#from the dining table to the church

[proventobeaj3lover]

ONE WORD

SMASH

(read tags)

[heavenlyraindrops]

smash

fallen angel

[hanniedream]

[bihanslefttitty]

I need more Geras content, he's so cute. I want to (REDACTED)

[apollo-zero-one]

I'm gonna read the Bible and start praying and possibly going back to church, I only wanna go to a UU church though because that's the only kind I ever felt safe in, and the nearest one I will have to see if the busses run there that early or if I could theoretically bike it...

I'm going to try to find a job with Sunday/Monday/Tuesday off (or at least Sun-Mon off), so I'll work Wed-Sat, and also days, possibly first shift? I want to get off nights though. We'll see. But I'd like to start going to church every Sunday like I did as a kid. I'd like to learn the prayers I rejected for so long. I feel disconnected from the Universe and maybe faith will soothe that. It can't hurt.

[rosiereveries]

Regency!John Price who inherited his brothers duke title, because his brother died without an heir. John was the second oldest son, and he never thought about being the successor to the title, so he chose a military career.

He was a captain who fought wars and won them, not some lord who fancied balls and dressed in fancy clothing. But now he doesn’t have a choice. John comes back home after he has been badly injured in the battle, he was shot in his leg, and he had to use a wheelchair for quite some time.

When he comes home, to the new house and staff who pities him, he doesn’t feel like a man he once was. At the first ball he must attend he can see everyone eyes on him as he stumbles with his cane. He absolutely hates it. So, he makes a plane, he has to quickly marry some girl, make an heir and go live to the countryside where everyone will leave him alone.

You were on the other hand the youngest daughter of noble family. You weren’t rich, but your sisters and brothers married well, so you could keep good family reputation. Now it was your turn to marry, and as you were introduced to the society you quickly came to the realization, that you will probably end as a wife of some old man, who could be your grandfather.

So, when your cousin Johnny mentions, that his loyal friend and mentor John Price is looking for a wife you are interested. He tells you that John is a duke now and that he wants to get married as soon as possible. From Johnnys stories you know that John is a good man, who will hopefully respect you and treat you well.

You don’t get to meet your husband till the day of the wedding. The whole engagement is short and feels very official. He writes you a letter with things that you should know about your new home and your mother and sisters help you prepare for the married life.

When you finally see your future husband standing in the church, you’re quite surprised. He is very handsome, older than you, probably in his late 30s, but you’re sure that if he waited a little, he could find a better wife that you will be. John on the other hand is smitten by you, he also doesn’t understand why you would choose to marry him.

After the ceremony you immediately leave the town. He is very quiet the whole ride to his mansion and even thought you have many questions you stay quiet too. You arrive late in the night, exhausted from the long travel, but the only thing that concerns you is the wedding night. You heard a lot of horrible stories told by maids about their first nights with their husbands. The only thing that John does is that he shows you your room, tells you which butler to call if you have any troubles and he is gone. You’re left in the huge mansion alone and confused.

The breakfast takes place in the dining room. You sit at the table so far from John that you would have to shout to get his attention. He ignores you most of the time. At first you don’t mind it, you finally have some sort of freedom, you explore the land, the house and you find a huge library with many books you want to read.

But after some time, you start to crave his attention. The maids don’t want to be your friends, they think that it is highly inappropriate, you as a couple don’t attend any balls and there is no noble lady in the near distance you could visit and be friends with.

So, you start to write a diary, you write about how you feel and how would you like your husband to actually acknowledge you. Sometimes you also mention that you find him very attractive and the romance novels that you found in the library don’t help your imagination.

One time you forget your diary in the library and John accidentally picks it up. He thinks its some book that he hasn’t read yet. When he realizes that it is your handwriting, he knows that he should put it down, it is not right to invade your privacy. But then he sees his name there and he must know what you write about him.

He reads the whole paragraphs about how your meetings in the dinning room leaves you all flustered and how you crave his attention. He didn’t think that a young girl like you could find him attractive, and he wanted to be a good husband and leave you as much freedom as you could want. He didn’t want to pressure you into any kind of intimate relationship even though he was pressured by the rest of his family to have an heir. John leaves your diary where he found it, without any evidence that he read it.

The next morning, he invites you to eat breakfast with him in the garden. It is far more intimate, and you finally have a conversation with him. He asks you questions about your hobbies, your family and if you like it here.

It finally feels like he is courting you and you leave every encounter with him with rosy cheeks and butterflies in your stomach. He invites you on walks where he holds your hand as you tell him about your day or about the new book you just left. You spend the whole days together learning about each other.  

John tells you stories about the war, the battles he fought. His leg heals up perfectly and now, that he is healthy again, he takes you with him when he goes riding. When you ask him if he likes the hight society he tells you the truth. He tells you how much he despises the formal event and the balls and suddenly it all makes sense to you.

You finally understand why he wanted to marry so quickly and why you live alone in the middle of nowhere. You tell him that you loved the dancing and the beautiful gown you could wear at balls but now you don’t mind the quiet life. Now you have him and that is all that matters.  

One evening he makes a ball just for you. He invites a musician to play, he buys you an expensive gown and you pretend that you are at some formal event. It’s just the two of you dancing, laughing and drinking expensive champaign he bought for the ball. You dance the whole night and after he walks you to your bedroom he kisses you. It is a soft kiss, just your lips barely touching, but it starts a fire in you, and you want more.

When John realizes that you’re not pulling away he deepens the kiss. He knows that you have no experiences, and he wants to show you that he will treat you well. He spends the night with you, showing you in many ways how much he loves you.

And when you finally fall asleep, he thinks how lucky he is to find a wife like you. When you wake up and you see your husband sleeping in your bad you are very grateful that you accidentally left your diary in the library open on the page that mentioned how hot he was. Such a shame you didn’t come up with the plan a little earlier.

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[cherrygirlfriend]

Hiii darling, I was thinking about how reader loves to give nerd!rafe a boner in the most inappropriate times just to see how red and nervous he gets

three times when perv!reader got nerd!rafe hard at inappropriate moments. 18+

thank you for the request!! i hope you enjoy love <3 btw, i’m starting a taglist for rafe! feel free to lmk by comment or dm if you want to be added!!

⭑.ᐟ rafe and you were sitting in the school cafeteria, your lips pursed as you watched your crush eat, talking in between swallows about a new game he’d stayed up to play for the entire night. you nodded along, even though you really had no clue what he was talking about. it didn’t really matter; rafe always looked so cute when he started rambling about his interests.

“it’s such a scary and immersive experience, and the ghosts are different types! some of them are actually based on japanese folklore like oni, onryo, obake… you can also play it with your friends, and i think we should really do that. i have a ps5 in my dorm and you could play it on that while i play on my pc.” rafe mumbled excitedly before he turned to look at you, his brows furrowing when he realized that you’d been staring at him, “is… is there something on my face?”

“no. i just think you’re cute.” you said nonchalantly, placing your hand on his upper thigh, the boy’s eyes widening and a pink tint slowly starting to appear on his cheeks. rafe looked away to hide his flushing face, but as you squeezed your thigh, you couldn’t help but look down and notice him hardening. “we should totally play it together.

⭑.ᐟ after five months of being together, you decided to introduce rafe to your parents, the boy now sitting at your dinner table. he looked adorable, wearing a dark blue sweater vest over a button-down, dressed like he was going to church instead of your home.

“i’ve gotta say, rafe, you’re not like most guys my daughter brings home.” your father crossed his hands, his shoulders resting against the dining table. “dad!” you chided in embarrassment, feeling your face turn hot. “what, sweetheart? it’s true. most of the boys you’ve brought home to meet us have been the type of boys no man wants within five feet of their baby girl.”

“well, i’m not a baby anymore.” you mumble, your lips turned down into a pout while rafe lets out a small chuckle next to you. his hand moves to take yours under the table, intertwining your fingers, your pout turning into a small smile, “don’t worry, sir. i intend to take good care of your daughter.”

after dinner, rafe had insisted on doing the dishes, earning a delighted, clearly approving look from your mother. as your boyfriend stood at the sink, you couldn’t help but approach him from behind, your arms wrapping around his torso, turning your head so your cheek was against his back. “you know, my parents really like you.”

“mmhm, you think so?” he hummed, his muscular back warm against your cheek as he continued doing the dishes. “that’s good.”

“no it’s not.” you pouted, “it means we’ll have to break up.”

at your words, your boyfriend turned around in your arms and you looked up at him, “we have to break up because your parents like me?” rafe asked, his hands wet and soapy and a dumbfounded look on his face, “yeah. i can’t have a boyfriend that my parents like.” you grinned mischievously, pressing a small peck on his lips. “you’re impossible.”

“mmhm. how impossible am i?” you asked, pressing yourself into him, rafe letting out a low whine, “angel, we’re at your parents’ place.”

“i’m well aware.” you bit down on your lower lip and pressed yourself into him again, another whine leaving rafe’s lips as he closed his eyes, and you could feel him starting to get hard, his growing erection pressing against your leg. but when you did it for the third time, rafe let out a whimper and you knew you had him hooked, “wanna make my parents like you a little less and sneak into my old room?”

⭑.ᐟ if there was something that could bore you to death, it would be history class. you sat with your friends, simply admiring your boyfriend’s side profile, rafe choosing to sit a few rows ahead of you because he knew if he sat next to you, you’d never let him get anything done; you were never too good at paying attention in class, but it definitely helped to be dating the smartest guy who was meticulous about his notes and more than willing to share them with his girlfriend.

you leaned your head on your hand, a small smile on your face as you watched him, scribbling notes into his notebook, his glasses close to falling off his nose; you’d asked him once why he just didn’t use a laptop, and he’d told you writing via hand helped him remember better. it was so adorable.

you took out your phone, hiding it out of view from the professor, but as you glanced at rafe, you couldn’t help but want to tease him.

going into the hidden folder of your photo gallery, you scrolled through it a bit until you found a picture of yourself taken in the shower; or more like, a picture of your tits, your bare chest soaped up, the picture cropped so you could only see your pouty lips, your arm covering your nipples.

you shared it to the contact ‘my love ♡’ along with the message ‘bored :((’, and when the screen said that it was delivered, you watched the screen of rafe’s phone lit up. discreetly, he put down his pen and grabbed the phone.

delivered turned into read, and within seconds, his phone was face down on the desk, and rafe whipped his head to look at you, his cheeks red and eyes wide; you simply blew him a kiss.

when rafe turned back around to face the professor, though, you couldn’t help the grin that took over your face when you noticed him adjusting his pants at the crotch before going back to taking notes.

please send me requests and check out my masterlist! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[deadpresidents]

"Vocabor Franciscus. "I will be called Francis." It was a breathtaking choice. Because no pope had ever taken the name, it needed no Roman numerals but stood stark and simple...No one ever thought a pope could be called Francis; it would be like taking the name Peter, or Jesus. They were one of a kind.

"I was astonished at the boldness of it, because the name Francis is a whole program of governance in miniature," the Vatican commentator John Allen told Boston Radio. "He is this iconic figure in the Catholic imagination that awakens images of the antithesis of the institutional church...That's an awful lot of weight to put on your shoulders right out of the gate. If you're not prepared to walk that talk, then you're going to be in real trouble."

Bergoglio had walked that talk over a lifetime. Right now it mostly meant saying no, like keeping his old black shoes, his silver pectoral cross (a pope's is normally gold), and his faithful black plastic watch, or refusing the limousine waiting to take him back to the guesthouse for dinner ("May God forgive you for what you have done," he joked with the cardinals [who had just elected him]). After Mass with the cardinals the next day, he left the Vatican in a Ford Focus -- the security guards had better cars than the pope -- to pray at the shrine of Saint Mary Major, returning via the priests' hostel where he had stayed before the conclave. There he collected his bag, paid his bill to a shocked clerk ("I checked in under another name" was the caption on a widely tweeted photo), and chatted and joked with staff. There wasn't much to collect. He had been washing his clothes at night, letting them dry on the radiator...

...It was lots of those little things. They weren't mere gestures, nor were they calculated messages. They flowed from his identification with the Christ of the Gospels..."We must learn to be normal!" he told his Jesuit interviewer, Father Antonio Spadaro, in August that year, and he put it into practice, collecting his tray of food in the Santa Marta dining room like anyone else, making his own phone calls and many of his appointments, keeping his own diary, and making visits -- always in the blue Ford Focus, without any kind of entourage -- to parishes and charities around Rome, to spend time with the old and the homeless and the foreign-born.

Stories of Francis's personal kindness, impossible to verify, began to make their rounds, like the time he left his room to find a Swiss Guard standing outside his door and brought him a chair. "But Holy Father, I cannot sit down. My boss does not allow it," the guard told him. "Well, I'm the boss of your boss, and I say it's fine," Francis told him, before going back inside to fetch him the Italian equivalent of a Twinkie...

...Francis has become the most accessible of modern popes, almost always to be found at lunchtime in the Santa Marta restaurant, where he has his own table set aside, but stands in the queue with his tray like everyone else. Visitors report that he comes out of the Santa Marta to greet them personally, while hostel guests are often shocked to find that when elevator doors open the pope steps in ("I don't bite," he reassures them)."

-- Austen Ivereigh, on how different Pope Francis was from his monarchical predecessors and how shocking it was at the Vatican immediately following his election at the 2013 Conclave when Francis decided to live in a simple room at the Vatican's guesthouse instead of the luxurious papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, in the 2014 book, The Great Reformer: Francis and the Making of a Radical Pope (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona i NEED to yap about this thought I had about the angst Dukedom au so my brain worms will let me sleep. I Imagine a people's princess duchess who spends time with others to fill in for the lack of emotional connection between her and John and people just do not understand why she is out of the house so much. Tea with the ladies? She's there. Charity event for struggling orphans? Duchess is there to help! Church in the middle of the afternoon on a random day? She's in the pew. The house is taken care of, her parties are enjoyable, but why is she gone so often? Duchess just gives a pained smile and says that her husband does not mind her being gone because neither the staff nor him want her there. Why ask her husband for love when he clearly just needed someone to run the duchy?

Hope your sleep went well <3 i nees these men to suffer tbh

The house runs itself.

At least, that is what you tell yourself. The schedules are in place, the staff well-trained, the estate thriving. You have done your duty as Duchess of Price, managing affairs with grace, ensuring that the duchy’s name remains untarnished, that the books are balanced, and the tenants are provided for. You have even done more than what was expected, expanding the duchy’s charitable reach, establishing new programs for the less fortunate, and ensuring the nobility sees the Price name attached to every act of generosity.

And yet, despite all your efforts, there is no warmth in your home.

The staff keep their distance. There are no hushed greetings in the morning, no inquiry into your health when you sit at the long dining table, staring at your untouched, cold meals that are a stark contrast to the others’ steaming dishes.

They serve you as required, but do not linger. They do not ask if you would like another cup of tea, if your shawl is warm enough, if the flowers in your room are to your liking. You don’t need them to do it, but- it’s the emphasized loneliness that hurts the most.

John is no different.

You see him at dinners, always seated across from you, his gaze never lingering, his words few and functional. He speaks to Kyle more than he speaks to you. He shares glances with Simon that you have never been privy to, and when Johnny appears with a dish in hand, John’s expression softens in a way it never does for you.

Meanwhile, you are… tolerated.

And so, you leave.

Your absence from the manor goes unnoticed at first.

The city welcomes you in ways your home never has. Tea with the noble ladies? You never miss an afternoon, sipping floral blends as you listen to idle gossip, smiling where appropriate. A charity event for struggling orphans? You are the first to arrive, personally distributing warm coats and new shoes to children who look at you with something you rarely receive- gratitude.

Church in the middle of the afternoon? You kneel in silent prayer, hands clasped, seeking answers from a God who offers none. And yet the statues and pews are still not as cold towards you as your own husband.

“Duchess, you do so much,” Lady Bethany remarks one afternoon over luncheon, her fan flicking open with an appreciative snap. She’s a pretty thing, recently wed and already draped in the pretty glow of pregnancy. “I swear, I see you more than your own husband must.”

You laugh softly, demure and mindful. “The duchy has many responsibilities.”

“And yet you make time for everything but your home?” Another lady muses, curiosity laced in her tone.

You lower your gaze to your plate, the question hanging in the air. You have learned to navigate this tightrope of expectations, of unspoken truths wrapped in silk and civility.

With a practiced, pained smile, you say: “My husband does not mind my absence.”

You let the words settle before adding, voice barely above a whisper, “Neither he nor the staff particularly miss me.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Lady Bethany’s fan stills, her eyes softening towards you. Another woman fidgets with her gloves. No one speaks, and you take a sip of your tea, the bitterness sharp on your tongue.

Why ask for love when your husband only needed someone to run the duchy?

And the house remains indifferent to your absence- at first.

The staff continue their duties as usual, the butlers maintaining the schedule, the maids ensuring the rooms remain pristine. No one spares a thought for why you are always gone, only that it makes their jobs easier.

Until, one evening, Kyle pauses in the study, glancing at the untouched tea left on a side table. The Duchess usually ensures the staff are well taken care of, he realizes. Who had reminded them today?

No one.

In the kitchens, Johnny frowns when he notices the ledger left open, the list of requested ingredients unusually long. You had always been meticulous, approving the finest quality for the household, ensuring every item was fresh and of the best stock. The kitchen had run smoothly for months, never wanting for anything.

Now, it was as if no one had noticed the difference until the fruits arrived bruised and the meat not quite up to the usual standard.

Simon notices, too. The events you planned, the invitations you managed, the way you always ensured John’s name was spoken with admiration at every gathering- without you, the social scene seemed… quieter. The duchy’s presence less prominent.

And John notices most of all.

At first, he does not think much of it. His wife was always attending some function or another. That was her role, wasn’t it? To manage the estate, to see to the duchy’s reputation?

But then, he starts seeing the effects of your absence the longer you continue to keep to the people and not the duchy.

The reports come in slower. The meetings with city officials, once neatly arranged for his convenience, are now scattered, delayed. The letters from the nobility are fewer, the invitations sparser. The charitable events- ones that bore the Price name- have dwindled in number.

And the house itself… feels empty.

John returns from meetings to silence. Dinners are quiet, even when the others join him. There is no soft rustling of skirts as you pass through the halls, no gentle murmur of your voice as you speak to the staff.

One evening, he enters his study to find a stack of correspondence on his desk- letters you had handled, decisions you had made.

You had been doing so much.

Too much.

And no one had noticed.

When he finally seeks you out, it is not in your chambers.

John finds you in the drawing room, seated by the window, your hands resting idly in your lap. Your gaze is distant, unfocused, the usual light in your eyes dimmed. Winter was drawing nearer, and so gatherings dwindled in number and as a result, you had to spend more time in this cold, unfeeling house.

For the first time in months, he hesitates.

“…You’ve been busy.” He says at last.

You turn your head slightly, but you do not smile. Or at least, put no effort in making your smile appear genuine. “As have you, my lord.”

He swallows, uncertain. “You have done a fine job with the duchy, wife. The duchy is in good standing.”

You inhale, waiting for the unspoken ‘but.’

“But…” He hesitates. “Some matters are not quite as well-managed as before.”

Your lips curl in a faint, humorless smile. “Did it take you long to notice?”

John exhales slowly. He had not noticed, not until things started slipping. But now, looking at you- at the exhaustion in your frame, the emptiness in your eyes- he realizes you had been holding up far more than he had ever given you credit for.

“… You aren’t here anymore much.” His voice is quiet now, almost careful. As if he is speaking to an animal that will bite him if he misspeaks.

You laugh softly, but there is no joy in it. “Would you want to spend your days in a house where you are not wanted? That aside, I assumed you would prefer not to see me at all.

“I never said you weren’t wanted. Nor have I told you I’d prefer it if you were away.”

“You didn’t need to.”

The realization strikes down much like a hammer, and all that’s left in its wake is silence.

John had always assumed you knew- knew that your marriage was one of convenience, that his affections lay elsewhere, that you were never meant to be part of the life he had built with his men.

But looking at you now, he realizes he had mistaken your silence for understanding. Had mistaken your silence for acceptance, for agreement that you were complete fine with this cruel treatmeant.

He had thought you accepted it, that you preferred the distance.

But had you?

Or had you simply endured it because… there was nothing else to do?

You sigh, bowing your head to avoid his gaze. Your voice is quiet when you speak next, bereft of any hope, any warmth.

“…I shall return to my duties in the morning, and I will keep out of everyone’s way, my lord. Goodnight.”

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 35

summary: It’s your wedding night, and you’re finally alone with your husband in the privacy of your hotel suite. Not that you care much about privacy when things get hot and heavy on the balcony.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, explicit smut, age gap (about ten years), two extremely horny newlyweds, Husband Javier Peña, dirty talk, oral sex (f + m receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), rough sex, loud balcony sex, exhibitionism, romantic bathtub sex, BREEDING KINK (so much), praise kink, marriage kink, love kink, ring kink, drinking, being buzzed, love confessions, body worship, body insecurity (and Javier making you feel better), cuteness aggression, relationship insecurity, romantic comedy, domestic bliss, Javier with kids, a new POV)

word count: 20k+

a/n: Hey! I hope you remember me. Lmao Let me just say the last six months have been literal hell, and my life is still in shambles. On a positive note, I’m no longer working 60-80 hours a week, and I now have time to write. A couple of notes about this chapter. It takes place in January of 1999. With inflation, $150 in 1999 would be $300 today. A big thanks to @devineconjuring for betaing! Also, thank you to @juletheghoul for checking out my Spanish. Thank you for reading!

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

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The San Agustín de Laredo Historic District, located downtown along the banks of the Rio Grande River, was where the original city of Laredo was established in 1755. The area had many buildings dating back to the 1800s, like the district’s namesake, San Agustín Cathedral—a place you were familiar with as it happened to be the church Chucho and many members of your new family attended and was where he married your mother-in-law some forty-plus years ago.

La Posada was the fanciest hotel in town since it offered room service and had valet parking. It was just down and across the old, narrow brick road from your family’s church. The tall, white bell tower could even be seen looming high in the sky from the hotel’s entrance.

The inn, opened in 1961, had its own rich history as it occupied the original high school building that was constructed back in 1916 and was surrounded by some 19th-century structures—one was a former convent, and another was the Capitol building for the short-lived Republic of the Rio Grande. Most of the buildings in the area showed Spanish and Mexican influences, including the hotel, with its rounded arches at entryways and windows, thick stucco coating the outer walls, and many balconies, courtyards, columns, and elaborately carved doors.

Javi could’ve rented you a regular room at La Posada or even something at the Motel 6 off the highway, and you would’ve been happy as a clam. Your dear, sweet, wonderful husband, however, didn’t think either of those options was good enough for you and somehow managed to book the ever-elusive Presidential Suite; this was the room that a person with any kind of notoriety stayed in when they were passing through the Rio Grande Valley—think B-list celebrities, like Matthew McConaughey, or campaigning politicians.

Most of the hotel was only two stories high, but one stretch had a third level dedicated to a few luxury suites, including where you were staying. Through the double doors of your one-bedroom accommodations was a small entryway that led to the living room featuring a built-in bar—a shelf with a variety of liquors, a countertop with different kinds of glasses, and a cocktail shaker—a sitting area with an entertainment system, and French doors that opened to a private balcony that had views of Mexico across the river. There was a kitchenette, a four-person dining table, and a half bath. Through another set of double doors, the bedroom had a massive two-postered king-size bed, an en suite containing an oversized whirlpool tub, and a shower that could easily fit two people. Every room had beamed ceilings, the wall connected to another suite was made of brick, the color scheme of everything stuck to earthy tones that complemented the exposed beams and wooden furniture, and the art on the walls depicted beautiful river scenery.

No matter how many times you asked, your husband refused to reveal how much two nights in such splendor put him back.

And here you were in the bedroom, you and Javi stripped of your formal attire on the bed that he had the forethought to put a towel down on to keep things from getting too messy. You could not stop yourself from loudly moaning at how good it was; your husband had you in heaven with how he was filling you up, and you were finally at the point of feeling stuffed.

He was beside you, so close your bodies touched. “Yeah?” Javi purred. "You like that? You want more?"

You had to swallow before you could speak, shaking your head as you replied, “God, it’s so good, but I don’t want to get sick.”

“Okay, baby.” He kissed your cheek. “Relax while I clean up.”

Your husband carefully took the paper plate that you had practically licked clean of every crumb of wedding cake and the plastic fork you’d been using. Sitting crisscross on the mattress, you were dressed the same as Javier in nothing but a big, white, fluffy, hotel-provided bathrobe. On the towel in front of you were two more sets of dirtied plates and utensils from the leftovers the two of you ate, which Javi picked up as he got off the bed, heading out of the room to the small kitchen to dispose of them.

Earlier, when your husband revealed the surprise that you’d be staying in this suite for two nights, he told you all of the places in the room he planned to fuck you. From those promises, you imagined that he would toss you onto the bed upon arriving here and have his way with you. What actually happened was you got to the door, and Javi made you laugh when he lifted you over his shoulder like a caveman and carried you across the rented room’s threshold. He did throw you onto the big bed, where the two of you made out for some minutes. It just didn’t go any further because your sweetheart of a husband was aware you were hungry, and that made his biggest priority getting you comfortable and feeding you. So, the first thing he did was strip you out of your dress, the man unable to keep himself from taking a couple of minutes to admire the lacy thong you’d been wearing before he got you naked and had you join him in the shower. Aside from some groping and a little kissing, there was hardly any fooling around since he was so focused on taking care of you, which was sweet.

After that, Javi heated up some of the food from your wedding that the Murphys were kind enough to drop off prior to your arrival since they were staying at the same hotel, and the two of you had a little feast on the bed. Now you were nice and full, but not overly so that you felt sick, just enough that you were relaxed and a little sleepy—a food coma, if you will.

Many pillows were on the bed, and you moved some behind you to prop yourself up and lie back on. You grabbed your almost-empty complimentary bottle of water from the mattress beside you, unscrewed the cap, and took a drink.

“Cielito?” your husband called from the other room. “Do you want anything else to drink?”

The options included the bottle of champagne the hotel gifted you to celebrate your marriage, something from the living room bar, tap water, or the two of you could trek to the floor below to raid the vending machine in nothing but your robes and the slippers that were with them when you got there.

His question made you smile as you re-capped your water, stretching your arm to set the bottle on the bedside table. “No, babe,” you answered loud enough for him to hear. “I’m good—get back in here!”

He returned seconds later, his knees sinking into the mattress as he crawled onto it, smiling. Javi made his way over to you, and when he was at your left side, he wormed his arm behind your back, the other over your front to hold you close, his head nestled on your robe-covered chest. After getting comfortable, he sighed happily, closing his eyes with a little smile on his lips.

“Javi?”

“Yes, mi esposa (my wife)?”

The title made your spine tingle.

“God, I’ll never tire of you calling me that.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ll never tire of calling you it, my beautiful wife.” He quickly kissed over your heart, then rested his head on you again. “What were you gonna ask?”

“Oh, right. I know we should be having the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man right now—” Javi snorted. “—but, since we just ate, are you cool with us hanging out for a little bit while the food digests?”

“Are you okay with cuddling, or am I hurting your stomach?” He lifted his arm off your belly.

“Cuddling sounds wonderful.” You lowered his arm back to where it was, resting your palm on his wrist.

“Okay.” He nuzzled you with his face. “Would you, uh, want to play with my hair…?”

“You can bet your cute little ass I do.” That made him chuckle. Your fingers pressed into his hair, playing with the soft strands and lightly scratching at his scalp, which earned you a noise from the back of his throat that came close to a purr.

“How was your day?” you asked.

“Fucking amazing. How about yours?”

“Fucking amazing, though talk about our bad sex luck—which reminds me, thank god your dad does his laundry on Saturdays. When we return the Mustang, I need you to distract him while I disinfect his laundry room.”

Javi groaned at the reminder of hearing his cousin and your best friend Robyn fucking in said room. “I don't wanna think about that.”

“And you think I do? I just don’t want our father coming across a condom wrapper, or god forbid a used condom, when he goes to do his chores. You know as well as I do that he’d tell his sisters, and it’d be the chisme (gossip) everyone is talking about Sunday at tía María’s.”

Your hand was still on his head, curling strands of his hair absentmindedly around your pointer finger.

“Los chismosos (The gossipers),” he grumbled. “Hold on, why do we care if he finds evidence someone fucked in there?”

“Um, because they’ll all assume it was us, and I do not feel like announcing to our entire family that I exclusively get rawed and creampied.”

“Why would you announce that…?”

“Do you want everyone to think we’re horny newlyweds who fucked in a laundry room because they couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home?”

“We are horny newlyweds who couldn’t keep it in their pants until they got home. We almost did fuck in that laundry room.”

“Sure, except if we had, we wouldn’t have left behind any evidence. We’re not sloppy, thank you very much. I mean, I know a lot about Robyn’s sex life—like a lot—but I don’t know how discreet she is. So, we’ll need to make sure nothing was left behind.”

“I say, if they’re gonna be rude and leave shit behind, we just throw them under the bus…”

Your hand stopped moving in his hair.

“You mean the woman who convinced me to let you fuck my ass?” you asked. “The woman who’s held down the fort while you and I fooled around on my lunch countless times? The woman who covered while I got you off in an on-call room at the hospital? The woman who has had our backs so many times I’ve lost count? That’s the woman you wish to throw under a bus?”

There was a pause, and you heard him gulp.

“I’ll tell Pop that I think one of the Mustang’s tires is low on air,” he replied, “so he has to go with me outside while you take care of the crime scene.”

His response had you smiling. “Thank you,” you said, leaning forward to kiss his head.

You resumed playing with his hair.

“No need to thank me. You, uh, had some good points.”

“I know I did.”

“I haven’t had a chance to see your nails.” His hand moved to grab yours that’d been on his wrist, bringing it up to his face to look at your white-tipped fingernails. “Look at those, they’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It’s a French manicure, and I thought they’d look really good with my dresses.”

“They’re perfect.” He kissed the back of your hand and continued holding it when his arm relaxed over your stomach again.

For a minute, it was quiet as you both lay there, your fingers slipping through the soft brown waves on his head in comfortable silence.

“Did I tell you what Olivia said before they left?” Javi asked.

“Um, I don’t think so?”

“She confused the fuck out of me—she thinks I play baseball.”

“What?”

“She gave me a pep talk…?” he said it like a question.

“A pep talk? About what?”

“Something about how she knows I secretly play baseball and that I shouldn’t be embarrassed I’m bad at it because I’ll get better the more I practice. To be honest, it was adorable, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t play.”

“That is extremely random. Why would she think you play baseball?”

“I have no fucking clue. I’ve been thinking back on my conversations with her, and I don’t think we’ve ever talked about baseball.”

“Maybe she misremembered something or misunderstood something her parents said? No clue why Steve and Connie would be talking about you and baseball, though.”

“I don’t know, either. They’re both aware I’m a swimmer and played some soccer.”

“True. Who knows where Olivia got the idea.” You shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah…”

“It’s gonna bother the fuck out of you until you figure it out, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

“We’ll ask Steve and Connie tomorrow at dinner, Detective Peña.” The Murphys were flying home the following evening, and the plan was to have an early dinner at the hotel restaurant before they left.

“Okay, Mrs. Detective Peña.”

“Oh my god!” you gasped. “I am Mrs. Detective Peña now!” you replied excitedly.

“Yes, you are.” The smile was evident in his voice. “You’re my wife.”

“Yes, I am, and you are my husband.”

“The best fucking thing anyone has called me.”

His response had you smiling.

It sometimes caught you off guard how much Javier loved you since the love you felt for him ran so deep that it consumed every fiber of your being. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could love you the same, not when your heart was more his than yours, yet Javi did. His devotion knew no bounds, and he saw you for everything you were and loved you despite it all—to him, you were perfection. No one would ever love you more, and you would never love anyone else more because he was yours, and you were his; fate, destiny, the writing in the stars led you to each other, and now your lives were so intertwined that his heart was your heart, his hands were your hands, his smile was your smile, he belonged to you as you belonged to him.

Enough time had passed for the food in your stomach to settle, and now you could acknowledge the want burning low in your belly, making your pussy drip with arousal. Something about how happy Javi was that he vowed to spend the rest of his existence with you was such a big turn-on that it was time for things to heat up so you could give him the sloppiest blow job to show your appreciation—except, you wanted it to be spicier than usual.

“My wonderful, perfect husband?”

“Yes, my wonderful, perfect wife?”

“You know what we should do right now?”

“Depends—has your food digested?”

“Yep.”

Javi jostled you as he moved his arm from under your back, rising up on it in order to meet your eyes, his plush lips smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. “In that case, have the dirtiest, nastiest sex known to man?” And it became evident you’d been together a while when he wiggled his eyebrows at you as you’d done to him many times before.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, playfully pushing his shoulder.

“That isn’t a no,” he pointed out.

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head. “But I was thinking we could get some fresh air out on the balcony.” It was your turn to wag your brows at him. Javi chuckled, giving you a big smile.

“Champagne?” he asked. “Or should I get out the salt and limes for tequila?”

“The room came with salt and limes…?”

“No—I brought the salt, limes, and our bottle of tequila from the apartment.”

He also brought you both overnight bags and somehow smuggled your toiletries out of his dad’s house–you’d taken them to Chucho’s the prior night when you stayed over, and you were pretty sure it was Connie who did the smuggling. She probably had Steve deliver your little bag with the food before he returned to their room, which Javi assured you was on the other side of the hotel and out of hearing range to your suite.

Your eyes rounded. “Because you knew I’d need liquid courage to fuck around outside?”

He gave you a look like the answer was obvious. “Yeah?”

“That is so unbelievably romantic. Horny, but romantic.” Grabbing a handful of his robe, you pulled him forward as you leaned toward him, slotting your lips with his, kissing him; he smelled like the floral rose petal-scented shampoo he used in the shower, and he tasted sweet from the bites of wedding cake you shared with him.

When you broke apart, you were both smiling.

“You get the goods,” you told him, “and I’ll meet you outside—I gotta pee really quick.”

“Okay,” he replied and pecked you on the nose.

The bathroom was on the other side of the room, which meant you had to go around the bed after you got off of it, Javi following you and smacking your ass. There wasn’t much of a smack with the thick robe in the way, but it still made you giggle. He headed for the bedroom door, and as you continued your journey to the en suite, something shiny on his bedside table caught your attention and made you frown.

“Babe?”

He hadn’t left the room yet, standing at the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Does the gun have to hang out on your table, or can we put it in a drawer or something?” It was Chucho’s small revolver that he kept in the Mustang. Your husband didn’t want to risk it being stolen, so he brought it up to the room.

“Put it in the drawer.”

“Is it safe to touch…?” Unlike Javi, you did not have a lot of experience with firearms aside from treating many gunshot wounds when you worked in a big city emergency room.

“Would I ask you to touch it if it wasn’t safe?”

“No…”

“Exactly. The safety’s on.”

“That’s good,” you replied and moved closer. “I was worried about you shooting your cute little butt off when you shoved it in the back of your pants.” It was bewildering when he got out of the car and casually tucked the gun into the waistband of his slacks.

A huff of air left his nose. “Fifteen years with the DEA, and I never shot myself in the ass.”

Opening the drawer, the only thing in it was a bible. You carefully picked up the revolver by its grip with two fingers like an old, smelly sock and set it atop the book. “Yeah,” you replied, “‘cause you had the sexy tac-vest-thingy with the holster on the front.”

“I didn’t always wear a tac-vest...”

“What?” you replied, shutting the drawer and spinning around to face him. His fluffy, white robe reached down to mid-thigh on him, and it was tied closed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “So, you’d wear a holster on your hip?” you asked.

You thought back to the pictures you’d seen of your husband in Colombia, trying to remember if he was wearing a holster in any of them.

His expression turned guilty. “No…”

The realization hit you. “A butt gun, Javier? You’d just walk around with a gun at your ass? That is not safe.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “The safety was on?”

“Okay? But even with the safety on, it’s still dangerous. I had so many people come through my ER because they didn’t properly holster their weapons. One dude had it in the front of his waistband, and when he went to pull it out, it accidentally discharged into his thigh and hit his femoral artery—dead on arrival.” Javi grimaced. “And don’t get me started on all of the butts I had to look at and treat because they carried like you and weren’t as lucky. Do you think I enjoy looking at strangers' butts?”

“I mean…”

“Us checking out bootylicious babes in San Antonio and Miami does not count, Javier. These butts I had to look at for work were mostly men’s butts, and I can tell you right now, they were not anywhere close to how cute yours is, and dear god, were a lot of them hairy—which, I am so thankful you are not a super hairy guy, and I really do appreciate that you trim your pubes.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He shrugged.

Your eyes lowered to his crotch, picturing what the white garment covered, your mouth watering at the thought of blowing him. Javi cleared his throat to get your attention, your eyes snapping up to his that sparkled in adoration.

“What were we talking about?” you asked.

Javi snorted. “You were getting on my ass about how I carry a gun.”

“Oh, yes—stop being dumb and protect what little ass you have.”

Javier was not going to reveal that there was a gun in the back of his waistband most of the time they went horseback riding.

“I’ll start using a holster,” he said. “But, if we’re going out on Pop’s land, you can’t complain if you see me carrying; I know guns make you uncomfortable, but our safety is more important.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders shrugged.

His eyebrows pulled together—he was expecting more resistance. “Really?”

“Yeah? You told me about all of the dangerous animals out there, and I’ll feel safer if you’re packing—that’s packing as in a gun on your person, not the big dick in your pants.” She winked at him, and Javier huffed in amusement.

“Thank you for the clarification. You’re taking this a lot better than I expected…”

She walked up to him with a grin and threw her arms around his neck, Javier immediately pulling her into him. “It’s marriage, baby,” she said. “We gotta compromise sometimes.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, his head moving forward to rub the tip of her nose with his. He whispered, “Does that mean you’ll let me teach you how to shoot?” Something she’s always refused.

“I don’t know—will it make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then fine, you can teach me.”

He pulled back to look at her. “Really?”

“Yes, because I am an amazing wife who loves my husband dearly.”

He grinned. “You’re a fucking incredible wife whose husband loves you more than anything.”

Javier didn’t give her a chance to respond; his lips crushed into hers, kissing her tenderly, hoping she could feel how happy she made him.

She really was a fucking incredible wife.

When they parted, he gave her another smack on the ass and told her to hurry, his wife giggling as they went their separate ways.

The balcony was covered, with a beamed ceiling overhead and walls on either end to offer some semblance of privacy—the railing was made of wrought iron, the vertical bars twisting like vines into delicate loops and swirls. The only furniture out there was a wooden bistro table situated against the stucco-coated wall with two armless chairs on both sides facing the river. The outdoor light was too bright, and Javier thought it would bring too much attention to them, so he settled on what light filtered out from the living room through the French doors’ windows and the brightness of the moon in the clear sky, illuminating the space in a gentle glow.

He was sitting back in one of the chairs, his legs slightly spread and his arm resting on the table beside him. On the tabletop was the half-drunk bottle of tequila, ziplock bag of cut-up lime wedges, and salt shaker he brought from their apartment, along with a shot glass he grabbed from their rented room’s bar that he washed himself to ensure it was clean.

The night air was cool and a little crisp as he looked out toward the Rio Grande, where, in the distance, he could see the lights of Nuevo Laredo across the way in Mexico. For some unknown reason—maybe being outside or how emotional the day was—Javier was craving a cigarette; even after quitting almost two years ago, he still felt the itch for nicotine here and there, and he’d done pretty well not giving in to the temptation, mainly because there was someone in his life now who distracted him from it. The French doors opened, and immediately, his head was turning in their direction to see his wife coming out.

His beautiful distraction.

He couldn’t keep himself from smiling even if he tried. She looked so comfortable in her robe that matched his, her face lighting up when her eyes landed on him. Her expression took him back to the first time he saw that beaming smile after she handed him the perfect tomato: that was the moment she pulled him in and made him want to know more about the sweet woman who was easily excitable over fresh produce. It was like meeting the sun—bright, warm, happy, and he wanted to bask in her rays and see that smile every day for the rest of his life. Better yet, he wanted to be the reason for that smile, and now he was proud to say he was.

Only a couple of minutes had passed since the last time he saw her, and when she made it over to him, she asked, “Is this seat taken?” She nodded at his knee closest to her, and without waiting for his answer, she sat down on his thigh with her legs between his and her arms around his neck, Javier pulling her closer.

His head was tilted up to look at her, his hand reaching to cradle her face in his palm, staring her in the eyes, smiling.

“I’ve got something else you can sit on,” he said.

“Javier,” she gasped. Her fingers went to his forehead, brushing stray strands of his hair off of it. “I’m gonna need a shot first, maybe two—actually, two for sure, no more than three because, as we know, one shot, two shot, three shot, four-the-love-of-god-stop-crying.”

He chuckled. “Two shots then, pero, quiero que mi esposa me bese primero (but, I want my wife to kiss me first).”

“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband).”

Javier couldn’t get enough of her calling him that.

He pulled her down until their lips were a hair's breadth apart. “Dilo otra vez (Say it again),” he rasped.

“Cualquier cosa por mi esposo (Anything for my husband),” she whispered.

“¿Quién soy yo (Who am I)?”

“Mi esposo (My husband).”

“Sí, chingados que soy (Yes, I fucking am),” he growled, pressing his mouth to hers.

The kiss was anything but chaste with how Javier plunged his tongue between her perfect lips to tangle with hers. His heartbeat sped up, the blood pumping through his heated body and traveling to his hardening cock. He moved his hand from her face down to her bare knee, tracing his fingertips up under her robe over the soft skin of her thigh to her ass to squeeze a handful of it.

There wasn’t the same pent-up need like their kiss in the Mustang when he parked them in the field. This one was instead full of promise for their night ahead, making the anticipation swell that they could now take their time and truly enjoy each other since they already dealt with the sexual frustration of being cockblocked multiple times when they were frantic in the car.

Javier savored the feeling of her mouth on his, how their tongues intertwined, and the sweet taste of her lips. He savored her moans and her fingers combing up through the hair from the nape of his neck to the back of his head, where she clutched it tight in her fists; sparks danced along his spine and collected at the base of it, feeding the fire of his arousal that had him half-hard already and wanting to touch more of his wife’s body.

His wife. His beautiful, smart, sexy, amazing wife.

They kissed until they were breathless, both panting when they separated. He nibbled on her chin, his mouth blazing a path along the underside of her jaw until he was at the taut skin of her neck, nipping and kissing down the column of it.

“Oh, god,” she gasped when he sucked at her pulse point, and it made him smile. She lightly tugged his head back by the hair to make him look at her. “Shots.”

“Yeah?” He squeezed her ass.

“Fuck yes.”

“Okay, baby. Ladies first.”

He got his arm out from behind her back, his other hand leaving her ass as his upper body twisted slightly toward the table to grab the bottle of tequila, unscrewing the cap and pouring the liquor into the clear shot glass. Then he opened the bag of limes and picked up the salt shaker, his attention returning to her.

“Where do you want the salt?” Usually, a pinch was licked off the hand between the thumb and forefinger, but he had other ideas for his turn.

She worked open the tie on his robe and pushed it away to reveal his chest, his arm going back behind her again to give her room. “Here,” she said, bending her head to lave at his nipple with her tongue.

“Fuck,” Javier breathed, swallowing hard—it looked like she had the same idea.

While she sprinkled the salt on him, he took a lime wedge out of the bag and gently bit the rind, holding it between his teeth.

Cielito set the shaker down to grab the shot glass and raised it. “Fuck the leather, fuck the lace, here’s to the one who sits on your face!”

The only reason he didn’t laugh was because immediately after she spoke, her face dipped down to suck the salt off his nipple—the shock of pleasure had the muscles in his thighs tensing. She quickly drank the tequila, her face pinching at the burn before she bit the lime out of his mouth.

The glass was back on the table, his wife setting the remnants of the fruit she sucked the juice from next to it.

“Woo!” she exclaimed. “One down, one to go.” She untied her robe and opened it, Javier’s eyes lowering to her bare tits.

His hand moved on its own accord, skating his large palm up her stomach to fondle her breast. He could hear her say something but didn’t make out the words. Her smaller hand came into view, and the snapping of her fingers ended his trance—he looked up at her. “Sorry?” he said.

She smiled. “I asked where you want the salt.”

“I think you know where I want the salt.” His tongue swiped along his bottom lip at the thought of getting his mouth on her tits.

“That’s why the robe is open.” She winked. “My guess was boobies or neck, and I see you’ve chosen the boobies, a tit for tit.”

“Don’t you mean a ‘tit for tat’?”

“No.” She shook her head. “A tit for tit works better in this situation.”

“I am so in love with you.”

“Good, ‘cause I am so in love with you.”

He took her breast into his palm and leaned his head forward, sucking her stiff nipple into his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat, the fingers on one of her hands going into his hair. Javier came off of her with a wet pop, her skin shining with his saliva. He shook some salt onto her, then poured himself a shot as she got a lime wedge.

“I expect a good toast,” she said. “No, ‘salud.’ Give me something raunchy that you and your guy friends would say in college, or you and Steve in Colombia.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Something raunchy Steve would say? The guy who doesn’t like us kissing in front of his kids?”

“Okay, you know what. The moment I said Steve, I realized the raunchiest thing he’d say before you guys drank would be cheers or bottoms up if he was feeling a bit scandalous. There’s gotta be shit you and your friends in college would say, though.”

He picked up the tiny glass that looked even smaller in his hand compared to hers and took a moment to think about what he could say. He’d never been much into toasting, and in college, they usually drank to getting laid or winning a swim meet. There was something he overheard years ago, down in Colombia, that an American tourist said that stuck with him. He just had to remember the wording…

She had the lime ready for him between her teeth, and he lifted the shot. “Here’s to love, here’s to honor; if you can’t come in her, come on her!”

Cielito was doing her best not to laugh. He sucked the salt off of her breast and shot back the tequila, the mineral lessening the initial burn—it was smooth with a sweetness of flavors, picking up vanilla and caramel and a hint of something oaky that was washed away by the sourness of the lime when he bit into it. The glass went back onto the table, along with used rind.

He looked at his wife. “How was that?” he asked, his hand around her back, squeezing her hip.

“Very good. I loved the play on words.”

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled at him. “Fucking amazing. Ready for round two?”

Javier mirrored her expression. “Where do you want the salt?”

This time, she salted his neck, and when she raised the glass, she said, “To us: may all of our ups and downs be in bed!”

Once again, he didn’t have a chance to chuckle before her tongue was licking up the sensitive skin of his neck, his eyes closing at how good it felt. The alcohol was warm in his belly, and he knew it’d take one more shot before he felt any of its effects—his wife would be feeling it any minute now.

For his turn, he chose her neck as well—a ‘tit for tit.’ He lifted the shot glass, keeping his gaze on hers, another lime wedge in her mouth for him. “To my wife, who I love more than anything. You are my forever and have made me the happiest man in the entire fucking world. This isn’t the best day of my life—it’s only one of them because I know there are many more ahead of us. Te amo, mi Cielito (I love you, my Cielito).”

Her eyes were misty, and he went through the steps—lick, drink, suck—she leaned his way, and he closed the distance, his tongue licking up the salty trail on her throat before he drank the tequila, then sucked the lime from between her lips. The moment her mouth was empty, she said, “Javier, how dare you say something so sweet when my toasts were gross.”

He spit the rind out onto the table with the others, the glass going bottom-up beside them. His hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. “I meant it all,” he replied, smashing his lips to hers.

His mouth muffled her moan—taking advantage of her parted lips, he licked inside, tasting the lime and sweet hints of tequila, their tongues dancing together as they had countless times before. His free hand gravitated to her tits, roughly palming one, then the other, pinching and rolling each of her pebbled nipples with his fingers.

Javier loved her breathy sounds.

The alcohol’s warmth was spreading through his body, his dick hard and throbbing, barely covered by his robe. His wife gave as good as she got, and she made him groan when she freed his length and wrapped her fingers around him, slowly pumping him up and down.

It was starting to heat up, and there was a list of things he wanted to do, but first, he needed to ensure she was comfortable. He detached his lips from hers, kissing the edge of her mouth, his nose bumping into hers.

“You good?” he asked. “Or another shot?”

“I’m good,” you answered and kissed his plush lips.

The booze had you feeling warm and tamped down your nerves. You were good, you were more than good, your cunt weeping with your need for him.

With the way your husband had been obsessing about eating your pussy all night, you knew that was the first thing he’d want to do, and you were curious to find out what he planned—was he going to sit you in the chair and get on his knees for you? Bend you over the railing and eat you out from the back? Or put you in the position he had you in earlier when you were interrupted, with your back against the wall and him kneeling at your feet? It was honestly a toss-up on what he would choose. Luckily, he didn’t make you wait long.

Javi’s mouth broke away from yours, grabbing your hand that was on him, ordering you, “Up.” You didn’t waste any time, rising to stand in front of him. He grunted as he got up with you, the seat creaking from his movements; he was so close to you that your bodies touched, your palm still in his—he tugged it to make you face him and have you chest to chest.

His eyes were dark with lust when they met yours. “I fucking need you,” he rasped, and suddenly those big mitts of his were framing your face, his lips finding yours. This kiss was fervent, urgent, his need evident as he turned you away from the table and backed you up into the wall beside the chair.

From how passionately he claimed your lips, it seemed his words had a double meaning: he needed you physically at this moment and needed you always in his life. He needed you in every way there was, and wasn’t it the same for you with him? You needed him in every way there was, too. Not only that, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to breathe without him; would your heartbeat cease without him? These were questions you never wanted to learn the answers to.

With your robed back pressed to the stucco wall, it was apparent he wanted to finish what he started earlier, and you were happy to oblige. The glow from the lights in the living room trickling out through the French doors’s windows, along with the moonlight, softly lit the balcony. Thankfully, it wasn’t bright enough for anyone to make out what was going on if they happened to look, and that, added with the tequila, eased any worries you had.

Your robe was untied, Javi shoving it open to reveal your entire naked front, the cool air causing goosebumps to prickle on your warm skin, your nipples to tighten. He kissed you hard one last time and then began his journey down your body. Earlier, when you arrived at the room, your husband was so focused on taking care of you that he didn’t get a chance to take his time to admire your bare figure—something you could tell he wanted to do badly when he was undressing you. Now, he could, the man worshiping you with his lips and hands, kissing and touching every bit of flesh he came into contact with; his palms mapped out your belly and hips, his mouth trailing down your neck to your chest, Javier whispering into your skin as he went, “You’re beautiful… you’re so fucking beautiful… I’m so lucky… fuck, I love you.”

He took your breasts into his hands, his head lowering to suck one of your pebbled buds into his mouth. The pleasure had you gasping and needing to touch him, your palms sliding under his robe to hold onto his waist. His teeth grazed over your stiff peak before he lightly bit it and tugged, making you loudly moan his name; he let it go and moved to the other, enveloping it in the warmth of his mouth, giving it the same attention.

Arousal was coating your inner thighs, the anticipation welling up inside of you—you wanted Javi’s face buried in your pussy as much as he wanted to do it.

Once he gave your tits an ample amount of attention, leaving your nipples and the skin around them glossy with spit, he continued making his way down the front of your body. As he lowered, so did his lips, his kisses all over your stomach imbued with his words of love. “So beautiful… I can’t wait to see you pregnant… you’re gonna look so good with my baby inside you… I love you so fucking much… you make me so happy.”

Even after all this time you’ve been together with Javi, it was still hard to accept that he truly found you beautiful. You knew he meant everything he said, but there were parts of your body you hated, parts that you could still recall word-for-word the negative comments your mother made about them, parts that were far from perfect that you couldn’t believe anyone would ever love. Except, there was someone who did love them—Javi. He genuinely loved every part of you, and he loved them all so reverently and with such conviction—like if he loved them enough, you would, too.

Maybe that would happen; maybe he’d help you break through the years of insecurity, and you would learn to love your imperfections—only time would tell. For now, you were finally to a point where you believed your husband when he told you how beautiful you were, and with his excitement over eventually seeing you pregnant, he’d helped calm your fears about the changes your body would go through.

He kneeled in front of you, grabbing handfuls of your ass while he placed a kiss on your mound. He put your leg over his shoulder to open you up, his fingers spreading apart your lower lips where you knew he could see how wet you were for him.

“Finally,” he whispered, and that was all the warning you got before Javi dove in face first, the flat of his tongue licking up your slit. He had you biting your lip and curling your fingers into the soft strands of his hair, making you keen when he started lapping at your perky little clit.

“Oh, god,” you breathed.

No one ate pussy like Javier—it was like he was starving for it, the rumbling groans he made as he dragged his mouth all over your cunt, wanting to taste every bit of your essence while inhaling your musk. His words vibrated against your cunt, “You taste so fucking good.”

“You’re too good at this,” you panted. The back of your head hit the wall, your eyes closing, moans falling unbidden from your lips as the first signs of your orgasm took shape low in your belly. “I’m so lucky,” you continued. “I can’t fucking believe I get this for the rest of my life.”

For only a second, he paused. “Any time you want it,” he roughly replied. “Fucking love this pussy.” He then sucked on his ring and middle fingers to soak them in saliva. You whined his name when he pushed them into your sopping cunt. There was a slight stretch, Javi putting his mouth back to work, licking and sucking at your sensitive skin. His come—still inside you from earlier in the Mustang—and your arousal had his thick digits moving easily in and out of you, your hips grinding against his face and hand.

“Just like that,” you said. “Oh, god, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Your limbs were beginning to tremble as the pleasure built inside of you, and you cried out as his fingertips rubbed that one spot only he could find—that only seemed to encourage him. He growled into your pussy and doubled down, hitting nirvana every time he pumped his fingers, his mouth focusing on your clit, alternating between sucking it between his lips and flicking his tongue along it side to side, over and over again.

“Oh my fucking god, I love you,” you told him in your blissful haze. “I fucking love you, Javier Peña.”

He hummed something that sounded a lot like, “I love you, too.”

The muscles in your stomach started tightening, the liquor in your system keeping you relaxed as you stood there on the balcony with your tits out, getting your pussy eaten by your new husband. It didn’t take much more to have you cresting, euphoria exploding out from your core as you came, gasping Javi’s name. He loudly groaned, saying, with his face in your cunt, “Good girl.” He replaced his fingers with his tongue, licking up your come and what remained of his inside you while you rode out your high.

Your body went lax, and you slumped; your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths panting from your lungs. When Javi got his fill, he carefully removed your leg from his shoulder and rose back up onto his feet with a pained sound from his achy knees. He gently kissed your chin, then one side of your mouth, and the other—his lips were wet, and you could smell yourself on him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his hard cock pressing into your belly. This was when his mouth met yours to properly kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue, hugging him in return, the skin on his back warm under your palms.

Between the tequila and orgasm, you felt amazing, and you wanted your husband to feel the same. You ended the kiss, your hands moving to hold his face as you looked at him—his eyes were closed, his mustache and lower half of his face glistening with your juices, a happy little smile on his lips. He looked so unbelievably adorable that you gave in to the impulse and squished his cheeks to the point his shiny lips pursed—it made you grin.

“You are so fucking cute,” you said. “Even when you look like a goldfish, you’re a capital C, Ca-Utie. Ugh, it’s illegal how goddamn adorable you are.”

His eyes opened. “You done?” he asked, sounding a little funny.

“Obsessing about how cute you are? Never. Like, you’re so cute.” A thought caught you off guard that had your eyes widening, the alcohol in your system amplifying the doubts. “You’re too cute,” you whispered. Letting go of his face, you continued, “Why would you want to be with someone like me? Do you like me?” you asked. “As more than a friend? Like, romantically?” You chewed on your lip.

His eyebrows pulled together, and he squinted, clearly confused. “I married you…” he said slowly.

“Yeah, but did you marry me because you love me or because we’re best friends?”

“Am I married to Steve…?”

“No, but he was already married when you met, and polygamy is illegal.”

“Cielito, mi amor, I married you because I love you, and you’re wearing the proof of that on your finger.”

“Friendship rings exist.”

“I sure as fuck didn’t give Steve my mother’s ring because we’re friends. I love you as more than a friend—wait.” His eyes rounded. Quietly, he asked, “Do you love me as just a friend or more than a friend?”

“How can you ask me that? I definitely love you as more than a friend!”

“You asked me first, and it fucked with my head!”

“I’m sorry, I needed to double-check.”

“I needed to double-check, too.”

“Well, I love you so much that I want to have your babies—” You poked him in the chest. “—and I can tell you right now, I don’t want to have Robyn’s babies. I mean, unless it was like a surrogate situation.”

That made him smile, his hands rubbing up and down your covered arms. “I want you to have my babies, too.”

“Then that settles it. We love each other as more than friends, but you’re still my best friend.”

“You’re still my best friend.”

“I won’t tell Steve.”

“I won’t tell Robyn.”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly, the two of you smiling when you broke apart.

“Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

An amused breath left him. “It’s a good thing we married each other, then.”

“True. Dumbasses need to stick together. Now,” you gripped the open edges of his robe and turned you both, pressing him back into the wall hard enough that he grunted. “It’s time for me to blow your popsicle, Mr. Peña.” Something you said you wanted to do earlier, but he told you could happen later.

“Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo, Mrs. Peña (My body is your body, Mrs. Peña). You can do any-fucking-thing you want to me.”

You grinned. “I love when you tell me that.” You leaned in to give him one last lingering kiss.

It was your turn to make him feel good, and you began by kissing down his body, starting at his jaw and moving lower and lower, down his gorgeous neck, his chest, his soft belly, crouching when you made it to the happy trail of hair below his belly button that you followed until you were face to face with his hard cock. It looked even better than you imagined earlier–long, thick, and with that slight curve that felt so fucking good when he was inside you, the tip flushed and shiny with precum. The tile beneath you was unforgiving when you kneeled on it, raising your arms above your head to drag your fingernails down his stomach and through the curls, Javi’s head falling back against the wall with a soft moan.

You spat in the palm of your dominant hand, wrapping your fingers around his shaft—it was hot and hard, Javi twitching in your grip as you started languidly pumping him.

Looking up at your husband through your lashes, you said, “Hey, babe?”

His face tilted down at you.

“Yes, mi amor?”

“What do you call a nurse with dirty knees?”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“A head nurse.”

He went from chuckling to groaning loudly when the flat of your tongue licked up his length from root to tip, swirling it around the sensitive edges at the head. You reveled in how his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth fell open, loving the salty tang of his precum as you took him into your mouth, continuing to stroke what didn’t fit. His big hands found their home in your hair, moving with your bobbing head as you hollowed your cheeks, taking more and more of him until he was hitting the back of your throat.

His rough voice came from above, “That’s it, baby—it feels so fucking good.”

That only egged you on. It could be said that you were an expert at blowing your husband. You knew all the things that made him tick and what would really get him going, like when your head rose off of him, gathering a wad of saliva on your tongue that you let drip onto the tip of him.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Spit on it.”

More saliva fell, slicking up the movements of your hand stroking him. You ducked your head, sucking one of his balls into your mouth.

His fingers tightened in your hair. “Fuck,” he groaned, and the way he said that word had your cunt clenching. You tongued at the thin skin of his sack, then gently sucked his other ball, your palm on his dick twisting on every upstroke to slide along the underside of the head.

The muscles in his thighs were tensed as you licked up his shaft to take him back into your mouth. His hips just barely rocked as his dick slid further and further along your palate until you were swallowing around him, his cock sliding into the tight space of your throat. Your nose pressed into the neatly trimmed curls at the base of him, smelling the soap he washed with in the shower.

“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped. Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as saliva dripped down his length, your hands clutching his thighs. You looked up, meeting his dark gaze, seeing the clear love and desire he had for you. “So pretty with my dick down your throat.” His palm caressed your cheek. “That’s my good girl making me feel so fucking good—fuck, I love you.”

This was why you genuinely loved giving Javi head—he was always so vocal, and when he praised you, it made you drip for him. Arousal was hot in your belly. It always turned you on to hear and see the effect you were having on him. You swallowed around his thick cock, causing your throat to squeeze him—his body shivered, and you watched it travel down from his shoulders to his hips.

“Shit,” he moaned.

The glow of the moon and what light reached the balcony from the living room softly illuminated the man above you, and you couldn’t think of a prettier sight than your husband struggling to keep from coming, as he was right then. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you with pleading eyes. “I don’t wanna come like this.” The words came out scratchy like sandpaper. “Can I fuck you? Please, Cielito?”

He didn’t need to ask twice. Immediately, you came off of him, strings of spit and precum keeping you connected. Staring up at him under your eyelashes, you answered hoarsely, “Yes. Fuck me, Papí.”

That had Javi helping you stand. When you were finally up on your feet, his large hands framed your face as he kissed you hard. He didn’t care that your chin was wet with spit or your cheeks had tear marks; he kissed you as if his life depended on it and slowly started walking you backward toward the railing.

He spoke between kisses, his mouth pressed to yours, muffling his words, “Estoy tan feliz de que seas mi esposa (I’m so happy that you are my wife)… Estoy tan feliz de poder pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I’m so happy I get to spend the rest of my life with you)... Estoy tan feliz de que algún día seas la madre de mis hijos (I’m so happy that one day you will be the mother of my children)... Este es el día más feliz de mi vida (This is the happiest day of my life).”

Suddenly, your husband spun you, his palm smoothing up the cotton covering your back to signal you to bend toward the railing. The top of it reached the middle of your ribs, so you weren’t bent at the waist—you were leaning onto it, crossing your arms atop the metal, and popping out your ass with a widened stance to give him more room. He gripped your hips and pressed his throbbing cock into your backside. Javi leaned into you. “Feel how hard I am? That’s all you, my beautiful wife.”

Arousal swirled in your belly, the beat of your heart pulsing between your legs.

You turned your head, looking at him behind you. “You should feel how wet I am. It’s all you, my handsome husband,” you replied, wiggling your butt.

He smiled and kissed your shoulder blade. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too.”

It seemed he had enough talking. Javi straightened himself and flipped up the bottom of your robe to bare you, the cool air chilling the wetness at the crux of your thighs. He grunted as he crouched down behind you, squeezing handfuls of your ass. His teeth lightly sank into the meat of your inner thigh for only a moment, and it was like dousing gasoline on the flames in your core.

His hands spread open your asscheeks. “So fucking pretty,” he purred. A second later, a rumbling groan came from his throat as he licked up through your slit from your clit to your entrance before spitting on the skin between your two holes—you felt the warm wad of saliva dripping down to your already-soaked opening.

He smacked your ass, the cheek jiggling as he rose back up on his feet. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he whispered. One of his hands held your waist while the other slid his dick through your arousal and his spit to wet himself. He bent at the waist to rasp into your ear, “Don’t wanna draw attention to us—unless you want everyone to know how good your husband fucks you.” He squeezed your hip as he notched the fat head of his cock at your entrance.

Your robe was open, your nipples tingling when a breeze hit your bare skin. The alcohol made you brave as you looked at him over your shoulder again with a smile, your hand going up behind you to touch his smooth cheek.

“I want the entire world to know how good my husband fucks me. Give it to me, Papí.”

A shiver moved down Javier’s spine, his cock jerking in his hand.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

“Scream for me, baby,” he replied, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm.

He started pressing himself into the tight clutch of her pussy, her inner walls hugging his thick length as he fed it inside her inch by inch—her arm fell back onto the railing, and they both moaned, Javier’s eyes closing, his jaw going slack at how good she felt around him, all hot and wet. His hips met the softness of her ass, and he looked down to watch as he slowly pulled out, his dick glistening under what little light there was.

“I love how wet you get for me,” he said. “All nice and soaked for your husband.”

He couldn’t get enough of being called that: her husband.

The quickie in the car scratched the itch; still, Javier had been looking forward all-fucking-day to the moment when he got to take his time and properly fuck his wife. Gripping her waist, he pushed back in, Cielito’s head falling onto the cushion of her arms with a breathy “Yes” that riled him up. She wanted everyone to know how good her husband fucks her, and he was more than happy to oblige.

He started moving in and out of her, keeping most of himself inside for her to feel every ridge and pulsing vein as he reacquainted her cunt with the familiar shape of him.

“It’s so good,” she moaned. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah? I’ve got you, hermosa (beautiful).”

He could make it feel even better—this was a position where she wanted him to be rough, where she wanted him to fuck her until she was cock dumb and her legs shook.

He began increasing the momentum of his hips, slickly sliding halfway out and back into her over and over again until he was railing into her with hard, even strokes that stuttered her loud moans. Javier grunted with each thrust, their skin clapping where it met. With how the balcony had walls on three sides, the sounds echoed off the stucco.

Fuck, he loved being inside her. There was nothing better than feeling the squeeze of her pussy around him. He did love her going down on him a little bit ago, and earlier, when she gave him a hand job after their marriage ceremony, he loved that, too. He also loved the occasions when she’d let him fuck her ass—Javier loved anything she wanted to do with him. But if he had to choose a favorite, it’d be a variation of what they were doing right now.

“You like this?” he mumbled between grunts. “Is it good?”

Several seconds passed with no answer, and there was no hiding his smirk. He slid a palm up the path of her spine to firmly grasp the back of her neck, his other hand going to her front, roughly fondling her breast. He kept up the punishing pace of his hips.

“Am I fucking you good, mi amor?” he tried again a little louder.

Her head lifted, turning her attention to him behind her. Even in such dim conditions, he could see her eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed over. There was a scrunch between her eyebrows, and her mouth was slightly agape—she was absolutely wrecked. She finally answered, repeating, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Pride swelled inside him. “You like how your husband fucks you?”

“Yes! God, yes!” she cried.

Her words had sparks igniting at the base of his spine, making his cock twitch. His fingers plucked at her nipple, rolling the stiff bud. It’d be hard for anyone down below to fully make out what they were doing, but there was no masking the noise—the filthy repetitive slap of skin hitting skin, his rough grunts, and her whining moans that filled the air gave them away.

They were usually much more courteous to their neighbors when it came to their volume. His wife always found it embarrassing when Mrs. Hernandez banged on the wall between their apartments or the people upstairs stomped on the floor to tell them to quiet down. It had to be the tequila—the liquid courage—that had her acting so brazen tonight, and he loved it.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asked.

“Yes! Don’t stop!” She started chanting over and over again, “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop—”

He followed her orders, continuing to pound into her at the same speed, his fingers tweaking her nipple. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and the small of his back, his gaze locked on hers—she was so gorgeous.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Cielito,” he told her. “So fucking beautiful taking it like my good girl.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she loudly whined his name into the night. Her cunt was fluttering around him, her entire body quaking. She laid her head back onto her arms, and that told him she was almost to the finish line.

“Come for me, mi amor,” he said. “Let me have it.”

He’d follow soon after he. His orgasm had been slowly building inside him, feeling the pressure rising deep in his guts with every passing second. He was thankful they fucked in the car because there was no way in hell he would’ve been able to last this long if they hadn’t fooled around beforehand.

Javier loved every second of this, the thrill amplifying his pleasure. The thrill was the reason he enjoyed fucking in places he shouldn’t. He craved the adrenaline, something he experienced regularly in Colombia. But now, instead of possibly dying to feel that rush, he just had to try not to get caught.

It wasn’t much longer before they reached a crescendo. She let out an unintelligible cry, all of the muscles in her body pulling taut, choking his dick hard enough to stutter his rhythm—he sucked in a breath through bared teeth, willing himself not to come while he continued fucking her through her high, drawing it out.

It happened fast. Her legs went wobbly like a newborn calf’s. “Shit,” Javier breathed, quickly getting his arm around her middle and the other across her chest. “Don’t fall, baby,” he grunted, hauling her up against his body to prevent her from doing as much. It was his strength that kept her standing and walked her forward, pinning her by the hips to the railing.

By some miracle, his cock stayed inside her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “My legs feel like jello.”

He carefully pulled the robe off one of her shoulders to lightly kiss the side of her neck, her skin prickling with goosebumps. “Don’t apologize,” was his muffled reply. “Means your husband fucked you good.” His lips made a journey to her ear. “Do you wanna stop?” he whispered. “Or can I keep going?”

She reached up behind her, combing her fingers into his sweat-damp hair. “Mmm, definitely keep going.”

Javier smiled. “Yeah?” He kissed that one sensitive spot behind her ear—she hummed happily. “I wanna look at you,” he said. “Can I turn you?”

“Of course. Just help me, please. I don’t trust my legs.”

He chuckled. “I’ve got you.”

He slipped out of her, the back of her robe falling into place. Her legs were still shaking as he helped her face him, pressing her into the railing again. They locked eyes, and both smiled. His hands reached to hold her perfect face while her arms went around his neck, her fingers pushing into the brown waves at the back of his head.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” His thumbs stroked over the apples of her cheeks. “There you are. My beautiful wife.”

Before she could respond, he closed the gap between their lips, hers petal soft and slotting together with his perfectly. He wanted to kiss her slowly. He wanted to savor this moment, take his time, but she made this delicious little noise that broke his resolve, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again. It made him greedy. Not only did he want that noise, he wanted her moans and her sighs. He wanted to hear her mouth caress the syllables of his name and cry it out when he brought her to the brink of ecstasy.

The kiss turned hungry and passionate, both of them ravenous. When that sweet sound met his ears again, it spurred him on. He was still hard and aching to come. Unable to wait any longer, Javier reached down to hook her thigh onto his hip, then guided his length back into her pussy. The moment his cock breached her tight opening, he moaned into her mouth, his head going dizzy at how good it felt.

He started slowly thrusting, his lips breaking away to nip at her chin. “Can I make you come again?” he breathily asked. “Please?”

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and she pulled on it to get his attention. “Is that what you need, baby? You wanna feel me come around your dick? You wanna watch your wife come?”

Javier whimpered—his eyes squeezed shut, and his cock pulsed inside her. He wanted to watch, he wanted to feel and hear her come, taste her tongue on his, and smell the sex on her skin. She already occupied his every thought, and he wanted her to take over his senses, too. Take over his entire world until she was all that existed.

He continued moving his hips, his dick sliding easily with how wet it was between her legs.

Javier looked at her, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “Yes,” he answered. “Can I?”

Her palm pressed to his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “Yes, Javi.” This time, she was the one who crushed her mouth to his before he could utter another word, her fingers threading into his hair. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and he groaned, the kiss turning messy.

He was still so worked up that it wasn’t going to take a lot to get him off. Javier increased his pace, going harder and faster. There was an audible wetness where they were joined, and he could hear himself working in and out of her used cunt, her arousal dripping down his shaft and balls.

This was what he wanted. To be able to kiss her. To see her and watch her fall apart. He had one hand gripping her leg at his waist, keeping it up, and snaked his other between their bodies, sliding it down her stomach to the apex of her thighs to rub her clit. He swallowed her moan, her fingers tightening in his thick strands of hair. His lips broke away from hers, Javier ducking his head, spreading sloppy kisses along her collarbone, on her shoulder, and up her neck. With her robe open and off her shoulder, it gave him a canvas of bared skin for his mouth to map out.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he murmured against her throat. “Can you do that for me?”

He was doing everything in his power to hold off his own end so she could take him with her. The muscles in his belly were knotted up, his heart pounding in his chest. His cock was throbbing almost uncomfortably with his need to come.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Javier sucked on her earlobe, then returned his attention to her neck and shoulder, kissing and biting the skin. His voice was muffled as he rambled, “I’m gonna make you come, and when I do—fuck—when I do, I’m going with you.” He was circling her clit, giving her the friction she needed. “I'll fill you up, and you’re gonna stay full. I fucking meant it when I said I’m gonna keep you stuffed full of me.” He was panting hot breaths as he kissed her, getting himself worked up with what he was saying. “I can promise you—shit—I can promise you, I am going to get you pregnant. I am going to knock you up.” He swallowed hard, his hips continuing to fuck into her. “You’re gonna have my baby. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

They were pretty sure her actual shot at getting pregnant was the week prior. But since they weren’t 100% positive, they didn’t want to miss their chance, and that possibility made the shit they said while fucking even hotter.

“Please,” she moaned. “Put a baby in me. Please. I want it. Fill me up, Papí.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You can have it—fuck—you can have any-fucking-thing you want. I’ll fuck a baby into you.”

He tucked his face in the crook of her neck, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. It was taking most of his focus to keep himself from blowing his load.

“I’m close, Javi!” Cielito whined. “Oh, god, I’m gonna come!”

The excitement caused his rhythm to falter for a split second. “Shit,” Javier hissed. He quickly got back into tempo, his head lifting to look at his wife. Her eyes were closed, her forehead shining with perspiration, moans spilling from her rounded lips. His fingers kept strumming her clit, and his other hand gently grasped her jaw.

“Look at me,” he panted. “Open your eyes, Cielito. Let me see you.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and he was met with hooded lust-blown eyes.

“Javi,” she gasped. Her fingers were clenched in his hair. “I’m gonna come, Javi.”

“I know, baby. I know. Come for me. Take me with you.”

She was quivering as his hips swung hard and fast into her. Javier watched as each stroke took her higher and higher, his gaze never leaving hers. After half a dozen more thrusts, she finally told him, “I’m coming.” Her eyes squeezed shut, moaning as she peaked; her body seized up, her pussy clamping down on him.

That was it for Javier.

A strangled noise left his throat as his balls drew up, pushing himself all the way to the root inside her. Pleasure erupted from his core, his dick pulsing, painting her insides with rope after rope of his come. He rolled his hips, fucking his spend as deep as it would go. The primal part of his brain making him ignore how sensitive his cock was in order to fill the depths of her cunt.

When every last drop was wrung out of him, he stopped moving, and his body became boneless. He slumped into his wife, but not before wrapping his arms around her and burying his face back into the crook of her neck. All thoughts had left his brain, the man blissed out, basking in her warmth and the familiar scent of her skin. And then she did his favorite thing and started playing with his sweaty hair. He sighed happily, nuzzling his face closer to her like he was trying to burrow himself under her skin.

This. This was the closest thing to heaven on earth. This was his heaven. She was his heaven.

Javier grew up going to church with his parents, and his interpretation of what he read and heard was that if there were a heaven, it wouldn’t be a physical place. There were no pearly gates or St. Peter waiting to greet you. Instead, it was a state of being where there was complete fulfillment and nothing but absolute happiness. How fucking lucky was he that he found that in life?

He stood there, his body pressed into her softer one, as the beat of their hearts slowed and their breaths evened out. There was a low rumble of cars driving on nearby roads and unseen crickets chirping in the distance.

It took a few minutes before either of them spoke.

“Javi?” she croaked.

He kissed the side of her neck. “Yes, baby?”

“I’m ready to go inside.”

He straightened to his full height to see her face. “Okay, mi amor.” He pecked her on the lips, rubbing his hands up and down her robed arms. “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrow rose. “Can I walk? Mr. I’m-going-to-make-you-come-so-many-times-you’re-gonna-need-a-wheelchair.”

Javier tried not to smile and failed, his hands pausing. “A wheelchair?”

“Yes, a wheelchair. Because my husband loves to fuck me to the point I can’t walk.” She wasn’t wrong, and it made his chest puff up. “Should’ve brought one home from work a long time ago.”

“You don’t need a wheelchair, baby.” He gently squeezed her biceps. “I did it, and I’ll get you where you need to go. Does a bath sound good? Or do you wanna get into bed? We could also watch TV on the couch—order a pay-per-view movie.”

Her lips lifted into a knowing smile. “Pay-per-view movie, huh? Like, porn? Javi, when you stay in hotels by yourself, do you order pay-per-view porn? You can be honest with me. I’m your wife.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “I mean, not every time… what about you? You can be honest with me. I’m your husband.”

“A time or two, out of curiosity.”

He smiled. “Out of curiosity, huh?” His voice went a little deeper. “Did you touch yourself while watching…?”

“What do you think?”

Javier grabbed her hips. He leaned in to hover his mouth over hers, nuzzling her nose with his. “I think,” he rasped, “you played with your pretty pussy while watching. Did you get yourself off with your fingers?”

“Vibrator. You know I don’t like playing acoustic pussy unless I have to.”

“You like my fingers.”

“Because you’re sexy and an acoustic pussy maestro.” She brushed his lips with hers. “It’s your turn to choose,” she said. “Bath, bed, or couch, Mr. Peña?”

“Bath sounds nice.”

“Bath sounds wonderful.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, Mrs. Peña.” He ended the sentence with a kiss, something slow and tender. They broke apart, smiling. “Let’s go, Cielito.”

The rectangular whirlpool tub was massive enough that your husband could sit across from you with his long legs fully extended while yours rested over his. Javi’s cheeks and chest were painted with a pink flush from the bath’s heat, his broad shoulders dotted with a constellation of freckles. Your bodies were submerged in the hot water, covered from your shoulders down, the bathtub’s jets rumbling as they massaged your backs. It was relaxing, the warmth of the water and the pressure of the spray along your spine easing all of the tension from your body.

To continue the celebration of your nuptials, your husband brought the complimentary bottle of champagne into the bathtub with you. He popped it open and poured you each a glass, the two of you toasting to your marriage and the start of your family before drinking and chatting, laughter quickly filling the room. The bottle was over halfway empty, and you both were buzzed.

“You’re fucking with me,” he said with a grin. His arm was resting on the edge of the tub, holding his flute of bubbly. The man always had to be touching you, his other palm under the water rubbing up and down your calf, but it paused when he spoke.

Your smile got bigger. “I’m not!” you laughed. Your champagne was sitting on the bathtub’s rim, your fingers fiddling with the stem of the glass. “When I graduated nursing school,” you said, “I was trying to figure out what I wanted to specialize in. So, I did a rotation in labor and delivery, and I had this mother in labor who needed a C-section. Like, it’d been hours with zero progress, and the doctor called it. She told the couple, and I quote, ‘This baby has to come out the other way.’ I shit you not, after the doctor left, the father looked at me and asked, ‘They’re gonna pull the baby out of her butt?’”

He huffed amusedly, his head shaking in disbelief. “Jesus.” He took a sip of his drink and set it back down.

“It was so hard not to laugh,” you said. “Surprisingly, not the dumbest or wildest thing anyone has ever said to me at work.”

His expression turned curious. “What’s the wildest thing someone has said to you?”

“Ummm.” Your eyes left his to think about it for a second, your mind running through many memorable interactions until one in particular stuck out. Your attention went back to him. “Probably the guy who may or may not have been a gang member who gave me his number and told me if I ever needed someone taken out—as in murdered—to give him a call. He even said it’d be free of charge, which was weirdly sweet? Not that I’d actually take him up on it,” you clarified, lifting your glass to your lips for a sip.

His eyes rounded. “What…?”

Your champagne returned to its spot on the tub’s edge. “It’s kinda like how people propose to me all of the time because they’re so thankful I brought them food after they fasted for their procedures. When scary-looking dudes who may or may not have gang ties come to the hospital, and you treat them like any other patient—you know, with dignity and respect—they really, really appreciate it. Their way of thanking you is by offering their services or illegal goods.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Illegal goods, like drugs…?”

“Sure, and weapons.” You shrugged. “One guy offered me illegal European cheeses, and I won’t lie, that one was tempting.”

“Do you still have the contacts?”

“No. I never kept their info, and let’s be real, they weren’t using their actual names. Once they left the hospital, they were no longer my patient, and what they did was none of my business. Snitches get stitches and all that jazz.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, and his hand began a new circuit along the skin of your leg. “What’s the dumbest thing someone said?” He had another sip.

“Oh, listen to this. A male patient came into the ER complaining about abdominal pain. After the doctor did a quick exam, he ordered an ultrasound. When we told the patient about the ultrasound, he shouted, ‘I’m not pregnant! I’m a man!’”

“You’re fucking with me,” Javi said again, looking just as amused as the first time, his champagne flute hovering over the water.

“I swear I’m not!” you giggled. “He said that! This guy was in his mid-fifties, too. His wife was so embarrassed. The doctor had to pull out a fucking human anatomy diagram to educate the dude.”

“I’d be a shitty nurse. I wouldn’t have the patience for all of the stupidity.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, thinking about Javi as a nurse. “Between your grumpy resting face and the fact you cannot hide what you’re feeling, you’d be so bad. No offense, babe.” You patted his knee underwater.

“None taken. I said it first. It’s nice knowing my wife has the patience of a saint to put up with my bullshit.” He raised his glass your way in toast, then took a drink.

“Stop it. You’re perfect. Now, are you finally gonna tell me how much you spent on this room?”

He smiled, setting his champagne back onto the rim. “No.”

“Rude.”

He chuckled. “Just enjoy it, baby.” Water droplets trickled as he lifted your leg out of the bath and leaned in, kissing the inside of your ankle.

“But I’m curious as fuck,” you whined.

He returned your leg to the water. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Earlier, you mentioned we sometimes have to compromise, so I’ll tell you how I got the room, but I won’t tell you what it cost me.”

That had you perking up. Maybe you could call the front desk and find out the price yourself.

“The front desk won’t tell you,” he continued, looking a little too pleased with himself. Of course, he knew what you were thinking.

You deflated with a sigh. “Fine,” you said. “How were you able to get the room?”

“The manager is mi prima’s (my cousin’s) brother-in-law.”

You grinned. “You’ve got connections. That’s very sexy of you.”

He was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges and shining with love—a look you were all too familiar with and hoped he could see on your face. His hand continued stroking your leg.

He chuckled. “Even with connections, it took some negotiating. It was worth it, though. You’re worth it. I know our wedding was pretty short notice, and since we couldn’t get time off from work for me to whisk you away on a real honeymoon—which I plan on doing sometime this year before we have a baby—this was the next best thing to show you how much I love you and what you mean to me. You deserve the very best, and that’s what I’m always gonna give you, and nothing less.”

His words had you melting, your heart skipping a beat. It was a regular occurrence where Javier said or did something that made you wonder once again what you did to deserve him in your life or to be loved in this way you never knew existed. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“I beg to differ because I am married to arguably the greatest man on earth, who worships me like a goddess, and that’s not even an exaggeration. A freaking goddess! Me! Insane.” It was crazy how much you loved this man, and the alcohol had your feelings threatening to burst from your lips. So, you let them. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“You make me feel so safe. You make me feel comfortable and so fucking loved. Javi, I’ve never been so loved, and I know it’s sad, and you hate thinking about it, but I’ve never had someone love me unconditionally like you do.” The emotions had tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ve never experienced a love like this that I feel deep in my soul, and that’s how I know it’s real. I’m not as poetic as you are, so I’m just going to say what comes to mind. Prepare yourself for some sappy bullshit.”

He was watching you with a fond expression and watery eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Hold my hand.” You reached out to him, and he grasped your fingers, his thumb rubbing over the tops of them. You cleared your throat to compose yourself. “There was an emptiness inside my chest?” You said it in question. “A lifelong longing for something I never knew I needed until you came along. You redefined the void. You gave it meaning. You’ve shown me what it is to be seen, to be cherished, to be truly loved. You’ve shown me a world that, up until you entered mine, was nothing more than a fantasy I’d only ever dreamed about. It was something out of reach, you know? But here you are, a dream come true, who loves me unconditionally, and for that, you have my love, you have my total devotion, you get my every morning and my every night. You get slow dances in the kitchen and four a.m. grilled cheeses—ooh, I like how that kinda rhymes.” Your husband laughed, his lips curved up in a smile. “I’m not half bad at this. Javi, I am going to give you the life you’ve always deserved but never felt worthy of—a wife, kids, dog, house, and hopefully, happiness. I want to make you as happy as you make me. This is my long way of saying I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for loving me.”

“I’m so fucking happy,” he replied. “Come here.” He beckoned you toward him, lightly tugging your hand. Without another thought, you moved, the bath sloshing as you pushed yourself up onto your knees and crawled into his lap, straddling his thighs. Javi wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly to his body, your face nestled into the curve of his neck. His head tilted to touch yours. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so fucking much. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how fucking lucky I am to have you. I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you, and sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is all a dream. You have no idea how many times I’ve almost pinched myself because being with you feels so right and so perfect that I think it all has to be too good to be true, and I’m gonna wake up alone in my bed at the ranch or in fucking Colombia.” You gasped, your heart squeezing at how heartbreaking that was. “Being with you is teaching me that life can be kind and there is hope for the future. You’re my future, and even though there are moments where it feels too surreal and too fucking good, it is real. What we have is real, and I am grateful for you. I will forever be grateful that you chose me, and I will never take for granted a single day that I get to share my life with you.” His head turned to kiss your cheek. “This is my long way of saying I love you, too. Thank you for loving me.”

“Oh, Javi.” You sat up, taking his face into your hands. Sitting in his lap, you were taller than him, and his chin raised to look at you with his red-rimmed eyes. “It is real. It’s so fucking real. I love you.”

That was an understatement of how you felt about him. Not when it felt as if his heart was beating in your chest, and looking into his eyes was like coming home—the familiarity, the comfort, the safety. Almost as if you’d always known that those irises, with their unique mix of chocolatey-colored hues, would belong to the one who was meant for you. A recognition, a certainty when your gazes met that he was your person, your other half.

Emotions had you smashing your mouth against his, kissing him hard. You poured your love into each press of your lips to his, letting him taste the devotion on your tongue. His arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you flush to him. It didn’t matter that you’d already come a handful of times tonight. The things he said had you wanting, no, needing him again, the desire searing through your veins and pooling in your belly.

An interesting side effect of being in love with Javi and knowing he loved you, too, was how it made you so fucking horny. Confessing your love to one another was basically foreplay, and wasn’t that adorable? A couple of love-sick fools getting turned on from loving each other. Robyn would absolutely fake-gag if you told her about you and your husband’s love kink.

He sounded breathless when he came up for air. “I love you.” He messily kissed your chin and the shape of your jaw. “I fucking love you,” he murmured into your skin.

“I love you, too.” His face was still framed in your hands, and you pushed him back to gain access to the line of his neck, your head dipping to swipe your tongue up his salty skin.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his throat bobbing. You rocked your hips, rubbing his already half-hard cock with your cunt, his hands grabbing ahold of your ass, the soft flesh firmly filling his palms as he helped you move. You sucked over his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark, Javi groaning, “Fuck, I love you.” The words vibrated under your mouth, making your lips curl in delight.

“I love you, too, Javi.” Your mouth traveled up to take his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling on it before your lips were at his ear. “I really fucking love you.”

“I’m yours.” His fingers dug into your asscheeks, moving you. “You fucking own me. I’m yours forever.”

“And I’ll always be yours, Javi. Always. For-fucking-ever.”

His large hand came up, lightly grasping your jaw to maneuver your face in front of his, Javier’s lips colliding with yours. This kiss was much more frantic, the headiness of passion overtaking you both, matching each other's energy, heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath. He was completely hard as you rolled your hips along his shaft, the bath’s water lapping at the sides of the tub. Your arms went around his neck, threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

You loved this man so much that he was your entire world, everything that mattered, and the wild thing was, he felt the same way about you—you were his entire world and everything that mattered to him. It was an intoxicating feeling to love and to be loved.

The sweet heat of want burned at the base of your spine, the tension rising with each desperate kiss until it hit a breaking point. In sync, your mouths separated, you lifted your hips high enough for Javi to position his cock at your entrance, and then you sank onto it.

“That’s it, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasped when he was fully seated inside of you.

There was nothing better than the familiar fullness or how he stretched you open.

Your gazes were locked.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said. “Use me, Cielito. Make yourself come. I wanna feel you.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Javi leaned up to capture your lips once more, his hands gripping handfuls of your ass. Your palms slid up his flushed chest to grab his shoulders, and you did what he said: you started moving. You ground your hips, keeping most of him inside you while rubbing your clit on the coarse hairs at the base of his dick. Sparks danced in your core, your pulse pounding. Your husband helped you grind in his lap.

“Te amo (I love you),” he said between kisses. “Te amo muchísimo, mi amor (I love you so much, my love). Eres mi todo (You are my everything). Toma lo que es tuyo (Take what is yours).”

“I love you, too, Javi.” Pleasure built, and the coil in your tummy started to tighten. “I fucking love you. I’ll always love you.” Your hips circled in the most delicious rotations.

His tongue delved between your lips, plundering your mouth, moans coming from the back of your throat. With how close you were physically—your bodies pressed together like pieces of a puzzle—and emotionally—your love and devotion for each other—this was the closest you’d ever been with another person, and it felt much more intimate than sex. It was something deeper. Something on a different level where you were caught up in one another, lost in your own little world and the overwhelming feeling of love. Maybe it was the oxytocin, the love hormone, flooding your system that had you thinking this must be what it felt like when your souls came together, the two halves melding to become one.

The water splashed against your back and ribs, the bath’s jets continued to rumble. You didn’t stop the rocking of your hips or sloppily kissing your husband. He felt so good inside you, the pressure on your clit pushing you higher and higher.

“Eres mi vida (You are my life).” It was muffled into your lips. “Eres todo para mí (You are everything to me). Quiero que me uses como tú quieras (I want you to use me however you want).” He switched to English. “I wanna feel my wife come. You gonna get yourself off?“

“Yes.”

“My good girl. I love you. Take what you need, mi amor. Don’t stop. You come, I come. I’m following you. You’re taking me with you.”

Your orgasm was close, the muscles in your stomach winding tighter and tighter.

“I will, Javi. I will. I fucking love you.”

This man you married knew exactly what would have you careening toward your climax. He took your breasts into his hands, ducking his head to suck on your hardened nipple, his fingers teasing the other one. It felt like every nerve ending in your body lit up, your eyes closed, the shock of it making you cry out.

“I love you,” you repeated. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Each time you rolled your hips, it created the best friction against your clit, and that, combined with the attention he was giving your tits, had you tumbling over the edge, coming with a gasp of his name. This orgasm was softer than the others. When your body tensed and your cunt squeezed him, Javi hissed. He grabbed your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he used his strength to keep moving you in his lap. He kept those gentle waves of pleasure flowing through you, letting you ride out your high while your husband chased his own.

“I’m yours, Javi,” you told him. When you opened your eyes, you saw his were shut tight, and his teeth were bared. It was that sexy look he got when he was close to coming; he just needed a push to get there. You touched your forehead to his, your fingers clutched in his hair. “I’m yours, baby. I want you to come. I want my husband to come. I want you to fill me up and fuck it so deep inside me you knock me up.” He whined, and that just encouraged you. “Get me pregnant, Javi. Let me have it. Let me feel it.”

“Fuck,” he gasped. “I love you. I’m gonna—Christ—I’m gonna fuck a baby into you. I’m gonna fuck you full of my come. Fuck it—shit—fuck it so deep in your pussy it takes. Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo más que a nada (I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything).” The groan he let out was guttural. He hugged you to him, holding you still, his face pressing against your throat as he came. His teeth sunk into your neck, the pleasurable pain causing you to moan. His cock jerked inside you with each spurt of his spend gushing into your inner depths, and when it stopped, his heavy breaths were hot on your skin.

The only sound in the bathroom was the tub's jets. The water had turned lukewarm. The large mirror on the opposite wall over the two sinks was still fogged up. It was peaceful and calm. Time stood still in this little bubble where you luxuriated in one another and those happy chemicals flowing through your bodies. All of your muscles relaxed, making you melt into your husband. Javi nuzzled his face into your neck, and your fingernails lovingly scratched at his scalp, earning you a happy hum.

You loved these moments. You loved how comfortable it was to hold each other, your bodies and souls bare. You didn’t feel self-conscious or a need to cover up. You just wanted to share in the afterglow with the man you loved.

Javier told you once that his favorite part of having sex was this: the post-sex glow when you cuddled close and came down with the other person. He loved the intimacy of it. He craved it. He also revealed that down in Colombia, he’d pay the sex workers he slept with extra to stay with him longer instead of leaving immediately after he came so he could have some semblance of that intimacy. It was a little sad if you thought about it too hard; if you thought about how lonely and touch-starved he was, that was made exponentially worse because his love language was physical touch. You’d never let him feel that loneliness again. You were happy to spend those minutes with him after you both finished, cradled in his arms. You were happy to give him that intimacy he craved. You were happy to do whatever it took to make him feel as loved as he made you.

Seconds turned into minutes. Finally, Javi broke the stillness with a kiss to the skin his face was pressed against.

“Javi?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.”

He was smiling when his head lifted to look you in the eyes, and you matched his expression.

“I love you, too.”

“I have a serious question.”

His smile fell. “Yeah?”

“Are you a sea lion?”

As expected, his face pinched in confusion.

“What…?”

“Are you a sea lion?” you repeated.

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean, you must be a sea lion ‘cause I can sea-you-lion in my bed tonight.” To really sell it, you wagged your eyebrows.

He tried to hold in the laugh, his cheeks flushing red, but he couldn’t keep it in. He sputtered into full-on laughter, his eyes practically disappearing with how they crinkled in glee. It had you cracking up, too, joining him in the merriment. His head fell against your shoulder as you both laughed at your stupid pick-up line.

It took you back to your wedding ceremony, when you both vowed your marriage would be filled with love, happiness, and laughter. Which was another thing you loved about your husband: he made you feel comfortable enough to be your true goofy self. Something you didn’t feel in your past relationships. But Javi–even with him being a somewhat serious, no-nonsense guy—he appreciated your humor and laughed at your dumb jokes. He never made you feel stupid or embarrassed, and it was truly a breath of fresh air that you could simply be you.

Eventually, you both calmed down. Your husband kissed your cheek and then sat up, rubbing his palms up and down your ribs. He looked at you with soft eyes and a sweet smile.

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he said.

You grinned. “And I am so fucking in love with you,” you replied, poking the tip of his nose. He snatched your hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss your wedding ring.

“I love you naked like this,” he rasped. His burning gaze traveled from your face to your breasts, drinking in the sight of you before his eyes returned to yours. “But you know what would look really good on you?”

“Lingerie? That red thong you love?”

“Me.”

“Oh,” you gasped, your eyes widening. “That just made my pussy flutter.”

“I know.” Because he was still inside you.

You gulped. “Can I, uh, see your left hand real quick?” It came out of the water, dripping. He held it straight up for you to see the back of it. You stared at his fingers, seeing the gold band on his ring finger, and nodded. “Yep, that is a wedding ring. Jesus, you really did marry me. Me. That’s fucking crazy.”

“Stop that.”

Your attention went back to him to see he was frowning. “Stop what?”

He sighed and took both of your hands into his. “Thinking I’m out of your league. I hate it. Cielito, you’re fucking beautiful. Say it. Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

“You’re beautiful.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “You know what I meant. Say it.”

The thought of repeating it made you wince, but you did it anyway. You mumbled, “I’mbeautiful.”

“Say it louder.”

“I hate this,” you whined.

“And we’re working on fixing that. So, say it again.”

You took a deep breath. This was so fucking hard. “I’m beautiful.”

He smiled. “You are. Repeat it.”

“I’m beautiful.”

“Again.”

“How many times are we doing this?”

“As many as it takes for you to believe it. Again.”

You sighed. “I’m beautiful.”

“What are you?”

“I’m beautiful.”

He made you say it five more times, and it got easier each time you said it.

“One more,” he ordered.

“I’m beautiful.”

“Good girl.” He closed the gap to kiss you, his big hands coming up to caress your face. When his lips left yours, he nudged your nose with his. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, sweet, sexy, talented, and an amazing partner. You’re perfect. I need you to remember that. You’re perfect,” he said again, “and I am lucky to have you as my wife.”

“Thank you, Javi. You know I struggle when it comes to that stuff.”

“Yeah, I do know. We’ll keep working on it.” He kissed your forehead.

“I’m lucky to have such a supportive husband who calls me out on my bullshit.”

He huffed. “You do the same for me. I love you, mi amor.”

“I love you, too.” You pecked him on the lips, then pulled back when you started to yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.

“You ready for bed?” he asked.

The question made you realize you were exhausted. “God, yeah.”

“Let’s go, baby.”

Thirty minutes later found you dry, your teeth brushed, and naked under the covers, with Javi spooning you from behind. The curtains were closed, the bedroom dark save for the alarm clock on the bedside table, whose glowing red numbers told you it was almost two a.m. Your husband’s arm was around your front, your hand over his on your breast, your rings touching. His nose was buried in the hair at the back of your head.

It was cozy and warm, feeling so happy and loved. Sleep was coming for you, and your eyelids were getting heavy, your thoughts slowing. In your sleepy haze, you remembered something.

“Javi?” you whispered.

“Yes, Cielito?” he answered just as quietly.

“I just realized Valentine’s Day is next month. I don’t know if you have anything planned yet, but you know what I’d love to do?”

“What?”

“You.”

He chuckled, hugging you a little tighter and kissing your hair. “That’s what we’ll do then. Any other requests?”

You smiled, wiggling back to get closer to him. “Nope. Do you have any requests?”

He was going to ask for the red thong.

“You said something about the red thong in the bath.”

There it was. You giggled. “You got it, babe.” You patted his hand, your rings clinking together. “Sweetest dreams, my wonderful, perfect husband.”

“They’ll be about you, my wonderful, perfect wife. I love you, Cielito.”

“I love you, too.”

Steve lifted his wrist to check the time, the hands on the watch face showing 3:16 p.m.

He frowned. He could’ve sworn he told Javier earlier when they talked on the phone to meet in the hotel restaurant at three p.m. Not 3:30, three on the dot, because he had to get Connie and the kids to Laredo’s tiny airport by six p.m. for their flight to Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, where they’d get on a bigger plane to take them home to Miami.

Where the hell were the newlyweds?

He was sitting at the head of the long eight-person dining room table at the hotel’s restaurant, Zaragoza Grill, with a clear view of the entrance. Instead of a chair to his right, there was a wooden highchair with his one-year-old, Nate, sitting in it, chewing on a small slice of bread from the bread basket. Connie was next to their youngest in the middle seat, talking to Stevie, their three-year-old, on her other side while he used crayons to color the paper kids’ menu the hostess had given him. Olivia was at the other end of the table, opposite Steve, coloring her own menu.

His arm lowered as he looked at his wife. “Con?” he said.

Her head turned his way. “Yes?”

“I told Javi three, right? Not, 3:30?”

“Yes, you told him three.”

“Why aren’t they here yet?”

“Honey, they got married yesterday. You remember what it was like the days after our wedding. All of the laundry we folded.” She smiled.

‘Folding laundry’ was their codeword for sex, and he absolutely remembered the days following their wedding. They went at it like fucking rabbits and didn’t leave their hotel room in Cabo San Lucas for days.

He smirked. “How could I forget our honeymoon, baby? We had a good time. A really good time. You know, we should go back to Mexico. Maybe we could get your sister to watch the kids while we go on a little vacation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming, Steve. We’re not gonna be able to go on vacation alone until Nate graduates high school, and that’s a good seventeen years away.”

He sighed. She was right. They couldn’t pawn their children off on someone to fuck off to Mexico for a week. “You’re right, sweetheart.”

“I always am.”

That was the end of their conversation, Connie’s attention returning to Stevie.

Behind him was a table for two against the brick wall. The young women sitting at it had walked by them when they were seated, and he estimated they were in their twenties. He couldn’t help eavesdropping on their conversation when one of the girls asked, “Can you believe all that noise last night?”

“Oh my god, I know, right? Like from what it sounded like, either the woman in the room above us was getting it real good, or the rumors are true, and this place is actually haunted. But I just don’t think spirits of nuns would make those noises, you know what I mean?”

“Girl, the moaning? The screaming? The sound of that pounding? Whoever was staying upstairs is one lucky bitch. Her man knows what he’s doing, and I don’t blame her for not being able to stay quiet. I also think they probably figured that since they were on the third floor, no one would hear them going at it.”

Steve inhaled deeply, shaking his head. He knew who was staying on the third floor—he’d even been inside the massive suite. Javier had handed over $150 per night, a pair of expensive courtside tickets to a San Antonio Spurs vs. three-time defending NBA champions Chicago Bulls game, and all of his wife’s tamales from his and his father’s freezers for it. The hotel apparently didn’t rent out the Presidential Suite to just anyone to keep its allure of being something exclusive for the rich and famous who passed through the area. Javier’s local fame, unfortunately, wasn’t enough.

That didn’t stop him, though.

His pal could be a real stubborn son of a bitch.

Javier got intel that the manager was a huge fan of his mom’s tamales and the San Antonio Spurs. He lucked out that his wife’s tamales were the closest to his late mother’s, so he bribed the manager with fifty-something tamales and the highly sought-after tickets to the Spurs vs. Bulls game to book the place at full price.

There was no way in hell Steve would ever pay $150 per night for a hotel room. That was a month and a half’s worth of mortgage payments on his four-bedroom, four-bath home in Florida, for Christ’s sake. The only reason Steve rented a two-room, double-queen suite here in Texas was because Javi and his wife paid for it. They wanted his family to have roomy accommodations since they had their three kids, which was greatly appreciated, and their room only cost a reasonable fifty dollars a night.

Movement at the restaurant’s entrance caught his attention, and he watched as the new Mr. and Mrs. Javier Peña made their way inside. Steve snorted at seeing the newlyweds in matching outfits of jeans and lavender-colored shirts, Javi’s a button-up, and his wife in a V-neck. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, they were practically fused together, with her tucked under his arm and pressed against his side, their heads close together, smiling and talking as they walked his way.

Steve had been friends with Javier for close to twenty years, and in all that time, he had never seen his best friend happier than he was with his bride. He wasn’t the same man Steve knew in Colombia. He wasn’t even the same man who lived with his family after he took down the Cali Cartel and quit his job. He changed, and he changed for the better.

To be honest, at first, Steve worried about his friend leaving the DEA and returning to civilian life. Javi had all of the signs of being what they call a lifer—someone who spends, if not all, then a significant portion of their career with the same agency. He’d been married to his job and fully committed to seeing it through no matter what it cost him. He didn’t visit his parents for years, and when his mother tragically passed away, he’d only gone home for a few days. Instead of grieving her death, he threw himself into his work. It sure as hell wasn’t healthy, but it was what he had to do to keep going.

Steve was so fucking thankful his friend got out and was getting a second chance. After all of the bullshit he went through, Javier deserved to be happy, and there was no doubt that this girl he married made him happy. She was the best thing to happen to him, and even though they needed to cool it with the PDA in front of his kids, Steve could admit they were really good for each other. He would never say it out loud, but he thought it was cute that a grumpy fucker like Javi ended up someone so bright and cheery.

He rechecked his watch to see it was 3:20 p.m.

The couple approached the table.

“Hey, guys,” the dark-haired man greeted as he pulled out the chair across from Connie for his wife to sit in. “Sorry, we’re late.” He got her settled, kissing the top of her head before taking the seat to Steve’s left.

“Tío (Uncle)!” Stevie shouted and hopped off his chair to run around the table to Javier.

His friend smiled. “Hey, mi principito (my little prince),” he grunted as he lifted the child into his lap.

When Javier was around, Steve and Connie no longer existed to their two eldest kids. Did that bother them? No. It gave them a break, and they weren’t going to be mad about that. They never expected Javi to take on the role of an uncle to their children. They never expected him to be as great as he was with their kids, either. He took his title of tío (uncle) seriously and loved the little Murphys as if they were his flesh and blood. It honestly caught Steve off guard the first time he saw how gentle and sweet Javi was with Olivia.

Steve could admit that at first, he didn’t like that his friend was so good and helpful with his daughter because it made him look bad. Steve grew up believing that, aside from the occasional diaper change, everything involving the children was his wife’s job. Looking back, he could see how that was a shitty way of thinking, and he felt ashamed for putting Connie through all of that. Seeing everything Javi did and how it helped his wife ended up being the swift kick in the ass he needed to step up and be a better father and husband.

“We lost track of time,” the bride said. “Empire Strikes Back was on the TV.”

That title sounded familiar.

“Is that one of those,” Steve started. “What’s it called? Star Trek movies?”

“Star Wars,” Javi corrected. Stevie got off his lap to run back to his original chair to grab his menu.

Nate had lost interest in the bread, so Connie put it on the table in front of the baby. Steve leaned down to his right to get into the diaper bag on the floor, grabbing a bottle of watered-down apple juice that he handed to the one-year-old as he sat back up.

“The ones with those, uh, laser swords?” Steve asked.

Javi sighed. “Lightsabers.”

“Never pegged you as a sci-fi guy.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Peña interjected. She looked past her husband at him. “Javi’s a space nerd.”

Steve smiled. “Is he, now?”

His son returned, holding the paper up to his tío (uncle). “Look!” He had crayons clutched in his other hand.

Javi’s attention went to the toddler. “Were you coloring, bud?” The man put the child in his lap again, and the page with a rainbow of scribbles on the table in front of them. “It looks good, buddy. What are you getting to eat?” He had an arm over the back of his wife’s chair, his other hand pointing at the list of three options, reading what each one was. Mrs. Peña watched the interaction with a fond expression.

Steve looked at Connie. “Honey?”

She met his eyes. “Yes, baby?”

“Five bucks says our kids will have a new cousin by the end of the year.”

She smiled. “I’d be stupid to take that bet.”

“She’s right,” Javi added before going back to talking to Stevie.

“Y’all are no fun.” Steve pouted.

The server interrupted to take their drink orders. After she left, Olivia called from across the table. “Tío (Uncle)?”

Javi turned to see her concerned face. “¿Sí, mi tesorito (Yes, my little treasure)?”

She asked him something in Spanish while pointing at his head, and whatever the question was made the other man’s cheeks flush and his new wife’s eyes widen. Connie looked where their daughter indicated and tried but failed to stifle a giggle.

“What did she ask?” Steve asked. His eyes traveled to each adult, hoping for an explanation.

Javier’s expression could be described as ‘panicked’ when he met Connie’s eyes. She didn’t even let him say anything. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know what happened, so you have to take this one.”

“What did she ask?” he tried again.

Connie caught his gaze and put her hand up to hide her mouth from Olivia while she mouthed at him, ‘Hickey,’ and pointed at the side of her neck. Great. Steve pressed his fingers to his forehead and sighed. They better come up with a believable excuse. His daughter did not need to be finding out what hickies were.

Javi finally answered Olivia in Spanish, and the young girl asked him another question Steve didn’t catch.

He hated it when they did this. He could make out some words, but his daughter and her tío (uncle) sometimes spoke too quickly for him to understand. They also liked to make it obvious when they were talking shit about him because they found it funny and enjoyed annoying the hell out of him.

Javier smiled and shook his head as he replied.

“What are they talking about?” Steve asked.

His friend’s missus threw him a bone. “Olivia asked about the bruise on Javi’s neck, and he told her what happened; he hit it on something last night, and he’s embarrassed about it.” That was a decent excuse. “She also wondered if it hurt, and he reassured her that it didn’t. Is that right, guys?” She addressed the uncle and niece.

His daughter said, “Yep!”

Javi turned his way and nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced over to Olivia and then back to Steve as he said something in Spanish that his daughter laughed at.

This was shit that made his jaw clench. “Hey, you guys know it’s against the rules to talk about me in Spanish.”

“Who said we were talking about you?” Javi replied. His attention returned to Olivia, the two of them, plus his wife, chatting in the language Steve barely understood.

“Leave them alone, Steve,” Connie said, and his eyes went to her. “It’s good practice for Olivia.”

“It’s rude,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

The server returned with their drinks, and the newlyweds had a chance to look over their menus, so the table ordered their food. Minutes passed. While Stevie was occupied with coloring, and the women were talking to his daughter about some show or movie he’d never heard of, Javier leaned his way and whispered for only him to hear, “Why does Olivia think I play baseball?”

The blonde man’s eyebrows knit together as he thought over the question. Why would Olivia think that Javi played baseball? It hit him: the conversation Connie and he had the day before on their way to the party after the ceremony. They used baseball terms to discuss whether the newlyweds would figure out how to fool around on the drive back to the reception.

He leaned toward his friend to reply just as quietly, “She wasn’t supposed to mention it to you.”

“Mention what?”

“It was nothing.”

“It was obviously something because your daughter is under the impression that I am a shitty baseball player.”

Steve had to hold in his laugh, air quickly leaving his nose. He needed to give his friend some kind of answer.

“You know how Connie and I use ‘folding laundry’ as a codeword?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Well, we were talking more in-depth about the topic, but we used baseball terminology, so if the children overheard, they wouldn’t know what the hell we were talking about.”

“And it was about me…?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you discussing my sex life…?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“Okay. I was being an ass and bet Connie that you horndogs wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants on the drive to the party.”

“She would’ve lost. I hope she didn’t take it.”

“Of course, she didn’t, and I sure as hell didn’t take her bet that you guys would be able to wait until you got back to the hotel to score the first run on opening day.”

“Consummate our marriage?”

“Yeah.”

“That was a losing bet, too.”

“How the hell did you manage that with your wife driving?” he harshly whispered. She drove the two of them from the ceremony to Chucho’s house. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“It was later on our way to the hotel,” he told him anyway. “We stopped in a field.”

“Are you guys trying to get arrested?”

“It was in the middle of nowhere. We were fine.”

Whatever happened to saving those kinds of activities for the bedroom?

“Uh huh, right.”

“Hold on a second, if Olivia overheard your baseball shit and assumed I played, where’d she get the idea that I’m bad at it? Did you fucking tell her that?”

Again, Steve had to keep himself from laughing, but this time, when he whispered, his voice was a little squeaky. “Maybe…”

His friend sat back to glare at him and forgot to keep his voice low. “You asshole.”

“You ass’ole!” the three-year-old in Javi’s lap parroted. “You ass’ole!”

The other man’s eyes rounded. “Oh, Shit. I mean, shoot.”

Steve groaned. “Goddammit, Javier,” he hissed.

“OH, SHI’!” Stevie yelled at the top of his lungs. He turned his head to look at Steve, pointing at him. “Daddy, you ass’ole!”

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Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[proventobeaj3lover]

This is why I read fanfiction.

I will be rereading it every time it updates.

(read tags)

[chososho3]

No lube. No protection. All day. All night. From the kitchen floor to the toilet seat. From the dining room table to the church. From the front porch to the balcony. Vertically. Horizontally. Quadratic. Exponential. Logarithmic. Doggy-style. Sideways. Frontwards. Backwards. Upside-down. 360°. Skin on skin. In the living room. In the bedroom. In the fridge. In the closet. On the ceiling. On the walls. In the bathroom. On the couch. In the car. And on the street.

[nana-au]

church boy! eren | pt 2. to this drabble MDNI

warnings: sacrilegious themes, dom!eren, eating from behind, eren's a munch<3, risk of getting caught, unprotected sex, creampie, reader and eren are in their early 20's

pastor's son! eren who portrays himself as this innocent, godly man but as soon as he gets you alone in the dining room of his parents home it becomes very clear he is anything but. he has you bent over the table, the weight of your body crushing the open bible beneath you from when you had at least attempted to take this study session seriously. your skirt laid abandoned on the floor, panties held to the side by eren's slender fingers while his lips sucked on your clit from behind. you were a mess, mewling and bucking against the table eren's family said grace at every meal. he was on his knees behind you, tongue exploring your dripping folds while you desperately tried to get away from his mouth, attempting to give yourself some reprieve from his constant attack.

"stay still f'me," he commanded you, his mouth following your slit with every stutter of your hips. he made it next to impossible to stay still with the aggressive way he licked up your dripping cunt. you were too dazed to question it, but eren seemed wholly unaffected by his face buried in your folds - unwilling to spare a second away from it for air. the noises coming from the two of you could be heard throughout the whole house; the sound of him slurping up your juices was deafening compared to the otherwise silent residence.

"eren... please," you huffed, trying desperately to peel yourself away from his punishing mouth. your legs shook with each delve of his tongue into your pulsing entrance, threatening to give way. he pulled away at the sound of your voice, coming face to face with your glistening pussy, his chest heaving to catch up on some much needed air.

"please what?" he asked nonchalantly. like he couldn't seem to grasp what the problem could be - like he didn't realize he was eating you like a starving man having his first meal in days. no, weeks. the hand that wasn't currently hooked into your soaked panties reached up to play with your cunt, his fingers teasing your folds awaiting your response.

"it's too much," you tell him, voice high-pitched and strained. your bottom lip stuck out in a pout as his fingers trailed up and down your folds.

"but look at her... she wants this," eren hushes you, eyes glued to the way your cunt clenches each time his fingers linger over your entrance a moment too long. you just about died hearing him refer to your pussy as its own entity - like it has its own thoughts and feelings separate to yours - but with each tempting stroke of his digits against your needy hole you begun to consider he might have a point. you could only look back at him, mouth agape as his fingers easily slid through your entrance, allowing him to effortlessly glide in and out. you shuddered upon feeling his long digits breach your cunt - unable to stop him from attaching his tongue onto your engorged clit. he continues his previous act of suckling your clit, this time accompanied by his fingers buried deep into your pussy. his fingers mapped out the ridges of your tight walls before he found the spot he was looking for. the spongy little spot accompanied by your little hiccup confirmed it for him, and he let out a cool, "there it is...."

your thoughts grew muddy by the constant curling of his fingers into your sweet spot, gasping and clawing at the table beneath you while he continued to suck and fuck into you. his mouth and fingers worked in tandem to rile you up - his pace punishing - desperately attempting to get you to squirt into his awaiting face.

"eren, 'm so cl-close," you stuttered, brought on by the sharp suck against your labia. his knees dug into the hardwood floor beneath him, his mouth puckering against your hardened clit and fingers drilling into your cunt while you shook against the table above him. he didn't respond to your statement, only sticking to the same punishing pace awaiting your release. when it came, it came hard. he pulled his fingers abruptly out of you, replacing them with his tongue while he drank from the sweet fluid spilling from your twitching hole. his hands gripped the fat of your ass, spreading them apart to get a better angle while he licked up the fruit of his labor.

it was then you heard the jangling of keys at the front of his house - along with muffled voices you presumed to be his parents. you shot up immediately, attempting to dress yourself before they inevitably walked in on the scene in their dining room.

eren stood up along with you, pupils blown and pulse racing from the sudden thrill of getting caught. he watched as you bend down to pick up your skirt, his hand reaching out to stop yours. you look up to meet his eyes, silently questioning what he was doing. "i didn't get to cum yet," he tells you, and if he didn't look dead serious you maybe would have laughed.

"your parents!" you whisper-shouted at him, appalled by the idea of being caught by your pastor of all people. his eyes continued to linger - his resolve remained unaffected by the threat of being caught. at this point his parents had unlocked the door and made their way into their house - taking off their shoes and jackets while the two of you remained frozen in each other's gaze.

"they won't know if you keep quiet," he told you, and you couldn't believe the audacity of the man in front of you as you heard his parents stomp around the front of the house. he was completely unphased by the sounds of them only a few rooms away from the one you two were currently in. "relax," he told you, moving in close to you, causing your butt to hit the dining room table behind you. his fingers went down to fiddle with the waist band of your panties - still soaking wet and bunched towards the right where eren had held it just moments prior. your hand reached out to slap his away when you heard his mother speak.

"eren, where are you honey?" she called out - all sweet and expectant. unaware of the debauchery her darling son was partaking in.

"in the dining room," he called out. ignoring the horror written across your face as he continued, "i'm studying with a student, mom. we'll be done soon," his fingers absentmindedly fondled your waistband awaiting his mother's response. he executed his lies with practiced ease, and you were surprised with how he spoke with such conviction.

"do you two need any snacks?" she asked, her voice louder as she got closer to where you stood half naked with eren's hands trailing across your white panties.

"no thank you," he smiled. "she has dinner with her mother soon," you stood still listening to them talk across the house, trying desperately to ignore the ache of his teasing fingers. "we'll be done soon, mom. i'd appreciate if you could leave us be - she needs the quiet to focus."

you were astounded how easily that worked on her. her footsteps trailing towards you halted and her voice came out terribly sweet, "of course. your father and i will be watching tv in the living room. join us when you're finished."

you didn't know if you were mortified or impressed at the ease in which he lied; how convincing he was to be teasing your body just rooms away from the mother and father he swore his purity to. his thumb dug into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your sides and stripping you completely bare. you felt a shock of something cool - his purity ring - hugging the slender digit of his hand as it trailed back up your inner thigh and against your sodden folds. "will do," he called out a final time, eyes dark as he picked you up and set you on the wooden table behind you.

he slowly unbuttoned his pants, eyes stuck on your delicious body beneath him, appreciating the subtle arch of your back as your subconscious anticipated the sight of his cock springing free against his stomach. your body felt on fire - flooded with guilt and horror and worst of all arousal. even after attending every sunday sermon the past month - and never once missing a second of bible study - you couldn't get yourself to believe in things such as heaven and hell. but with eren standing in front of you, taking his time to release his pulsing cock just to tease you - with his parents only rooms away; the tv speakers echoing family feud of all things... you believed the devil had to be real. and he was standing in front of you - teasing his own body and reveling in the way yours buzzed with obvious excitement.

"you can be quiet, can't you?" he teased, tugging down his boxers, his dick slapping against his taut stomach - the tip red and eager to be encompassed by your awaiting cunt. you swallowed thickly, allowing him to push you back until you laid flat against the table. a deep chuckle came from the living room where his parents resided and your body jolted at the sudden noise but you weren't sure if eren even registered the sound - too entranced by what was to come. he gently guided you down onto the table once more before rubbing his cock against your slit, poking the head against your hole. "ready?" the words that left his mouth were hypnotic - almost trance like as his other hand squeezed the fat of your hip. you nodded your head; still all too aware of the noise just outside of where you two were. he struggled a little to push past the initial ring of your cunt - but once he managed he let out a soft sigh - burying himself deep into your snug walls. his hand shot up to push back any stray hairs out of his face - wanting to focus only on you as you arched beneath him. the bible next to you lay cold while eren begun to pull out - only to push himself back in as far as he could go. your tummy bulged where his tip met deep inside you and all the air fled from your lungs at the feeling. "god, this pussy is so perfect," he told you - using the lord's name in vein to compliment your cunt.

"eren-" you squeaked out and he leaned down to deliver a small peck to your lips.

"shhh," he hushed you. "let me do all the talking," he didn't trust you to stay quiet and eren was all too familiar with keeping quiet in the four walls of the home he was raised in. "let me take care of you," he slowly made his way up to an unforgiving pace - taking his time at first before giving you what you both craved. your tits bounced with each snap of his hips and eren softly grunted with each punishing squeeze of your insides. he grew rougher with every moment, his hands holding your thighs far apart as he ravaged you with vigor. you brought your hand up to cover your parting lips that threatened to cry out his name and his own came down to rip it away - replacing it with his lips as he devoured you completely. the table groaned every time he took you, thrusting fervently while you milked him. "she's mine, right?" he asked you, referring to your pussy, voice heavy with lust and sin hot in your ear. you nodded - eyes rolling back. the cross necklace that typically laid against his chest - a reminder of his undying faith in the lord - fell out from his shirt with the passionate way he took you. the cross dangled down - tickling the skin of your neck and you winced when eren bit the skin of your lip. "fuck. take it. take my cock," he groaned. the room grew stuffy with your shared lust - and your poor pussy - too wet for its own good, begun to squelch from his cock. between eren's primal groans, your heavy breaths, the table protesting beneath you, and now your filthy pussy, the orchestra of noise could be heard outside of the room you two shared. alerting his parents.

"eren?" his father called out. not a moment later he came - his sperm spilling deep inside you. hot and sticky while your cervix contracted - desperate to take all of his children.

"yes, father?" he called out, a bead of sweat trailing down his neck.

"what's going on in there?" the gravely voice barked. eren swallowed deep, peeling off of you and pulling your skirt up your tired body.

"nothing, sir..."

[jjscrybaby]

thinking about being in a long term relationship with rafe and being so in love & happy him.

you have made a home together with love & warmth — and you’ve given him a secure home where his siblings come over. you’re a natural hostess and you love having wheezie, Sarah & John b (and their baby) over

thinking about how grateful he is to you for creating a home that he and his siblings haven’t had 🥹

rafe cameron x fem!reader | fluff | (i named sarah’s baby, not after jj because in ALL my fics he is still alive and thriving, just fluff tbh)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Christmas in Tannyhill has always been magical. There were always expensive gifts under the tree, lights covering the building and an all-you-can-eat buffet on the dining table for lunch. The sight of it was something out of a fairytale, something only rich kids would be able to afford.

The problem was that Ward was never there. He was working. He didn’t buy the gifts, the maids did. He didn’t put up the lights, he hired someone else to do it. He didn’t go to church with the kids, he didn’t help them write their letters to Santa, he didn’t do anything.

Rafe can remember the Christmas that he realised Santa wasn’t real, because the only thing he’d written on his list was for his dad to spend the day with him and his sisters. He’d woken up bright and early and ran down the stairs, expecting for Ward to be sat beside the tree with a grin on his face as he got ready to watch the kids open their presents, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, the maid was there waiting with a bored expression on her face as she waited for the kids to wake up.

You’d always adored Christmas. Your family wasn’t perfect, you didn’t have over-the-top gifts or lights surrounding the entire house but you had the thing the Cameron’s didn’t; you had love. Rafe remembers the first Christmas you spent together, three years ago, you hadn’t spent an entire month’s paycheck on his present, you’d gotten him something meaningful, a scrapbook you’d spent hours making. He cried, he cried for hours, because for the first time ever he felt that love you’re supposed to feel at Christmas time.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented, walking into the kitchen where you were in the middle of pouring cocktails. He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna ruin my makeup,” you warned, but there was a soft smile on your face as you looked back at him. You turned around to face him, hands looping around his shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

“In love,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss your red painted lips.

You giggled, shoving at his chest. “I’m serious. I know this is gonna be a bit weird for you, and for Sarah.”

“We’ve been getting on a lot better, and I didn’t invite them to see Sarah, I invited them to see our niece,” Rafe explained, making you grin.

“Are the cookies ready?” Wheezie appeared in the kitchen, wearing the purple dress you’d forced on her. Rose had finally allowed for her to come visit, so she was staying with you and Rafe for the holidays.

“On the table,” you replied, nodding to the dining room that you and Rafe had never used before.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang, you pretty much ran to get it. Sarah, John B and one-year old Mimi stood there with smiles on their faces. You squealed, taking the chubby baby from Sarah’s arms.

“Merry Christmas,” John B greeted, holding a bottle of wine.

“Merry Christmas, lovebirds,” you replied, leading them inside the house. You kissed Mimi’s cheek before handing her to John B, wanting to greet your boyfriend’s sister properly. You hugged her and she eagerly hugged you back.

Even when Rafe and Sarah didn’t get along, all for good reasons, you and her were always friends. You’d gone to school together, you helped the Pogues out countless times, it was impossible for any of them not to like you. She truly believed that if it weren’t for you Rafe may have never changed, you didn’t believe that; he just needed a push in the right direction.

“Give me her.” Rafe demanded, making you laugh as he held his hands out expectantly for the baby. John B chuckled too, passing her over. It was something you never thought you’d see, John B and Rafe having a civil conversation. John B giving him his child. “Her presents are under the tree.”

“Oh, God,” Sarah laughed. “How many did you get her? We’re trying not to raise her spoilt.”

“Don’t want another one of you, huh?” Rafe asked, a smirk on his face as Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. “The other one’s eating all the cookies.”

Sarah and John B left to go and say hi to Wheezie, leaving you, Rafe and Mimi in the hallway. He was rocking the baby, talking to her about her presents as if she could understand a word he was saying.

“What do you think about… havin’ one of our own of these?” Rafe asked, looking over at you. He looked nervous, something you didn’t see often.

“A baby?” You replied softly. He nodded his head, looking between you and her. “We could just steal that one.”

“We could, not sure Sarah would be too happy about that,” Rafe smirked.

You walked closer to him, his arm gravitating towards your waist to pull you into him. “I’d love to have a baby with you, Rafe. You know that. I’ve wanted that since I was fifteen.”

“Damn, someone’s obsessed,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, poking his cheek. “I love you, a lot. We ain’t ever had someone do stuff like this for us, I mean, you pretty much brought the family back together.”

“No, I didn’t,” you argued. “You did that, baby. You sorted things out with Sarah, you called Rose and demanded her to let Wheez come. You did all this, okay? Don’t give me the credit, all I did was put on a pretty dress and make some cookies.”

“Maybe… maybe we could do this next year, too. If tonight goes well, that is,” he suggested, that nervous tone back.

“It will go well,” you reassured. “Maybe next year we’ll have someone for Mimi to hang out with.”

He looked down at you, eyes full of love. His lips met yours, but only a few seconds later you were interrupted. “Can you not make out in front of my baby?” John B snorted, coming over. “I want to see these presents you got her.”

“We got you something, too,” you laughed, starting to follow him out the room.

“Even better.”

You looked back at Rafe, blowing him a kiss as you went. He stayed put for a moment longer, looking down at his niece. If every Christmas was going to be like this from now on, then maybe he’d stop being such a grinch.

[looseyjuicy]

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE SPOILERS !!

“Isn’t this romantic? A private wedding with our closest friends and an entire orchestra to play us in.” The man next to you sighs dreamily, as if he hadn’t taken you and a whole church full of people hostage, “if that doesn’t say ‘dream wedding’, then I don’t know what will.”

“Are you insane?!”

“So kind of you to notice, sweetheart.”

He ignores any curses you throw his way as you both make your way towards the front, arms laced together in a mock loving gesture.

this was.. such a bizarre twist of events.

for almost two years, you’d been Lydia Deetz’s personal assistant. Grabbing her coffee, running her feedback to anyone who needed it, just doing whatever it was she needed done for her.

she was nice, if not a little spaced out at times. as far as employers go, she’d have to be one of your best ones.

which is why you felt a little obligated when she asked you a pretty big favor.

you had to drive out with your bosses to help deal a couple issues that arose when the show was briefly paused due to the passing of Lydia’s father.

once you arrived at her old home, you kept things organized for the wake to take some of the load off of her.

later on, by order of Rory, you were put in charge of handling all necessities required for his wedding before he even officially proposed.

gross.

taking it as an opportunity to avoid the family matters that plagued the Deetzs as much as possible, you kept your head down and typed away at your laptop.

you will admit that the change of scenery was refreshing. Instead of a city filled with noisy cars, you’d been brought into a nice, quiet town.

well, at least it was quiet before some weird stuff started.

first, it was the occasional static on your laptop, which you’d shrugged off as poor connection.

then, bugs had seemed to have it out for you as they found their ways into whatever clothes you’d packed for the trip.

“this is an old house. It’s not uncommon for bugs to find their way inside.” you tried to justify as spiders crawled all over your former favorite bra.

although you’d genuinely thought you were going crazy when some weird flyer kept popping up wherever you went. At the dining table, inside your shoe(?), in the bathroom.

not wanting to cause any potential trouble, you just kept everything to yourself and tried to ignore it for the time being.

(it was hard to ignore the one that somehow ended up in the back pocket of the very jeans you had been wearing all day)

all of which is forgotten as a series of bizarre events had completely derailed the rest of the evening.

as you’re rushed around town by both of your employers, you eventually find your way into the church for the wedding.

that is, until the ceremony was rudely interrupted by someone that had come to claim what was due.

now, you’re dressed in some poofy, 80’s wedding dress that’s practically impossible to walk in about to be wed to a demon. The very one who somehow wormed his way into your short visit.

Lydia looks on in shock from behind one of the pews, her daughter and stepmother sharing the same mortified expression as you’re yanked down the aisle.

“I can’t believe the day’s finally here! Are you ready for the rest of our lives together, honey?” Beetlejuice gushes, strong-arming you into his side.

“No wa-“ is all you manage to get out before something zips! over your lips, smothering whatever objections you had.

“Whoops, looks like someone’s gettin’ cold feet.”

He cackles as you try to remove the zipper that conveniently had no slider. You’re given one last slimy grin before he forces you to face forward, urging the priest to begin.

god, serves you right for being an assistant to a paranormal TV personality.

[youaremydearestdream]

i find it so interesting that the curtis family dining table doesn’t have all three chairs until the very end of the musical.

when darry sings runs in the family, there is only one chair. this highlights not only his isolation from the rest of the greasers, but the disconnection between him and ponyboy as well.

no one sits in the chair.

for runs in the family reprise, there are now two chairs at the dining table. pony sits in one chair, while darry and sodapop both take turns sitting in the other. Both brothers have pony’s best interests at heart, but they show it in very different ways. soda provides the emotional support, but darry’s contributions to pony’s well-being often goes unnoticed by pony. while they are a family, they are not united. there is still a distinct separation between darry and pony, with soda being directly in the middle of them.

during throwing in the towel, which i am going to assume still takes place in the curtis household, there is no dining table.

there are no chairs

and there is no ponyboy.

darry begins the song kneeling down on the floor, as if begging for forgiveness. soda crouches down to his level, and tries to lift him up, both physically and in the song as well. darry sits defeated on stool (or bricks that i am pretending is a stool or something, because it is definitely not a chair)

soda spends the rest of the song comforting and consoling him while pony harmonizes from a completely separate location (the church)

the third chair finally appears during the scene with soda’s breakdown. at the beginning of the scenes darry is sitting on the chair and soda is standing when ponyboy enters. pony then sits alone on the floor while darry comes over and crouches down to his level.

he takes a page out of soda’s book, trying to reach out and comfort pony the same way that soda was able to comfort him, but it turns into a confrontation that soda, once again, is in the middle of.

after stay gold, pony finally approaches the table and sits with his brothers. it is the first time in the musical that all three brothers are sitting together. darry reaches out in response, asking to read what pony has written in his notebook so far.

the three chairs are finally united, and so are the curtis brothers.