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder, thinking about the different cozy home activities you could do together when a thought crosses your mind.

“I guess tonight is a good of night as ever,“ you hum. 

“Angel?”

“I have an idea, but it’s a surprise.”

“You’ve managed to keep a surprise a secret?”

“Rude,” you chuckle, kissing his cheek as you move to turn and straddle his lap. “You stay right there, Mr. Murdock. And you swear to me on my boobs that you won’t use your senses to try and ruin my surprise.”

“You want me to swear on your boobs?”

“You know you love them. Swear on their softness that you won’t spoil the surprise.”

With a cheeky smirk, he spreads his large hands against your waist. 

“I swear I won’t—,” he says into your right boob through your sweater with a kiss, mirroring the action on the other breast, “—ruin your surprise.”

“Thank you,” you hum, running your fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead before you get up, moving to the bedroom and closing the sliding door. Moving to your side of the bed, you pull out a box from underneath mattress, moving to slide on the satin bra and panty set you got from a local boutique. With the bra straps on properly, you tie the long satin tails that act as cups into a nice big bow, mimicking the motion for the ties that are on the hips of the matching panties. Whipping your head up and down to revitalize your hair from the day, you take a deep breath before you open the door, expecting to see Matt on the sofa. 

“Matt?” you call as you move into the living space, looking around as you try to find where your boyfriend disappeared to into the apartment. “Matt, where ar—?”

“I need you to help me figure something out, sweetheart. Were you naughty or nice this year?”

Turning around in the dark apartment, your eyes finally focus at the top of the roof access staircase. In all his glory, Matt leans with a smirk against the old brick, bare chested with Santa pants of all things hanging low on his hips, the suspenders on the waist leaning haphazardly down, while a red fuzzy hat sits on his head.

“Your heart rate is telling me you might have made the naughty list this year, angel,” he says as his smirks grows, slowly descending the steps. 

“N-No,” you stutter. “I’m just . . . Surprised by the outfit.”

“Why?”

The incoherent stutters that fall from your lips only make Matt laugh as he makes his way over to you, resting his hands on your waist and pulling you in for a kiss before resting his forehead on yours. 

“Too much?” he whispers, his thumbs moving back and forth on your skin.

“No, not at all,” you tell him. “Like I said, I’m just surprised.”

“Why?” he tries again. 

“I didn’t know how you’d be about sexy Santa. Actually, I didn’t know how you’d feel about making anything Christmas related sexy.”

“Well, it’s a little odd. The pants are really nice and soft, though. And, the way I look at it, we’re not making the root of Christmas sexy, just a commercial element sexy. Now, let Santa unwrap his gift,” he whispers, his voice at a dangerously rich and gravely timbre, his hands slipping down over the globes of your ass, squeezing the exposed flesh.

“Mm, but I thought patience helps you get on the nice list?” you hum as you begin to place slow kisses onto his chest, pulling him by his dangling suspenders to keep him close as you step back toward the bedroom. “Patience is a virtue, after all.”

“Virtue, suggestion,” he chuckles, moving his hands up to the side of your face to kiss you. “Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you smile against his lips as he lies you down on the mattress, pillows at your head. “Open me up, Matty.”

“Mm, thank you, sweetheart,” he hums, his large hands gliding across the surface of your thighs and spreading you open, allowing him to get closer into your body. As his hands move up, his thumbs swipe against the satin of my bra. “It’s such a pretty bow. Hate to ruin it.”

“I can guarantee you, the things underneath it are prettier and softer.”

Matt lets out a soft “Ah”, his smile growing wide on his tender expression before he kisses you, pressing soft embraces down from your lips to your neck, and finally to your chest before his teeth take hold of the ribbon’s tail and gently tug it undone. You let out a little gasp, partially from the cool air of the loft, partially from the way the satin drags along the sensitive skin. Instead of using his hands like you expect, Matt nuzzles his nose against the fleshy mounds, placing little kisses all over the supple skin. You moan softly as he embraces your breasts, leaving no centimeter of the skin untouched, his lips desperately chasing the fatty flesh as it moves around. You gasp when you feel his large, calloused fingers graze the side of your breast as his mouth catches the other one between his lips, sucking at the nipple.

“So good, Matty,” you whine, the hot breath through his nose fanning over your chest as he opens his eyes and tilts his head up, working to lock eyes with yours. The Santa hat remains on his head, but only slightly. “Baby . . .”

Matt slowly pulls off of your nipple, moving to leave wet kisses all over the rest of your chest and up your neck.

“Can I unwrap the rest of my gift, angel?” he gravels, his beard scratching against your skin.

“Of course, Matty. But there’s something I’d like to do first?”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you switch your positions on the mattress, letting the bra slide down your arms and off of your body. As you flick it to the side, you move down Matt’s body, grazing your fingertips along his pants, slowly moving to peel them off of his body. He lifts his hips up in an effort to help, letting you slide the velvety fabric off so it can join your bra on the floor. But before you can bend down and take hold of Matt’s rock-hard cock, he stops you.

“Hold on, angel,” Matt hushes. Your eyebrows pull together in confusion as he twists to the side and rummages through his bedside drawer. When he lays his back back down, you have to work not to laugh at the sight before your eyes. 

“You are a stupendous dork,” you laugh, your smile so bright it lessens your view of him. 

“What? It’s Christmas rules—kiss what’s under the mistletoe,” he smirks as he dangles a fake sprig of the weed over his semi-hard cock.

“Well, I can’t upset Christmas rules,” you chuckle, kissing his tip and all the way down to the base, repeating the motions all over his length. Somewhere in your process, the mistletoe doesn’t get held as high before it’s eventually on the ground with out other pieces of clothes.

“(Y/N),” he breathes.

“Yeah, Matty?” you murmur against his base by the patch of small, dark curls on his skin. “Can I suck you off, Matty? There’s no more mistletoe.”

“I need your lips around me, angel. Please.”

With a long lick, you bring your lips back up to the tip and slowly take him in your mouth, having to be conscious of his girth. Each bob of my head brings you down a bit farther on his length until you’re roughly an inch and a half shy of taking him all the way.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so good,” he praises as he gathers up your hair, making sure you don’t swallow any of your locks as you go up and down. “So good for me, angel.”

The head of his cock his the soft flesh of the back of your throat, coating it with his salty precum, the movements only making you gag slightly. He helps you create opportunities to readjust as you go down on him, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable as you work. As you breathe through your nose, you bring your hands down to fondle Matt’s heavy sack, making sure he’s thoroughly taken care of. Between your hand and your mouth, you can feel every last ridge and vein that will bring Matt pleasure, and you briefly wonder if this is even a fraction of what Matt feels—being able to sense every last thing around him. Maybe you just know his body well enough. Whatever it may be, Matt guides you up and off of him by your hair, allowing a long line of saliva to connect from his dick to your chin. He pulls you into a a deep kiss, the embrace wet, needy, and sloppy with passion. As you straddle his waist while out tongues go back and forth, you can’t help but grind into his gorgeously defined muscles, spreading the slick pooling in your satin panties all over the fabric. Matt’s hands slide down to the globes of your ass, squeezing the flesh before giving both cheeks a firm smack, the sound echoing in the spacious bedroom as the sting spreads across your skin. You bite down on his lip as you kiss as response, which only makes Matt moan into your mouth, repeating the movement with his hands once more before he leans forward, your back returning to the mattress while his hands slide around to spread your legs wide.

“Do you want me to eat with your panties on, angel?” he teases as he kisses and marks up your inner thighs. “Would you like that, angel? Or do you want my mouth on your pussy and my fingers in you?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a present if you didn’t unwrap the rest of it,” you hum, biting your bottom lip as you watch him worship your inner thighs.

Dragging his fingertips up the sides of your legs, he finds the bows and pulls them undone, his hands sliding your hips up so you’re slightly off of the mattress. He grasps your panties with his teeth and slides it away from your body, only briefly removing his hands from your legs to take the fabric and throw it aside. His large, calloused digits are quick to move back between your legs, two of his fingers grazing and expertly parting your soaked lips. Matt brings his mouth close to your core, enough for you to practically feel his lips on you, only for him to hover just far enough away from you. He lets out a shallow breath from his mouth, pulling a sound that is part wanton moan, part erotic pornography sounds from you, as he coats your heat with his. When he is satisfied with his work, his lips wrap right around your swollen clit, gently sucking as his tongue slips in every now and then while he works.

“Fuck,” you choke out as he devours you, his beard tickling and scratching at your thighs. “Matthew!”

He just hums into you, sliding two fingers into your core while his other hand wraps around your hips to keep you down as your body begins to writhe and buck uncontrollably. He moans into your dripping cunt, which only makes you cry out into the room louder. Matt moves his tongue and mouth faster while his fingers tickle and scratch your inner spongy walls as his mouth rips a violent orgasm from you. You scream out at the top of your lungs as your body arches off the mattress, an entire sheen of sweat spreading over your skin as Matt relentlessly drags out your orgasm until the contracting muscles of your uterus physically hurt.

“Matty, Matty, oh God, Matt,” you groan, sounding like a woman possessed as he pulls his fingers out of you and releases your clit from his mouth, a line of slick connecting your core to his lips before licking his fingers clean and giving the swollen bundle of nerves a few gentle kisses. Matt places a few kisses on your inner thighs before going straight up your body and to your lips, holding your face in his hands as you kiss one another deeply and passionately.

“More, Matty,” you moan into his lips, pulling at his bottom lip between your teeth. “This gift isn’t over til you cum, baby.”

Matt laughs so warm and happily, it’s like the sun is in the bedroom. 

“Whatever you say, angel. You are the gift giver, after all,” he affirms, his lips puckering all along your collarbone.

“Tell me how you want it, Matt. What position do you want, Matty?”

Matt licks a long line up your neck to the shell of your ear, his Santa hat no longer perched atop his head. 

“I want you under me, on your back, your legs as far up as they can go, while I fuck you over and over,” Matt whispers in your hear, his voice deep and seductive in its commanding tone. “Can you do that for me, angel?”

“Yes, Matthew,” you breathe.

“Good girl,” he tells me with a harsh squeeze on my hips, his hands sliding back around your legs and bringing them as high up and as close to your chest as your body will allow. Matt slaps his cock repeatedly on your slick, swollen lips before he holds his dick steady as he pushes in, the angle of your legs making everything tighter and making you feel everything on a new level, making the feeling so extraordinary and increasing the pleasure. Bent in half like this, Matt easily hits your back wall and has no problem pounding into you over and over once he gets the angle just right. His strong arms help hold your legs in place, his hands cradling your neck, thumb on your cheeks as he brings his mouth to yours, kissing you deeply and repeatedly as he hits the special spongey spot in you again and again. Your hands grip his muscly arms, pressing little red and angry half-moon shapes of your fingernails into his fair and hairy skin. 

“So fucking good, angel,” he grunts into your mouth. “Fuck, s’tight and wet.”

“God, you’re so big!” you whine.

“God isn’t here, angel. Just me, my cock, and your tight cunt.”

“Ma—aahhh! Just like that, Matty, right there!”

The way that Matt’s pelvis slams into the back of your thighs is insane, hitting every right spot over and over again as you start to see stars.

“Sounds like you’re close again, angel,” he grunts. “Are you gonna cum for me again?”

“Mmm!” you whine.

“Words, babygirl.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you cry out.

“Squeeze my cock, angel. Cum for me.”

With one more hard thrust in just the right spot, you have another earth-shattering orgasm at the hands of your boyfriend. His grunts and the way his hips begin to falter tell you that he’s not going to last much longer if he keeps snapping his hips like that.

“S-Stay inside me,” you beg, holding onto his shoulders. “Fu—Cum inside me.”

Matt’s face contorts, his mouth hanging open and his brows furrowing in pleasure as he moans loudly, hitting deep and releasing his large load. You lie on the bed panting, impossibly close to one another as you both come back down to earth from your cosmic highs.  

“Holy shit,” you breathe before you tilt your chin up and press a kiss to his pink, swollen lips. 

“I know,” he chuckles with a little grin.

With a few more kisses, he leans back and pulls out to unfold you. As he does, you can feel his cum dribble out of your hole.

“Fuck, that smells nice, you and me together like that” Matt breathes as his thumbs rubs back and forth on your legs. “You’re so beautiful, angel.”

“You’re not bad yourself, there, Murdock.” Taking his hand in yours, you pull him back down on the mattress with you. “Did you like your gift?”

“I loved it,” he smiles, rolling into you for a kiss.

“I mean, I still have an actual gift for you, not just amazing sex.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” he teases. “I love you.”

“I love you more. But I do have a question, though.”

“Mm?”

“Do you think we just got ourselves put on the naughty list for all of that?”

The room is silent before you both burst out in laughter and snuggle into one another. 

“I think an exception can be made for us—we were doing something nice for one another.”

“A lawyer through and through, you are.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

“Merry Christmas, Matt.”

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#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader fluff #matt murdock x fem!reader smut #matt murdock x fem!reader fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader fanfiction #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil x fem!reader #daredevil netlfix #daredevil disney+ #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

[familyvideostevie]

thoughts on Steve coming home to his girl just existing in his space, in his clothes, cooking dinner for the both of them, and he just has this like "man I'm so lucky how tf did I get here kinda moments?"

i had thoughts!! here's a wee blurb of them <3 | fem!reader, fluff, 0.9k

The streets are practically empty even though it's not that late. Steve drives through town, stopping at a red light. He's the only car at the intersection. Just a few more turns and he'll be back, he'll be pulling into his parking space and running up the stairs to his place, the bags from errands in hand. He's pretty sure you're going to be there already and he wishes he had just spent all day with you but life got in the way, as it so often does. 

But it's fine. Really, it is. He'd take mere minutes with you if that's all he got, but for reasons he still doesn't totally understand you're willing to be around him all of the time. Well, he knows one of the reasons. You love him. He smiles to himself at the thought. Who knew it would feel this good to be loved and to love in return? 

The remainder of the drive goes quickly. He imagines your smile, the creases at the corners of your eyes. The way you look at him with your full attention whenever he talks, the way you are always reaching for him without realizing it. Fingers circling his wrist, toying with the edge of his shirt. The way you lean into him when he's near like you're two magnets coming back together. 

When he unlocks the door with full hands he hears the radio and then your voice before he's crossed the threshold.

"Steve?" you call. 

"Hi, baby," he calls, mouth stretching into a smile. He toes off his shoes next to a few pairs of yours. There are traces of you everywhere. Your jackets on the rack, your books on his shelves. You brought over a blanket you love weeks and weeks ago and it's still thrown over the side of his couch. His shower has your shampoo and his sink has your face wash. There's a drawer of your clothes in his room and he knows that pretty soon he's just going to ask you to move in.

But for now, an evening together will do just fine. He pads to the kitchen, bags in hand, to find you facing the stove as you stir something. "Did you finish your errands?" you call, clearly thinking he's still at the front door. 

"Took forever, but yeah," he says. You look over your shoulder, a little startled, and break into a grin when you see him. His heart does something funny in his chest as he looks at you. You're in your own sweatpants but an old sweatshirt of his that seems to travel between the two of you. "Smells great."

He sets the bags on the counter and before he can start to unload them you slide into his space on socked feet and wrap your arms around his waist for a quick squeeze. Your lips press lightly to his and before he can lean into it you're back at the stove. "It's just pasta, Steve," you tell him. He debates pulling you back into him so he can hold you for a little longer, but he figures there will be plenty of time for that after dinner. 

"Best pasta I've ever had, I'm sure," he says. He pulls out the groceries, the movies for you two this weekend, the soap and paper towels. It's all so domestic, him unloading the bags and you cooking, humming to yourself, that his heart does that thing again. It's like someone is squeezing it, like he can feel the love and the peace of your life together clog all of his senses so that it's all he can think about. He's happy. 

"Are you okay?" you ask. "Is something wrong?" Steve realizes he's staring at the open fridge. He shuts it, runs a hand through his hair before holding out his palm. You move to him without hesitation, folding his hand in yours. 

"Yeah," he says and means it. "I'm great." You don't seem to be convinced.

"You're quiet," you say softly. Not that it's a bad thing, and Steve knows you're not accusing him of anything. He loves you for it. 

He smoothes your eyebrows with his thumb. "I guess I just wanted to hold you," he says. You duck your chin and blow a raspberry. 

"Steve."

He tilts his head and taps your chin with his knuckle. "What's wrong with me wanting to hug my girl when she's cooking dinner in my kitchen? Looking like a million bucks, might I add?" You roll your eyes at him but reach up to frame his face with your hands. You tilt his head back and forth, inspecting him, eyes warm and hands gentle. He allows it. This close, he can see every single one of your lashes, every mark on your face, every spec in your iris. 

"Nothing, other than being a sap." 

He grins, leaning into one palm. "Does something look wrong with me?"

You sigh like the most put-upon girl in the world. "No. You're just as handsome as ever, Steve." He laughs and feels himself blush. 

"You say it like it's a bad thing." 

You lean in close, so close that he closes his eyes, expecting a kiss. "Not a bad thing," you say, kissing his cheeks. "Just a distracting thing." You pull away again and he whines. God, he loves you.

"Oh, so I'm a distraction?" He starts to pull out plates to do something with his hands so he doesn't pull you back to him.

"A welcome one," you clarify. "A lovely one." Steve feels his cheeks heat again.

You finish up your work at the stove and bring the pot over to spoon pasta onto the plates he's set out on the counter. Your tongue pokes out and your brow furrows as you keep a grip on the pot and Steve loves you so much he feels like he might explode. He waits until you're no longer holding anything to cup your elbow.

"I just feel lucky, you know?" You look confused, so he slide his palm up your arm to cradle your jaw. "Coming home to you. I get to do that. I come home and you're here and I feel like I don't tell you how lucky that makes me feel."

"Steve," you say softly, food forgotten for the moment. "I--. Steve."

"You don't have to say anything," he says. He means it. He knows you love him, he knows you feel the intensity of this, the potential for forever between you. He just can't keep it in right here, in his kitchen, with you in his sweatshirt. "I guess what I'm saying is I love you." He says it like it's obvious, which he hopes it is, since he tries to tell you all the time. It's just a fundamental truth. He likes root beer. He sneezes at least twice, always. And he loves you.

"I know," you say. You kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his head and captures your lips properly, finally, trapping your bottom lip between his. "I love you," you say into the kiss and he swallows it, feels it travel down to his heart, feels it flow through his veins. Steve is pretty sure it's magic.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb

[hoshologies]

6:17 am, sim j.

genres &&. warnings — timestamp, fluff, established relationship &&. lapslock intended, jake being perfect boyfriend material as always.

word count — 1.5k

note — everyone manifest good seats for enhypen tour omg.....

milky early morning light is starting to pour in through the windows of your living room, where you definitely didn’t mean to fall asleep last night. you blink against the light, trying to ward it off because you’re still so tired and want to sleep more, but it’s next to impossible because the sun is starting to shine directly into your eyes.

with no clear way to go back to sleep, you start to stretch. at least, stretch as best you can when you’re laying directly on top of your boyfriend and his body brackets yours on all sides. he’s got one leg draped over yours, a hand resting on the small of your back, the other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. his heartbeat is steady under your cheek, a nice reminder that he’s here with you right now, despite busy schedules and comeback season. most days, you find yourself wishing that this could be a constant thing, waking up in jake’s embrace, but that yearning is tenfold today for some reason.

maybe it’s because all of this feels so domestic. he’d come over last night to help you make dinner, giggling as he purposely bumped hips with you in the small kitchen. he’d done the same thing when you were washing dishes, your sides pressed tight together as he washed and you dried, slotting dishes into their correct places. and then you’d settled down on the small couch for a movie, except you’d laid down halfway through and promptly fallen asleep. clearly neither of you had woken up in the night to convince the other to go sleep in your actual bed. but 

isn’t that kind of nice? getting to share all parts of your home with jake, feeling comfortable enough to pass out on the loveseat? there’s some level of domesticity that comes with all of this, a very unfamiliar territory to you but one you’re growing comfortable in nonetheless. you’ve never felt more at home than you do right now with him; you really could just lay here forever.

he draws a sudden deep breath, arms tightening around you as he stirs. like instinct, a habit he’s had all his life, his breath is hot against your hairline as he seeks you out, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “g’morning.”

his voice is thick with sleep, accent heavy, and it makes you smile to yourself. he’s so adorable like this. you wish you got to see this side of him more often, make it yours and yours alone. you’re sure he shares the same sentiment about you, especially when you can hear the smile as he lets out a short breathy laugh when you reply with your own “morning.”

he rubs his hands against your shoulder and back, the heels of his palms soothing soft lines into your skin, his cheek against the top of your head. “guess we’ll have to rewatch the movie, huh?”

you shrug, snuggling impossibly closer. “i guess so. just gives you an excuse to come over again.”

he laughs for real this time, a short, quiet little giggle that has his chest rumbling underneath you. it makes you smile into his sweater, something bright and soft, ethereal.

“i’ll always find an excuse to come over,” he says in between the tiny pinpricks of light that come in the form of laughter. “you know that.”

you can’t help but join him in his giggling. he’s right; he’s used every excuse in the book to sneak over to your apartment at least twice a week for the last seven months. he forgot his phone charger, you’re sick and need him to run an errand for you, you have a delivery coming but you’re not home and need someone to sign for it, he left his favorite sweater on accident (this one is true, except he did it on purpose, but the other guys don’t need to know how much he loves the way you look in his clothes). he’s never had to do much to get himself out of the dorms and into your apartment during his free time. you’re just happy to offer him yet another reason to come over.

eventually, you both fall silent again, just basking in one another and the warm light as it creeps farther and brighter into your apartment, casting everything it touches in gold. jake has moved one arm to rest behind his head, the other drawing his fingers up and down your back in loose, uneven lines.

“what time is it?” you ask quietly, unwilling to move so you can see the clock on your wall or reach for your phone. jake is just too comfortable, too warm and you’re not ready to let him go just yet.

thankfully, jake is in the perfect position to reach for his phone on the coffee table and he picks it up with ease. “almost six-thirty.”

you let out a sigh and finally release one of your arms to drag the blanket that lays on the back of the couch over you. there’s the soft clatter of jake’s phone being set back on the coffee table and then he’s adjusted the blanket over the both of you, a smile evident in the small breath he lets out through his nose.

“too early,” you say once you’re settled again, voice muffled against his sweater clad chest.

“then go back to sleep, cutie,” he replies softly, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. his arms are back around you, nice and tight, his go to cuddle position that you’ve come to love more than anything.

you shake your head as best you can. “want to, but ‘s too bright.”

jake hums in response, a sound that has his chest rumbling under your cheek just a bit. his fingers wind their way back and forth across your shoulders as he thinks. birds are starting to chirp outside your window now, the world waking up with the sun when all you want is a little bit more time in bed with your boyfriend.

he shatters that desire almost immediately as it materializes, though he does so with a suggestion that is just as pleasant. “well, i’m not getting back to sleep any time soon either, especially since i have practice this afternoon… y’wanna go get breakfast at that coffee shop down the street?”

you pull your head up from his chest to look at him. you almost wish you hadn’t because he looks so pretty like this, hair messy from sleep and brown eyes caught by sunbeams that turn them molten bronze, and you nearly fall in love all over again. he smiles up at you, all soft and warm, a small grin that is reserved just for you.

“you payin’?” you ask, even though you know you don’t have to. jake always refuses to let you pay for anything, even things he won’t get any use out of like the pair of shoes you were planning to buy a couple weeks ago when you went out shopping together; he’d slipped his card into the machine while you had your head turned to pull out your own like the menace he was.

his eyes practically glitter in the morning sunlight as he nods, dropping his arms to your waist. “course i am. it was my idea.”

you smile and press a kiss to his jawline, the one place you can reach comfortably in this position. he leans into the touch, cheek pressed hot against your temple, always the sucker for physical affection.

“you’d pay even if it wasn’t your idea,” you counter, pulling away to look at him again.

he shrugs his shoulders and starts to sit up, so you adjust yourself too, kneeling on the couch between his legs. you reach to run your fingers through soft, golden locks of hair and he smiles, his own fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“are you trying to say you don’t want me to pay for things anymore?” he questions. he tries to add an edge of a threat in there, but it doesn’t quite work when he’s leaning into your touch and looking more and more like the puppy his friends and fans (and you) equate him to.

“just stating facts,” you answer, a little bit of laughter in your voice.

he giggles with you, wrapping his arms fully around your waist again and pulling you into his body. somehow, in the struggle, he manages to stand up and starts carrying you towards your bedroom amid shrieks and your desperate attempts to latch your legs around his hips.

“gotta get a move on, baby, or else your favorite table’s gonna get taken before we can even get out the door.”

he knows you down to your favorite table at your favorite coffee shop. and you know that when you eventually arrive, he’s going to be able to rattle off your order like it’s song lyrics he has memorized. you’ll walk through broken glass before you ever let him go, especially when he offers his elbow to you ten minutes later when you step outside onto the sidewalk. this is the most in love you’ve ever felt and you hope he’s the only person you’ll experience this with.

#jake x reader #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #jake.fic #enha.fic #timestamp.fic #writing.fic

[softmangoes]

until sunrise | eden x defiant!pc

18+ only

summary: you ask eden if you can go to town to run some errands. reluctantly, he says yes. sequel to cabin fever.

includes: defiant! fem pc, yearning, domesticity, a very needy eden

author's note: i had so much fun writing the first fic that i got excited to work on this one. i love eden so much, so please let me know what you think! comments always keep me going 🫶🏾

-

"you want to leave?" eden tenses. instinctively, he holds you tighter, thinking of the time you actually managed to run away. it was a while ago, but he could still feel the cold spike of fear as he tracked you through the forest.

"what," you say. "you don't trust me?"

it's not that he doesn't. he wants to. he does. it's just that after being alone for so long, he's finally found you, and now you want to leave?

the forest provides. its boughs offer wood for shelter, fruit for food. its animals bare their necks to gift flesh and fur for meals and warmth. and then there is the quiet, which is something the town never had. the quiet that eases eden's nerves, lets him think.

in the wilderness, there is nothing else he could want. he thought that after being here for a while, you would feel the same. he's provided for you, hasn't he? he's been good to you. why would -

"eden." your fingers brush his hair away from his face. what would he do, knowing he'd be without your touch? "i can hear you thinking."

it's not like him to lose his composure. on a hunt, it could cost him a meal - a bullet whizzing far past its target. in this moment, he averts his gaze. swallows.

"is it because there's someone else?" he says, quiet.

you had a life before him. he's well aware of that. before, when he would watch you spend your afternoons at the lake, he would occassionally see you have picnics with a brunette boy with a voice so soft that you had to move closer just to listen to him.

fear wraps cold tendrils around his heart. was that who you wanted? someone who still had kindness in their eyes?

"i have you." your lips feather across his cheeks. "how can there be someone else when you're all i need?"

need. it's such a terrible, wonderful thing, isn't it? before you, he thought he never needed much. since the night you told him you would stay, the thought of being around you has become as essential as air. as cherished as the quiet.

he needs you. but as much as he wants to keep you within his reach, eden knows you well enough that a cage would be the last thing you would ever want.

"a day," he says. your lips hover over his, your breath sweet with the scent of berries you had picked together earlier that morning. "nothing more, and you come back."

the kiss you give him is full of relief, gratitude. he pulls you onto his lap and the couch creaks at the shift in weight. when he brings his mouth to your neck, he bites you hard enough to leave a bruise. the throbbing will give you something to remember him by while you're gone. you touch the bloom of broken capillaries with a smile.

the next morning, he holds you tightly at the end of the forest path.

"i have to be back before breakfast tomorrow," you say, muffled by his embrace. "it'll still take me hours to get to town."

it's fall, so the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he takes an uneasy step back. there's a chill in the air, so he adjusts the scarf he's given you around your neck.

"you can come earlier than that," he tells you. "it'd be better if you do."

i'd feel better if you do, he thinks.

you smile knowingly and take his hand. he swears he'll never get used to it, how tenderly you hold him even after everything he's done. even though he is who he is.

"i'll miss you, too," you say before you leave.

for a moment, after he watches you walk through the bushes, he thinks about following you. of course, he would only do it to make sure you get there safely. he'd promised to protect you, didn't he?

but you didn't need that. you were already strong when he found you and you had given him quite the fight when he brought you to the cabin. he was sure you were capable of protecting yourself. for both your sakes, you had to be.

he slings his rifle over his shoulder. how about a deer for dinner once you got back? you always liked his venison roasts. they take long to track, but even longer to cook. at least it would give him something to do while you're away.

hours later, eden lowers his rifle. the shot is clean - straight to the temple without any damage to the hide. he hefts the fallen doe over his shoulder. this early in the season, she hasn't shed too much of her fat gained from the spring and the summer. her meat will make a fine roast, one worthy of welcoming you back.

eden dresses her away from the cabin, gathering her hide and meat. in a few days, he'll come back for the bones after they've been picked clean.

the weather is cool enough that he can place the flesh in the root cellar until he's ready to use it. there are still a few hours left in the day, so he uses them to strip the hide.

as he draws the fleshing knife over the stretched skin, his mind wanders.

normally, he'd find peace in the monotony of this kind of work, allowing his mind clear while you read a book on the patio's rocking chair. but now, all he could think about was where you were. all he could think about was how silent the cabin was without you there to fill the air with your laughter. when he looks up, he watches the empty chair sway in the breeze.

once he's done fleshing the hide, eden eats a late lunch of stewed cabbage and sausage. it's the last thing you prepared and while it's delicious, it does not soothe the ache of your absence.

dinner isn't any better. he eats quickly, sopping up the broth on his plate with a hank of crusty bread.

once he curls up with a book by the fireplace, it's only then that his mind quiets. for as long as he could remember, he's always loved reading. stories were his first escape. they allowed him to imagine a future different from his past.

the first time you had asked him to read to you, he was confused.

"your voice," you told him. "it's pretty."

"pretty?" he scoffed. "that can't be the right word for it."

"like thunder rumbling in the distance." you kissed his neck, your hands slipping under his sweater. "a shift in the tide." his breath caught. "i could listen to you all night and it would never be enough."

right now, eden flips his way through a weathered paperback, the spine cracked white throughout.

soon, the both of you would fall back into your routine.

he feels more at ease - somewhat - but perhaps it's because of the anticipation that flutters in his chest. the day is almost done and tomorrow, as promised, he will wake to welcome you home. the thought warms him like the first sunrise of spring, melting away the long winter frost.

still, his chest tightens.

what if he never heard your knock? what if dawn came and you didn't? you wouldn't do that, would you? you would keep your word.

ah, but he's done so many bad things. he hurt you, even as you kicked and clawed at him. back then, he was selfish, wanting nothing else but your body to warm the cold nights.

things were different, now. the way you looked at him was softer. fond. at night, you would take his hand and hold it until you fell asleep. in turn, he'd wake you with a kiss to the forehead, waiting until you stirred in his arms. eden was yours and you were his. you wouldn't leave him. you wouldn't you wouldn't you wouldn't -

the book falls apart in his hands with a sharp rip.

"fuck," he says, placing the ruined pieces onto the couch.

he takes a deep breath, deciding that it would be wise to turn in early. that way, he'd get enough rest to properly take care of you after your long trek through the forest.

the bed is cold when he slips in. outside the cabin window, the crickets croon softly in the night for their lovers. eden places a palm against the bed's empty space, his fingers gathering the sheets. it takes a long time for him to close his eyes.

the next morning, there's a knock at the door.

eden is there just as you swing it open.

"the way back is so much harder," you huff, dropping a couple of duffel bags onto the floor along with your backpack. "i tripped on so many roots. maybe we could spend a day clearing the path more?"

sweat has plastered your hair to your forehead and your cheeks are red with exertion. there are fragments of leaf debris sticking to your skin. you have never looked more beautiful.

eden gathers you into his arms.

he takes you on the table, lays your body down like a feast. the oak whines against the cabin floor, but it holds. when he carved it a few years ago, he made sure it would be sturdy.

"hey, wait," you start, trying to fend him off. but you're too tired, too weak from the journey back. it's alright, though. he's here to give you a proper welcome.

somehow, you manage to kick off your boots. he drags down your hiking pants, grabs ahold of your thighs.

already, you're so wet for him. he can smell it. have you been wanting this as badly as he has, he wonders. the thought drives him wild.

eden brings his mouth to your bare hip as he peels off your underwear with one hand. he licks a trail further and further downward until he's between your legs.

you hiss at the sensation of his tongue on you, his hands clasped securely around your thighs.

"i've been waiting," he says gruffly. "for this."

and when his tongue, thick and hot, pushes itself inside of you, you can do nothing else but squirm.

one of his massive hands slips under your tank top, beneath your bra, to take your nipple between his fingers.

it's all so much. you wrap a hand around his wrist, steadying yourself as he fucks you with his mouth.

once he's satisfied, eden moves to suck on your clit, groaning in approval when your hips twitch against his face.

your core tightens, back arching as the orgasm takes you.

eden pulls away. a moment later, you hear the rustling of fabric. he's removed his lounge pants.

he licks his lips, which are glistening with your wetness.

"i was worried you wouldn't come back," he says, taking a hold of your hips to pull you closer to his aching cock. "but here you are, being so good for me." eden slips inside of you slowly, making you feel every moment he's missed you. "i think you deserve a reward."

then he rips through your tank top and bra. you gasp at the sudden coolness against your skin, his ravenous hunger making you feel vulnerable.

eden fucks himself into you, planting rough kisses across your chest and collarbone.

"so tight," he praises. "and all mine."

when you come, clenching down on him so deliciously, he crushes his mouth to yours, swallowing your moans as you writhe beneath him.

he's close, the yearning he had pent up the day prior threatening to make him spill, but he does not relent. instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, the pain lancing through his wave of pleasure so he can last longer.

has it only been a day since you were last together? no, that can't be right. it feels like forever. he'll have to make up for all that lost time.

with the pad of his fingers, eden rubs small circles against your swollen clit, coaxing another orgasm from you as he pushes himself deeper to reach the spot he knows will make you keen.

it's when you tongue at the hollow of his neck, nails raking across his back, that he comes gasping your name.

you hold each other, the wooden planks creaking softly under your weight.

"christ," you pant, forehead pressed against his. "i was barely through the fucking door."

he laughs - it's a deep, guttural grumble that he only ever does around you. it reminds you of thunder, of storms.

he blushes, shy. "i, ah, got excited."

eden gathers you into his arms and you wash up quickly, the both of you eager to spend the rest of the day together.

"such a sweetheart," you say, kissing him on the cheek. "you missed me a lot, didn't you?"

once you're clean, fed, and settled, you begin to unpack the spoils you gathered from town. there are the hefty duffel bags full of eden's supplies: boxes of bullets, rope for snare traps, canned food, and kerosene for the lamps.

from your backpack, you procure extra sets of clothes you bought at the mall along with a short guides on canning produce and soapmaking you found at the outdoor shop. he glances at the pile of ruined clothing he had torn to get to you and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed.

lastly, you take out a hefty rectangular bundle wrapped in brown paper. it's secured with a ribbon made of twine.

"what's this?" he asks.

you look at the fire, sheepish. you were never very good with words.

"i know the paperbacks are cheaper, but they're too small for your hands," she says.

he tears through the packaging. inside are hardcover copies of his favorite books, along with some new releases.

"you like their work the most," you tell him. "i've noticed that you reread their books a lot."

eden is speechless. you thought of him, then, even though you were gone? he takes a moment to imagine you perusing the bookstore, scanning the shelves for something to take home with you. 

"i don't know what to say," he says, setting the books on the table beside him. when was the last time he'd received a gift? for the life of him, he can't remember. if he had, then that memory has been long buried by the past.

"you could thank me," you say, taking his hand to your face. your eyes darken as you slip two of his fingers into your mouth. "or you could show me."

warmth ignites his core. he pulls you closer, hunger making him lick his teeth.

one day is long enough.

sunlight filters through the glass windows. he smiles, admiring the sight of you finally back in his arms.

you don't make it out of the cabin until the next morning.

#eden the hunter #dol eden #degrees of lewdity eden #eden the hunter x pc #eden the hunter and pc #degrees of lewdity fic #dol fic #my writing #should i try writing what would happen if pc asked to be away for a week hahaha

[bradshawsbaby]

SFW Alphabet for Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Pairing: Rooster x Female!Reader

Author’s Note: I’ve been seeing a lot of Top Gun alphabet posts going around, so I thought it’d be fun to write one!

Warnings: Check for cavities from all the fluff.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Rooster is extremely affectionate with you. He’s always giving you kisses and telling you how much he loves you. He loves to be holding you close, no matter what you’re doing. If you’re out at the bar, he’s got his arm around your waist. If you’re at home on the couch, he’s snuggling with you.

He also shows his affection through his actions. Rooster is very thoughtful. He’s quick to leave you little notes and to pick up things he knows you like, like your favorite flowers or the ice cream you mentioned you’d been craving.

B = Butterflies (How do they act when they're nervous?)

Rooster doesn’t like to show when he’s nervous, but you can always tell. He gets much quieter, much more serious and focused. He often won’t say anything at all, even when you’re talking to him, almost like he can’t even hear you. He gets very in his head when he’s nervous. Depending on what he’s nervous about, you’ll either give him some space to work things out in his mind or hold his hand and gently remind him that you’re there for him.

C = Cuddles (What is their favorite cuddling position? Do they like physical touch?)

Rooster adores cuddling with you. Physical touch is definitely important to him. When the two of you are watching TV together, he’s got you wrapped up in his arms on the couch, your back pressed against his chest. When you’re lying in bed together, he’s the big spoon, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist and his face buried in your neck. When you sleep face to face, he still holds you close and nuzzles your cheek and neck.

D = Domesticity (Are they the type to settle down with you? Are they willing to help with chores? What is your daily routine with them?)

Rooster 1000% wants to settle down and have a life with you. He loves waking up with you each morning and going to bed with you each night. Though his work schedule keeps him busy much of the time, he dedicates the free time that he does have to being with you. He’s rather hopeless in the kitchen beyond making cereal and toast, but he does love to help you while you’re cooking. He’ll get you anything you need, and he always sets and clears the table. He wants to do things for you, so he’ll often take your car to the gas station for you or run errands at the grocery store when he’s able to.

E = Encouragement (Do they encourage you to achieve your goals? If so, how do they support you?)

Rooster is extremely supportive and always encourages you in all things. He praises you for how smart you are, how kind and loving you are, how generous you are, how beautiful you are. The man loves to compliment you. His words of affirmation make you feel like you can do anything you set your mind to.

F = Favorite thing(s) about you (What are their favorite personality traits/physical features about you?)

Rooster loves how sweet you are and how safe you make him feel. Losing both his parents and being estranged from Maverick for so many years, he spent a long time feeling really lonely. He loves that when he’s with you, he never feels alone. He trusts you completely and he knows that you’ll always be there for him.

Physically, Rooster absolutely adores your smile and your eyes. Your eyes light up when you’re happy, and he’s made it his personal mission to see them glow every single day. You’re always quick to smile and laugh, and he loves that about you.

G = Goofiness (Do they like to make you laugh? How often do they joke around with you?)

Rooster loves how quick you are to laugh. The sound of your laughter is one of his favorite sounds in the world, so he tries to make you laugh all the time. He knows you’re ticklish, particularly around your neck, so he’ll often kiss you there just to hear those adorable giggles spill out of your mouth. The two of you have a very affectionate and teasing relationship, so he jokes around with you all the time.

H = Honesty (Would they lie to you? How much do they share with you?)

Rooster would never lie to you. There are certain things he has to keep quiet about, simply due to the nature of his job, but whatever he can tell you, he does. Much like how Goose used to tell Carole everything, Rooster is an open book when it comes to you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-Word?)

Rooster knew he loved you almost right away. No woman had ever made him feel the way you did. He officially asked you to be his girlfriend after your fourth date, and he told you that he loved you not long after that.

“I know it seems fast, maybe too fast, but I really do love you and I just wanted you to know. You don’t have to say it back. I just—”

You’d cut him off by covering his mouth with your hand, that twinkling light shining in your eyes. “I love you, too.”

 J = Jealousy (Are they the type of person to get jealous? If so, how do they react to being jealous?)

Rooster doesn’t necessarily get jealous because he trusts you completely. But he is extremely protective of you and it makes his blood boil when he sees other guys trying to make time with you. He knows you can take care of yourself, but he always wants to step in to defend you. You’re normally able to keep him from getting into fights, but even you weren’t able to stop him from punching the guy who grabbed your ass one night at The Hard Deck.

K = Kissing (Where do they like to kiss you? How frequently do they like to kiss?)

If Rooster could spend all day, every day kissing you, he would. Your lips, your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders, your hands. He loves to kiss you everywhere.

L = Love language (What's their love language?)

Physical touch is a big one for Rooster, but he also really loves quality time. He doesn’t care what the two of you are doing, as long as you’re doing it together. Whether it’s going for a walk to get ice cream, hanging out on the beach, playing pool at the bar, or lounging on the couch at home, he just loves being with you.

M = Marriage (Do they want to marry you eventually? Who proposes to who?)

Rooster cannot wait to make you his wife. He’s known from very early in your relationship that he wants to marry you and have a family with you. When the time comes, he asks for your father’s blessing and gets down on one knee, making you the happiest woman in the world.

N = Nicknames (What do they call you? What do you call them?)

Rooster has a million and one pet names for you. He very rarely calls you by your actual name. Some of his wide array of nicknames include “baby,” “baby girl,” “honey,” “sugar lips,” and “darling.” After you get married, one of his favorite things to call you is “Mrs. Bradshaw.”

You usually stick to calling him Rooster or Bradley, but you do like to refer to him as “Lieutenant Bradshaw” when you’re in a particularly playful mood. “Babe,” “baby,” and “honey,” are also frequently used nicknames.

O = Openness (How much do they tell you about themselves? Do they reveal everything at once or gradually throughout the relationship?)

Though Rooster can be closed off with a lot of people, he felt safe and comfortable with you pretty early on in your relationship. He didn’t reveal everything about himself all at once, but it didn’t take long before he was opening up to you about his parents and how much he missed them. You were sitting together on the beach when he pulled out a family picture he always kept tucked inside his wallet, from when he was about two years old. After that, it was easy for him to tell you anything and everything that was on his mind.

P = PDA (Are they affectionate in public or do they prefer to keep your kisses behind closed doors? Are they the type to brag about their S/O?)

Rooster has absolutely no issues with public displays of affection. He’s so proud to call you his, and he wants everybody to know it. His kisses in public aren’t as intense as his kisses behind closed doors, but he isn’t afraid to peck you on the lips, the forehead, or your shoulders when you’re out together. He always has a hand on your waist or an arm around your shoulders. When you’re not around, he constantly gushes about you to anyone who will listen.

Q = Quality time (How do they like to spend time with you?)

Quality time is definitely one of Rooster’s main love languages. Whether you two are binging TV shows together, spending the day at the beach, hanging out at The Hard Deck, grocery shopping, or spending a lazy day in bed, he just wants to be with you.

R = Romance (Are they the romantic type? If so, how do they express their feelings?)

You’ve always found Rooster to be very romantic. He pays attention to the little things and always makes you feel special. He knows your favorite flower, your favorite color, your favorite ice cream flavor, your favorite movies. He learns some of your favorite songs so that he can play them on the piano for you. Sometimes he’ll randomly grab you around the waist and start dancing with you, even if you’re in the middle of cooking or cleaning the apartment. He’s also incredibly chivalrous, which you deeply appreciate. He’s always holding doors for you, pulling out your chair, draping his jacket around your shoulders when you get cold, and giving you piggy back rides when your high heels start hurting your feet.

S = Security (How protective are they of you? If they are, how do they show this?)

Rooster is one of the most protective men you’ve ever known. He would sooner die than let anything happen to you, or anyone he loves. Whenever you’re going out somewhere, even if it’s just a quick drive to the store or out with your girlfriends, he always gives you a kiss and tells you to be careful. When he has to travel for work, he’ll FaceTime or text you at night, just to make sure you had a good day. He always wants to make you feel as safe as you make him feel.

T = Turn-offs (What traits do they find unattractive?)

Rooster strongly dislikes people who lack empathy and understanding, people who don’t know how to listen, and people who have too high an opinion of themselves.

U = Understanding (Are they good at sympathizing with your problems? Do they listen to you when you need to rant?)

Though he sometimes feels guilty when he doesn’t know how to help you with all your problems, Rooster is always willing to listen to you when you need to vent. He’ll sit with you on the couch and rub your back while you rant, and even grab the tissues for you if you start crying. You always assure him that he doesn’t have to solve everything, that you appreciate the fact that he just listens and lets you talk through things.

V = Value (What do they value most about your relationship?)

Rooster values the honesty, the security, and the deep love you two share. He always wanted a relationship like his parents’, and he knows he’s found it with you.

W = Wild card (A random headcanon about your relationship.)

The first vacation you ever went on together as a couple was a cruise to the Bahamas. Rooster got a horrible sunburn, so you spent half the trip covering him in aloe and insisting that he put a shirt on.

X - X-ray (How well are they able to read you?)

Rooster can read you like the back of his hand. He knows all your moods and he can interpret every look without you having to say a word. It might have been infuriating, except for the fact that you can do the same thing for him.

Y = Yearning (How well do they cope when their S/O isn't with them?)

Rooster misses you terribly whenever he has to travel for a mission, or whenever you’re apart for more than a couple days. He always makes sure to FaceTime you when he’s gone, just so that he can see you and hear your voice. He also carries a photograph of you with him whenever he’s flying. Your reunions when he comes home are always special.

Z = Zappy (Are they fast-paced in a relationship? Or do they like to take things slow?)

Rooster knows early on how much you mean to him and how much he loves you, and he doesn’t try to hide that. Especially in a profession like his, he knows that tomorrow isn’t always guaranteed and he doesn’t want to waste a single moment that he has with you. Of course, he only wants to move at a pace you’re comfortable with, but you’re quick to reassure him that you’re all in just as much as he is.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun: maverick

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: Tessa gets Rhett a gift she worries is too much. (wc: 1960)

Requested: YES by @oneelleandaneye

Warnings: just rhett and tess being couple goals, mostly fluff but it takes a sharp suggestive turn at the end there it is literally not my fault rhett abbott is a dog

✎……MASTERLIST

Finishing up the wrapping with the last bit of tape, Tessa bit her lip anxiously. 

It wasn’t his birthday and it wasn’t even their anniversary, either. Hell, they hadn’t even reached six months, let alone one year, of dating. As she stared down at the blue and white striped paper, she wondered if she should just forget about it. Hide it until a more appropriate date or just return it. 

God, but she spent so much money on it. Custom made to her specifications, hand crafted by a guy out in Montana who still did it the traditional way like the old cowboys. Of course, Rhett could never find out how much money she actually spent on the gift. He would put up a fuss about how it could have been spent on something more important than him. Literally anything other than himself. Speaking like it was a simple and immovable fact that he didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. With those blue eyes downcast and cheeks flushed and a slight shake of his head — sincere in his denial and assertion. 

Part of her wondered if he would react that way even if he didn’t know how much she spent. 

Maybe this was a dumb idea after all.

With a sigh, Tessa got up from the floor and picked up the wrapped gift from the coffee table. Hiding it was probably her best option now. Deep in a closet somewhere where he couldn’t possibly find it — and maybe she would forget about it as well. 

But then, just before she could mentally decide which closet in her little cottage Rhett was least likely to go snooping through, there was a knock at the front door. Most likely her mother coming over to check if she needed anything to tide her over for the weekend, snacks or drinks or, most likely, if she wanted to walk over to the main house to spend the day. 

Gift still in hand, Tessa pulled open the door with a greeting ready and waiting on her tongue. It died right there in her mouth however, when she saw who was really on the front porch. 

“Rhett,” she said, trying not to sound so shocked that he was there. “Wh-What are you doin’ here?”

Brows furrowed, he quickly looked down at his phone then back up at her. “Sorry, this a bad time? Y’said I could come over whenever, so…”

It was ten in the morning on a Saturday. And it warmed something in Tessa’s chest that he would want to come over this early and spend the whole day with her. That he would stand on her front porch ready to leave at her word but so eager to stay. Booted feet shuffling on the treated wood and blinking down at her rapidly from beneath the brim of his trucker hat. He wanted to be with her. Not even doing anything, they made no plans. Just hanging out together, maybe running some errands because she desperately needed to restock the snacks she kept hidden in her room at the Boy’s Home. Somehow domestic and somehow so natural and good that sometimes it scared her. How easily things came between her and Rhett.

She gripped the small gift still clutched in her hand tighter. Maybe that was why she was so nervous to give it to him. 

What if this was finally the thing that messed it all up?

“No, this — this isn’a bad time,” she finally answered, opening the door wider and moving out of the way for him to come inside. “Jus’caught me off guard, s’all.”

Rhett smiled sheepishly as he stepped through the doorway, plucking his hat from his head and hanging it on the hooks just inside. Running a hand through his hair, he nodded his head towards her hands with a grin. 

“Wha’s that?”

Tessa looked down at the little wrapped box as she clicked the door shut behind him. “Uh…It’s um…”

She looked back up into his expectant face, eyebrows raised in a nearly amused way while he toed off his boots, trying to think of some lie that would keep the gift from him for just a little bit longer. It’s for one of the boys? It’s for my dad? Her brain screamed at her to say something, anything, to get him off her back. But with his hands on his hips and slight narrowing of his eyes, she knew she was done for. They both knew she was shit liar anyway. He wouldn’t have believed her even if she had been able to come up with something and finally wrestled it past her lips. 

With a sigh, she held it out to him and muttered, “S’for you.”

“Me?” he questioned on a chuckle, pulling the gift from her fingers almost reluctantly. “Why?”

“No reason. Just…Got the idea n’couldn’t let it go ‘till I…Yeah…” she replied honestly. 

His smile was small and shy as he turned the present around and around in those big, calloused hands. Like he was looking for the timer to a bomb that would go off when he ripped the paper. He kept his eyes trained on it as he meandered over to the couch, shoulders hunched.

“Jus’cause?” he asked as he slowly lowered himself onto the cushions.

“Yeah. Jus’cause.” Tessa followed after him slowly, sitting down next to him on the couch and keeping a bit-lip silence until he started tearing the paper away from the box. “I hope y’like it. I-I know y’re supposed t’win’em, but I jus’thought…”

She knew if she kept talking it would turn into a ramble. A proverbial vomiting of words that would leave Rhett feeling overwhelmed and unsure how he felt. Saying whatever it took to get her to stop talking even if he didn’t really mean it. So instead, she watched anxiously with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso as he finished off tearing away the wrapping paper. As he lifted the lid from the box and took in what was carefully tucked inside the protective styrofoam casing.

“Oh,” he muttered quietly as his blue eyes like cloudy days scanned the gift.

It was a belt buckle. The silver plating shiny and new. Engraved into it was a stylized sun and a bull’s horn on either side. From all the imperfections and the attention to detail, it was clear that it was handcrafted. Rustic in its design, old school. Rhett traced his thumb over the line work but didn’t take it out of the box still sat lazily over his spread thighs. 

Tessa felt her expression drop, her heart sink into her gut. “You don’like it.” 

“No, no —” he immediately answered, glancing over at her quickly then back down to the buckle. “I jus’...How much’d you spend on this?”

And there it was. That sincere denial and assertion. With those blue eyes downcast and cheeks flushed and a slight shake of his head as he continued to look at the gift. She could practically see what he was thinking. How he didn’t deserve this. How she should have spent her money on something else. Anything else. How he hadn’t earned it. 

Where did he learn that love was something that had to be earned? Where did he get the idea that he didn’t deserve to be treated to nice things?

From her experience, she knew where he learned. And it twisted up something angry and sour in her gut that forced the corners of her mouth to turn down. Apples never fell far from trees in Wabang, and sometimes it was the trees that were doing the throwing. Because it was clear to her, as she watched him waiting for her answer on the price, that he did like the gift. Despite all his hesitations. He wouldn’t stop looking at it. Tracing his thumb over the rough edges of the etching.

He might not have earned it the way he had all those other buckles she saw lined up on his dresser, but he wanted this one.

And she wanted him to want it freely. 

“Doesn’matter how much I spent,” she finally said, tucking her legs up underneath herself as she scooted closer to him. “I jus’know…Y’always call me sunshine n’y’always say I’m y’r good luck charm before a ride so…Jus’a little bit’a good luck sunshine t’carry around with ya.”

Rhett finally turned his head to look over at her, a lock of dark hair curled at the end falling into his face. He chewed his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed as he studied her like she was about to change her mind at any second. But her mind was set, and so she smiled. Small and reassuring as she reached out and tucked that stray hair behind his ear like she knew he liked. 

“You sure?” he questioned quietly.

“Positive.” Then she quickly added on, “I mean, y’don’have t’wear it if ya don’like it, obviously, but I jus’thought —”

But Rhett was quick to cut her off as he pulled the buckle from the box. “No, I love it. It, uh — reminds me’a you.” 

Tessa felt her cheeks heat up as he turned the buckle over in his large palm, inspecting the blacksmith’s symbol on the back. That was what she was hoping for, even though the thought of it still sounded weirdly conceited to her. They didn’t get to spend much time together with her busy and consistently changing schedule with the Boy’s Home and him trying his hand at more out of state rodeos. But this way, he could carry around a piece of her always. Could bring him good luck even when she couldn’t be there. Could maybe keep those buckle bunnies from oogling what wasn’t theirs.

“Good, m’glad y’like it.”

Without another word or thought, Rhett got up from the couch. Tessa felt a heat pool in her belly, and in her cheeks, as she watched him. One handed, he undid his belt and slid the old buckle he was wearing off. She swallowed something thick as he put the new buckle on his belt and redid the clasp.

Like her own claim on him. Her own mark.

He turned to her once he felt it was centered, those slightly too tight jeans hugging his thighs and hips on full display with his fingers perched on the leather of his belt. Right in front of her face. She had to stop herself from rubbing her thighs together at the sight of her sunshine sitting pretty and shiny right above his zipper.

“Whaddaya think? Look good?” he asked, looking down at the buckle then up at her with the most sincere expression. 

Christ, he had no idea what he was doing to her.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed with a nod.

“What?” he chuckled lowly. 

Her throat was suddenly too dry to really speak. Tongue too big to form the words as her eyes kept flicking back and forth between his expectant smiling face and the buckle he now wore. Tessa never thought she could be possessive until this moment. But there it was, rearing its ugly head as she thought about everyone seeing him wearing it and knowing what it meant.

That he was hers.

Rhett Abbott was hers. 

With his quiet way of speaking and passion and kindness and sincerity so loud she could nearly see it. With his big hand, rough and warm, cupping her cheek and gently forcing her to look up into his face. 

“Y’like it?” he asked again, softer and darker all at once, an understanding taking hold of his face. 

“Yes,” she squeaked breathlessly.

A small grin ticked up the corner of his mouth, and he nodded his head down at her as he said, “Show me, sunshine.”

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: here to stay #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #outer range #outer range imagine #outer range fic #ocapp #fic request #filled prompt #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman

[lewisthot]

Okay. So you and Lewis have been together for quite a while and he’s said “I love you” already but you’re not there yet because of past relationships. But Lewis has made you feel loved, protected and safe. So you guys are just doing the most mundane, domestic thing and you tell him that you love him. I’d love to see how you’d write his reaction 🥹💕

ooh i liked writing this, fluffiness under the cut! 

you and lewis had been dating for a while now to the point where lewis had said those three magical words ‘i love you’ they were like music to your ears till your body tensed, your heart raced and a lump formed in your throat - you couldn’t say it back, you really wanted too but past relationships left you riddled with trust and commitment issues. meeting lewis was a godsend, you felt so loved, safe and protected. you were honest with him from the start, he knew it’d been a while since you’d been in a committed relationship and he knew expressing your emotions were difficult but he didn’t mind even though you couldn’t say i love you back yet you still showed him in many ways how much you loved him and that was enough for him, he truly felt how deeply you cared for him in a way he’d rarely felt and for that he knew he could wait a long time before those 3 words left your mouth.

you’d been out doing a grocery run for the week when lewis had decided to drop by. he loved spending time with you on days like this where you had no plans, you were just going to run errands and relax. he watched you enough times packing away your groceries that he knew your very particular system, you were very particular. you joked you were like monica from friends, a little neurotic. he had just come by a minute after you and after greeting you with a kiss he followed you into the kitchen and just started, you never let him help but he saw you were tired having carried a lot more bags of groceries than you could.

‘i should buy one of those granny trolleys, my palms are so red’

you laughed as you sat at the dining table resting before you were gonna get up and put everything away. but before you could lewis got to it, putting everything away. you were about to say something, correct him but he did it exactly as you did and when he opened your fridge you were again about to stop him but again he moved and placed everything correctly. you couldn’t help the smile on your face, he was just putting away the shopping it was no big deal you would’ve appreciated him putting it all away ‘incorrectly’ it’s the thought that counts but he knew how particular you were and your heart swelled at the fact he paid attention to such a degree.

once he was done he turned to you as you stood there smiling leaning against the counter smiling at him.

‘what?’

‘i love you’

breaking out into a big smile, he grabbed you by the waist and he lifted you onto the counter as you wrapped your arms around his neck he grabbed your face kissing you deeply. you said it with such ease lewis was sure he was dreaming

‘i didn’t quite hear that?’

‘i…love…you…lewis’ you kissed him giggling after every word, it felt so easy so light to say it now. you weren’t scared, you could shout it from the rooftop as cheesy as that was.

he knew you loved him but hearing the words finally leave your mouth - he needed to hear it on a loop. after everything you told him about your past to hear you say those words so casually he just fell more in love with you in that moment. he felt so proud of you for opening yourself to him and trusting him with your heart.

‘i think i need my hearing tested, i didn’t quite catch that’

‘i love you so much lewis, so so much!’ you raised your voice slightly, laughing.

‘god, i fucking love you y/n’

he lunged forward kissing you passionately and roughly. he felt like his heart was going to explode, so much he wanted to say that he couldn’t get out so he hoped he could pour it all into his touch.

you pulled away panting you pressed your forehead against his surprised by the kiss. you looked into his beautiful eyes, stroking his cheek you could feel a million words on the tip of his tongue, you had a million words on yours. you wanted to thank him for being patient, for loving you like you needed, for so much more.

‘i love you too lewis’

#lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton fluff #was this too cheesy?? 😅 #ask

[january-summers]

Well, it's official, Agent Washington is my new hyper-fixation. How do I know for sure?

Because I just spent half an hour staring into space and running a WashingMaine AU in my head.

it was both hilarious (to me), and very messed up.

Spartan!Maine, ODST!Wash, no PFL, Wash still gets his brain damage, post war retirement (they served together for a few months then parted ways and Wash got brain wrecked just before the war ended) they both get really nice retirement packages and coincidentally for plot reasons end up retiring to the same town on the same planet.

Maine spots Wash and recognises him right away but gets a case of the shy, so instead of communicating like a person, he stalks Wash instead. Wash... takes a while to notice because he has the forgetfuls and when Maine breaks in to touch Wash's stuff, just assumes he forgot moving things.

Then Maine decides to kidnap Wash, which doesn't go as well as Maine was hoping and he has to leave him tied up in the root cellar of his very nice hobby farm farmhouse.

Which Wash promptly escapes, but much like when you leave one room and enter another and forget why you were doing that, Wash's brain damage decides the whole kidnapping thing is irrelevant news, and so Wash is standing in the entry hallway of a strange house when Maine returns from his very urgent errands.

Wash freaks out because he thinks he broke into someone's house, Maine accidentally convinces Wash they're housemates (Wash is in the process of moving in) and Wash just forgot... because he has a spare room with a closet full of Wash's stolen clothes.

And thus begins their domestic farm life, where in the most exciting thing that happens is Maine getting scarily determined to win best cake at the local farmer's market competition, and Wash convincing him they need a cat, and then the cat having kittens.

(Wash doesn't recognise Maine at first because he never saw him without his spartan armour, so it takes a while to click, and by the time it does, he assumes he already knew that but forgot.)

And then a year later while they're quietly reading Wash suddenly gets up without a word, grabs a flashlight, heads down to the root cellar and finds a small blood stain left behind from his kidnapping.

"Maine, buddy, I'm not mad, but I need you to tell me the truth: did you stalk and kidnap me, or is that a crazy dream I had?" *Guilty silence* "Okay, not mad, but probably don't do that again, okay big guy?" *nods, chastened* "Cool, hey is it lunchtime yet, I'm hungry."

and they move on with their lives not addressing the kidnapping thing because they are fail-people who deserve a soft epilogue, dammit.

-

There was a bonus story-line in the background, where Carolina had worked with Wash and was keeping a part-time long-distance eye on him because his brain damage, and noticed he'd been kidnapped and lead a task force to find him, only to find him living in domestic bliss and her determination to see justice done to the monster who'd kidnapped her teammate crumbling in the face of Wash showing off his new kittens and their prize winning pumpkin.

#rvb #red vs blue #agent washington #agent maine #washingmaine #i think that's their ship tag? #or is it #mainewash #i like my fictional relationships a little messed up sometimes #it adds flavour

[fckinwild-kiwi]

Dec. 12th: Errand Day

Day 12: Grocery Shopping/Somone sets off the fire alarm

Day 12 of @comp-lady’s Domestic December writing challenge is upon us!

Warnings: Maybe Swearing (This is an 18+ blog, minors dni)  Word Counts: 1.1k+ Words Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader

Finally having a day off of work, I decided to spend the day running some unnecessary errands, Target, TJ Maxx, and Ulta. A day full of treating myself with a vanilla latte in hand. After I got out of bed, I took my time getting ready. I put on an outfit that made me confident but was also practical for an errand day. Once I was dressed and I finished my hair and makeup. I walked down the stairs hoping to find some coffee still in the pot from my parents so I could make an iced latte. Instead, I found Steve sitting at my kitchen table reading the newspaper that was undoubtedly left by my dad.

“Stevie,” I said, crossing the threshold into the kitchen and making my way towards him. “What are you doing here, I though you had to work today?”

“I was supposed to but Keith called to swap shifts with me for later in the week. Apparently they needed a manager to be there to sign for a delivery today,” He said, standing up to pull you in for a kiss. 

“Mm,” I acknowledged, leaning into the kiss before breaking away. “Does this mean you want to join me with running errands today?”

“Only if those errands include grocery shopping, I need to get some things for my house,” Steve responded.

“I think I can make that work,” I said before smiling up at the boy. After telling Steve the plans I had for the day, I poured us both an iced coffee and we got into Steve’s car to head to our first destination, TJ Maxx.

“So what do we need to get here?” Steve questioned as you walked through the automatic doors.

“Oh, we don’t need anything. We are just looking to see if we see anything that we can’t live without.”

“That sounds like we are wasting time,” Steve wondered out loud, looking at me with a weird look in his eyes.

“It’s not wasting time, Stevie, it’s like a hobby, unnecessary but it brings joy.”

“Hm, okay,” Steve responded, not really believing it. 

Together, we walked through the entirety of the store, I would pick up random items, asking Steve his opinion of them. Before long, his interest was piqued and he was invested in this ‘hobby.’

“Baby,” Steve said, garnering my attention before shoving a kitchen tool in my face. “Look at this, I feel like this is something we can’t live without.”

“Steve, I’m not sure we have a use for a loose-leaf tea holder,” I said, a smile overtaking my face at his giddy reaction. “Have you ever had a cup of tea?”

“No, but I feel like I could start.”

“And that is when we know it’s the to leave the store,” I said, grabbing the item from him and putting it back on the shelf. Placing my hand out for Steve to grab it, he signed before accepting as I dragged us out of the store. 

“Next up is Ulta,” I said as he put the car into drive. “I have a few things I do need to buy so this is less casual browse and more of a get in and out situation.”

“Thank god, I know even less about makeup,” Steve breathed out.

“Well today is the day I teach you!”

A few minutes later, we pulled up to the Ulta. Steve got out before opening my door and together we walked through the second set of automatic doors today. “So I need to get more blush, mascara, and setting spray, just follow me.”

On a mission to get through the store, I quickly grabbed a basket and handed it to Steve, reminding him to follow me. I walked over to the Morphe setting spray and tossed one can in the basket. Then, I found the Fenty cream blush and mascara and tossed both of them into the basket. “Okay, handsome, let’s go checkout.”

“Let me get it for you,” Steve said as we approached the checkout counter. 

“Babe, these are not cheap, I can get it.”

“No,” Steve argued. “They can’t be that bad. It’s probably what, $30?”

The lady at the counter let out a laugh. “It’s his first time,” I said, pointing at Steve. “It’s going to be more than $30, baby.”

“Your total is $82.37,” The lady at the counter said, looking over to Steve to see his bewildered expression. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll let you get this one,” Steve whispered as I laughed and swiped my card. 

“Let’s go get groceries,” I said as we walked out of the store and back into Steve’s BMW. The drive to the grocery store was quick and before long, I was pulling out a cart to follow along with Steve’s grocery shopping. “I’ll follow you, handsome!”

“Okay, let’s start with the produce,” Steve said, taking off towards the fruits and vegetables. He started grabbing his essentials such as spinach, avocados, bell peppers, carrots, apples, and bananas. Then he started walking towards the bakery.

“Why did you throw in everything bagels?” I questioned. “You hate them...”

“You love them,” He shrugged before throwing more items in the cart. You were thrown off. Of course he would be kind enough to get you your favorite bagel, especially with the increase in sleepovers. After hearing his reasons I mumbled out a quick thank you before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

With a deep blush forming on his cheeks, Steve turned away before heading towards the dairy section. As I slowly followed him over, he already had a few items in his hands. When I approached, Steve put sweet cream creamer in the cart.

“Baby,” I said, grabbing the creamer back out of the cart. “You hate this creamer, why are you trying to buy it?”

“You love it,” He said, shrugging his shoulder AGAIN.

“Steven,” I said sternly. “You have to let me buy the things that I need to use when I’m at your place.”

“Absolutely not,” he responded before walking away. Steve continued walking down the aisles, throwing in his essential snacks and things to make dinner, especially with his parents away. Once we began walking down the chip aisle, Steve grabbed the blue Takis, throwing them in the cart too. 

“Steven, what are you doing, those are too hot for you!”

“You love them,” He reiterated. “I want you to be comfortable and have snacks and foods that you love whenever you’re with me. It’s my way of taking care of you.”

“Okay,” I whispered, abandoning the cart and throwing myself in Steve’s arms. As he secured his arms around me, I whispered, “Can we get some ice cream too?”

“Duh,” Steve said, smirking down at you. “It was already on the list, we just haven’t made it to the frozen section yet.” 

“You spoil me, Harrington,” I said, leaning up to kiss him in the middle of the grocery story chip aisle. 

“Mm,” Steve groaned, pulling himself away from me to respond. “I’d buy you ice cream and takes everyday if it brought that smile to your face.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you,” Steve echoed. “Let’s go finish up so we can go home and cuddle.”

“Errand day is the best day,” I said bumping my hips to Steve’s as we walked down the chip aisle together, Steve now pushing the cart.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington AU #Steve Harrington Fluff #Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington x Reader Fluff #fckinwild kiwi #fckinwild kiwi writing #stranger things au #stranger things fic #Stranger Things Fluff #comp lady domestic december #domestic december

[lacheri]

currently thinking about how Levi is a subtle lover. not that he doesn’t make grand gestures — he does, just not always in an overly romantic way.

your cup is always filled with water. in fact, it doesn’t ever stand the chance to empty. every sip you take, Levi watches. when the glass settles on a surface (your nightstand, the coffee table in the living room, the kitchen counter), he’s on his feet to refill it to the brim. he asks when you come home from work, school, errands — have you drank enough water today? — and no matter your response, it simply isn’t the right amount to satisfy Levi. he pushes that glass into your palms, eyeing you with an expectant gaze, and sighs in relief when you drink. making sure your basic needs are met are his top priority, because he’s not exactly sure what he’d do with himself if they weren’t, — I need you to take better care. I don’t need you getting sick or dehydrated on me. — because attempting to imagine a life where you’re not healthy and smiling and you’re not you is sickening at best and catastrophic at worst.

Levi develops a sixth sense to know when you’re stressed or overworked. it’s easy to tell the signs (the crinkle in your brow, the heavy sighs you release every few moments, the lethargy of your movements), but he just has a knowing, even before all of the warnings. he learns how to best destress you — do you want to watch a movie? you can put on whatever you want, I don’t mind. I’ll grab your blanket. we can share it. here, sit down on the couch, I’ll grab us a snack. I can get your pillow from the bedroom. don’t lift a finger. I got it. — until you’re calmed and sweet and relaxed. his fingers against your scalp, quiet breaths of contentment blowing against your ear, gentle kisses to your temple — are you feeling better? good. if you get tired we can go to bed early. yes, I’m sure. here, hold onto me, I’ll walk you to bed.

it’s domestic, pure, but it makes you feel so special and taken care of. spoiled, almost. he organizes the home you share to make the things you reach for the most easily accessible; your skincare products in the bathroom (beginning the line up with your cleanser and ending with your moisturizer), your novels on the bookshelf are in order from “to read” (closest on the bottom shelf) to “have read” (furthest on the top shelf), your travel mugs never leave the drying rack (you’re always running late, why put them away?) even though Levi hates the clutter. he accommodates and compromises without a single complaint. he goes out of his way to make life less complicated for you, and he enjoys it.

and when the gesture is grand, it’s thoughtful, sentimental, special. it’d be considered uncharacteristic of Levi from someone who didn’t know him like you do, but you do, you know him. you know how he schemes every year for months (your birthday, a holiday, any special occasion really) on what to gift you. Levi isn’t materialistic, but he really adores indulging, especially when it comes to you. he makes mental notes throughout the year, — you really liked that one sweater you saw when you went shopping together, that’d make a nice present. you’ve been eyeing at a record player for a while now, a vinyl collection full of your favorite albums would make you dance around the house with that silly smile you reserve only for your happiest moments. you made a comment how you wished you could take a vacation somewhere, he could afford to take a week or two off from work. — waiting for the perfect opportunity to execute any whim or desire you’d expressed. it’s more than just things, it’s parts of who you are. he wants to surround you with things that make you happy, provide you with experiences that bring comfort into your life.

maybe he’s not good with words, but he’ll show you how much he loves you through his attention, and you possess every shred of it.

#this is my thought #pushing my Levi is an acts of service lover agenda onto the dash this fine evening #back on my bullshit #sort of this is a bit all over the place but I cannot stop Envisioning him being domestic and sweet #he’s so boyfriend

[gingerbreadmonsters]

ALL MINE

or: it’s easy to have a good time, if you don’t mind getting a little messy - all it takes is meringue, cream, and strawberries.

the long-awaited finale of LOVE HEART! gn!reader, domestic fluff to smut, absolutely and without exception minors dni. this is… a lot more explicit than i thought it was going to be - i really didn’t think i had this in me, but what @ejunkiet wants, @ejunkiet gets! i hope this does the hot boi summer aesthetic justice :) sweetheart’s a brit because i say so - it’s not necessary for the plot, but quite frankly i think it’s a crime that eton mess and trifle don’t exist in america, and this is my only way of promoting them, so there you go. @solclaw is the source of all knowledge, and i am making trifle in their honour - rowan darling there is always an extra bowl for you! 

sweetheart is gender neutral, and their anatomy is not described. milo’s skin is stated to be of an appropriate colour to show love bites, but no specific colour is mentioned and the reader’s skin is not described at all. milo being an excellent sous chef for just over 3600 words.

this fic contains explicit content, and is 18+ only. minors please do not interact with this one i am BEGGING you. thank you.

“sweetheart, you’ve, uh… you’ve got a little somethin’ just there…”

“here?”

“a little higher, to the left - no, no, your left - let me just-”

he licks his thumb and strokes it over your cheek, wiping away the stickiness as your lips pull into a very familiar smirk. christ, he knows that look, knows what it means when you run your tongue over your teeth, eyebrow cocked and head tilted to the right - it usually means that whatever you’re about to say probably isn’t fit for polite company.

“it’s not fair - how come i always get it all over my face?”

damn that mouth of yours - even when he knows it’s coming, you still get him blushing up a storm. “not my fault you’re such a messy eater, sweetheart. maybe i oughta have you wearin’ an apron next time.”

you smack lightly him in the arm with the wooden spoon, laughing at his mock-outraged expression as you go back to your cake batter. “go and get me one then, lover boy. it’s weird to hear you telling me to put on clothes, though.”

he… yeah, he doesn’t really have a comeback to that.

the two of you have been in the kitchen all morning, putting together the desserts for david’s birthday party this afternoon. it’s pretty fucking warm today, early summer and all, so you’ve got all the windows open and the fan going full blast to try and balance out the heat from the oven. both of you are sweating from the humidity, so he’s can’t really be surprised you’d forgone the apron for a little while.

david always insists that he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, but the rest of the pack - as happens every year, and’ll probably happen until the end of time - has other ideas. about a month ago, his mate had sent him off on some errand or other and got straight on a video call with you, sam, and ash’s mate to get something together.

(he still can’t figure out how the four of you seem to read each other’s minds, ‘cause the lot of you can be fucking terrifying when you’re on a mission. if he’s honest, he’s still not recovered from that goddamn prank with the door, and he knows that ash has lived in permanent fear of sam’s overhand serve ever since his mate had made the dubiously-successful suggestion of late-night tennis. it’s got to be something to do with this secretive “mates’ group chat” he’s heard legends of…)

(it gets a little more complicated when you’ve got to get the actual wolves involved, but david’s mate is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to organising shit. jesus, it’s like they’re the alpha, sometimes, and you’ve told him that you’ve met superiors at DUMP that are less intimidating. it’s no bad thing - that’s what you need when you’re dealing with a crack team like the one right here.)

(well, maybe less of a crack team, and more of a team on crack, but that’s what you get for trying to get him and ash to actually stop bickering and decide on a playlist or whatever.)

in any case, the pair of you have been put in charge of desserts for today - well, nobody was going to have ash go anywhere near anything that needed to be edible, and sam had declined politely, saying something about how “unless david’s developed a taste for O negative, i might not be too much help in the caterin’ department”. fair enough.

it doesn’t help that basically the whole pack is coming, and wolves aren’t exactly known for their, uh, delicate eating habits. you’re going to need a lot of food, and as if that wasn’t enough, you’re going to have to impress david fucking shaw. looks like the fridge is going to be working overtime in this weather, huh?

you’d taken it as a challenge, which meant that yesterday evening had been dedicated to all of the shit that needed to set overnight: tiramisu, cheesecake, chocolate tart, caramel shortbread… he doesn’t know how the hell you managed to balance it all in the fridge, but he’s not touching it, not a chance.

(it’s got to the point where he had to ask you to grab him another can of soda off the shelf because he wasn’t looking to accidentally knock something over - you’d thought it was funny, but he’d been dead serious! that new flavour you bought - the ones in the pink cans? - is really good, especially in this heat, but it’s not worth a dessert catastrophe, alright?)

(he’s especially not going near the trifle on the middle shelf - it looks pretty freaking impressive, what with all the layers and shit, but he doesn’t need you mad at him for swiping one of the raspberries off the top.)

(he remembers you making it last time, when his ma’d come over for lunch at the weekend, and you’d damn near kicked his shit in for accidentally trying to put the custard in before the cream. let’s just say he’d got the message loud and clear - he doesn’t get in the way when you make trifle any more.)

this morning’s endeavours have got you two dashing about trying to get the last few desserts finished, in a flurry of buttercream and baking powder. neither of you could remember whether david likes chocolate or vanilla more, and his mate’s not picking up, so you’d just made both - the victoria sponge is cooling on the rack over by the microwave, and the chocolate cake’s just come out of the oven.

fuck, it’s hot in here today.

the morning is almost unbearably humid, sun beating down outside between a few, sparse clouds. looks like you’re both going to need a shower before you go, as if there wasn’t enough to do. his shirt’s unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to the elbows and collar hanging open, and he’d be tempted to take it off entirely if he didn’t know that when he does that, you almost always end up late.

you’ve got all of the ingredients for cream puffs (at least, he thinks that’s what they’ll be? you’d rattled off some fancy name, and he’d just kind of nodded and gone back to his strawberry mousse) laid out on the counter, while he slices up some kiwi for the fruit salad.

he’s not bad at cooking, by any means, but you’re the pro when it comes to desserts - he’s really just your sous chef today, and the system seems to be working pretty well.

(hey, it’s not like he minds you bossing him around a bit. he certainly hasn’t been complaining about the view today, seeing as the warm weather’s got you wearing a little less than normal.. and christ, when you do that thing where you grab him by the hips to move him out of the way? you know exactly what that does to him, you little minx.)

speaking of b- wait, what the hell are you- “sweetheart, what on earth…?”

you appear to be bashing the ever-loving shit out of the meringues he’d bought from the store yesterday with a rolling pin, and a plume of powdered sugar drifts up out of the bowl to get blown apart by the fan as you look up at him.

“eton mess,” you say, as if that explains everything. “can you pass me the strawberries?”

you’ve eaten what? he takes a big gulp of soda and watches as you tip the strawberries into the massive bowl, followed by an equally-enormous helping of whipped cream, and start mixing it all together. is that all you’re going to do? oh, wait, you’re adding a few handfuls of blueberries and… yeah, you’re just carrying it over to the fridge.

“it’s really nice, actually. sweetened cream, fruit, and smashed-up meringue. plus, it’s meant to look like a trainwreck because it literally has mess in the name, so david can’t complain.”

actually, that’s a pretty good idea. he drops the empty can into the trash, already missing the coolness of the metal on his warm skin, and reaches for another kiwi. “well then, i’ll guess have to try some when we get there, won’t i?”

you stop just in front of him on your path to the fridge, holding the bowl in one arm, and catch his wrist with the other.

“...sweetheart?”

“we have to be there at 1, right?”

what’s that look on your face? yeah, that’s what the text from ash’s mate had said. “well, the party actually starts at 2, but we gotta give the others a hand setting up, first. why?”

“did you want to try some now?”

he’s not quite sure what you mean, and your fond little huff tells him that he’s probably making that dumb expression that you keep telling him is cute, but he thinks is plain embarrassing.

“the eton mess, genius. want some?”

well, it can’t hurt, can it? not if you’re offering, surely. plus, you’d just said it was supposed to look all jumbled up, so nobody’ll miss a little bit of cream off the top. he reaches behind him to grab a teaspoon when-

“mmmm, it’s really sweet.”

his jaw drops. he swallows heavily, very glad that he hadn’t had a mouthful of soda, watching as you finish licking the cream off your fingers and hum contentedly. there’s a tiny smudge of powdered sugar just by the corner of your lip.

“baby, you gotta…”

the thought tapers off into nothing as you dip your finger back into the bowl and swipe it through the cream, looking up from your hand to meet his gaze. “don’t worry, honey. i already washed my hands.”

your other hand deposits the dessert on the kitchen table behind you, and comes to slide around his waist, under his shirt, as you move closer. idly, he feels your fingers playing with the back of his waistband. his own hands, still sticky with kiwi juice, hover just over your hips.

“go on. try some.”

no need to tell him twice. he leans down and licks your finger into his mouth.

mmmm, you were right, it is good. the sweet cream tastes like vanilla and strawberries, and the crunchy pieces of meringue melt slowly in his mouth. he swirls his tongue around the tip of your finger, eyes closed, lapping up the drops of strawberry juice in the creases and spirals of your fingerprint.

your other hand is digging insistently into his back now, fingernails pressing into the muscle there as his teeth graze across your skin, biting gently at the pad of your fingertip before releasing it from his mouth with an exaggerated pop.

“...how was it?” you’re both breathless, not an inch of space between you as he slowly licks his lips.

“i’m not too sure, sweetheart,” as he spins you both around so you’re leaning up against the counter, “i might need another taste to make sure.”

your answering grin only lasts a split second before he’s kissing you, all tongue and teeth and powdered sugar. sticky hands come up to cup your jaw as you greedily reciprocate, hastily untying the knot of your apron behind you.

everything is hot, the fiery heat of your lips against his as he growls softly into your mouth, and he briefly thinks that he probably ought to put the bowl behind you in the fridge before you get too distracted.

the thought is quickly forgotten when he feels you start to play with the tab of his zipper - he tips his head back and gasps as you press burning kisses down his throat, nipping at his adam’s apple.

“baby, baby - aghhh…”

you smile against his skin, cheek resting on his shoulder. “too much?”

“no, nonono, it’s good, ‘s really, really, oh, sweethea- fuckfuckfuckplease-!”

his brain goes delightfully blank as your fingers dip inside the elastic of his boxers and close around his cock. the pressure is just enough to have him groaning, hips twitching forwards into your hand, slow strokes just the way you know he likes.

head spinning, he pulls hazily at the hem of your shirt, too drunk on your touch to hear your laughter (he can’t quite tell if you’re calling him “needy” or “pretty”, and it really could be either), too desperate to worry about the careless way he’s practically tearing your clothes off you.

whatever it was, he’ll buy you a new one.

now that he thinks about it, with what little brainpower he can summon, this is probably why you asked him what time the party started.

“let - hahhh - sweetheart, let me touch you too,” he’s burying himself in your neck frantically, pushing his face against the sweet spot under your jaw, “wanna touch, want you feelin’ good, let m- shit, right there- sweetheart!”

you nod, regretfully withdrawing your hand as he hoists you up to sit on an empty part of the counter, between a stack of cookbooks and the side of the fridge. as soon as you’re settled, he wastes no time in pulling your face back down for another kiss while you shimmy out of the rest of your clothes.

you dangle your shirt just at the edge of his vision, showing off the unfortunate rip in the side seam that couldn’t possibly have been his fault, but you’re quickly placated by his teeth skimming over your now-bare collarbone.

he’s fairly sure you forget about it entirely when he makes good on his promises - one arm hooks around your shoulder and up to the far side of your head to nestle your face down into his neck, and the other runs over your chest and down your stomach until he finds what he’s looking for.

“nnnng, milo- ah!” your stifled keening goes straight to his head as you rock into his hand, voice breaking as he works you harder. he always knows how to make you sloppy, slick snaps of his wrist just where you’re most sensitive. “more, more, need it, yesyesyes-”

he shushes you softly, kissing the top of your head while he makes you see stars. “that’s it, sweetheart, mate, my mate, so good, so so good, that’s my baby…”

your hands scrabble to push his shirt off his shoulders, but it doesn’t quite work with his arm up by your head as he keeps you upright, cheek now against his chest. instead, you settle for reaching back down to stroke him faster this time, feeling more than hearing the growl that shudders through him as you tease the tip.

he feels the pleased thrumming of your mate bond, right in his chest where you’re pressed against him, and curses lowly as you kiss just over where the magic settles. goddamn, does it feel good when you’re both all blissed out like this - heady pleasure ricochets across the bond, building and building inside, misting in his mind until he’s not sure where he ends and you begin.

both of you are shaking now, sticky with sweat and eyes screwed shut as you prop each other up. he knows he’s getting close, faster than usual, but he doesn’t want to stop so soon, especially not when you - fucking hell, when you twist your hand like tha- haaah…

“sweetheart - sweetheart, please, can i…?”

he doesn’t even get the whole question out, although that’s probably for the best seeing as he’s not sure his love-drunk brain can manage full sentences right now. you’re already wrapping your legs around his waist and urging him closer to you, one hand on his shoulder and the other spreading yourself open for him.

“yeah, yeah, please, milo i need you, love you, love you so much…” he can tell that you’re having as much trouble as he is with words, but even so your voice is equal parts lust and love as you lean in to sweetly kiss his nose. fuck, you’re hot, and he can’t help but smile softly at the adoration on your face when he presses his forehead to yours, reaching up to gently smooth his thumb over your cheek.

the world goes blurry for a second as he pushes into you - you’re so warm, so slick and tight, aching for him to fill you, hold you, please you. the mate bond in his chest is white-hot and happy, sparking with joy as you tug him closer. he sets a decent pace, a little faster than normal, savouring the way you stutter and whine with pleasure into his skin.

“feels - mmf! - you, you, i-” the stack of cookbooks by your hip totters as you hastily push it aside, limbs clumsy and breath hitching.

“i, yeah, i know, ‘s good, so fucking perfect, sweetheart-!”

he grinds his cock deeper and deeper, laying you back on the counter and pressing his weight down over your body. the change in angle lets him nudge up against that sweet spot that has you gasping for air, back arching up into him and hot, needy tears threatening to spill over.

he feels the sudden burst of ecstasy as it rushes through you and overflows into your bond, and he moans, long and broken, into your neck. your hand slips between your bodies, lower and lower, so he tilts his hips just a little to give you the room you need to - shit, he loves watching you make yourself feel good, and the way you tighten and tense around him is almost, almost too much.

every instinct tells him to mark you, his mate, and he feels his teeth start to ache as you rock up into him.

he licks over your pulse, feels it pounding under his tongue, and wordlessly urges you to do the same. your free arm loops around him and your fingers tangle into his hair as you seek out the fading hickeys on his neck, a satisfied hum swelling in your chest as new ones blossom in the wake of your mouth.

his teeth dig into your shoulder when you leave a particularly dark love bite just above his collarbone, and he can tell that neither of you are going to last much longer.

“milo, milo- nnnng, so much, can’t… please!”

giddy with pleasure, he threads his arm under your waist to press right back into that sweet spot inside you, the heat of you too much to bear. “yeah, s’okay, sweetheart, s’okay, let go - baby, fuck, mine, my mate, all m- haahh-!”

his core sings with yours, desire and love and bliss washing over the bond and sloshing around in his chest. somehow, his lips find yours, and for a second - no, an hour - no, forever, he and you are paradise.

slowly, the world begins to filter back in, and he watches fondly as you grab the side of the fridge to pull yourself upright.

“how- how long do we have?” your voice is soft and a little hoarser than before.

he blinks up at the clock over by the doorway. “it’s… nearly half past eleven?”

your eyes meet, and you sigh once before pushing him back a step and letting him help you down off the counter. he’s sure that he probably looks totally fucked out right now, hair a mess and eyes still a little dreamy, but he helps you into the bathroom and leaves you to shower.

(he’d much prefer to shower with you, but he knows exactly how that’s going to end, and neither of you need david’s mate yelling at you for turning up late. he’ll be damned if ash and his mate beat you there again.)

walking back into the kitchen, he picks up the remains of both of your clothes and heads towards the bedroom to put them in the laundry hamper, remembering halfway through that he needs to put your bowl of meringue-cream-whatever in the fridge. and finish cutting the fruit. and melt the chocolate, and turn the cake out of the pan, and-

the sound of running water in the bathroom stops. he’ll do it in a minute.

-

surprisingly, you do actually make it to david’s house mostly on time, although unfortunately not before ash catches you two running in from the car. he smiles wickedly as he opens his mouth, presumably to say something about the very obvious hickeys all over milo’s throat, but you cut him off before he can even manage a wolf whistle.

“milo, baby, did you bring the tennis rackets, or is sam going to?”

ash immediately flinches, life apparently flashing before his eyes, and ducks back into the house - presumably to beg his mate not to make him play against sam again. you snicker, leaning into his side, and god, does he love you.

(he did not bring the rackets, thank goodness. david would probably commit a murder if he thought they were going to try and fuck up his yard with tennis.)

(again.)

“you’re somethin’ else, you know that, sweetheart?”

“yeah,” you reply, “and you like it.”

well, he can’t say no to that. the pair of you wave david’s mate over to help you carry the desserts inside, and he’s suddenly overcome with a rush of affection as you heft the stack of cake tins in your arms.

just before you cross the doorway, he stops you.

“hold on a second, baby. i think you’ve, got a little somethin’ just there…”

“hmmm? where?”

he kisses the side of your cheek sweetly, “all gone now, sweetheart. just a little leftover cake mixture, is all.”

your face splits into a devilish grin as you realise what he’s doing, and in the early afternoon sun it makes you look like a goddamn angel.

“not my fault i’m such a messy eater.”

PART 4 - always read the label

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #milo x sweetheart #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted smut #redacted fluff #milo x reader #redacted asmr smut #redacted asmr fluff #ginger after dark #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

[lillylvjy]

brainrot ACTIVATED

~~~

after moving in with ghosts, you adjust as needed but you still go out and hang out with a couple of old friends, go out and run errands. you still have a life, the point is. wilbur knows his ended, and still, he can't help himself when he sees you come home smiling and laughing on the phone. he wants to be that reason and he wants what you have.

he can't leave the place, can't change his clothes, not really. he's stuck in time and he wants out. he wants to be alive again.

you can sense these moods he gets in, when he gets quiet and only watches you from across the room instead of getting in your space. when he leaves you alone, when he doesn't ask any questions when you leave and come back.

and you can't believe it but you have to take action so your domestic ghost stops moping. so you leave a little a less, not majorly, but more often than not, you take the chance to stay home and watch shows with wilbur and tommy. at first, it was just tommy. wilbur didn't want to get close, wanting to swallow his feelings down and avoid them. but then you'd turn to look at him and smile and pat the spot next to you and suddenly he'd almost feel alive again.

things get better. wilbur starts talking again, starts joking again. smiles more. makes you flustered even more so. he's just so happy to be in your life and that you want him in it, he almost can't believe the feelings bubbling in his cold chest. he knows what they mean, he doesn't want to ruin what you two have, though. he likes what he has with you.

one night, while you're pulling the covers over your shoulders and he only peaks in to make sure you're going to bed, by the way, you catch his eye and he apologizes quietly. you shut him up by inviting him in.

"you can lay down," you say, scooting over to the wall and lifting the covers. he can't say anything, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. but he moves, moves and lays down as gently as he can, sinking into the warm blankets. your eyes flutter close, a hint of a smile on your face.

its at the tip of his tongue, the start of a confession. his mouth is stuck together. he can't fall asleep either. but when he knows you are, he leans a little closer and tucks the blanket more over you.

he hesitates, but in the end, he presses a kiss to your forehead. he whispers goodnight and closes his eyes. sinking even more so into the warmth of your bed, your covers, and your body next to him. for now, he can keep his feelings to himself. he can stay quiet for that one thing. it's okay, because you're here and you want him here too.

~~~

sorry if this is a bit much, i got a wee bit of the rot but like gbgjknnsg aNYWAYS. hope this helps and that you like it!

This- did you read my plans for part 3/4?! Cuz like- THIS JIST OPENED UP MY MIND- wipes oml-

No but everytime you’d go out- he’d be jealous at whoever got to see you and go out with you. He wants that too be him. He wants to be by your side, outside of this hell hole.

And when he sees you trying your best to get him back to, Wilbur. He feels bad, he made you think you had to do this for him. But he’s also silently thankful you did, bc you gets more of you. He gets to see you smile and blush and laugh. All because of him. And Tom sometimes too.

So it kinda sparks something in him and is growing back to himself again.

Now when you invite him to bed- it’s so tempting to pull you close to his chest and pour out his heart to you.

No doubt he’d do that while your sleeping and then soon realize that shit- you didn’t hear a word he said and he has to say it again- to your face. It terrifies him in the best ways.

But he is super insecure about what you think of him and he doesn’t want to ruin anything. So for now he’ll be the silly little ghost that lives in your house and flirts with you ever once in a while-

#wipes my love #oml #the brainrot is getting me through this editing process #lilly’s ask