#need more lorraine day stories

[asthurn]

oh, i love it so much! almost like a character analysis of lorraine day through adoration of someone that challenges her religious views and relationships. and since it was written in descriptive, lorraine talks about y/n with reverence or at least it comes off that way to me is so good specifically every time she compares them to maxine and bobby-lynne. also that pipeline of "do i want to be her or do i want to be with her?"

i’ll be watching you

pairing: lorraine day & female reader

summary: lorraine's quiet obsession with you grows as she battles her faith, her relationship, and feelings she can't control.

word count: 8.1k

warnings: religious topics & sins

The van rattled along the dusty Texas road, its engine coughing like it was on its last breath.

Lorraine sat near the back, the vibration of the bumpy ride jolting through the seat and up her spine. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, gripping her bag as if holding onto it would somehow anchor her in this unfamiliar world.

RJ had promised this would be worth it—a once-in-a-lifetime chance to capture something "raw and authentic."

He hadn't mentioned the suffocating heat inside the van, the reek of cigarettes mingling with the sweet, sharp tang of cheap perfume, or the company she'd be keeping.

Maxine lounged near the front, legs sprawled out like she owned the place, while Bobby-Lynne leaned out the window, her laughter ringing out every few minutes, high and grating.

Lorraine stayed silent, a passenger on a trip she hadn't wanted to take, but one she'd been too weak to refuse.

When the van pulled over to pick you up, Lorraine didn't even glance toward the door. She had already decided what to think of you—another girl chasing the same shallow dream, as superficial and self-absorbed as the others.

The sound of your boots hitting the steps barely registered, and she kept her eyes fixed on the worn fabric of the seat in front of her.

Then you spoke.

"Hi, y'all."

Your voice wasn't what she expected—soft, warm, carrying only the faintest trace of a Southern drawl. Not like Bobby-Lynne's exaggerated twang or Maxine's clipped tone, but something quieter. Calmer. It made her look up despite herself.

The sun poured in through the open door behind you, outlining your figure in a soft glow. You stood there for a moment, a small smile on your lips, looking at each of them like you weren't the least bit intimidated.

Your presence didn't demand attention the way Maxine's did, nor did it clamor for approval like Bobby-Lynne's. Instead, it drew her in with something gentler—an understated confidence that felt entirely out of place in a van like this.

You climbed in, your movements unhurried, and as you found a spot across from her, you glanced over, catching her eye.

"I'm Y/N," you said, your voice cutting through the murmurs of conversation. "Nice to meet ya."

The smile you offered her wasn't forced or flirty, just... kind. She stared back, too startled to say anything, her lips parting as if to respond but nothing coming out.

She ducked her head quickly, pretending to adjust the strap of her bag, but the warmth of your gaze lingered long after you turned away.

The others quickly absorbed you into their noisy banter, asking questions, making jokes, but Lorraine barely noticed. Her attention kept flicking back to you, even when she told herself not to look.

Your voice was like a melody she couldn't ignore, the faint lilt of your accent weaving through the others'.

She watched the way your hands moved as you spoke, the way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, even the way you sat—relaxed but somehow poised, as if this cramped, overheated van was the last place you'd rather be, yet you'd decided to make the best of it.

You caught her staring once. She froze, her breath hitching as her heart kicked up an uneasy rhythm.

But instead of looking away or calling her out, you smiled. It was soft, almost shy, and for a moment she wondered if you thought the same of her as the others did: the silent preacher's daughter, too meek to say no, tagging along to remind everyone of sin.

She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much. The way you looked at her didn't feel like pity—not exactly. And yet, that one small smile was enough to send a ripple of something unfamiliar through her chest, something she didn't want to examine too closely.

You weren't like Maxine or Bobby-Lynne, not really. They were beautiful in loud, obvious ways, with their perfect hair and sharp smiles. You were different—beautiful in a way that didn't ask for attention, yet somehow demanded it all the same.

By the time the van pulled back onto the road, Lorraine found herself stealing glances at you whenever she thought no one would notice.

The ride was long, the road bumpy, and the sun relentless as it painted the horizon in hues of gold and orange. But all she could see was you—the way the light caught in your hair, the way your lips curved when you laughed.

It wasn't just that you were pretty. It was the way you carried yourself, the way you existed without apology or pretense.

Lorraine didn't understand it, but as the hours stretched on, she found herself watching you more than she'd watched anyone else in her life.

And when you smiled at her again—just a small, passing thing, like the flicker of a candle—she felt something crack open inside her, something that made her both want to run and never leave.

That was when it started.

Lorraine didn't know what it was—not at first. It wasn't like some sudden, earth-shattering realization, not the kind of thing you read about in stories where the world tilts sideways and everything changes.

It was slower than that, quieter. Like water seeping into cracks she hadn't noticed were there, filling spaces she didn't know existed until they were overflowing.

At first, it was just curiosity. That's what she told herself, anyway.

You were different—so different from anyone she'd ever met. You didn't talk like Maxine or Bobby-Lynne, who spoke like they always had something to prove. You didn't move like them either, didn't push yourself to the front of every room or dress like you wanted people to look at you. And yet, Lorraine couldn't stop looking.

It wasn't even conscious at first. Her eyes would drift toward you without permission, catching on the way your lips curved when you laughed or the way you'd tilt your head when you listened to someone speak, your expression soft and thoughtful.

She noticed the little things—how your nails were painted pale pink, already chipped at the edges, or how you smelled faintly like vanilla whenever you brushed past her in the cramped space.

She caught herself doing it more than once, lingering too long or looking away too quickly whenever you turned toward her. It made her stomach twist, a sharp, guilty thing that she couldn't ignore.

She told herself it wasn't what it seemed. She didn't want to look at you like that—not in the way Wayne looked at Maxine or Jackson looked at Bobby-Lynne. That wasn't her. It couldn't be her.

Not with everything she'd been taught.

Her father's voice echoed in her head more often than she cared to admit.

The eyes are the window to the soul. And sin begins with the eyes.

She tried to believe that was all it was—just looking. But even as the words circled in her mind, they rang hollow. Because it didn't feel like just looking.

It felt dangerous.

You were dangerous.

And yet, she couldn't stop.

The worst part was that you didn't make it any easier. You were nice to her—too nice. Friendly in a way that wasn't forced, wasn't mocking. You talked to her like you actually cared about her answers, not just because it was polite. You smiled at her even when she barely said two words in return.

You didn't look at her like everyone else did—the preacher's daughter, the tagalong who was only there to keep the group from falling into sin. The quiet one who'd be clutching a Bible and praying for their souls before the trip was over.

No, when you looked at her, it felt... different. Like you saw someone else entirely.

And maybe that's what scared her the most.

Because sometimes, when you smiled at her like that, she wondered if you saw the things she was too afraid to admit even to herself.

It felt wrong.

Of course, it felt wrong. How could it not?

You were a girl.

Her father's sermons flashed through her mind—fiery speeches about sin and damnation, about the unnatural urges that led people straight to hell. She could practically hear his voice, deep and unyielding, reminding her that God was always watching.

But sometimes, when she was watching, it didn't feel like sin.

It felt... inevitable.

Like it had always been there, buried deep beneath everything she thought she was, waiting for someone like you to dig it out and hold it up to the light.

And maybe that was what scared her most of all.

Because as much as she hated herself for it—hated the way her stomach tightened whenever you leaned too close or the way her chest ached whenever you smiled at her—she didn't want it to stop.

She didn't want to stop.

It wasn't just that it was wrong. It was that she was already with someone.

RJ wasn't perfect—not by any stretch. He was passionate about his work, sometimes to the point of obsession, and he had a way of talking over her without realizing it.

But he cared about her. She knew that. She'd seen it in the way he always held the van door open for her, how he remembered her coffee order without having to ask, how he talked about their future like it was set in stone.

And maybe it wasn't the kind of love that made her heart race or her hands tremble, but it was steady. Safe.

Or at least, it had been.

Lately, RJ's touch felt heavier than it used to. His hand on her back when he guided her into a room felt more like a weight than a comfort, and the way he looked at her—so expectant, so sure—made her chest tighten in all the wrong ways.

And the worst part? It wasn't just about her. It was about you.

Every time you walked into the room, she felt it—the way her pulse quickened, the way her eyes sought you out before she could stop them. She hated herself for it. For all of it.

She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. That it didn't mean anything. But it did.

Because no matter how much she wanted to deny it, she knew the truth.

It wasn't RJ's name she thought of when her head hit the pillow at night.

And she knew it wasn't fair. To him, to you, to herself. But fairness didn't seem to matter anymore. Not when she was trapped in this endless cycle of guilt and longing, watching as you moved through her world like you belonged in it while she felt more out of place than ever.

She couldn't even look at RJ sometimes. Not without feeling like he could see it all—like he knew.

She felt like she was betraying him every time you smiled at her, every time your hand brushed against hers, every time you laughed and her stomach twisted in ways it never had before.

But it wasn't just about RJ. It was about everything. Her family, her faith, the expectations she'd carried on her shoulders her entire life.

She wasn't supposed to feel this way.

Not about you.

Not about anyone.

But she did.

And no matter how many times she told herself to stop, no matter how many prayers she whispered into the dark, it didn't go away.

If anything, it only got worse.

Because you were always there. Smiling, laughing, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at her like she was normal when she felt anything but.

And the more she tried to resist it, the more she felt like she was drowning.

It was impossible not to watch you.

You had a way of commanding attention without even trying, an effortless magnetism that drew her eyes like a moth to a flame. She told herself it was innocent at first—just casual glances, nothing more. But casual turned into frequent, and frequent turned into constant.

Every breath you took seemed to pull her in deeper, every move you made felt like it was meant for her.

She noticed everything. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when the summer breeze caught it, the soft drumming of your fingers against your knee when you thought no one was looking. The curve of your jaw. The faint flush of your cheeks when you laughed. It wasn't just attraction—it was fixation, pure and simple.

And the worst part? You didn't even know.

You had a habit of walking just ahead of the group, confident and carefree in a way that left her breathless.

The sun lit up your hair like a halo, and she hated how much she noticed, how much it mattered. Her gaze followed you without permission, tracing the way you moved, the slight sway of your hips as you climbed the steps into the house or stretched your arms over your head after a long ride.

She tried to look away. Tried to focus on anything else. But it was like you'd taken up permanent residence in her mind, always lingering just out of reach.

Even in the quiet moments, when you weren't in front of her, you were still there.

She'd catch herself thinking about you when she was supposed to be helping RJ, your voice playing in her head, your smile flashing behind her eyes. It wasn't just the way you looked—it was the way you were. Bright and unguarded, like nothing could touch you.

You haunted her.

And she couldn't stop.

It didn't matter where you were or what you were doing. Laughing with Bobby-Lynne, leaning against the porch railing lost in thought, adjusting your clothes before filming started. Her eyes always found you.

You were like a beacon in the dark, drawing her closer and closer, even when she knew she shouldn't look. Even when she hated herself for it.

The more she watched, the more it felt like you were meant to be hers.

And the whole problem was that Lorraine had told herself from the start that she wouldn't look.

The moment she realized what kind of film RJ was making, she'd felt her stomach twist in disgust. It wasn't just about the immorality of it—although that alone was enough to make her chest tighten—it was about what it meant to be here, surrounded by people who seemed so shameless.

Sex before marriage was a sin. Watching others commit that sin was a sin. Hearing it was a sin, too, but she told herself that part didn't count. She couldn't help what her ears picked up.

But her eyes? Her eyes were her choice.

She swore she wouldn't watch. Not Maxine. Not Bobby-Lynne. Not you.

Especially not you.

Yet here she was.

She stood just out of frame, the heavy microphone in her hands, pretending she was focused on her job. She should have been looking anywhere else—at RJ, at the equipment, at the wall. But her gaze was locked on you.

And she couldn't tear it away.

You were in the middle of the room, bathed in the golden light RJ insisted on, your bare skin glowing as though it were meant to be admired. Every movement you made was deliberate, slow, and fluid, and Lorraine hated the way her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn't supposed to look like this.

It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Her hands tightened around the mic as you shifted, arching your back ever so slightly. She could see every line of you—every curve, every muscle—and she felt as though she were drowning. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out RJ's quiet directions and the faint hum of the equipment.

She didn't want to notice how your lips parted, how soft sounds spilled from your mouth like a prayer meant only for her. She didn't want to see the way your eyes fluttered closed, lashes brushing your cheeks. And she certainly didn't want to feel the heat pooling in her chest, in her stomach, like something dark and forbidden had taken root inside her.

But she noticed. She saw everything.

You didn't even look her way, didn't seem to care that she was there. You were so focused, so lost in the moment, and it made it easier for her to stare.

The worst part was that it all felt real.

The way you moved, the way you sounded—it didn't feel like an act. And even if it was, she couldn't stop herself from imagining what it would be like if it weren't. If it were just you, without the cameras, without the others.

That thought alone made her want to scream.

She told herself it wasn't her fault. You were impossible to ignore. Anyone would be drawn to you in this moment. But deep down, she knew it wasn't true.

It wasn't anyone else.

It was her.

It wasn't just her eyes that betrayed her now—it was her thoughts.

She told herself it wasn't intentional, but the image was already there, unshakable. She imagined what it would feel like if it were her beneath you. If your touch was meant for her, if your lips formed her name instead of someone else's.

The thought left her reeling.

Her grip on the microphone faltered for a moment, her palms slick with sweat. She swallowed hard, her throat tight, as if choking down the weight of her own guilt. It wasn't just wrong—it was blasphemous. A sin beyond comprehension.

How could you think that?

Her mind screamed at her, the voice so loud and damning that it might as well have been her father's. She could practically hear his sermons echoing in her head, the fire and brimstone warnings about lust, about temptation, about damnation. And yet, even as the guilt gnawed at her, she couldn't stop.

You shifted again, the slow, deliberate arch of your back drawing her in like a magnet. The soft, breathy sounds you made were too much—too intimate, too real. Every curve, every movement seemed designed to unravel her completely, and she hated how easily it worked.

Her chest felt tight, her breath shallow, as if her body was betraying her just as much as her mind.

You're disgusting, she thought, her nails digging into the skin of her palm as if the pain could ground her, pull her back from the brink. But it didn't work. Nothing worked.

The more she tried to push the thoughts away, the stronger they became.

She imagined your hands on her, guiding her, claiming her, and it sent a rush of something dark and electric through her veins. It wasn't just desire—it was longing, raw and desperate, the kind that ached deep in her bones. The kind she'd spent her whole life pretending she couldn't feel.

And it terrified her.

She tore her eyes away, forcing herself to stare at the floor, at the worn wood planks beneath her feet. But even then, it wasn't enough. She could still hear you, every sound a brand against her soul, scorching her from the inside out.

The idea that she wanted this—wanted you—felt like poison. But the worst part wasn't the wanting.

The worst part was that, for one brief, fleeting moment, she imagined you wanting her back.

That thought sent her spiraling, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her ribs. She clenched her jaw, her teeth grinding together as if she could force the thought away, but it was no use. The image of your hands on her, of your lips against her skin, was burned into her mind.

It was wrong. It was unforgivable.

But God help her, she didn't want it to stop.

That thought lingered long after the cameras stopped rolling, clinging to her like a second skin. It followed her through the rest of the day, its weight pressing down on her chest. Even as the others laughed and drank, their voices bouncing off the walls of the small cabin, Lorraine remained quiet, clutching her Bible and pretending to read, the words on the page a blur.

Her hands trembled when she turned the pages, her mind too full of you—of what she'd seen, what she'd felt, what she'd wanted.

By the time night fell, she was exhausted, every muscle in her body tense as though she'd been fighting herself for hours. When RJ led her to the room they'd been given, she followed in silence, her legs moving on autopilot.

Now, lying beside him in the dark, the bed creaking softly beneath their combined weight, she stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe through the fire still burning low in her stomach.

The small cabin creaked around them, the old wood shifting and settling as the night stretched on. The bed was uncomfortable, the mattress too firm, but that wasn't what kept her awake.

She knew exactly what it was.

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her skin damp with sweat. It clung to her neck and shoulders, making her feel trapped, suffocated, as if the air itself were pressing down on her. She thought of her father's voice, his sermons about the flames of Hell. This is what he meant, isn't it?

Satan's fire, consuming her from the inside out.

She turned onto her side, her back to RJ, curling in on herself as though that might contain the shame threatening to drown her. But the moment she closed her eyes, there you were.

You were just down the 'hall', asleep on the couch. She could picture it too vividly—the soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, your hair spread out across the cushion, your body at peace in the dim light of the living room.

Her mind replayed the day's events in agonizing detail. The way you'd looked under the camera's gaze. The way you moved, so natural, so confident, as if you'd been born to be admired. The way your skin seemed to glow, the soft sheen of sweat catching the light.

She felt the heat rise in her again, shame creeping up her neck as she pressed her thighs together, desperate to quell the growing ache.

Your voice echoed in her head, soft and teasing, the way you'd laughed earlier that day when Jackson made some offhand joke.

The sound of your moans, still fresh in her memory, sent a shiver down her spine, her fingers curling into the sheets. She could see you so clearly—your skin glowing under the lights, the gentle arch of your body, the way you moved as though you were completely at ease, completely yourself.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry as her pulse pounded in her ears.

It wasn't just the memory of what she'd seen. It was the knowledge that you were close, completely unaware of the effect you had on her.

You'd volunteered to sleep on the couch, brushing off Wayne's half-hearted suggestion that someone else take it, and she hated how selfless you'd seemed, how kind.

It only made her feel worse.

She shifted again, her body tense, her skin sticky with sweat despite the cool night air drifting in through the cracked window. Her legs rubbed together under the sheets, and she froze at the sensation, shame washing over her in a tidal wave.

Her stomach churned as the thought of you invaded her mind once more, the memory of your body, your sounds, your smile. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting down hard on her lip to stifle the gasp threatening to escape.

It wasn't just desire; it was torment.

She shouldn't have watched. She should've turned away, closed her eyes, done anything but what she did. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself of that now, it didn't change the truth.

She had watched.

And she had liked it.

Every movement, every sound, every fleeting expression—it was all burned into her mind, and the worst part was she didn't want to let it go.

The cabin felt suffocating, the air thick with the weight of her guilt. She lay there, trembling, as the hours stretched on, her thoughts circling back to you again and again.

You, asleep, so close yet so far.

You, who had no idea what you'd done to her.

You, who would never know.

And Lorraine, too afraid to close her eyes, because she knew exactly what she'd see.

That's what brought her here, the quiet desperation thrumming under her skin as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She couldn't stand it anymore—the weight of the images burned into her mind every time she closed her eyes, the phantom sound of your laughter echoing in her ears.

She told herself it was for water. A simple glass of water to ease her dry throat. Nothing more.

It's only water. Was what she told herself as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the hem of her striped nightgown brushing against her thighs. The cool summer air kissed her skin as soon as she peeled the covers back, a welcome relief to the suffocating heat that had consumed her body.

RJ didn't stir beside her. His breath remained even, oblivious. She moved carefully, her bare feet meeting the wooden floor, and winced as its coarse texture bit into her soles.

Everything in this cabin seemed to be made of wood—rough, unpolished, as though designed to make you feel each step.

Each creak of the floorboards echoed in her ears as she tiptoed toward the door. Her breath hitched every time she shifted her weight, convinced for a fleeting moment that RJ would wake and ask where she was going. But he didn't. He never even flinched.

The handle was cool under her palm, the door groaning softly as she slipped into the hallway. The moonlight streamed in through the thin curtains, illuminating the narrow path toward the main room where the sink and the couch sat.

Where you were.

She told herself it wasn't about you. She repeated the lie in her mind as her feet carried her forward, her nightgown swaying with each step. It was about water. Her throat was dry. That's all it was.

But with every careful step, her heartbeat quickened, and her palms dampened. The closer she got to the big room, the harder it became to ignore the pull, the quiet voice whispering that she wasn't walking toward the sink at all.

The air shifted when she reached the room, the warm summer breeze filtering through the open windows and ruffling the hem of her nightgown. Her eyes landed on the sink first, a hollow pretense of her purpose for being there. But then they flicked to the couch, and everything else faded.

You were asleep, sprawled out on your side, one arm tucked under your pillow, the other draped lazily over the edge. The blanket you'd pulled over yourself earlier was half-kicked off, and your sleep shirt had ridden up, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. The moonlight cast a faint glow over your skin, making it almost luminescent, and Lorraine's breath hitched.

She stopped in her tracks, her hand clutching the fabric of her nightgown as though it might steady her. The thought of water dissolved entirely, replaced by a new, all-consuming awareness.

You looked peaceful, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, completely unaware of the world around you—or of her.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stared, unable to move, unable to tear her gaze away. The gentle slope of your exposed skin, the slight parting of your lips, the way your hair fanned out across the pillow—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Her breathing grew shallow as she stood there, rooted in place, her grip tightening. She should move. She should turn away, fill a glass of water, and go back to bed.

But she didn't.

Her chest rose and fell in sync with yours, her own breaths growing ragged as she watched you.

She tried to remind herself that this was wrong, that she had no business standing there, staring at you like this. But no matter how loud that voice screamed in her head, her feet wouldn't budge.

Her gaze traced the delicate rise and fall of your ribcage, the way your body seemed to glow in the moonlight, and the warmth that she'd thought she'd left behind under the covers began to spread through her again.

Every breath you took, every slight movement of your body as you shifted in your sleep—she saw it all.

And she couldn't look away.

Until you moved again.

It was subtle at first—a soft sigh leaving your lips as your fingers flexed against the blanket, the tiniest hint of tension releasing from your body.

Then your hand slipped over the edge of the cushion, and Lorraine's heart began to race. She watched as you stretched, your back arching slightly, and let out a quiet murmur that sent a shiver crawling up her spine.

For one terrifying moment, she thought you might wake. Your lashes fluttered, and your head turned slightly, lips parting as though preparing to speak. Lorraine froze in place, her pulse a deafening roar in her ears, every muscle in her body stiff and bracing for the worst. What would you say if you saw her standing there? Would you scream? Would you ask her why?

She stumbled back a step, her heel catching on the edge of the wooden floorboard, and the soft creak that followed was louder than a gunshot in her mind. Her stomach dropped as she watched your body stir in response. The blanket slipped further down your waist, revealing more of your skin, and her eyes flicked to the smooth curve of your exposed hip before she could stop herself.

Her breathing quickened. You shifted again, this time with more purpose, and she thought for sure you were waking now. The panic clawed at her throat, her breath hitching in short, shallow gasps. What was she doing? What was wrong with her?

She had to leave.

Her bare feet moved in frantic little steps across the wooden floor, each creak of the boards beneath her weight feeling impossibly loud in the stillness of the cabin. The summer air that had felt soothing only moments ago now seemed to press against her skin, amplifying the heat she thought she'd left behind in bed.

She didn't stop moving until she reached the doorway of the bedroom, the soft sound of your breathing still lingering in her ears.

She dared one final glance over her shoulder, her gaze locking onto the rise and fall of your chest, the soft glow of the moonlight casting you in a haze that was almost angelic.

You stirred again, your hand brushing the edge of the couch as you shifted onto your side. Lorraine turned sharply, her heart hammering as she slipped back into the room she shared with RJ. She didn't bother to grab the water she'd told herself she needed. She wasn't thirsty anymore.

Her hands trembled as she pulled the covers back up, slipping carefully into the bed so as not to wake him. RJ didn't stir; his deep, even breathing filled the room, a stark contrast to her own erratic gasps for air. She clenched her fists beneath the blanket, pressing them to her thighs in an attempt to steady herself.

Her body betrayed her, burning hotter than it had all night, and she thought of her father. He would've told her this was Satan's fire, consuming her from the inside out for every sin she'd committed. And this sin—this one felt worse than all the rest.

Her mouth was dry. No—her mouth was watering. The contradiction made her head spin, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the darkness would bring her some kind of peace. But it didn't.

And now she was back in this bed, beside RJ, her body trembling with emotions she didn't understand and thoughts she knew she couldn't let herself have. She couldn't let herself want you. She couldn't want this.

But she did. And it was killing her.

The silence of the room pressed down on her like a weight, heavier than RJ's presence beside her. She stared up at the ceiling, the faint creaks of the cabin settling in the cool night air doing little to distract her from the relentless swirl of thoughts in her mind. Her body was tense, every nerve alight with a sensation she didn't want to name.

She shifted beneath the blanket, turning on her side to face the wall. Maybe if she didn't look at him—if she pretended she was alone—it would be easier to find some kind of solace. But her body wouldn't stop its trembling, her mind refusing to let go of the image of you lying on that couch.

The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting long, pale lines across the wooden floor. She focused on them, counting the beams as though they could anchor her to something solid. Anything to drown out the sound of your quiet breathing echoing in her mind.

Her fists unclenched slowly, her muscles loosening by fractions as exhaustion crept into her limbs. She could still feel the warmth of her skin, the remnants of her earlier torment lingering like embers that refused to die out completely. But it was fading now, dulled by the weight of her body sinking into the thin mattress.

Her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, though her mind fought to stay awake, as if sleep would only bring her closer to the sins she'd already committed in her heart. She pressed her face into the pillow, the scent of detergent and faint wood smoke grounding her for just a moment.

She didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to dream. Because she already knew what—or who—she'd see.

But her body betrayed her once again, her breathing evening out as the fire in her chest began to dim. Slowly, her thoughts dissolved into the haze of sleep, though they lingered just enough to torment her in the in-between moments where consciousness fought to stay alive.

Lorraine finally drifted off, the image of your soft smile and the sound of your voice the last things to follow her into the dark.

___

The morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, warm and unrelenting as it spilled across the bed. Lorraine stirred, her face pressed into the pillow, her chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. But even as she blinked herself awake, the remnants of her dream clung to her, vivid and insistent.

It wasn't the kind of dream she could shake off. It wasn't the kind she wanted to talk about either.

Her heart pounded as she sat up slowly, the weight of what she'd seen behind her closed eyes pressing heavily on her. Images she couldn't justify and feelings she couldn't name flickered in her mind like a film reel, just out of focus but impossible to ignore.

She had dreamt of herself.

Of being in the movie.

The very idea made her stomach twist. She knew what it meant to even think it, let alone dream it. It was a betrayal of everything she'd ever been told to value, to protect. But there it was, lodged in her mind, as if her subconscious had peeled back a layer of herself she hadn't known was there.

Throughout the morning, she moved about the cabin in a daze. RJ was busy setting up the camera for the next scene, his words barely registering as he explained angles and lighting. Maxine and Bobby-Lynne lounged on the porch, their laughter carrying in the warm breeze, carefree and loud.

And yet, Lorraine's thoughts remained elsewhere.

She couldn't stop replaying the dream in her mind—the way she had looked, the way she had felt. Confident. Beautiful. Free.

She wanted to dismiss it as nonsense, just a trick of her overworked mind, but it didn't feel like nonsense. It felt real, tangible, like something she was supposed to understand but didn't yet have the courage to face.

It wasn't just about the dream, either. It was about everything—the lingering stares, the secret thoughts, the quiet rebellion she felt building in her chest. She'd spent her whole life being the preacher's daughter, the girl who followed the rules, who knew exactly where she belonged.

But maybe she didn't belong there anymore.

The dream had sparked something in her. A defiance she didn't know she had.

And now, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

She wanted to prove something—not just to them, but to herself. That she wasn't just the preacher's daughter. That she could be more. That she could feel more.

The thought terrified her.

But it also thrilled her.

Which was why she decided to bring it up.

The room had been alive with chatter, cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling, the faint hum of Jackson's guitar mingling with the clink of beer bottles and low laughter. They'd all been lounging—Maxine stretched across the couch like a cat, Wayne sitting close by, Bobby-Lynne perched with a sharp grin, and you leaning back in one of the chairs, looking as effortlessly calm as ever.

Lorraine had been quiet, like always, sitting beside RJ on the smaller loveseat. But this time, something was different.

Her heartbeat was heavy, thudding against her ribcage as she gripped her bottle tighter, the condensation dampening her fingers.

It had been building all day—the thought, the idea. It had started as a spark, something she would've dismissed immediately, but it refused to leave her mind. The movie. The scenes. What it would mean if she...

The words left her mouth before she could overthink it again.

"I want to be in it."

The room had gone still, so suddenly it almost felt suffocating. All the casual chatter, the noise, the laughter—it evaporated in an instant. And every eye in the room turned to her.

RJ's reaction had been immediate, as she expected. Shock, disbelief, frustration. He'd leaned forward, his voice rising with each objection, his words sharp with desperation. He'd listed reason after reason—how the movie was already planned, how it was too late, how her father would never forgive her, how it wasn't right. He'd grasped at excuses, anything to sway her, to make her back down.

But Lorraine hadn't.

She'd held her ground, her gaze steady, even as her chest tightened with every word he spat at her. She'd kept her voice calm, her answers firm, but the weight of his resistance still gnawed at her resolve.

And then, you had spoken.

You, leaning casually in your chair, had smiled—not in disbelief like the others, not in mockery, but with something softer. Pride. It caught her off guard, that look. Like you were proud of her for finally speaking up, for doing something that wasn't expected of her.

"She's got a point," you'd said, your tone light but edged with a confidence that immediately shifted the energy in the room. "She's got a hot bod. Why not let the preacher show it off?"

The room had rippled with reactions—Bobby-Lynne's sharp laugh, Maxine's raised brow, Wayne's amused nod. RJ had sputtered, trying to regain control of the conversation, but your voice cut through his protests like a knife.

"She wants to do it, RJ," you'd continued, leaning forward just slightly, your eyes flicking toward Lorraine. "Let her. And honestly, it's not like it's gonna mess up your masterpiece, right?"

Your words shouldn't have meant as much as they did, but they settled into her chest like a warm glow, fueling her resolve in a way nothing else could. You hadn't laughed at her, or dismissed her, or tried to talk her out of it. You'd defended her, again and again, your calm voice countering RJ's panic with an unshakable certainty.

And that smile—that little smirk tugging at the corner of your lips—lingered in her mind long after the conversation had ended. It wasn't just approval. It was something more, something she couldn't quite name but felt all the same.

When RJ had stormed off, muttering angrily under his breath, and the others had gone back to their drinks and cigarettes, Lorraine stayed rooted in place.

She was still reeling from what she'd said, from what it meant. But more than anything, she was reeling from the way you'd looked at her, from the way her chest felt full and weightless all at once.

Conversations flared up again, quieter this time, but there was a charged energy in the air now, a mix of curiosity and excitement. The idea of Lorraine being in the movie had sparked something no one could ignore, even if RJ wasn't around to approve it.

Wayne, ever the opportunist, leaned forward with a sly grin, rubbing his hands together like a man ready to strike gold. "Alright then," he drawled, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. "If Lorraine's serious about this—and it seems like she is—guess the only question left is... who's gonna be in the scene with her?"

That question set off a ripple of reactions. Maxine groaned, stretching out further on the couch as if the conversation bored her. Bobby-Lynne smirked, taking a slow drag from her cigarette, clearly intrigued but not volunteering.

"Don't look at me," Maxine finally said, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "I'm not into girls. Not like that, anyway."

Bobby-Lynne laughed, flicking ash into the tray on the table. "Aw, c'mon, Max. Don't be shy. You sure you're not a little curious?"

Maxine rolled her eyes but didn't respond, leaving Wayne to glance around at the rest of the room, his gaze eventually landing on Jackson.

"What about you, big guy?" Wayne asked with a grin. "Think you're up for it?"

Jackson shrugged, his easygoing charm never faltering. "I mean, I'd do it, but isn't the whole point of this to shake things up? Add somethin' different?" His gaze flicked briefly to Lorraine, then back to Wayne. "Besides, maybe she'd rather work with someone else."

The room went quiet again, everyone glancing at each other, and then—inevitably—at you.

You'd been sitting back, watching the conversation unfold like it was the most entertaining thing you'd seen all night. But when all eyes turned to you, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

You didn't hesitate, didn't draw it out for dramatic effect. You just leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees, and shrugged.

"Sure," you said casually. "I'll do it."

The simplicity of your response caught everyone off guard. Even Wayne blinked, momentarily speechless, before he laughed and clapped his hands.

"Well, that settles it, then!" he announced, his grin widening.

But you weren't finished. Your gaze slid over to Lorraine, who was sitting stiffly on the loveseat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looked like she was trying to disappear into the cushions, but her wide eyes were locked on you.

"That alright with you, preacher?" you asked, your tone teasing but not unkind. The way you said it—low, smooth, with just a hint of a smirk—sent a flush of heat crawling up her neck.

Lorraine's throat felt dry, her mind scrambling for something, anything, to say. She didn't trust her voice, didn't trust herself to speak without giving away the tangled mess of emotions roiling inside her. So she just nodded, quick and jerky, hoping no one would notice the way her hands trembled against her lap.

The room buzzed with approval, laughter, and a few offhanded comments about how good the scene would be. But Lorraine barely heard any of it.

All she could hear was your voice echoing in her head. All she could see was that smirk on your lips.And all she could feel was the sharp, dizzying pull of you—closer than ever now, in ways she wasn't sure she could handle.

Before she knew it, it was time.

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long, golden beams through the cabin's narrow windows. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, undisturbed by the nervous energy that had settled over the room.

Lorraine stood off to the side, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she watched the small flurry of activity around her.

Wayne adjusted the lighting, barking out instructions while Jackson helped move a piece of furniture out of the frame. Maxine lounged nearby, disinterested but present, while Bobby-Lynne added her own commentary from the couch.

You were in the corner, calmly sipping from a water bottle, looking far too relaxed for what was about to happen.

Lorraine couldn't stop staring.

Her heart was a wild, erratic thing in her chest, threatening to break free from her ribs altogether. Her palms felt clammy, her knees weak, and no matter how many deep breaths she tried to take, the tightness in her chest refused to ease.

She told herself this wasn't a big deal. It was just acting, just a scene. Just a moment she'd chosen to prove herself—to everyone else, to herself, to you. But as the minutes ticked closer to the start of it, all those rehearsed reassurances crumbled like ash in her mind.

Because you were there.

And that changed everything.

You caught her staring. Of course you did. You always did. A small smile tugged at your lips, playful and knowing, and you tipped your chin toward her as if to ask, You ready for this?

She wasn't. Not even close. But she nodded anyway, her fingers curling tightly against her arms.

The world felt like it shrank in those moments. The idle chatter, the shifting of props, Wayne's muttered complaints—it all faded away. All she could see was you, moving toward her now with a lazy confidence that made her feel both exhilarated and terrified.

"You alright, preacher?" you asked softly, your voice low and warm, and her stomach flipped at the teasing edge in your tone.

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She could only stare as you reached for her wrist, gently tugging her toward the makeshift set. Your hand lingered on her skin for a moment too long before pulling away, and the loss of your touch was like a physical ache.

She followed you on shaky legs, her breaths shallow and uneven. She told herself not to look at you, not to let herself fall further into this impossible, sinful fascination.

But her eyes disobeyed her, drifting to the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your neck, the way the light hit your skin just so, illuminating every inch of you like something holy.

Every breath you took, every movement of your body, every subtle glance in her direction—she saw it all.

She always had.

And now, as she stood mere feet from you, about to do something she never could've imagined just days ago, it felt like everything inside her was on the verge of collapse.

She wanted to look away. She needed to look away. But she couldn't.

Not from you. Never from you.

Her pulse roared in her ears as Wayne called for quiet on set, his voice distant and faint compared to the deafening thrum of her own heart.

You turned to her one last time before the scene began, your eyes locking onto hers. And for a split second, the world stilled.

She wondered if you knew. If you could see it in her—the storm raging beneath the surface, the way every part of her felt like it was about to break free, shattering into pieces you'd unknowingly claimed as your own.

But before she could unravel completely, Wayne's voice cut through the moment.

"Alright, let's roll."

And as the camera's red light blinked on, Lorraine realized her secret was no longer safe—not from herself, not from God, and certainly not from you.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 20 pt. 1- I Do

Summary: It's finally here, the day you've been waiting for since the day Javi came into your life and changed it for the better- It's your wedding day, and things couldn't be more perfect. Except for the fact that you and Javi can barley contain your excitement as you wait to see each other.

Word Count: 11.4K (If this wasn't 2 parts, this would be 30k long and wouldn't be finished until May)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, marriage kink (?), kind of semi-public sex (they're gettin' busy in the bathroom), Kind of getting caught (Steve needs to mind his own business), wedding things!!, family dynamics, mentions of death/grief, lots of emotions, Javi being an anxious, blubbering, hot mess, Javi being so in love and is so excited to spend the rest of his life with you that it physically hurts me (this chapter is lots of fluff and feelings and not as much smut, sorry!! Don't worry, there's PLENTY more to come next chapter 🤪)

A/N: Hi friends!!! Well, she's finally here, the moment we've all been waiting for- our two favorite idiots are finally getting married 😭💕 While I would have loved to make this one chapter, it literally would have been SO long, and Lord knows when I actually would have finished with it. So this chapter is the morning leading up to the ceremony, and part 2 will be the ceremony and reception!! I'm not even gonna lie, I bawled several times writing this chapter. These two mean so much to me, and I'm so honored that you care enough about them to be invested in my silly little story, too 🥺 HAPPY WEDDING DAY!!!

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For the better part of his life, Javier Peña was convinced there was nothing more soul-crushingly painful and miserable than a wedding. On a day that was supposed to be filled with happiness and joy, Javi had spent more years than he’d like to admit doing anything to avoid the occasion all together. Because for him, weddings had meant none of those things. Weddings had only served as yet another reminder of the failure he had chalked himself up to be. 

Leaving Lorraine at the altar and running away to Colombia. 

Watching the successes of everyone else’s blissful domestic lives play out in front of him, while he’d never felt so alone. 

Convincing himself that he would never be worthy of love because of the terrible person that he’d become. 

Weddings had been something that Javier Peña hated more than most things in life. 

But that was until he met you. 

Because today, on the morning of his own wedding, Javi was quite literally bursting at the seams with excitement, goofy grin stretched from ear to ear knowing that in a few short hours, he got to marry the most amazing, beautiful, perfect woman he had ever met. And even though the reality had set in that today was finally the day the two of you started your forever together, he was positive that he’d never get over the reality that you would always be his. 

As he pulled his truck up the driveway to your new home where he should have been sleeping for the better half of last night, there was a part of him that couldn’t have been more thankful he had been able to sneak in just a few more hours with you before sunrise, knowing the anxious anticipation of waiting to see you all day, let alone see you in your wedding dress at the other end of the aisle, was enough to already have his heart beating a million miles a minute at the ripe hours of the morning. 

While he should have known better his Dad would already be well awake by the time he snuck back home, Chucho’s welcoming grin from the front porch was already laced with enough forgiveness for Javi to hope he’d be spared at least some shit from his father. 

“”Morning, mijo.” Chucho chuckled, watching Javi’s sheepish stride up the driveway towards the house, slowly sipping on his cup of coffee with a boyish grin on his face, knowing damn well where his son had been without having to say a word. 

“I already know what you’re gonna say, Pops.” Javi sighed, shaking his head in embarrassment as he approached his dad, letting out a soft grunt as he took a seat next to his father on the top step of the front porch. 

“I haven’t said anything, Javier. Do you have something you want to say?” Chucho couldn’t help but snicker, raising his eyebrows at his son, as he watched his cheeks turn a petrified pink. 

“Nope, I am- oh, fuck me- nope I am, uh, all good.” Javi stammered, burying his hands in his face before running them through the sleepy curls of his hair and over the nape of his neck, his eyes still peeled to the ground, avoiding Chucho’s smug grin. 

“Then all I have to say is,” Cucho paused, taking another swig of coffee, “I hope you never stop loving her the way that you do now.” Javi looked up at his dad in confusion, wondering how his sneaking out wasn’t shaping up to be some sort of teenage scolding from his father. “I already know that you know you are a very, very lucky man Javier, but I also hope that you know you are going to make a wonderful husband. Eres un buen hombre. Estoy muy feliz por ti, mijo. Tu madre también lo estaría. Muy feliz.” (You are a good man. I am so happy for you, son. Your mom would be, too. So happy.) 

Letting his eyes shift off his feet where they had been stuck, Javi looked back up at his father, tears welling in his eyes at Chucho’s reassuring smile, reaching out to wrap his arm around his son, pulling him close enough to let Javi’s head fall on his shoulder, the two sitting for a quiet moment in silence. 

Javi couldn’t help but feel a twinge in his heart, thinking about the fact his mom wouldn’t be with him for the biggest day of his life. His mother had left this world when Javi was at his lowest- alone and halfway across the globe, fighting for a cause he wasn’t even sure he believed in. It had always haunted him that his mom had died worried that her son had become a broken man, and would never be proud of the person he’d turned out to be. When he returned home, he felt even worse thinking that his one living parent probably felt that way, too. 

But what brought him solace in a time that he needed it most, was you. You had given him a reason to make his parents proud, to make himself proud. While his mom would never be able to tell him the words he so desperately longed to hear, he knew in his heart that the life he’d built because of you was all the comfort he needed to prove to himself Lucia was smiling down on him when he needed it most. And as he looked up at the sky, the pink and orange rays of the beautiful sunrise beginning to spill over the horizon, he had never been more sure that even though his mom couldn’t physically be by his side, that Lucia Peña would still be with him every step of the way.  

“Fuck, I miss her, Pops. I wish she was here.” 

“She is, Javier. She always will be.” 

After soaking in a few more quiet moments together staring out into the shimmering sunrise, Chucho let out a content sigh, giving Javi a gentle pat on the back and rustling the dark curls of his son’s thick hair. 

“But, if there is one thing I know about your Mother, it’s that  I can practically hear her screeching at us wasting our time being sad about her on the happiest day of your life. Chucho, por qué piedres el tiempo estar triste? Basta de quejarte! Nuestro hijo se está casando, pendejo!” (Why are you wasting your time being sad! Stop moping! Our son is getting married, stupid.) Chucho mocked, shaking his head at the sky at the scolding he knew he’d be getting from his wife, making him and Javi burst into laughter. “And, if there’s another thing I know about your mother,” Chucho paused again, letting out a loud grunt as he pushed himself up to stand, resting his arm on Javi’s shoulder, “it’s that her and I would both agree there better be a nieto (grandchild) in our lives 9 months from now. Dios mío (oh my God), Javier, even on the night before your wedding you two can’t keep your hands to yourselves! I am truly surprised I don’t have 14 grandchildren already.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Pops….” Javi whispered to himself over his dad’s schoolgirl snickers, watching his son’s face fall flush once again, standing up to follow behind his dad back inside as Chuhco began to waddle his way across the porch. 

Although Javi could have tried to plead his case to his dad to prove his innocence, truth be told, today, he really didn’t care. Today, the only thing he cared about was that in just a few short hours, he got to meet you, his wife, at the end of the aisle and spend his forever with the woman he loved more than life itself. For the first time in his life, Javier Peña couldn’t have been more excited for a wedding. 

You weren’t sure how many more times you had read the scratchy print scribbled across the bright yellow post-it Javi had left behind on his pillow before he had snuck out for the morning, but you did know that your heart beat faster and faster in anxious anticipation with every glance over his words, counting down the second until you got to see him again. 

You had kept yourself in your room, convinced that your excited impatience would have you awake well before everyone else still sleeping at the ranch, but as you heard clanging and bickering starting to echo from the kitchen, you should have known better that your mom and Connie would be up to something to kick start your wedding day. 

With a yawn and stretch of your arms above your head, you flopped yourself out of bed, exchanging Javi’s worn t-shirt and sleep shorts for the white pajama set your mom had insisted she buy for you to get ready in as a compromise for your adamant despise at the white silky robe that had “bride” stitched across it in big pink letters that she had begged to buy you. 

Shuffling down the hallway, the commotion in the kitchen only became increasingly louder, now realizing almost everyone must be awake for whatever antics were taking place for the early hours of the morning. As you turned the corner, you were greeted by an adorable “Happy Wedding Day!” banner that had been made by the girls hanging on the wall, decorated with adorable crayon drawings of flowers, you and Javi, and all of the horses of the Peña ranch dressed in wedding apparel. As your eyes scanned across the rest of the room, the kitchen table was already full of breakfast, balloons dangled from the ceiling, and your mom and Connie were actively working on filling up what was most likely one too many glasses of mimosas.  

“Happy wedding day, Auntie Bear!” A little voice cooed behind you, looking down to see a still very sleepy Olivia, hair still crazed and bed ridden as she wrapped herself around your hip, squeezing you in a tight hug. 

“Ahhhhh, there’s the bride!!” Your mom shrieked, her pitch enough to make everyone in the room wince as she barreled towards you, joining Olivia to engulf you in her grasp. After everyone had recovered from your mom’s shrill greeting, everyone else had soon joined in on squeezing you in a giant group hug, the gesture in itself making you smile, but the physical restraint in the middle of a human sandwich being a little too much for you this early in the morning. 

“Thanks guys. I uh, I would like to make it out alive for my wedding so maybe if we don’t squish me to death, that would be great.” You grunted, trying to wriggle out of the arms squishing your body, hoping that someone would get the hint. 

“Alright, I think she’s probably had enough.” Connie laughed, finally noticing the look on your face, prompting everyone to give you at least a little breathing room. 

“I’m just so excited for you! I can’t believe you’re getting married, sweetie!” Your mom, clearly not picking up on the hint, was now back to squeezing you in a bear hug again tight enough to make your eyes pop out of your head. “Okay, sorry, sorry, I’m done now, just had to get one last one out of my system… for now. Here, have a seat, honey,” Your mom gestured towards the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for you to sit in, “we have about an hour before we have to start doing hair and makeup but we have plenty of breakfast for you to choose from before we get the day started. How’d you sleep?” 

“Oh, um- fine, I um, I slept fine.” You lied, now sheepishly staring down at the overflowing plate of breakfast food your mom had set in front of you, taking a hefty bite of pancake before looking back up, your eyes meeting Connie’s, a suspicious smirk gleaming on her face as she stared at you, crossing your arms over your chest as you swallowed your food with a more audible than intended gulp. 

“Oh good!” Your mom replied, obvious to yours and Connie’s silent interaction as she meandered around the kitchen. “Well, eat up, I’m off to go check on some things outside, but by the time I get back in here, that plate better be cleared! Girls, come help Grandma, let your Aunt finish her breakfast!” 

“Okay!” Your nieces giggled, following behind your mom into the backyard, leaving you and Connie alone in the kitchen, hearing her silently laugh to herself as she sat down next to you at the table. 

“Good sleep, huh? Good sleep that definitely had nothing to do with Javi’s truck that left here at 6:00 AM this morning?” Connie snickered, giving you a little wink as your cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, letting out a defeated sigh. 

“I promise it’s not what you think. I actually couldn’t sleep and I called Javi and he ended up coming over so I wouldn’t be up the whole night. I told him he didn’t have to, but I was up and stressed and having him here was the only thing that was going to help. It was just sleep, I promise.” 

“It’s okay, I believe you. I couldn’t sleep the night before my wedding either. I’m pretty sure if I did what you had done, Steve would have slept right through the phone call, or still would have been too drunk to drive over.” The two of you quietly giggled to yourselves as Connie reached out for your hand, holding it in hers, “I hope you know that he loves you so much. It always broke my heart to see Javi go through what he did, and how hard on himself he was because of it. You really are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. I’m so happy for the two of you, I couldn’t be more excited for today, honey.” 

Reaching across the table, Connie wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you in another hug, trying to hold back your sniffles as you felt happy tears beginning to well in your eyes. 

“Thank you, Connie.” 

“Of course. Now, you better pick what you want from that breakfast and throw away the rest before your mom gets back, I don’t think either one of us wants to be responsible for telling her that her food wasn’t sufficient enough for you.” 

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the thought of the dismay your mom would be in thinking that you didn’t get enough to eat before your big day as you put a reasonable amount of breakfast on a new plate to eat, discarding the other heaping pile that your mom had left you. 

“You are a smart woman, Connie Murphy.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

The rest of the morning seemed to move by at an exponential pace- At the Pena ranch, hair and makeup was well underway for everyone, and running on time with incredible efficiency from the detailed schedule that your mom and Connie had put together. Even though your body was riddled with endless amounts of anxious anticipation and excitement as the clock ticked closer and closer to when Javi and the rest of the boys would finally get here, you were pleasantly surprised at how fun the morning had ended up being with all the girls, especially since your nieces and the Murphy girls had insisted on putting on a hilarious sing along spectacular for the majority of the time for entertainment while you got ready. 

Over at your new house, however, with the only getting ready that Javi needed to do being taking a shower and putting on his suit, the boys were convinced that he was going to put a hole in the floor from his anxious pacing as he counted down the minutes to leave. 

“Jav, have a beer, man, you just put this floor in, I think your wife’s gonna be pissed when she finds out she has to replace it before y’all even move in because you can’t sit still.” Steve chuckled, taking a sip out of his can before nudging your brothers sitting next to him on the couch as they watched their friend and future brother in law tread back and forth across the living room for what felt like the 117th time since they’d sat down. 

“I think I have to agree with Steve on this one, Javier, you are making me anxious and I’m not even the one getting married.” Chucho chimed in from the armchair seated next to the couch. 

“I’ll second what Steve said, man. Have a beer, Javi. You haven’t shut up all day about how fuckin’ excited you are, so what’s got you so worked up? You’ve seen her in a dress before dude, this one’s just white.” Your brother David snorted, his joke now soliciting some eye rolls from the rest of the boys, considering David was about single as they came, and was the only one of the group who wasn’t even remotely close to being married. 

“It’s a fucking wedding dress, you dingus, there’s obviously a difference.” Your dad groaned, walking up to your brother to give him a prompt smack in the back of the head, making your other brother Charlie snicker to himself, until he also decided to greet him with an equally harsh slap for good measure. 

“What the fuck was that for? I didn’t say anything!” Charlie winced, holding his hands up in defense. 

“Tell your brother to stop being an ass! She’s your sister too, for Christ’s Sake, you’re not gonna stand up for her either?! Jesus you two are the biggest idiots I’ve ever met. Even Patrick would have had enough common sense to keep that one in his head. Well, maybe not, but that’s besides the point.” That one at least cracked a little smile from your brothers, wishing that Patrick would have been here to see their sister’s big day, and to distribute the slapping pain more equally between the pair. 

“I just… Fuck, I just wanna see her. I can’t wait to see her. I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my whole life. The suspense is fucking killing me.” Javi signed, resting one hand on his hip before running his hand through his hair, anxiously drumming his fingers on his side, foot tapping on the well worn path he had been treading on the hardwood floor of the living room. 

Chucho chuckled, resting his hands on his knees and pushing himself up to stand with a low grunt, making his way over to his son, resting his hand on his shoulder as he looked up at him. “Eres como tu madre.. Impaciente. (You are just like your mother… Impatient). Mijo, I remember when I married your mother, she was so excited that she actually asked if we could start the wedding an hour early, just so we could see each other sooner. I can almost hear her laughing at the fact that her son is no better than her. How I wish she were here to see this. Soon, Javier. I promise.” 

“Do you think she’s gonna like the gift? You made sure she has it for today, right? And everything from her brothers too?” Javi asked, nervously biting at the tip of his thumb as he glanced down at his father before looking over at David and Charlie sitting on the couch, smiling back at him. 

“Yes, Javier. I triple checked last night. I’m sure that she will love it. I know she will love it. All of it. Now, why don’t you go put on your suit and we can leave a little ahead of schedule, I will just make sure to drive extra slow. Even slower than normal. I think if we wait any longer you may actually combust.” He teased, pulling Javi into a tight hug before releasing him, giving him a gentle pat on the back. 

“Alright boys, you heard the man, get your sorry asses moving and let’s get these monkey suits on, it’s time to get this boy married!” David cheered, holding up his beer to toast Javi before promptly chugging the rest of it down his throat and slamming it down on the table, soliciting another round of eye rolls and muffled laughter from the crowd. 

Silently nodding and smiling to himself, letting out one last reassuring breath before looking at the boys standing in front of him. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna get married.” 

Back at the ranch, the last of getting ready was beginning to wrap up, all the girls' hair and makeup finally finished, and the youngest of the crew giddily dancing in their flower girl dresses, twirling and swirling in excitement at their pristine outfits as they gathered around you, patiently awaiting for you to get into your own wedding dress.  

For as long as you’d wanted to get married, you’d always known that you wanted your wedding dress to be simple- No excessive frills, poof, glitter, or anything that made you feel like you were playing dress up for the world’s goofiest fashion show, simply because it was your wedding, and your dress needed to reflect the extravagance of the event. Your style choice came as a surprise to no one, given the fact you had practically lived in your brother’s hand-me-down’s until the 8th grade, and even when your mom had flown down a few months ago to go dress shopping with you and Connie, she had even laid down the hammer with one of the wedding dress consultants that you wouldn’t even step anywhere near a dress that was an ounce too over the top. 

That’s why you were absolutely shocked that despite your firm parameters around what you wanted to wear for your big day, that you fell in love with the very first dress you tried on, and never looked back. 

It was everything you wanted and never you needed in a dress- a simple a-line skirt with thin straps that ran across your shoulders and scooped down your back, along with a delicate, lacy floral pattern stitched across your top that flowed down the wispy length of your gown. There were few times that you had ever admitted it to yourself, but you had truly never felt more beautiful than when you were wearing that dress, and when you had tried it on for the first time, only to turn around to see the tears welling in your mom and Connie’s eyes as you revealed it to them, it was every confirmation that you needed that this dress was made for you. 

And while you had been counting down the days in excitement, waiting to put your dress on for your big day, Javi had been counting down along with you, to the point where Connie had made the executive decision to keep the dress at her house to prevent any preemptive peeking, considering that Javi had spent every day since you had bought your dress telling you how he couldn’t wait to see how beautiful you were going to look in it, without even knowing a single clue about what you had boughten, besides your lovingly sarcastic and vague “It’s a dress, and it’s white, Jav.” 

But after all the time you had spent imagining what it would be like to finally put your dress on for your actual wedding day, you almost couldn’t believe that you were finally here, carefully taking the straps off the hanger where it had been resting, holding the beautiful, white fabric out in front of you with a goofy grin spread across your face, eyeing down the outfit that meant you got to spend forever with your best friend. 

“You ready to put it on?” Connie asked softly, her hand resting on your shoulder as she stepped behind you, excitedly gazing at your dress right alongside you. 

“Yeah.” You smiled, gently nodding your head as you looked back at Connie, taking one last deep breath before passing off the dress to her before shimmying out of your clothes, letting them fall to a pile on the floor before turning to Connie, stepping into the opening of the dress and carefully pulling each strap over your shoulders while she pulled the zipper along your back, letting out a little sigh of relief as it clasped at the top. With one more long inhale, you slowly turned around to face everyone, eagerly awaiting your reveal, picking up your gown with a little floof as it gently draped around you, meeting the tears and smiles painted across everyone’s faces while they gazed at you. 

“Auntie Bear, you look like a princess! Uncle Javi is gonna think that you look like the most beautifulest person he’s ever seen.” Olivia squealed, jumping up and down in excitement before running over to you, wrapping her little arms around your waist in a tight hug. 

“Oh sweetheart…. You look absolutely stunning.” Your mom sniffled through her tears, holding her hands crossed over her chest, soaking in your full wedding ensemble. 

“You look gorgeous. Like, seriously. I hope you know that Javi’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you in this.” Connie giggled, giving you a wink and a playful nudge, looking you up and down in astonishment. 

Stepping over to see yourself in the mirror, your heart skipped a beat to see yourself, your stomach churning with anxious, excited butterflies knowing that you were only getting closer and closer to finally seeing Javi and his reaction, trying your best to not your smirk grow too wide between your warm cheeks, thinking about his reaction. 

“You really think he’s gonna like it?” You asked, your eyes still fixed at your reflection in the mirror, gently swaying your lacy, floral skirt back and forth, running your hand against the delicate fabric. 

“Honey, I’ve watched that man ogle over you in a hockey jersey. I told the boys they’re in charge of making sure he doesn’t faint when you walk down the aisle.” Your mom teased, Connie nodding her head in agreement. 

“I’m gonna second your mom on this one, girl. Steve has a running bet with the guys on how long it takes Javi to cry after he sees you. I think the over/under is 2 seconds, but after seeing you right now, I’m convinced he’s all waterworks from the moment he lays eyes on you.” 

Connie’s comment made you laugh to yourself, shaking your head at the idea of Javi instantly bursting into tears from just the sight of you, but when you thought about seeing Javi in his tux (that you had already seen before, multiple times) and what a mess you were going to be, maybe the boy’s betting line didn’t seem so unfair after all. 

“Speaking of tears…” Connie smirked at your mom, nodding at her to signify some little secret they seemed to be in on, “There’s one last thing you need to see before… Well, we’ll let you open it up and find out.” 

With that, your mom reached over to one of the tables where a white box with a neatly wrapped bow had been hidden, your mom passing it to Connie before then passing it over to you, making you tilt your head in confusion as you took the box in your hands, looking back and forth between your mom, Connie and the box waiting for some sort of explanation. 

“What is this?” you questioned, still puzzled as you noticed the gift tag hidden under the bow, gently peeling it open, their suspicious smirks beginning to spread as you read the all too familiar scratchy handwriting inside. 

To: Osita

Love: Javi

Now even more confused, you carefully began unwrapping the bow from around the packaging, letting the ribbon fall to the floor, followed by the lid of the box, revealing another longer note from Javi, resting on top of a bed of neatly folded tissue paper. You sat down in one of the chairs close by, letting the box rest on your lap as you held the note in your hands, already beginning to tremble as you felt the tears start to well in your eyes as you began to read. 

Osita, 

I knew from the moment I met you, that I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. I can’t believe that day is finally here. I hope that this day is everything that you could ever dream it to be. 

I hope you know that if I could I would give you everything. The moon, the sun, the stars- if you wanted it, I would give it to you. 

But I know that no matter how hard I try, there is one thing I know can’t give to you, and that’s the presence of the people who aren’t with us anymore. 

And while I can’t bring back your brother or my mom to be here today, I hope that what’s in this box will remind you that they’ll always be here for you, no matter what. 

I know my mom would have wanted you to have this. There’s not a day that goes by that I wish she could have met you. She would have loved you so much. I hope she knows that you’re the best thing that could have ever happened to me. 

Your family was able to find something of your brother’s for you to have on here too- I wish I could have met him. I hope he knows how much I love you, and the beautiful and resilient woman you’ve become. I hope he knows how proud I am of you. 

I can’t wait to see you, amor. I can’t even imagine how beautiful you look right now. I’m the luckiest man in the world. 

I love you more than words, and I promise I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life making sure you know it. 

Happy Wedding Day, Osita. Soy tuyo para siempre (I’m yours forever). 

-J 

You could feel your heart practically exploding after reading what Javi had wrote for you, wiping away the wetness from your cheeks, you took a deep breath as you carefully set down his note next to you before ever so slowly peeling back the layers of tissue paper folded on top of one another, hiding the gift hidden beneath them. As the last layer of the delicate paper was shed, you let out a gasp, you hand covering your mouth in shock as you put together the pieces of Javi’s note and the present now sitting in your lap, looking up at everyone else in the room, nodding back at you with sympathetic smiles and tears in their eyes at your realization. 

Not only had Javi had given you his mother’s wedding veil to wear, but stitched in the bottom corner was a patch of Patrick’s old hockey jerseys, a small number 2 from his arm sleeve, the number he had worn for every jersey he had ever played in. 

“Oh my… Oh my god? I can’t, I- how did you- oh my god.” You whispered to yourself, your voice trembling in disbelief, tears now streaming down your face as you held the veil in your hands, your thumb gently tracing over the worn patch of Patrick’s jersey, truly too stunned to speak at what Javi had done for you, to make sure a piece of two people who were no longer with you could still be a part of the biggest day of your life.

“Can I put it on?” Your mom asked, smiling at you with tears in her eyes, walking towards you as you nodded, handing her over the veil as she gently nestled it into your hair, straightening it out behind you, even more tears streaming down her face while she watched your reaction in the mirror. 

Not only was Lucia’s veil absolutely beautiful, if you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought Javi had asked someone to see what your dress looked like to pick out a veil that matched it perfectly. Like it truly was meant to be.

Still too shocked to form any sort of coherent thought, you stared at yourself in the mirror, silently smiling and crying at your reflection until a soft knock came from outside the bedroom door, making everyone in the room whip their heads around to see all of the boys who had just arrived peeking through the door frame, waiting in anticipation. 

“Can we come in? We’re dyin’ to see you, Cubby. Well, the one who’s dyin to see you the most we banished to the outside so he wasn’t even tempted to come in, but the rest of us fools still wanna see you too.” Your dad’s voice chuckled from behind the door, making you break from your crying just enough to let a soft laugh escape from your chest, nodding your head as you turned around to greet the gang gathered at the door. 

Growing up the youngest of 3 brothers, sentimental wasn’t a term thrown around in your household very often. Of course you loved your family, and they loved you, but you and your brothers had often joked that it’d probably be easier to projectile vomit than to actually say the words “I love you” eachother. So that’s why when your dad and brothers walked through the door with awestruck looks on their faces, you couldn’t help but start crying even more. 

Well, until they actually got a chance to speak. 

“Don’t cry you dingus, you’re gonna mess up all your makeup. And god knows how long it took to try and make you look like you didn’t just crawl out of a garbage can.” David quietly snickered, pulling you in for a much gentler than usual headlock before wrapping his arms around you for a legitimate hug. 

“Fuck off, David. How many people had to help you put that suit on, huh? You use every last brain cell trying to do up those buttons?” You teased back, trying to wipe the tears that had been rolling down your cheeks before giving him a loving slap to the stomach, making the two of you laugh even more. 

“You know his dumbass needed all the help he could get.” Charlie joked, pulling you in for another hug before stepping back to look you up and down, “Not too shabby. You clean up good, Cubby.” 

“Thanks Charlie.” 

The last one to step towards you was your dad, who you could tell was trying with everything in him not to absolutely burst into tears, putting one hand on your shoulder as he smiled at you. “I’ll say it once and I won’t say it again because you know as well as I do I’m not good with the sappy shit. You look beautiful, Cubby. I’m so proud of you. I know Patrick would have been too. Although that motherfucker is probably pissed at us that we cut the number off of his favorite jersey, but I think he’ll forgive us.” Wrapping you in a tight squeeze, your dad engulfed you in a bear hug, quickly followed by your brothers and your mom, trapping you in the center of their bodies, knowing you all were wishing there was one more person there in your group to fill in your hug. 

“I love you guys. Thank you.” You whispered, just loud enough to make sure they could hear, but quiet enough that even though your brothers had heard it, just this once, they wouldn’t give you shit for it. And just this once, everyone seemed to silently agree that they really, truly, did love you too. 

After a few more seconds of your group hug, there was another soft knock on the door, followed by another familiar voice, Chucho and Steve now peeking through the doorway to say hello. 

“Is it okay if we come in, Mija?” Chuco asked, already halfway through the door in excitement. 

“Yes, of course.” You sniffed, breaking free from the middle of your group hug to greet Chucho, less than shocked that his hug was almost tighter than the 4 other members of your family combined. 

“Mija… Mija, you look so beautiful. Oh, goodness. I had always saved this veil one day, just in case. And even though it sat in the attic for years, I pulled it out the week that Javier first met you. I don’t think that there was ever a doubt in anyone’s mind that you weren’t the one for him. My sweet Lucia would have been so happy to know that you have given Javier everything he never thought that he deserved. Oh, how I wish with everything she could have been here today to see how happy you make him. But I hope that you know, she would have been so excited that you get to be a part of our family.” He grinned through his tears, stepping back to look at you with a soft smile on his face, gently reaching up to wipe away the wetness on your cheek before pulling you back in for another hug. “I hope you know that Javier is going to be a wreck when he sees you. Poor boy has been in shambles all day waiting to see you.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man this anxious. And that’s sayin’ somethin’.” Steve chimed in, laughing to himself. “You look great, sweetheart. Chucho’s right, Javi’s ‘bout to be a goddamn mess.” 

As if your heart couldn’t feel any fuller from all of the love and warmth overflowing into the room, you had almost forgotten about the one person that had brought you all together in the first place- Javi. 

You could feel the pace of your heart begin to race, your stomach swirling in anticipation as the reality of the situation slowly began to sink in. 

Your future husband was here, and there was nothing more in the world that you wanted than to see him. Not soon, not at the end of the aisle, not waiting for you at the altar, right this very second. 

“He’s here, right? Javi?” You asked, biting down on your lip to contain the stupid grin growing between your cheeks, swaying back and forth on your heels in childlike impatience. Before you could barely ask your question, all eyes in the room were on your, giving you a collective look that seemed to scream “Seriously? You can’t wait either?” without having to say a word. 

As you could hear the beginning rumblings of protest, David stepped in as the most unexpected voice of reason, holding his hands up to the crowd in your defense, trying to silence everyone’s potential disagreement for what you were about to suggest. 

“Listen… Y’all know as well as I do that we could hold back these two with iron restraints, and they’d still probably find a way to see each other before the ceremony. And to be quite honest, I am pretty convinced if we don’t let them, one of them is gonna fucking combust, and I am not willing to be held personally responsible for any damages done before you two idiots can even get married.” 

Giving you a silent nod of approval, David stepped back to pat your back with the loving force that only a brother could, as everyone else in the room seemed to very quickly agree with his sentiment, joining with head bobs of quiet agreement. 

“I’ll go let the big man know you’re comin’. Gotta find some way to redeem myself before I bust his balls in my speech later.” Steve snickered, giving you a quick wink before quickly disappearing out the door to find the man behind it, waiting half as patiently as you. 

To say that Javi was disappointed when the boys booted him to the outdoors while everyone else got to go in and see you was the understatement of the year. Even though he couldn’t have been sitting on the front porch of his childhood home for more than 10 minutes, it felt like he had been waiting for hours, counting down each second until the moment he finally got to lay his eyes on you. After about 2 minutes of sitting in his dad’s rocking chair, nervously swaying as his hands shifted between his fingers drumming on his legs and balling up in anxious fists, he pushed himself up to stand, walking off the steps of the porch to pace in the front yard under the warmth of the late June sun. 

He had been so preoccupied as he meandered the front of the home, picturing just how breathtaking you would look as you walked down the aisle to greet him- how gorgeous you would be in your dress, your hair, your stunning smile, everything about you that made him look at you and know that he was the luckiest man in the world. That you were his. That you were everything that made him feel like home. It wasn’t until after a few careless steps too far around the corner of the house, that Javi was catching himself from tumbling to the ground as he tripped over a larger than suspected rock underneath him, quietly cursing under his breath while he tried to steady himself, peering down at the ground to see what had almost caused his fall. And when he finally read the words etched into the round stone beneath him, he couldn’t help but laugh at the fact the thing resting below him was none other than the heading that read “Lucia’s Garden”. 

“Jesus Christ, Ma, you’re not even here and you’re gonna take me out before the wedding even happens.” Javi chuckled to himself, gently tapping his foot against the rock, staring at the worn and weathered letters of her name. “You know, the very first time Pops met her, he let her work on the garden. I couldn’t believe it, because he barely lets me within 10 feet of here without worrying I’m gonna ruin something. But uh, I think that he knew. I think before he even met her, he already knew that she was the one.” 

Letting out a soft sigh, Javi crouched down, squatting next to the stone, gently brushing his thumb across the grittiness, carefully tracing each letter back and forth, praying with every ounce of him that one way or another, she could hear what he had to say. 

“I really wish you could be here, Mom. I really miss you. I really wish she could have gotten to meet you. I know that you’d love her.” Javi paused, his eyes beginning to well with tears, letting out a long, shaky exhale to try and compose himself. “She’s so good to me. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her. She’s made me a better man. A man that I’m proud of. A man I hope you’d be proud of, too.” He paused again, pinching the bridge of his nose before wiping his wet cheeks with the back of his hand. “I know that uh- I know before, um you were gone, that you really worried about me. I know you’d never say it, but um, I could tell. And I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mom.” His voice was now barely above a whisper, years of guilt and anger bubbling in his chest for the person he’d been, the life his mother had lived to see him play out while halfway across the world, fighting for a cause he wasn’t even sure he believed in anymore. 

“But, I um- I just- fuck, I just want you to know that I’m okay. I’m more than okay, now. This is the happiest I’ve ever been, all because of her. We’re gonna build a house, we’re gonna have kids, we’re gonna be so happy, Mom. So fucking happy. Te amo mucho, Mama. Siempre lo hare (I love you so much, Mama. I always will).” 

So focused on the quiet conversation with the simple stone sitting beneath him, Javi hadn’t even heard Steve’s hurried footsteps creeping up behind him, making Javi practically jump out of his skin as Steve’s hand met his shoulder. 

“Hey, buddy. You ready to-” 

“Jesus, fuck Murph. You scared the fucking shit out of me.” Javi gasped, thoroughly startled as he shot to his feet, quickly trying to wipe the tears from his face as he faced his friend. 

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to, promise!” Steve laughed, holding his hands up in defense before letting his expression shift to concern at Javi’s face. “Hey, you okay, Jav?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m- No, I’m good, sorry. Just um- Just wish my mom could have been here for this, ya know? She would have really fucking loved her.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, man. My dad was gone before my wedding, too. Fuckin’ sucks.” Steve smiled sympathetically, “Truth be told Jav, that girl you’re gonna marry, I think it’s hard for anyone not to love her. Your mom would be really happy for ya.” 

“Thanks, Murph.” Javi huffed, a small smile spreading across his face at Steve’s genuine sympathy, a trait he didn’t see very often. 

“C’mere, buddy.” Without giving him a choice, Steve wrapped his arms around Javi, pulling him in for a hug with a few stiff pats on the back before pulling away with a nod, hands on his hips as he stared down his friend with a shit eating grin, knowing the news he was about to tell Javi would instantly turn his mood around. “Speakin’ of your future wife… You wanna see her?” 

“Wait, like, now? Like, actually?” Javi’s mood instantly shifted, his entire body lighting up at the prospect, looking at Steve with relief glistening in his dark brown eyes. 

“Yeah, actually. Thank God your wife is just as obsessed with you as you are with her. Jesus Christ, I think the both of ya would have fuckin’ exploded if we made you wait ‘till the ceremony.” Steve chuckled, grabbing Javi’s shoulder and giving it a playful shake. “Alright, you turn around so it’s a surprise when she gets out here, lemme go get her. And Jav?” Steve asked, turning his head back over his shoulder to look at his friend as he began to walk away back towards the house. 

“Yeah, Murph?” 

“You’re losin’ that bet. No way in fuckin’ hell you ain’t sobbin’ like a baby the second you lay eyes on her.” 

As Steve disappeared back into the house, Javi couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself, because as much as he wanted to dish shit back to Steve, he knew his friend was right- He was about to be a fucking mess. 

“So? Are we good? Does he wanna see me?” You asked, anxiously waiting at the door, feet tapping on the floor hidden underneath your dress as you waited for Steve’s return. 

“No offense, Sweetheart, but that's just about the dumbest question I've ever heard. What do you think? Of course the bastard wants to see you. I’m just gonna warn ya though, that man is a hot mess, and I really think ya just may kill him the second he sees you.” The two of you laughed to yourselves, feeling your heart beat faster and faster in your chest with every passing second, using all of your self restraint to keep from bolting out the door past Steve to see Javi. “Alright, I won’t keep ya any longer, go get ‘em, killer.” 

Before you could get yourself out the door, you embraced Steve in a hug, catching him off guard for a moment before he hugged you back, smiles spread across both your faces. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

“Sweetheart, you ain’t got nothin’ to thank me for. If anything, hell, I should be thankin’ you. You two lovebirds are a match made in fuckin’ heaven. I was real worried about that old bastard for a long time. Glad to know I don’t have to worry about him anymore. Well, at least too much more. Now, enough about my sorry ass, go see your husband.” 

With a silent nod, you gave Steve one more quick hug before you were turning the knob to the front door, quietly stepping out to the front porch to see Javi’s back to you at the bottom of the stairs, already trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes without even seeing his face. As you closed the door behind you, Javi instantly perked up, turning his head back over his shoulder just enough to speak, but not enough to see that it was you who was walking to greet him. 

“She good to come out, Murph? I’m fucking dying out here.” Javi laughed, making you giggle at the fact that he had no idea it was you who was standing behind him. 

“Hate to break it to you, but unfortunately, I am not Steve. So sorry.” You snickered, practically feeling Javi’s eyes roll at your sarcastic comment, even though the both of you were thankful for a little humor to break the anxious anticipation that had been festering in your stomachs since this morning. 

“God, you’re such a dork.” He laughed, his back still turned to you as you took your final steps down the stairs with your dress in hand, trying to fluff it back out as you settled yourself behind him. 

“Hey, you’ve got me for the rest of your life, babe. Lucky you. I’m not gonna lie, don’t think I cleaned up half bad, ya know, if you wanna see.” You teased, giving Javi a playful poke on the back as you bit down on your bottom lip, so excited to see Javi’s reaction you truly thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest. 

“Baby, you have no fucking idea. C-can I, can I see you?” Javi stammered, his voice already beginning to tremble. 

“Well, I think I’m gonna implode if you don’t, so yeah.” You took one last long inhale in, holding your breath as Javi slowly began to turn to face you, feeling like everything was suddenly moving in slow motion when Javi’s eyes finally locked with yours. 

Javi couldn’t even get a word out before his hands were covering his mouth, his jaw dropping open in absolute awe to see you standing behind him. The tears he swore to himself he’d try to fight back were already streaming down his face, his eyes looking you up and down over and over again, trying to soak in every ounce of you, only crying harder as he noticed each and every new detail of you standing before him. 

“Osita… Oh my god. Oh my god.” Javi’s hand stayed glued over his mouth to try and keep his jaw from dropping any further than it already was, absolutely mesmerized by your beauty, barely able to get out any sort of coherent thought out of his brain. “Baby, you, oh my god, you look so beautiful. You look so fucking beautiful.”  

While you figured that Javi would cry and be excited to see you, nothing could have prepared you for the reaction that you were witnessing in real time, watching your future husband become a complete, blubbering mess at the sight of you, making it damn near impossible for you to hold it together yourself, considering the fact that you were also busy trying to take in the ridiculously handsome sight of Javi in his tuxedo- his broad body filling out every inch of the black fabric perfectly, hair and mustache impeccably groomed, and sweet, teary brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight, making you melt, tears rolling down your face as your heart bursted at the seams over and over again, wondering how in the world this wasn’t all some sort of a perfect dream. 

“You like it?” You managed to choke out through your happy sobs, your cheeks straining from the stupid grin that had spread across your face, the both of you radiating in the blissful glow of your excitement. 

“Like it? Osita, are you fucking kidding me? Do I like it? Holy shit, baby, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You look... Osita, you look incredible.” Javi laughed through his tears, taking another step back to grab your hand, looking you up and down again before holding your arms up to twirl you in a circle, your dress flowing around you, making you giggle as you finally finished rotating to lock eyes with Javi again. “Hermosa, I knew you were gonna look amazing, but I- I never, I never could have imagined that you were gonna look like this.” 

“Coming from you? Jesus, Jav, I’m convinced you’re trying to kill me in that tux before we can even get married. You look so good. Javi?” You paused, grabbing his other hand so your fingers were intertwined, his thumb automatically tracing soft circles on your skin. 

“Yeah, baby?” Javi replied, biting down on his bottom lip as he gulped, trying to hold back the lump resting in his throat from his happy tears as he stared down at you. 

“Javi… We’re getting married. We’re getting fucking married.” 

“Fuck. We’re getting married. Holy shit.” As if the smile on Javi’s face couldn’t get any wider, his boyish grin gleamed between his cheeks, wrapping his arms around you to engulf you in a tight hug against his chest, the two of you laughing to yourself in disbelief that you had finally made it here- that only a few short moments, the two of you got to begin the rest of your forevers together. “Can I- Can I kiss you?” He asked in a soft whisper, pulling back to tilt his head towards yours, sliding one of his hands up to gently cup your cheek, shifting your gaze up towards him. 

“What kind of question is that, you dork?” You teased, bringing your mouth close enough to his to let your lips barely ghost over one anothers, butterflies swarming in a sea of excitement. 

“Because I’m afraid if I start kissing you, I’m not gonna be able to stop.” 

“Do your worst, Peña.” 

As if time began to move in slow motion, your mouths met with an electric and tender intensity, slowly becoming a mix of tangled tongues and teeth, your hand sneaking under the opening of Javi’s suit jacket to wrap around his waist as the grip around your face began to tighten, your bodies melting together as one in a nearly magical moment- Well, as magical as it could get before being interrupted by all your friends and family that had gathered on the front porch to share in the moment with you. 

“Hey! Lovebirds! Jesus Christ, save it for the ceremony!” Steve shouted, a chorus of laughter erupting behind him, startling you and Javi. 

“Good Lord, Steve, give it a rest. They missed each other!” Connie sighed, shaking her head at her husband’s loud interruption. 

“Yeah, that’s our sister, you pervert!” David chimed in, the familiarity of his taunting voice making you roll your eyes, putting your hands on your hips as you stared back at the crowd. 

“Will you can it, you dingus? It’s their wedding day for Christ’s sake!” Your dad groaned, slapping David in the back of the head. 

“Daddy, what’s a pervert?” Olivia asked, looking over at Charlie as Chucho held her against his hip, grimacing as he tried not to laugh at the exchange. 

“Seriously David, really? Grow up! They’re so adorable, let your sister have this.” Your mom scolded, promptly giving him another whack to the stomach, you and Javi now laughing to each other at the scene that was unfolding in front of you on the porch. 

“Well,” You giggled, giving Javi a playful nudge, “It seems like everyone else has been able to solve the ‘you not being able to stop kissing me’ problem.” 

“Jesus Christ…” Javi sighed to himself, running his hand over his face as he stared back into the crowd watching you and him, “Can we get a few more minutes to ourselves before the ceremony? Please? I haven’t seen her all day.” 

“C’mon, let’s give the two some privacy. Lindas (cuties), why don’t we go look to make sure all the flowers are ready. Maybe we can practice walking down the aisle again?” Cucho smiled at the two of you, giving Javi a subtle wink as the girls began to giggle with delight, racing off to the backyard in a fit of squeals of excitement. 

“We’ll do another check of everything, too, I wanna make sure everything’s in place before the ceremony. Do you mind helping, Connie? Boys, will you go check to make sure all the food and drinks are ready for cocktail hour” Your mom asked, picking up on Chucho’s hint to give the two of you some space, now trying to rope your dad, brothers and Steve into that equation as well. 

“Can I have a beer if I help?” 

“Jesus Christ, David.” 

Everyone's conversations began to trail as they headed their separate ways, leaving you and Javi standing in the front yard alone, once again,  looking at each other with mischievous grins- Yours from knowing damn well that Javi had something up his sleeve, and Javi’s from the something stored up there. 

“What’s that look for, Jav?” You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at Javi as you waited for him to let you in on whatever plan he had brewing in his brain. 

“I think… I think that I really have to go to the bathroom.” Javi replied, boyish grin glowing between his cheeks as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. 

“And you’re really making it seem like going to the bathroom is a two person job.” You snickered, rolling your eyes at Javi, knowing exactly what he was implying. “Baby, the ceremony is gonna start in an hour, everyone’s here and I don’t think there’s gonna be enough-” 

Before you could finish your thought, Javi was swallowing the rest of your sentence in a long, deep kiss, only pulling away to quietly rasp in your ear. 

“Is that a challenge, Osita? I promise I’ll be fast, baby, you just look so fucking beautiful, and I don’t think I’m gonna make it if I can’t have my wife all to myself, even if it’s just for a few minutes. ” 

“God, you’re such a drama queen.” You sighed with a snicker, heat creeping in your core knowing that you had just as little self control as Javi did, peeking your head to make sure that everyone had dispersed before they watched you and Javi sneak inside together. “We have to be quick, okay? I just don’t want-AH! Javi!” You squealed as Javi was scooping you off your feet mid sentence, very fittingly carrying you bridal style across the front yard and up the steps of the porch, nudging the door open with his hip, the two of you all giggles and smiles as he whisked you through the house, stopping at his childhood bedroom, promptly setting you on the ground to shut the door behind him. 

With a click of the lock and a rattle of the door handle to make sure they were safe from intruders, Javi’s hands were all over you in an instant, his mouth crashing into yours as he walked you back towards the ensuite attached to his bedroom, hoisting you up onto the kitchen sink as he shut the bathroom door behind him for an extra layer of protection. 

You could tell how hard Javi was trying to keep himself in check, considering the amount of time and effort that had gone into your hair and makeup, and the delicacy of your dress, but it was taking every ounce of self control he had to not rip it right off you. Softly letting his kisses trail down your body, Javi began to sink to his knees, smirking up at you with his awestruck gaze as he carefully began to lift up the layers of your dress, running his hands up and down your bare thighs. 

“Do you know how fucking beautiful you are, Osita? Fuck, I can’t believe you’re gonna be my wife. My beautiful, amazing, perfect wife.” The hot breath of his words danced against your skin as Javi peppered soft kisses up the inside of your thighs, his head almost disappearing underneath your dress as he creeped closer and closer to your core, already soaked with your arousal waiting for Javi’s touch. “You’re mine forever, Hermosa. Fuck, I’m so lucky. I love you so much.” 

“I-I love you too, Javi.” You whined, your breath already shaky as Javi’s fingers hooked around the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and letting them drop to the floor below you before letting his fingers glide through your folds, already glistening with your arousal. 

“Fuck, you’re already so wet, baby. Can’t believe this perfect pussy is all mine forever too. God, you’re so fucking perfect. Everything about you. Mmmm, I know we don’t have a lot of time, but I have to taste you, Hermosa. Can I, baby?” Javi mewled, making you gasp as he gently slid two fingers into your aching core, curling them to bump against the spongy spot inside you that already had you fisting at the edge of the bathroom counter to try and keep your composure, and better yet, your voice down. 

“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, Fu-ahhhhh.” You moaned, feeling the strong arch of Javi’s nose bumping against your clit, placing a soft kiss there before the flat of his tongue licked a long, broad stroke across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to send the sweet tingling sensation to start building in your spine. 

While Javi would have loved to take every second of his sweet time to savor in watching you fall apart on his tongue, he knew just as well as you that he was working on a limited schedule, and wanted, no, needed to make sure he could get you off at least once before his luck ran out. 

Javi began to work his tongue against your clit, circling and flicking in fast and firm motions as his fingers curled deeper into your heat, his free hand hooking around your thigh and draping it over his shoulder, digging his fingertips into the meat of your flesh, like he was trying to ground himself more than you. 

You could already feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten from the way Javi was working so relentlessly to make you come undone, drinking every ounce of you up as, his lips now latching around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch and mind go blank while that all too familiar tingle began to creep through your core, cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around Javi’s fingers with every movement of his mouth against you. 

“That’s it, mi amor.” Javi cooed, peeking his head out from under you just enough so that his sweet, brown eyes were locked with yours, the hot words of his breath dancing against your pussy as his fingers continued to rock in and out of you. “I’ve got you, Osita. Forever. I’ve always got you. Promento (I promise).” 

Before you could respond, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt as each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen��

“Fuck, Javi. Oh shit- Baby, I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so cl-ooohhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips. 

Your heartbeat finally began to slow, your chest heaving in long, heavy breaths as you slumped into Javi, your head resting on his shoulder, shuttering at the loss of Javi’s fingers inside you. He carefully pulled them out, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a devilish smirk of satisfaction on his face. 

“Tastes so fucking sweet. My wife tastes so fucking sweet. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.” Javi chuckled with a boyish grin, gently cupping his hand under your chin as the other wrapped around your waist. 

“Get over what? Calling me your wife or eating me out?” You giggled, still trying to catch your breath as you came down from your high, biting down on your lip as your arms draped over Javi’s shoulders, your fingers tracing soft circles at the nape of his neck. 

“Both. Fuck, I love you so much.” 

“I love you so much too, you menace.” You smiled, tilting your head back to kiss Javi again, so blissfully lost in the moment, that the two of you both about jumped out of your skin when you heard a loud knock coming from the bedroom door. 

“Jav? You in here, buddy?” 

“Goddamnit, Murph…” 

The familiar twang of Steve’s voice made you freeze in fear, Javi quickly helping you down off the counter as he cursed to himself before the two of you were trying your best to fix yourselves up in the mirror to try and hide any signs of the horny whirlwind that had blown through the bathroom. 

“Javi?” Steve called out again, continuing to knock on the door. 

“Yeah, I’m here, just uh- Just give me a second, Murph.” Javi sighed, the two of you trying to keep from laughing at your current predicament, wondering how the hell Javi was going to talk you both out of this one. 

“What’s the plan, Peña?” You giggled, giving Javi a playful nudge as he carefully turned the knob to the bathroom door. 

“To tell Murph to fuck off if he tries to give me shit.” The two of you quietly snorted, feeling a little less guilty than you would have if it wasn’t your wedding day. “You stay here, okay? I’ll take care of him.” He smiled, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek as he opened the door. 

“God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita.” 

Closing the bathroom door behind him, Javi took a few deep breaths as he ran his hands through his hair, turning the knob to open up his bedroom door to be greeted by an unamused Steve leaning in the door frame. 

“What’s up, Murph? We were just, uh-” Javi asked, trying his best to stay casual. 

“I fuckin’ knew it. Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, you horny bastard.” Steve groaned, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Y’all haven’t even made it to the ceremony yet! Jesus Fuckin’ Christ. Everyone’s been lookin’ for y’all. I had a fuckin’ feeling this is what you two were up two, and as your Best Man, I’ll cover for your ass now, but I sure as shit ain’t doin’ this all night for you two rabbits. Now c’mon, Casanova, go get your wife from in there and come outside. Remember that thing y’all gotta do where you actually go get married?” Steve teased, slapping Javi in the chest before shaking his head at his friend, his cheeks pink in embarrassment as his eyes darted to the floor. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be out in a second.” Javi grumbled sheepishly, quietly accepting defeat. 

“An actual second, ya hear? Not a horny Javier Peña second, or I swear to God.” Steve groaned, raising an eyebrow at Javi. 

“Promise.” 

“Alright then. Chop, chop, Mr. Peña. Let’s go get your ass married.” Steve laughed, grabbing Javi by the shoulder before giving him a little shake and disappearing back down the hallway. 

Hearing Steve’s voice and footsteps fade, you slowly peeked your head out of the bathroom door to see Javi standing by himself, head buried in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back to see your face, equally embarrassed as his. 

“... He knew, didn’t he?” You grimaced, now fully opening the door and walking through to meet Javi on the other side. 

“Yup.” Javi sighed, adding an extra emphasis to the “p” with a pop. 

“Well… Either Steve has the world’s most unlucky timing, or he just needs to do a better job of minding his business.” The two of you snickered, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared up at Javi. “Or maybe someone needs to stop being such a bad influence.” You teased, poking Javi in the chest. 

“Me? I’m the bad influence? Okay.” Javi chuckled, teasing you right back. “Sorry I’m getting married to the hottest woman alive and I can’t help myself. My gorgeous wife is one not making it any easier on me.” 

“Still not technically your wife yet, you dork.” 

“Close enough.” 

Grabbing you by your waist, Javi pulled you flush against chest, tilting his head in for a long, tender kiss- the kind that made heat creep through your cheeks and butterflies churn in your stomach, the kind that made your heart beat a million miles a minute, the kind that seemed to make everything else in the world stand still, even if just for a moment. The kind of kiss that made you know without a single doubt that you had never been more in love than you were at this very moment. 

“I love you, Javi.” 

“I love you too, Osita.” 

“You wanna go get married?” 

“Mrs. Peña,” Javi grinned, grabbing your hand to interlock it with his, “There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more in my fucking life.”

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @pedr0swh0r3 @chaotic-iguana

[bradshawsbaby]

What Christmas Means to Me, My Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: You're determined to make your first married Christmas the best one yet. But when you start to overextend yourself, Bob steps in to remind you what's most important.

Word Count: 10.6k

Author's Note: Whew! The relief I feel that I was able to get this story completed before Christmas Eve! This is my contribution to @lewmagoo's A Lew Magoo Christmas challenge! It was inspired by the Stevie Wonder song, "What Christmas Means To Me." I hope you all enjoy!

(Special shoutout and thanks to @luminousnotmatter and @ryebecca for listening to me ramble when I was having a total meltdown about writing this story. I'm very thankful for you both!)

Warnings: References to being stressed during the holidays and a few brief innuendos, but it's mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

From the time he was a young boy, Bob Floyd had been cognizant of one very fascinating phenomenon—his bed never felt so comfortable or so warm as when his alarm clock was blaring in his ear, giving him a rather forceful reminder that it was time to get up and start the day. After he met you, that troubling phenomenon seemed to increase tenfold. As responsible as he was and as much as he prided himself on getting to work early each day, Bob would be lying if he said there weren’t times when he felt like chucking his alarm clock across the room and playing sick just so he could stay tucked away in bed all day, cocooned under the blankets and wrapped around your sweet warmth.

This morning, as his alarm started roaring at 7:00 on the dot, Bob let out a small grunt of protest, blindly reaching out from beneath the comforter to pound a resentful fist on the top of his alarm clock. Once it was silent, he rolled over in the bed the two of you had been sharing as husband and wife for nearly six months now and reached an arm out, fully expecting to wrap it around your soft, pajama-clad body. When he was met with emptiness instead, Bob blinked his eyes open in confusion and sat up slowly, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his vision as he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and slipped them onto his nose, albeit a bit crookedly.

“Sweetheart?” Bob called out, frowning when he was met with nothing but the early morning stillness of your quaint little home.

Immediately, he flung the covers back and climbed out of bed, padding towards the bathroom to see if maybe you were in the shower and couldn’t hear him calling you over the sound of the running water. That theory was quickly disproven, however, when he found the bathroom door hanging open, lights off and no sounds of a shower in progress. But as he flicked on the lights, Bob discovered that you must have been in there not too long ago, for the mirror above the sink was still beaded with condensation and the bathmat had the imprint of damp footprints.

“Honey?” Bob called again, thinking maybe you’d stepped outside to enjoy your morning coffee on the front porch. Although why you’d be up this early—and showered already, too—on one of your days off from work was beyond him.

Walking into the kitchen, Bob immediately spotted a piece of festive note paper resting on the countertop. He recognized it instantly, the cream colored paper outlined with a ring of cheerful poinsettias. You’d been ecstatic when you’d found it at the dollar store a few weeks ago—"You never know when something like this will come in handy during the holidays, honey," were your exact words. But what stood out even more was your delicate handwriting etched across the paper in dark ink. Picking up the note, Bob adjusted his glasses and read the message you’d quickly penned on your way out the door.

Good morning, honey! I decided to head out early to try to hit some of the stores before they get too crazy. There’s a lot that I still need to pick up, so I’ll probably be gone most of the day. Also, Lorraine and I are going to run over to check out the venue for our staff holiday party and finalize the menu. Speaking of which, I also need to finalize the menu for OUR party, plus Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Text me if there’s anything you want me to get! Hopefully I won’t be home too late. I love you!!!

P.S. I almost forgot—I packed some lunch for you and left it in the fridge! And there’s a pot of coffee ready to brew. Have a great day!!!

He sighed softly as he set your note back down on the counter, running a hand through his honey brown hair, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as he silently lamented your early departure. He could hear your voice in his head as he read your words, chuckling to himself as he pictured you quickly gulping down a cup of coffee—in your favorite Christmas mug, no doubt—and shoving a piece of half-burnt toast in your mouth before running out the door.

You absolutely lived for this time of year, and all the hecticness that the season entailed.

Bob had known, almost from the very start of your relationship, how much you adored Christmas. It was one of the things, in fact, that had made it so easy for him to fall in love with you. Seeing the way you lit up like a firefly when a Christmas song came on the radio or when your favorite coffee shop started offering peppermint-flavored drinks made Bob’s heart melt in absolute love and devotion. He had never known anyone as whimsical or as full of genuine Christmas spirit as you. And your joy was infectious—Bob had never loved the holiday season so much as he did once he started celebrating it with you.

Waiting for his coffee to finish brewing, Bob couldn’t help but grin as he glanced around the kitchen at all the decorations you’d been putting up since Thanksgiving. They gave your home a warm, cozy feeling that had nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with the loving care with which you’d hung them.

To Bob, every day was Christmas so long as he got to spend it with you.

Which was why he sighed again as he poured a splash of cream into his coffee mug, brows furrowing above his glasses as he considered how little he’d seen you these past couple weeks.

With both of you working full-time jobs, it made sense that you couldn’t possibly spend every waking moment together. But Bob looked forward more than anything to your routine of dinner in the early evening and then hours spent lounging in each other’s arms, talking about your days or listening to music or watching a movie together. It was a habit you had gotten into even before you were married, and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that your lives were now entwined so intrinsically.

These past few weeks, however, that routine had been seriously upended by all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Bob knew you took this time of year seriously—and he really did love how happy it made you—but it seemed like this year more than ever, your schedule was jam-packed and filled nearly to bursting.

On top of the usual shopping that needed to get done—you bought gifts for everyone, even down to your mail carrier and the barista who made your favorite coffee—there were preparations for not one, not two, but three separate parties you had volunteered to host. First up was your staff holiday party. Your colleagues knew that no one loved Christmas more than you, and so they had unanimously nominated you to spearhead the planning, which you’d graciously agreed to, with some help from your co-worker, Lorraine. Then was the party for the Daggers and their families that you had convinced Bob it would be fun to host a few days before Christmas Eve. All of your friends couldn’t stop buzzing about it, and you were going to great lengths to make sure it was perfect. As if all that wasn’t enough, you were also going to be hosting both of your families for the holidays this year, parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, and all.

“It’s our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” you’d told him one night, when he’d asked if you were really okay with all of the planning that would be involved. “I want it to be special.” Your smile when you said it warmed him from the inside out. As introverted as he could be, he’d gladly host twenty parties so long as it made you happy.

The reality, however, was that you were swamped. Every day after work, you were either running around to stores or scouring the internet for the best cyber deals or researching recipes that you wanted to try for Christmas dinner. One night, Bob had even found you making an alphabetized list of holiday games you could play at the parties.

“Are you sure you’re really okay?” Bob asked at one point, when he caught you yawning over your dinner. “I know I’ve been busy with work, but I can help more. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine, silly,” you giggled, waving off his concern with a hand. “I just want everyone to have a good time.”

“They will,” he told you, resting his large, calloused hand over yours. He looked intently into your eyes, sincerity shining in the blue depths of his. “They’ll have a good time no matter what. You don’t have to make yourself sick over planning.”

You had just smiled at him and given him a kiss, but clearly you hadn’t heeded his words because now you were even using your day off to run errands, waking up even earlier than your naval aviator husband to do so.

Rinsing his empty mug out in the sink, Bob frowned as he thought of how tired you’d seemed these past few days. Your joy and your sweetness never diminished, but he could tell just from looking in your eyes how exhausted you were getting. You were overextending yourself, and he was terrified you were going to burn out before Christmas even arrived. Not being able to fully enjoy your favorite time of year would devastate you, and nothing would hurt Bob more than that.

You needed to take a day for yourself, Bob decided as he let the warm water flow over him in a quick shower. No shopping, no planning, no organizing—just a day where you actually got to enjoy all your favorite things about this season.

That idea remained buzzing around in his head as he drove to work, hanging on the periphery of his consciousness even as he spent hours flying test runs with Phoenix and the rest of the Daggers. On his lunch break, he enthusiastically hunkered down in the rec room to research some of the plans that were percolating in his mind. And by the time he drove home that evening, he was wearing a smile bright enough to rival any of the Christmas lights twinkling in your neighborhood.

The fact that you still weren’t home when Bob unlocked the front door and carefully placed his work boots on the shoe rack only further solidified his plan. As if you could somehow read his mind, his phone buzzed suddenly with an incoming text.

Are you home? I’m so sorry I’m not back yet! I’m on my way now. I picked up some dinner from that BBQ place that you like 😋

Bob’s heart squeezed with affection as he read your words. You’d been up for nearly twelve hours at this point, and you were no doubt exhausted, but you were still always putting others ahead of yourself. He typed out a quick response as he walked into the living room to turn on the lights on the Christmas tree.

Yum! Thank you, sweetheart. Can’t wait for you to get home ♥️

About twenty minutes later, just as Bob was stepping out of your bedroom after changing into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt from his time at the Naval Academy, he heard your key jiggling in the lock and hurried to meet you.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise when your husband swung open the door before you could finish turning your key. “Hiya, honey,” you beamed, holding up the bag of take-out food you’d picked up especially for him on your drive home.

“Man, I tell you, these delivery people keep getting cuter and cuter,” Bob teased, drawing you close and taking the food out of your hands as he dropped a kiss on your lips.

“Mmm,” you giggled against his mouth, kissing him back as you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders slowly dissipate. “Maybe this delivery girl can join you for dinner tonight,” you winked playfully, smiling when you felt Bob’s fingers lace through yours.

“I was counting on it,” he chuckled, tugging on your hand as he turned into the house.

“Oh, just give me a couple minutes, honey,” you exclaimed, suddenly remembering you’d left your car idling in the driveway, the backseat and trunk filled to the brim with your purchases of the day. “I just want to get everything out of the car.”

“Sweetheart, it can wait,” Bob insisted, glancing longingly between you and his dinner. “Your food’s going to get cold. I’ll help you unload the car after we eat.”

You bit your lip in hesitation, but finally relented when you saw the puppy dog expression on your husband’s face. “Okay, fine, let me just go turn the car off.”

A few minutes later, you and Bob were seated side by side at your small kitchen table, your legs pressing together and your fingers brushing against one another as you nibbled on wings and scarfed down some chili mac and cheese.

“How was your day?” you asked curiously, glancing up as you took a sip of water and wiped your fingers on a napkin.

You always asked that question so sincerely, even after all this time. It made him feel so seen and loved. Smiling, he rested his hand over yours and squeezed your fingers gently.

“It was good,” he said lightly, not yet ready to divulge the plans he’d been formulating all day. “You know, same old, same old. How about yours?”

“It was great!” you chirped, beaming brightly.

Bob smiled and nodded as you told him about the gifts you’d picked up for all the nieces and nephews, the menu you and Lorraine had decided on for your staff holiday party, the grab bags gifts you’d snagged for the Dagger party, the new gingerbread recipe you’d just heard about, and a whole host of other things.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you murmured sheepishly after you realized you’d hardly stopped for a moment to take a breath.

“It’s okay, I love it when you ramble,” Bob grinned, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Mmm, I love it even more when you taste like barbeque,” he laughed, nudging your nose with his own.

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders and kissed him tenderly. Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his with a contented sigh and gazed into his eyes. “Want to go find a movie to watch while I do the dishes?” you suggested.

Bob pulled back slightly to more fully look at you, though he kept his large hands wrapped loosely around your waist. “As much as I love the sound of that plan, I think we should call it an early night tonight, honey,” he said softly, reaching up to lightly brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You look exhausted.”

You pouted slightly, but couldn’t stifle the yawn that suddenly came upon you, which made the both of you laugh. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted ruefully, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment.

“How about you get started on the dishes and I’ll unload everything from the car? Then we’ll head to bed, alright?” Bob asked, hyper aware of the drawn look around your eyes.

“Deal,” you nodded, giving him one more kiss as you jumped up to clear the table.

Thirty minutes later, the two of you were cuddled up under the covers, the warm glow from the little battery-operated lantern you kept near the window casting a cozy feel over the room.

“Do you have any plans for Saturday?” Bob asked softly, running his fingers up and down your arm gently as you lay in his embrace. Saturday was the one day that the both of you had off, and he intended to make the most of it this weekend.

You let out a soft sigh, snuggling up further against his chest. “There are a few new recipes I wanted to try for dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas, so I figured maybe I should test them out ahead of time, just in case they end up being a disaster. Saturday seems as good a day as any to do that. Want to be my taste tester?” you grinned, eyes crinkling as you smiled over at him.

“Uh-uh,” Bob shook his head, a slightly mischievous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him. “Why not? You’ve got other plans?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, his blue eyes twinkling, which you could see even in the dark of your bedroom. “I’m going to have a very full day.”

“Doing what?” you huffed jokingly, arching an eyebrow as you rolled onto your side, gazing at him curiously.

“You’ll find out,” Bob grinned, not letting the cat out of the bag just yet. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” you asked, clearly taken aback as your eyes widened once again. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he chuckled, leaning over to give you a quick kiss.

“Bob!” you exclaimed, nudging him lightly with your foot.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he grinned, rolling over and closing his eyes. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he heard you huffing softly beside him, clearly desperate to know what he was planning. Within minutes, however, he heard the sound of your breathing soften and deepen, your eyes closing in a deep slumber.

Turning back over, Bob watched you sleep peacefully and felt his heart clench inside his chest. You were going above and beyond this Christmas, and it was clearly taking its toll, whether you wanted to admit it or not. He was glad to see you sleeping so comfortably after such a long day.

You were striving so hard to make this Christmas magical for everyone else. This weekend, Bob was going to make it magical for you and remind you what this season was really all about.

Nobody deserved it more than you.

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, just as Bob had been anticipating. He’d been checking the forecast every day to make sure that nothing was going to interfere with his plans for today. The weather was better than he could have hoped for—the sun was shining bright, hardly a cloud in the sky, but the air had a nice winter chill as the temperature hovered somewhere between the high fifties and low sixties.

That was one of the only things you ever lamented about moving to San Diego—it was harder to make it feel like Christmas when it was still warm enough to wear shorts and go to the beach. But today’s weather, while certainly not cold by any stretch of the imagination, would at least give you an opportunity to wear one of those new sweaters you’d bought for yourself.

Grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning, Bob quietly tiptoed into your bedroom, where he was delighted to see that you were still fast asleep, buried so deeply under the covers that only the top of your head was poking out. Swallowing back a laugh, he sidled over to your side of the bed and carefully placed the treats he’d set out early to procure on your nightstand.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured softly, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of the bed to avoid crushing you. You stirred slightly, but didn’t open your eyes, so he bent down to drop a kiss on the crown of your head, still the only part of your body exposed to the mid-morning light. “Honey, wake up,” he tried again, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Letting out a soft hum in response, you slowly pushed the covers back and ran a hand down your face before opening your eyes halfway, peeking up at your husband through hooded lids.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bob chuckled, ducking his head to peck your lips tenderly.

“Mmm, good morning,” you replied, your voice still heavy with sleep as you stretched with a satisfied little groan. You were so distracted by the extremely pleasant view of your handsome husband hovering above you that it took you a moment to realize how much light was filtering in through the windows, and to catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. Gasping, you bolted upright, looking at Bob with wide eyes. “Is that really the time? I thought I set an alarm!”

It was nearly 9:45am. You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept in that late. Between work and all the other things you were usually running around doing, even on your days off, your internal alarm hardly ever let you sleep that long. Not to mention the fact that you normally had an alarm set. You could have sworn you had set it last night.

Bob had the grace to look a bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at you with those big blue eyes behind the frames of his adorably gawky glasses. “You did,” he began slowly, glancing guiltily at your alarm clock and then back at you. “I shut it off.”

“Bob!” you exclaimed in astonishment, uncertain what would have possessed him to do that, especially when he knew how busy you were lately. “Why would you do that?”

“You needed the extra sleep, honey,” he said in a voice so sweet and filled with concern that you couldn’t even dream of staying mad at him. Reaching out, he took one of your hands between both of his, gently rolling the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “You’ve been running yourself ragged these past couple weeks. I wanted you to get some real rest.”

You bit your lip, averting your gaze as you silently thought about how busy you’d been lately and how exhausted you’d been feeling. You’d had three cups of coffee at work yesterday just to make it through the day.

“I guess you’re right,” you conceded, your lips curving upward in a rueful smile. “I do feel a little bit better already. Thank you, honey,” you told him, leaning forward to give him a kiss of appreciation. That was when your eyes landed on the cup of coffee and the small red-and-white striped bag on your nightstand. “Is that for me?” you gasped in delight, looking back at your husband eagerly.

“Mhm,” Bob chuckled at your open excitement, reaching for the cup and the bag and placing them in your hands.

Your very favorite coffee shop in all of San Diego, which also happened to be the spot where you and Bob went on your second date, was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall place not far from where you worked. From the outside, it didn’t seem like much to behold, but it was one of the city’s best kept secrets. Their coffee was brewed to perfection and their baked goods were a sweettooth’s dream. But what you loved most of all was the way they went all out for the holidays. The entire cafe was decked out in garland and bows and twinkling lights, Christmas music pumped through the speakers all day long, and their menu reflected everyone’s seasonal favorites.

At this time of year, your go-to order was a large peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and a gingerbread scone that you swore you wanted to be your last meal on this earth. Bob had gotten to the cafe just in time that morning to get a scone fresh out of the oven.

“Oh my gosh, it’s still warm,” you sighed happily, the spiced molasses melting on your tongue as soon as you popped it into your mouth. You closed your eyes in bliss, washing it down with a sip of the peppermint mocha. “Thank you, honey. This is such a sweet surprise.”

“The first of many, I hope,” Bob smiled, resting a hand on your thigh as you enjoyed your breakfast in bed. “I have lots planned for you today, Mrs. Floyd.”

“You do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow over the rim of your coffee cup.

He nodded, his smile only growing wider. “Don’t you remember what I said the other night? We’ve got a lot to do today. So as soon as you’re done enjoying your breakfast, you better hop in the shower. We don’t want to be late,” he told you, his gorgeous baby blues sparkling as he rose from the bed and started towards the door.

“Wait!” you cried,  jumping out of bed with your coffee and scone still firmly in hand. “What are we doing?” you called after him, chasing behind him in bare feet. “Bobby!”

“You’ll find out,” he laughed, turning around and resting his hands on your shoulders. “Just wear something comfortable,” was all the information he gave you.

You sighed in a purposely dramatic fashion, shooting him a playful glance. You knew from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to tell you anything else, so there was no use in trying to get the information out of him. Instead, you quickly gulped down the rest of your coffee and finished off your scone—still trying to savor every bite—before tearing off your pajamas and jumping into the shower.

An hour later, you were ready to go, dressed in a cute pair of jeans and a new red and white sweater you’d just recently purchased. The weather today finally gave you an opportunity to wear it.

“Is this alright?” you asked Bob as you stepped into the living room, holding your arms out at your sides. It was hard to know what to wear when you had no idea what you were doing.

“It’s perfect,” Bob nodded, smiling as he rose from the couch and took in your appearance. “Just like you,” he added, winking as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I could say the same thing to you,” you giggled, resting your hands on his broad chest. He was wearing a dark green crew neck sweater and dark jeans that fit his long figure exquisitely. “Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Bob just shook his head, laughing out loud when you released a groan of exasperation. “Patience, my sweet wife,” he teased, taking your hand in his and leading you towards the front door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

You really hadn’t been sure what to anticipate when you climbed into the car with Bob. As many guesses as you tried to make to figure out what his plans were, your husband’s expression was impenetrable. He didn’t give anything away, no matter what you said.

What you hadn’t been expecting was to pull into the parking lot of Petco Park.

As soon as Bob put the car in park, you glanced over at him curiously, trying to figure out what you were doing here. Your husband wasn’t a big baseball fan. And even if he was, it was the middle of December.

“I’m guessing we’re not here for a Padres game?” you ventured with a playful smile, glancing around the crowded parking lot.

Your husband laughed, shaking his head. “Not exactly. Come on,” he told you, climbing out of the car and hurrying around to the passenger side to open your door.

Slipping your hand into his, you followed his lead as he guided you through the milling crowd towards the entrance to the baseball stadium. He seemed almost giddy as the two of you got closer and closer to the park, glancing down at you every few seconds as if to check that you were still with him. You had no idea what was awaiting you, but his excitement was infectious and you found yourself buzzing with anticipation.

You weren’t disappointed.

As soon as Bob handed over your tickets to the attendant, you were swept up in the crowd of people surging towards Gallagher Square, where you were met with a breathtaking display of Christmas beauty.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, coming to a halt as you stared, wide-eyed and in awe of the beautiful market that surrounded you.

“Do you like it?” Bob asked, a thread of nervousness in his voice as he looked at you, watching the way you were silently taking everything in.

Turning to face him, your face split into a huge grin and you threw your arms around him, peppering his cheek with kisses. “I love it! It’s so wonderful!”

It was as close to a German Christmas market as you had ever come, with vendors of all kinds set up in little wooden booths ringing the perimeter of the square. There were shopkeepers selling a whole assortment of things, from hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies to homemade candy to personalized ornaments to fine wine and jewelry. Amidst all the different stalls were small stages where performances ranging from choirs to magic shows were taking place, not to mention the life-size snow globes and the giant sleigh where guests could take pictures. And at the center of it all was a ginormous Christmas tree that had to be at least thirty feet tall.

It was magical. It made you feel like you were a little girl again, attending your town’s local Christmas fair with your family.

“I didn’t even know this existed!” you exclaimed, still holding tightly to your husband as you continued to gaze around you.

“I didn’t either,” Bob admitted, unable to stop smiling at how happy you looked. “But Phoenix and Hangman told me they took the kids here last week and had a blast, so I knew I had to get you tickets.”

“Oh, thank you, honey! This is amazing!” you beamed, wrapping your arms around him to give him an enthusiastic kiss.

Bob chuckled and blushed slightly as he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his other hand resting on your hip. “Should we walk around?”

Nodding, you took his hand and practically hauled him across the square, bouncing from stall to stall and oohing and aahing over all the various trinkets and baubles.

“Oh, honey, look! We should get this,” you cooed, holding up a sweet ornament of a hand painted Christmas tree with a little banner draped across it that read Our First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs.

It didn’t matter that you had three other ornaments with similar messages already hanging on your Christmas tree at home. Bob gladly pulled out his wallet to buy it for you, his heart fluttering at the gorgeous smile that lit up your entire face when the vendor carefully wrapped it up and handed it to you.

“Thank you, Bobby. I can’t wait to put it on the tree when we get home,” you told him, carefully slipping the wrapped ornament into your purse.

“Anything for you, honey,” Bob murmured softly, kissing your forehead. “Alright, what’s our next stop?”

You and Bob continued to wander among the stalls for the next couple hours, stopping on occasion to take a photo or grab a snack—"This is sustenance," you grinned, holding up the little brown bag of freshly glazed almonds that you’d purchased for the two of you to munch on.

At one point, as you were admiring the work of a local artist, you heard the sound of the sweetest voices imaginable. Following the music, with Bob trailing closely behind, you walked a bit further up the path before stopping in front of a small choir made up of the most angelic looking children you had ever seen. The sign in front of the platform declared that they were students from a local school for children with special needs.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, tears sparkling on your lashes as they sang the most beautiful version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” you had ever heard. Resting your head on your husband’s shoulder, you let the music wash over you, smiling brightly as they transitioned from one song to another.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there exactly—was it for three songs or six?—but when the children finally stopped singing, you and Bob burst into thunderous applause, prompting nearby onlookers to join in.

The pride on the children’s faces melted your heart as they shyly waved to the crowd and began making their way off the platform.

A little girl with Down syndrome, who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, suddenly broke away from the others and grabbed her mother’s hand, dragging her towards where you and your husband stood.

“Thank you for coming!” she said brightly, offering an adorable little gap-tooth smile.

“Thank you for having us!” you replied brightly, squatting down so that you were on eye level with her. “You all sounded amazing!”

To your surprise, the little girl lunged forward to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” her mother exclaimed, touching her daughter’s shoulder and trying to pull her back.

“It’s alright,” you smiled, patting the little girl’s back before she let go. “No need to apologize.”

“Thank you for staying to listen for so long,” the woman said, looking between you and Bob. “The kids worked really hard on their program for today, so it was nice to have such a captive audience.”

“We were happy to do it, really,” Bob told her, smiling down at the little girl as he rested a hand on your lower back. “Christmas music is my wife’s favorite,” he told her conspiratorially.

Her eyes widened in delighted surprise. “Mine, too!”

You all laughed happily at that.

“Well, I hope you have an amazing Christmas and that Santa brings you everything you’re hoping for this year,” you told her, grinning at the way she lit up at the mention of Santa.

“Santa! Santa!” she cheered.

“That’s right,” her mother nodded, brushing her daughter’s hair back over her shoulder. “We should get going soon if we want to go see Santa. What do you say to the nice people who watched you sing?”

“Thank you!” the little girl said sweetly, giving both you and Bob another quick hug around the legs. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” you and Bob replied in unison, waving to both mother and daughter as you went your separate ways, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re going to make an amazing mother one day,” Bob told you softly, the unadulterated adoration in his eyes warming you up from the inside out.

You just smiled dreamily in response, very much looking forward to the day when you would get to see Bob Floyd become a father.

“Well I think that was a very successful trip to the Christmas Market,” your husband said a few minutes later after you circled back to the center of the square.

“I had so much fun, honey. Thank you for thinking of this,” you told him, touched by the effort he’d made to bring you here and make it such a lovely afternoon.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He glanced down at his watch and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but we better get going if we want to stay on schedule. Still have a lot to do.”

“Wait…what?” you questioned, startled. “There’s more?”

“I said I had a lot planned, didn’t I?” That mischievous twinkle had returned to his eyes. “You didn’t think this was it, did you?”

“Bob Floyd, what do you have up your sleeve?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and looking up at him with a quirked brow, trying and failing to mask the smile tugging at your lips.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, taking your hand and leading you back to the car.

If you had been uncertain about what your husband’s plans were when you’d arrived at Petco Park, you were doubly unsure what he had in mind when he turned onto the bridge connecting San Diego to Coronado.

“Are you taking me with you to work?” you wondered with a laugh, looking out the window at the afternoon sun sparkling on the San Diego Bay. You often told Bob that you were jealous of the view he got to enjoy on his commute to and from North Island.

Bob laughed at your question, but simply shook his head in response, turning up the radio as Mariah Carey began belting “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

“Hmmm, saved by the Queen of Christmas,” you joked, nudging him playfully as he took a turn off the bridge.

“Now, honey, you know that you’re the Queen of Christmas,” Bob retorted, winking at you as he made a few more turns.

“True,” you giggled, singing along to the radio until Hotel Coronado appeared in your sights, in all its glorious grandeur. You glanced over at Bob curiously, but he didn’t say anything as he searched for a parking spot.

“The suspense is killing me, Bobby,” you lamented, clinging onto his arm once he finally did manage to park the car. “What are we doing now?”

Turning to face you, Bob was struck once again by just how deeply he loved you. There was no one else he’d drag himself all over San Diego for on his day off from work.

“We’re going ice skating,” he explained, chuckling at the shocked expression on your face.

“You mean…Skating by the Sea?!” you gasped excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in your seat. “Bobby, you got tickets?”

“Sure did,” he nodded, pulling them out of his pocket to show you.

“Oh my gosh, how?” you breathed, reaching out to touch them as if you were afraid they would disappear.

“Mav knows a guy,” Bob chuckled, shaking his head affectionately as he thought of his boss and mentor.

As Hotel Coronado’s most popular winter attraction, it was nearly impossible to get tickets to Skating by the Sea during the Christmas season, but when Bob had mentioned it at work, Maverick had promised that he would be able to procure him a couple tickets. How he managed it, Bob didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. All that mattered was that you were looking at him right now like he had hung the moon and the stars, and there was no better reward than that.

“Ready to go?” Bob asked, holding out his hand to you.

“Ready!” you cheered, placing your hand in his and holding on tight.

It had been quite some time since you had actually been ice skating, and you were a bit rusty, especially in comparison to your midwestern husband, who had grown up ice skating on frozen ponds every winter. Still, despite your wobbly knees, you were determined to enjoy every moment of this experience.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Bob murmured encouragingly, holding tightly to your hands as he guided you onto the ice, sticking close to the wall in case you needed extra support.

“If you had told me we were coming, I could have brushed up on my skills ahead of time,” you teased, glancing down at your white rental skates as you carefully slid one foot in front of the other.

“And ruin the surprise and the look on your face when I told you what we were doing? Never,” he grinned, gently squeezing your hands as you slowly started to become more confident and steady on your feet. “You’ve got it, honey. Try looking up at me. I won’t let go,” he promised.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze from your feet up to your husband’s midsection, and then finally up to his face, that face that you adored more than anything else on this earth.

“There you go, you’ve got it. You’re doing such a good job,” Bob praised you, his confidence unshaken as he moved backwards across the ice. It was incredibly attractive how sure of himself he was out here.

“I think I’ve got it now. Want to try letting go?” you asked with a grin, feeling a little nervous but willing to give it a shot.

Smiling proudly, Bob nodded and slowly released his grip on your hands, letting you glide independently for a few seconds. You moved forward tentatively, your hands still out at your sides so that you could grab onto him—or the wall—if needed.

“That’s it, honey! Look at you go!” your husband cheered, making you laugh as you carefully made your way over to the opposite wall, which afforded you breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean beyond.

Seconds later, Bob skated up beside you, resting with you against the wall and enjoying the same view. “Pretty beautiful, huh?” he asked, gazing down at you.

“Insanely beautiful,” you agreed, resting your hand over his and squeezing gently. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Me, too,” Bob nodded, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “But it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. I’m just so glad to be with you.”

“Honey,” you breathed out, touched by the sweetness of his words. They actually made you well up a little bit.

“I mean it, sweetheart. It’s not the things we do that make days like this special. It’s getting to do them with you. That’s all I really wanted. I’ve missed you these past few weeks,” he confessed.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, just holding you close and resting his cheek atop your head.

“I love you so much, you know,” you told him, lifting your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I know,” he nodded, his mouth turning up in a tender smile. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

After a couple moments of comfortable silence, you took his hand and started to push away from the wall. “Come on, let’s go show everybody what an amazing skater you are,” you laughed, nearly toppling over in your eagerness. Thankfully, Bob had some of the quickest reflexes you’d ever seen and was there to catch you.

He was always there to catch you.

You and your husband spent the next hour twirling around on the ice, you trying your best not to fall and Bob trying his best to keep you from falling. By the time your legs were starting to ache in protest, the sun was just beginning to set over the beach, the sky exploding in hues of orange, pink, and red.

“Isn’t that the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” you whispered in awe, resting your cheek against your husband’s strong chest and soaking in the moment.

“A close second to you,” Bob replied, chuckling at the adorable way you got all flustered at his compliment. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get those skates off you.”

Stepping off the rink, Bob carefully guided you to a nearby bench and sat you down before squatting in front of you to untie your laces.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked softly, reaching out to lightly caress his flushed cheek as he ministered to you.

“I ask myself the same thing every day when I get to wake up beside you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your knee before pulling your skates off. He then rose and plopped down beside you on the bench, pulling off his own skates with ease.

After you returned your rental skates and collected your things, Bob stopped you on the pathway near the beach and looked down at you.

“I hope you’ve worked up an appetite after all this,” he told you, a knowing smile on his face. “Because we’ve got one more stop.”

“We do? Oh, Bobby! This day has already been so special. I can’t imagine how it could get any better,” you declared, wondering what more he could possibly have in store.

“Wait and see,” Bob winked, taking your hand as you began strolling off hotel property and towards where you had parked “Oh, and I’ve got a little something in the car for you to change into.”

The last thing on earth you had been expecting when your husband handed you a small duffel bag out of the trunk of the car was to open it up and find the beautiful red dress you’d worn last Christmas—the one Bob hadn’t been able to stop gushing about or get you out of fast enough after Christmas dinner—and your favorite pair of high heels, plus the diamond studs and pendant he’d gifted you last year, the ones you only wore on very special occasions.

And yet, there you were, sitting beside your husband in the passenger seat of his car in your holiday finest, flying along the open road towards some unknown destination.

You weren’t the only one who had changed after your ice skating escapades. Bob had packed a second duffel, it seemed, for when you had returned from getting changed, he was waiting for you, no longer clad in his crew neck and jeans, but in a pair of black slacks and a dinner jacket, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“For you,” he said with a wide smile, handing you a small bouquet of red and white roses—another surprise he’d been hiding in that trunk of his.

You held the sweet-smelling flowers close to your nose now as Bob made a few turns, heading in a direction that was not totally familiar to you.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered softly, a hint of emotion catching in your voice as you rested the beautiful bouquet in your lap. You couldn’t wait to put it in one of your Christmas vases when you got home and proudly display it on the coffee table in the living room.

Bob glanced over at you as he came to a red light, his blue eyes brimming with adoration as he soaked in how happy and content you looked. “You deserve it,” he told you, reaching out to rest a hand on your thigh, his fingers lightly stroking the inside of your knee. “You deserve all this and so much more. And I’m so lucky to be the man who gets to give it to you—or try anyway,” he added with a sheepish laugh.

Before the light could turn green, you leaned over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. “You succeed,” you murmured against his lips. “Every time. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“I love you,” he smiled, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb before returning both hands to the wheel, ignoring the disgruntled driver who was honking behind him.

You giggled as you settled back in your seat with a happy sigh. “I love you, too, honey.” You paused for a moment or two, then tacked on, “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

“Nice try,” Bob laughed, shooting you a sideways glance. “I haven’t spoiled any of my surprises today. You think I’m going to start now?”

“Oh, fine,” you replied, heaving a dramatic sigh and then grinning. “I can’t wait to find out what it is though.”

“I have a feeling you’re really going to love it,” he said, his smile warmer than the San Diego sun as he tapped his hands excitedly on the steering wheel, his own anticipation building.

“I know I will,” you nodded, lifting the bouquet of roses to your nose once more and taking a delicate sniff. “I love anything so long as I’m doing it with you.”

A few minutes later, Bob made a final turn that led the two of you up a winding, gorgeously manicured road. Leaning forward, you gazed out the window eagerly, trying to place exactly where you were. At that exact moment, a large sign came into view that read FAIRMONT GRAND DEL MAR.

Gasping in delight, you practically had your nose smushed against the glass as your husband drove past stunning gardens and twinkling fountains, all decked out with the most darling, demure decorations you had ever seen.

Fairmont Grand Del Mar was one of the most luxurious and glamorous hotels in all of Southern California, and while it was basically right in your own backyard, you had never stepped foot on its grounds before.

You suddenly found yourself very grateful that your jeans and sweater were safely tucked away in a duffel bag. Thank goodness your brilliant husband thought of everything.

“Oh my goodness, Bobby!” you squealed, covering your mouth to try to control the delighted laughter that was bubbling up inside you. But it was no use. “It’s so beautiful here!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Bob hummed in agreement, taking in the view as he slowed his pace along the property’s winding pathways. “A beautiful girl in a beautiful place. Sounds about right to me,” he added, eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

You just smiled at that, a pleasant warmth rushing to your cheeks as you tried to take in as much of the views as you could. As if the hotel grounds weren’t breathtaking enough on their own, they’d clearly gone to great lengths to turn the property into a winter wonderland for the holidays and they had more than succeeded. You loved every inch of it.

Moments later, after Bob had helped you out of the car and handed his keys off to a valet parker, he wrapped an arm around your waist and led you into the lobby of what seemed to be one of the hotel’s restaurants. It was elegantly designed, with Persian rugs and cream-colored marble walls, scrolled detailing on the ceiling, and a roaring fireplace to give the room a cozy, inviting atmosphere. It was decorated for the season with class—golden candelabras, dark red poinsettias, aromatic garland wrapped in red ribbons and bows, giant wreaths practically the size of you hanging on the walls.

It felt like a little Christmas paradise.

You were thankful for Bob’s strong hand on your back, guiding you along as you tripped over your own two feet, gazing around the room in unabashed awe.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he whispered in your ear as you approached the host stand. “I’ll make sure to take lots of pictures of you in that gorgeous dress with this perfect Christmas backdrop,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I want you in the pictures, too,” you whispered back, grinning as you squeezed his hand where it was resting on your hip. “Too bad we didn’t think to come here for our Christmas card photo,” you added, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Next year,” Bob winked. He managed to tear his gaze away from you only when the two of you finally got to the stand and the hostess looked at you expectantly.

“Good evening,” she said in a voice that was calm, cool, and cultured. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Bob told her, squeezing your hip softly as he spoke. “Dinner for two. It should be under Floyd.”

The hostess checked her computer screen and smiled. “Ah, yes. We’re pleased to welcome you tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. Please, follow me,” she said, leading you through a small maze of elegantly set tables, bedecked with what appeared to be antique tablecloths, romantic candles, and subtle hints of holly and garland.

The three of you finally came to a stop at a cozy table right near a window which overlooked the gardens, a twinkling Christmas tree right in your line of vision.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess told you as the two of you got settled in your seats. “We hope you very much enjoy our special Christmas menu here at Fairmont Grand Del Mar,” she added with a gracious smile before turning to head back to her post.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a soft smile, maintaining every ounce of decorum you could possibly muster until the woman was out of earshot. Then you let out a delighted squeal, the same sound you used to make when opening your presents on Christmas morning as a little girl. “Bobby! This is incredible! How did you manage this?” you demanded, gaping at him in amazement. Then you giggled. “Wait, let me guess. Mav knows another guy?”

“Actually this time, it was Payback who knew a guy,” Bob laughed, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your soft skin. “His cousin works concierge at the hotel, so he managed to pull a few strings.”

“Amazing,” you grinned, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Don’t let me forget to thank Mav and Reuben when I see them at the party.”

“Just Mav and Reuben?” he teased, pretending to be wounded.

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as you told him, “Well I’m going to give you a proper thank you tonight.” Your eyes sparkled in tandem with the diamond pendant hanging around your neck.

Bob’s cheeks turned bright pink as he caught your meaning, and he reached up to tug lightly at the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat.

Winking, you leaned back with a smile. Your husband was saved from having to come up with a reply by the sudden appearance of your waiter, an older, dignified man named Antonio, who greeted you both warmly as he shared some drink recommendations.

Despite the fact that Bob hardly ever drank, he ordered the two of you a bottle of champagne that came highly recommended, which Antonio happily delivered along with a bucket of ice.

“To you, sweetheart,” Bob toasted, lifting the flute that your waiter had filled just a moment earlier. “This time of year wouldn’t be half as special if it wasn’t for you.”

“No, to you,” you smiled, raising your own champagne flute to mirror your husband’s. “Today was beyond words, and none of it would have been possible without you.”

“To us then,” he grinned, compromising as he tipped his glass towards you.

“To us,” you nodded in agreement, lightly clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. “Mmm, that’s delicious,” you murmured appreciatively, licking a drop of the champagne off your lip.

“Mhm,” Bob hummed, looking almost surprised. “I mean, not that I have much to compare to, but I’d say this is the best champagne I’ve ever had.”

“Better than at our wedding?” you joked.

“I stand corrected. This is the second best champagne I’ve ever had,” he chuckled.

You and Bob relaxed into smooth and easy conversation. Both your mothers would have scolded you for resting your elbows on the table, especially in such a fancy restaurant, but neither of you cared as you leaned in closer to one another, whispering over the candlelight as the twinkling lights outside the window illuminated your lovestruck faces. Faintly, in the distance, you could hear the soft sounds of classic Christmas tunes being played on a piano. It was the most perfect evening you could have imagined.

The food was some of the best you’d ever tasted. After much debate, you finally settled on the filet mignon with a bearnaise sauce, roasted vegetables, and what had to be the world’s creamiest mashed potatoes, while Bob selected the pork medallions with roasted garlic fingerling potatoes and a brussel sprout salad. Although really it was hard to say who had ordered what considering the way you kept picking food off each other’s plates.

By the time the sour-cherry cheesecake trifle that the two of you had ordered for the grand finale came out, you felt like you were going to burst right out of your pretty red dress. But like you always said, there was always room for dessert.

“You want to know the craziest thing?” you asked, looking up at Bob as you set your fork down on the plate resting between you and your husband. When he nodded at you, you went on, “I just realized that I didn’t think about any of my holiday planning at all today—the shopping, my work party, the parties we’re hosting, none of it. It didn’t cross my mind at all even though it’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few weeks. Isn’t that funny?”

Bob set his fork down as well and gazed at you from across the table, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “Good,” he said, reaching out to take your hand in his once more, gently playing with your wedding band. “That was my mission, and it sounds like it was a success. I wanted today to be a day where you just got to have fun and enjoy this time of year. I know how much it means to you, and I also know that it’ll be over in the blink of an eye, so we have to make the most of it while we can.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you felt the corners of your eyes pricking with happy tears. Your husband was truly the most thoughtful, selfless, caring man you had ever known. You would never know what you had ever done to get so lucky as to find him.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, mimicking his actions and lightly rolling his wedding band underneath your finger as you reached for his other hand. You were quiet for a moment, then thought of his words from earlier, the words that had been niggling the back of your mind on and off since you’d left the ice skating rink. “What you said before,” you began slowly, chewing on your bottom lip, “about missing me these past few weeks. Have I really been that busy? I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Bob gasped, squeezing your hands tightly in his own. “I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I’ve just been worried about you, that’s all. You’re always so happy this time of year, and I know how much it means to you, so I hate to see you running yourself ragged like you have been. I guess I was starting to be afraid that you were going to burn yourself out before Christmas even got here.”

Your heart constricted at the genuine concern in his voice, at the way he was always looking out for you, even when you weren’t paying careful enough attention.

“And I have missed you,” he added softly, lifting one of your hands to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to it.

“I’ve missed you, too, honey,” you whispered, your throat clogging with emotion as you thought of the many nights you’d come home later than usual after running to the stores after work, too tired to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with your husband or just get to enjoy his company. “And you’re right—I have been running myself ragged. I can feel it. I’ve been so tired, and I feel like I don’t even have the time to enjoy all my favorite traditions.” You sighed softly, shaking your head. “I just—I just wanted everything to be perfect this year, you know?”

“It always is perfect,” Bob murmured encouragingly, gently stroking the inside of your wrist with his calloused fingertips, his movements slow and soothing.

“I know, but with it being our first married Christmas, I guess I just wanted it to be really perfect. I got it into my head that we needed to start all these new traditions and that I had to keep on top of everything at all times to make sure that it happened, but now I’m realizing that in the process of all that, I lost sight of what’s most important about celebrating our first Christmas as husband and wife—you,” you admitted, reaching up to lovingly cup his cheek in your hand.

He smiled softly at your words, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the inside of your palm. “Sweetheart, the good news is that we have a whole lifetime of making traditions together. So long as it’s you and me, then that’s all I need,” he promised you.

You nodded, a couple stray tears spilling down your cheeks, which you wiped away with a sheepish little laugh. “You’re right. Today was a pretty good start to some Floyd Christmas traditions, I think,” you told him with a grin.

Bob reached out to thumb away the tears sparkling like diamonds on your skin. “I agree,” he smiled. “But the truth is, I don’t care what we’re doing. We could go ice skating on the beach or watch a movie on the couch. We could have a five-star dinner at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar or eat take-out on the kitchen floor.” He glanced around for a moment, just to check if anyone had heard him, his blue eyes laughing as he turned back to you. “I just want to do it with you. That’s what Christmas really means to me, sweetheart. All the other stuff, that’s icing on the cake.”

“I love you so much,” you whispered, leaning across the table and capturing his mouth with your own, the taste of sour cherries and champagne still clinging to his lips.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he cradled the back of your head and kissed you back until you were both sitting breathless in your chairs.

“You’re the love of my life,” he told you. “No matter how many traditions come and go, that’s one thing that will never change.”

As soon as you and Bob got home that night, exhausted in the best way after a perfect day together, you both ran to change into the Christmas pajamas you’d worn last Christmas Eve, then curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of hot cocoa to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas.

“Tired?” Bob asked softly as the Peanuts crew sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” while the credits rolled.

“Mmm, a little,” you nodded, lifting your head from where it had been resting on his shoulder.

“Ready to head to bed?” he yawned, pushing the blanket back and rising from the couch before turning to hold his hands out to you.

“Mhm,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your husband’s and allowing him to pull you to your feet. “But not to go to sleep just yet,” you added pointedly.

At your husband’s raised brows, you giggled softly.

“I still have to properly thank you for today,” you reminded him with a playful wink.

You had never seen him move so fast.

That Christmas turned out to be one of the best you’d ever celebrated. Your work party went off without a hitch, the Daggers were already talking about how they needed to make a party at the Floyds’ an annual Christmas tradition, and your families loved getting to spend the holidays together as one huge unit. Every gift you’d purchased was well received and every meal you cooked was touted as the best anyone had ever eaten.

But that wasn’t what made it so special.

As you had been reminded this year, Christmas was about so much more than the planning and the presents and the parties. Those things were nice, sure, but they weren’t what made this time of year so magical.

What made this Christmas so perfect was the handsome man with blue eyes and a wide smile waiting for you beneath the mistletoe.

He was the only gift you needed, today and every day for the rest of your life.

[dancingtotuyo]

All Farms…

Javier Peña

Summary: Javier has to decide what to do with the ranch

Warnings/Tags: grief, loss, hurt (no comfort?), ranch/farm used interchangeably here.

Notes: I started this on Christmas after walking my grandparents farm which happens to be the same farm I lived on for the first 7 years of my life. My grandparents are getting older which has sparked a lot of conversation with what will happen to the farm when they're gone. Fast forward to now, I'm currently processing a lot of feelings this Easter weekend. I lost my step dad last year. He was a farmer too. After his cancer diagnosis, all of us kids (there are ALOT of us) came home for Easter. It was the last time I saw him look like himself and the last time we were all together before he died. In my processing, I started working on this piece again. It's one of those things I need to put out into the world for me. I hope for anyone else going through something similar, it brings you comfort or makes you feel not quite so alone.

Peep the cow picture. I took that one myself at Christmas :)

Words: 966

Author Master List

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. Typically along a ridge or tree line, piled-up equipment that was never sold or broken beyond repair sits in overgrown piles and sunken earth. The old family car. The beat-up sports car or pickup truck each son or sometimes daughter inevitably thought they could fix only to spend hundreds of fruitless hours with one glory ride before it went haywire. Scrap metal torn from barn roofs pile up. Every tire imaginable is half buried in the earth. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. The moment you do, you’ll find use or need for the items thrown out. 

The Peńa’s graveyard sits between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill. Javier rarely makes his way to that side of the farm. They don’t use that space for cattle since his dad downsized the herd. He pretends there’s no reason for it, but it’s more than just broken down cars and scrap piles to Javier. It’s a ghost town of memories. 

There’s his mom’s ‘62 Ford. The one she drove his whole childhood. The vehicle that took them across town, to Sunday services, and hosted their many road trips. It’s where his Mom feels most tangible, her soft voice playing in his head singing to the radio. 

His first truck. The one he’d spent months fixing up, he kissed Sally Jones on a Saturday night and done much more with Vanessa Reyes. He’s proposed to Lorraine in that truck, driven past the church in it too. 

Chucho’s first American Harvester sits further back. His dad is so proud of that machine… or he was. 

The ache grows in Javier’s chest as he stands at the edge of the graveyard. He begged Chucho for years to clean this up. His dad always waved him off, stating that he would get to it someday. Except, Chucho didn’t make it to someday, and now it is Javier’s responsibility.  

His fingers twitch, desperate for the feel of a cigarette between them. Nicorette gum sits in his breast pocket instead. He’s working to quit again, picking the worst damn time to do it, but that’s life. 

He should probably bring the tractor down to pull everything out. It’s overwhelming with no good place to start. Digging around down there will only dig up the memories. Javier can’t deal with the memories right now, so he leaves the project for another day. He only needs to clean it up if he decides to sell the ranch. 

The house is quiet when he walks through the door. Javier is used to the subtle sounds of life- the coffee pot going, the tv running on low, Chucho’s boots on the linoleum, but it never comes. It won’t ever come again. 

Javier kicks off his boots, lining them right next to his dad’s. He hasn’t moved them. He’s not sure he will. 

He heads for the back of the house toward his room but stops at his Dad’s door. It’s shut tight as he places a hand on the wood. Javier hasn’t gone in there since picking out clothes. It’s a strange thing to pick out clothes for a dead man. How does one pick out what someone will wear for the rest of eternity? 

His hand lands on the knob, and it gives way with a squeak. The same squeak that used to echo down the hall, waking Javier up before the sun to let him know it was time for chores. Javier is flooded with the comforting scent of his father. It envelopes him, pulling tears into his eyes immediately. The bed is fixed just as Chucho had left it before he went out and started the chores just as he always did. Except that day, almost a month ago now, Chucho Peña didn’t return to the house. 

He collapsed in the field. He was already gone when Javier found him. He died alone and that hurt almost as much as the fact that he was gone. 

A thin layer of dust covers the surfaces in the room. He should clean it, but would it lose its smell then? In here, Javier feels surrounded by his father. The closest he can get to him. His room, the one he shared with Javier’s mother, is perfectly preserved. 

Javier dares to ease onto the bed and look at the world from Chucho’s perspective every day as he woke up. On the dresser, there’s a photo of his parents when they first started dating, and one from Javier’s high school graduation. On the bedside table, there’s a book with a bookmark halfway through, a picture from his parent’s wedding day, and another of Chucho on the tractor with Javier in his lap. He couldn’t have been older than two at the time. Javier traces it with his finger, wishes he could remember that moment, wishes he could go back in time and relive it all, even the bad days, and treasure it all, ask his dad more questions, called him more often.

Javier lays down on his parents' bed. Chucho’s scent is thicker here with Javier’s head on his pillow. Big, hot tears fall from the corners of his eyes dampening the pillow. He rests his hands over his chest, letting his eyes close. Javier can hear his voice now, his laughter, catches a hint of his mother’s as well. It’s Javier’s job to carry on their legacy.

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. When a tractor kicks the dust or that farm use pickup can only be stripped for parts, Javier follows in his father’s footsteps. He lays them to rest between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill.

[ajortga]

MEL'S MASTERLIST:

hi hi! this is my masterlist! this is the place where i get to share all my ideas and written stories to you whether it's to smile, cry, kick your feet, or make your day ☆

"when there is utter emotions, there is endless raw pieces of poetry."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧˳·˖✶

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

currently revolving around the jenna ortega universe

what i write: fluff, angst, sensitive topics (smuts undecided.)

who i write: jenna ortega, her characters, melissa barrera, sam carpenter

i don't write male readers! but there will be times i don't specify pronouns<3.

request and communicate with me in my inbox! i'll see what i can make!

requests are OPEN, send anything you want according to my guidelines listed above!

-

keep in mind there are some requests i skip because i don't have any ideas for or a good plot:), please don't be upset! i want to make sure that i can fulfill requests and make my anons happy.

--

please do not take my work in any shape or form, i spend a lot of time and dedication to my writing and i don't give consent for others to take it.

please reach out if you come upon a story that is similar or the same as mine, the only stories that are the same are on my wattpad which is the link i added below!

my wattpad!

- favorites are marked with ‪♡

angst- ✮

special emojis are mainly just corelated to holiday prompts (halloween, christmas)

jenna ortega:

series:

lead: it's not easy being a theater kid, so when you audition for the lead role and get in, you think you need to know your love interest more. the kisses in the script bring you more butterfly than nerves.

chapter 1

chapter 2 (chapter 3 is most likely discontinued.)

sweet ♡: jenna was planning on relaxing after acting on set, not crush on the pretty sweet girl who served her coffee, you. she hasn't fallen in love in a long time, she needs to get to know you more.

part 1

part 2

part 3

one shots:

slipping through my fingers ✮

she's different

always for you

fate ties two

i forgive you. ✮

competition

home ♡ (drabble!)

opposites attract

my girl

(over) protective ✮ ♡

cute and absolute

affection deprived

sequence of events

love you silently

the comforter (🎃)

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vada cavell:

she's a shooting star

her healer ‪✮

i'm not coming home. ✮ (sensitive topics)

the alcohol effect

for i can't help falling in love with you ♡

i love you

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tara carpenter:

hot cocoa?

the forgotten letter ‪✮

why try?

hush

belly the holland lop ♡

in what way? ✮

bear hugs (drabble)

just too late ✮

love at first glance

sweater

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cairo sweet:

the warmth of your hand ‪♡

i bet on losing dogs ✮

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wednesday addams:

can you keep a secret?

inspiration

timeless ✮

asleep

blurred lines

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lorraine day:

the 1900s

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mabel:

in the magic of making.

~

samantha carpenter:

comfort person

clothes (drabble!)

[frost-queen]

Uninvited guest (Fem!Reader x Lorraine Moran)

Requested by: anon  Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia,  @elllie-does-the-posts, @alex--awesome--22, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @imagines-by-her, @vviolynn, @melsunshine,  @evilcr0ne,

“Y/n honey are you all set?” – Lorraine called out purse in hand. – “I’m not rushing you, but you know I hate being late. It’s all about….” – she continued suddenly interrupted by you. – “First impressions.” – you said weakly followed by a cough. Lorraine’s eyes widened seeing you still in your nightwear. She immediately dropped her purse rushing over to you. Her arm went around you to support you. – “Darling you are burning up.” – she concluded having touched your cheek and forehead. – “I..I…” – you said coughing loud.

“I’ll be ready in … two…” – more coughs came out as it shook your entire body. – “Oh no, no not such a thing.” – Lorraine insisted upon. – “You are sick. I’m not risking your health.” – she said helping you back into the bedroom. – “Lorraine… I…” – you tried to contradict but she wouldn’t hear it. Pulling the covers up, you got gently nudged back into bed. – “You are sick darling. I understand and so will our clients.” – she said tugging you in.

"But what about…” – you started as Lorraine tsked her tongue with a shake of her head. – “It is just a first conversation. An exploration nothing bad would happen to me without my beautiful wife and her equipment.” – She smiled brushing her knuckles down your cheek. – “Are… are you sure?” – you questioned. Lorraine hummed. – “I need you to stay here and get better.” – she pressed on not wanting you to worry any further. – “Okay…” – you almost dozed back off, feeling terribly exhausted.

Lorraine leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead. – “I’ll be back before you know it.” – she whispered. She smiled down seeing you had almost gone back to sleep. The sickness exhausting you. Lorraine snuck out of your room. Before she headed out she placed some medicine, water, and some cookies on your nightstand in case you needed them. Giving one last kiss she left for her meeting with a family. The family had called Lorraine and you days ago. Asking to come and investigate if their house was haunted or not.

They needed to be sure, being able to put the blame on that otherwise they’d have gone mad. Normally you’d go with your wife as you were the technical woman. Having several equipment to record voices, pick up frequencies and so on. Now with you being sick, she wouldn’t have that. Not that she needed it, but it was always helpful to help the family. Like Lorraine said it was just an exploration conversation so normally nothing much would happen.

Lorraine found herself at the house after driving for about 45 minutes. The house was remoted from the busy town life Lorraine, and you lived in. She got out of the car, headed up to the door and knocked. A lovely couple in their forties opened. – “Good day, I am Lorraine Moran. You must excuse my wife but she has fallen ill this morning so she couldn’t accompany me.” – Lorraine said with a warm smile. – “Oh, I hope nothing bad.” – the woman replied concerned. Lorraine shook her head. – “She is the strongest of the two of us. It is nothing severe. May I come in?”

The woman nodded moving back for her to enter. Lorraine entered following the husband into the living room. Their house was decorated cozy and comfy. Two sets of sofa’s face each other with a coffee table in the middle. An interesting carpet spread out underneath it. Lorraine took a seat with a pleasant smile. – “Shall we begin?” – she offered once the couple had taken a seat in the sofa before hers. The man looked worriedly at his wife as she nodded reassuring. The man cleared his throat and hesitantly began his story.

Explained what they were hearing. How things moved in their house, and they’d see shadows in the corner of their eyes. Once they turn to look it is gone. Lorraine listened with much interest, scribbling a few things on a notepad. About an hour later got Lorraine a chill down her spine. It made her move uncomfortable in the sofa. She tried to focus again on the story till a flash image crossed her mind. It flashed through her mind in a split second making her furrow her brows in pain. As if getting a severe headache.

Blinking rapidly more images flashed before her mind. In one of them she recognized her bedroom. – “Are… are you alright?” – the woman asked seeing Lorraine touch her forehead. Lorraine hummed soft trying to be polite. She slightly tilted her head to the side, hearing a loud scream in her ear. Followed by the images of you crouched against the wall on the bed. Long fingers stretching out over the matrass like a shadow, trying to grab you. 

The second the shadow fingers came in contact with your ankle, it pulled you with a sudden snap. Lorraine gasped for air, her heart beating out of control. – “What is wrong?” – the husband asked as Lorraine jumped up. – “I have to go.” – she said packing up quickly. – “We’ll continue this, but there has been an emergency at home.” – was the only thing Lorraine concluded taking a run for it.

You slowly woke up not sure how long you had slept. You weren’t even aware you had fallen asleep. Adjusting to the light in your room, you turned your head to see the time. Exactly an hour or so had passed since you remembered the last time. Seeing the items on the nightstand made you smile soft. Reaching for the medicine, you glanced up seeing that the door was half open. Taking out a strip, you looked back at the door frowning. Was it your imagination or was that door more open now. A few inches.

Looking back down you took out a pill, hearing soft creaking. Frantically looking up, you saw the last of the door move. Staring at the door, you so hoped you were imagining things because you had a fever. It was normal for people with fevers to see things. To imagine stuff happening that wasn’t really going on, but you should at least know better. You quickly took the pill with some water. You nearly choked on the water hearing a loud thud.

Like something had fallen down. You didn’t want to look, but your curiosity took over. You got out of bed slowly, walking slowly over to your closet. It seemed like the sound had come from there. The closer you stepped to the closer, the louder your heart started to beat in your chest.

Breathing getting shallow as you reached your hand out. Lowering it to the handle. Your gaze fell on the creak between the two doors of your closet. Staring at it, something felt alluring. A sudden eye looking back at you made you jump out of your skin. The eye color the only thing illuminating against the darkness in the closet.

You threw the closet doors open ready to fight whatever was hiding in there. Some clothes moved from your action, but other than that the closet was empty. Feeling extremely exhausted you returned to bed, touching your forehead. Closing your eyes once more, you hoped the medicine would work soon. Quickly you had fallen asleep again. Yet this time it felt like you were half awake. Unable to open your eyes, but still very alert. Your mind buzzing.

Strange visuals planted your mind. Your mind tripping. You felt like were hallucinating vividly where the world spun around. A dizziness overcame you. You wanted it to stop. Breathing shaky you tried to speak. Tried to tell it to stop. – “St…sto…stop…” – you whispered. Clamping onto your blankets it felt like your bed was spinning mindlessly around. The pin in a compass spinning out of control in all directions. – “Stop…” – you said trying to sound louder. Clamping harder onto your blankets. – “Stop!” – you shouted loud finally able to open your eyes.

They flashed open with a loud gasp. The room suddenly darker. You got up, crawling closer to the wall at the head of the bed. – “Show yourself!” – you called out knowing something was taunting with you. – “I know you are watching me so show yourself!” – the bed shuddered as you grabbed on to your blankets for grip. The shaking stopped as your eyes widened. At the end of your bed rose slowly a shadowed hand from the ground. Long boney fingers rising up from the grave. It made you gasp loud, watching in fear. You wanted to scream but no sounds came out.

The hand kept stretching up to the ceiling till you saw the wrist and some of the arm as well. You yelped loud when it snapped onto your bed. Then like a snake it slithered closer to you. Finally you found your voice, screaming loud as you pulled your feet up to you. – “Lorraine!” – you screamed out calling out to your wife as you were terrified. The fingers almost reached your ankle as you tried to pull your feet away. Then the door slammed against the wall. Lorraine panting loud. 

“Get away from my wife!” – she shouted throwing a vile of holy water at the hand. The skin sizzled at the touch of holy water, making it pull back. Lorraine pulled out her cross, holding it up. – “I gave you no permission to be in my house!” – she yelled out pushing it back with the cross. – “Be gone or I’ll send you back into the fiery pits of hell!” – she threatened throwing more holy water.

Lorraine kept coming closer not backing down. You stared in awe at your wife. She threw another vile, speaking in Latin as your bed started to shake again. You held on as the shaking got wilder. Then it stopped. The room cleared up. A heavy weight lifted. Lorraine exhaled deep. – “Y/n!” – she called out running over to you. She jumped onto the bed, falling into your arm.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left.” – she said hugging you tightly. – “You couldn’t know… You couldn’t.” – you replied reassuring her. – “I am save now.” – you told her, making her look at you. Lorraine smiled. – “I am not leaving your sight.” – she answered before kissing you deeply.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hello! Do you know of any historical romances where the couple gets married and only fall in love later? Thank you!

Yep!

Never Seduce a Scot by Maya Banks is a medieval in which the hero and heroine are betrothed to end a feud between their families. She's deaf and nobody really knows this, so he assumes she can't consent and sort of resigns himself to a sexless marriage, whereas she very much wants a NOT sexless marriage.

The Chief by Monica McCarty. The hero and heroine are sort of forced into a marriage situation (her dad tricks the hero into having sex with her, basically) and only fall in love after they marry—he's rather determined to cold shoulder her.

Untamed by Elizabeth Lowell has the marriage occur to solidify the hero's defeat of the heroine's father, and he really only wants an heir. Untiiiiiiil he wants more

The Bride by Julie Garwood. Scottish border marriage arrangement, they don't know each other at all when they initially marry.

The Courtesan Duchess by Joanna Shupe. The hero and heroine married for financial reasons, and he leaves her without consummating the marriage. Six years later, she needs his heir, and she disguises herself as a courtesan to seduce him and get pregnant.

Prince of Dreams by Lisa Kleypas has the hero essentially manipulate the heroine into marrying him because he wants her, but the actual emotional intimacy doesn't occur until after their marriage.

The Music of Love by S.M. LaViolette has the heroine arrive as the hero's music teacher. They're super attracted to each other, so they give in to meaningless sex a couple times pretty quickly, but she ends up pregnant so he marries her out of duty. They only fall in love after.

Phoebe by S.M. LaViolette has the heroine marry the wealthy hero in order to secure her family's future. They don't know each other well when they marry, but fall in love after.

Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens has the hero and heroine hook up shortly after they meet (long story short, she drugs him initially because her goddess says he's meant to father her children; he figures it out after the first go and pretends to be drugged for the others to figure out what the fuck she's doing and because he likes 'em crazy) but he then blackmails her into marrying him. They fall in love after the wedding (and a ton of sex).

Fiona and The Enigmatic Earl by Grace Callaway has the hero and heroine marry for pure convenience, only falling in love after.

The Truth About Cads and Dukes by Elisa Braden has the stern hero step up to marry the heroine after his brother compromises her (not in a sexual way, but basically by putting her in a situation that looks bad) and they marry as virtual strangers before falling in love.

When the Earl Met His Match by Stacy Reid. The heroine is pregnant by another man and marries the hero because her parents are attempting to take her baby and give it to a baby farm (a really bad thing). The hero was basically her penpal, and he agrees to raise the baby as his own. They only become romantic well after the wedding.

Wicked in His Arms by Stacy Reid. The hero and heroine don't like each other, but hook up in a closet and get caught, which leads to a marriage of convenience. The falling in love part comes after the wedding.

A Caribbean Heiress in Paris by Adriana Herrera. The hero and heroine are definitely super attracted to each other before they marry and like each other, but only fall in love once they agree to a practical marriage.

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas. But of course!

The Viscount and The Vixen by Lorraine Heath. The heroine shows up to marry the hero's old father as a part of an advertisement he put out for a wife, but the hero finds this all very unethical and basically steps up to marry her himself. Saving the day, he is!

When a Scot Ties the Knot by Tessa Dare. A very funny handfasting edition of this trope.

Tempt Me at Twilight by Lisa Kleypas. Another "hero traps the heroine into marriage, love ensues" book.

The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare. He marries her purely because he needs an heir; it grows from sex to love.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 25

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 3.5k

IMPORTANT a/n: I am really sorry, you can start the Mari witch hunt now. Chapter 26 is in the editing stage... message me questions. I've had this exact chapter drafted for about a year. I want to hear your thoughts while we enter the third part of this story.

January 1988 Bogota, Colombia

“You do understand that this is a traumatic event?”

Javier ashes his cigarette with a head shake. His bones are aching and tired and he feels old. Like he’s ready to retire at the peak of twenty six. It’s always warm, it’s humid like the day of his false wedding. No one knows his pain but he’s willing to share it. We need therapy, you told him once.

Look at me, I’m trying. 

He doesn’t take the words of his work appointed therapist very seriously but it’s taken him twelve sessions to finally talk about it. The first words other than good afternoon out of Dr. Hertz mouth already frustrates him. It frustrates him more how attracted he is to her. He swears her exact hair color is yours when he left. She sits with a pencil skirt like all the women around the office do. Besides his boss, she’s always in a pantsuit. Skin tan from the Colombian sun, nails always done in a square tip—scribbling in a notebook. That wasn’t like you, the nails. It was rare if you ever had them done, he’d like running his thumb over your nail beds, an odd spot that tickled you. He missed you so badly. 

“The situation hurt her the most.” 

Dr. Hertz fixed herself a frown and a nod, pen to paper a dry sound that ticked him off. “Take it from the top for me please.” 

The night of June 16th 1986

Javier decides to grab his thick work file before  he drives to the hotel he wanted to share with you. Sitting in a chair that has housed many sad men like him, he frowns over the case details of pregnant drug smugglers' corpses and child detainments for gun possession. Ashing into a tray that isn’t his. 

His head hurts and so does his hand, it’s nerves are short circuiting while he holds himself from calling you. He doesn’t want to think about tonight at all. He doesn’t want to continue to be haunted by Lorraine and the swell at her stomach. Avoiding the thought—that it could be—he abandons it. Instead he buries his nose in cigarette smoke and work for the night, he much rather be buried in the crook of your neck. Inside you, beside you, looking at you, holding you, speaking to you– he just wants you here. He hates to waste time and he isn’t sure why he feels a sick instinct that you maybe have less time then he believes. 

He decides to call after his 3rd cigarette. It’s a long shot considering it’s 3 am but he has never been good with self control. He pictures your face as you sleep, he’s watched it despite your pleas to fall asleep alongside you, he likes to watch before he does. You always sleep on your stomach, hands on either side of you like you were tossed in bed, one on his chest and a cheek smushed. You drool, he won’t tell you that but you do. He’s frowning while he dials, you hadn’t told him you loved him back tonight, he wonders what he did wrong. Or if it really just Lorraine. 

“Hello?” Your voice is dry and very much awake. 

“Andrea.” Is all he can itch out his throat, he isn’t even sure why he called you. Maybe just to hear your voice, that's reason enough right? 

“It’s late, baby.”

He thinks maybe he could just hang up now, whatever urge he felt all night had been fulfilled with three simple words in your sweet voice. He closes his eyes fighting an urge to drive back forty minutes to your house. 

“Yeah-yeah I know. Just want to hear you before I sleep.” 

“Well, you're hearing me. I love you.”

He nods, he knows. It’s his religion, those words leaving you.  “Will I be able to see you tomorrow?” 

You hold silence for a beat, an exhale beyond the receiver. “Yes, I want to sleep in your bed this time.”

“Okay.” He says pathetically quick, nodding like you could see just how serious he is about spending time with you. You giggle, and he wonders what changed in the last few hours since he left you in the aftermath of your brother's wedding. Maybe you just missed him too. 

“Okay. Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

He can't help himself, he just can't. 

He says it like a whisper, like it's a secret. 

“¿Sabes que te amo, verdad?”

“I know, I just–" You take a second, like you know what you're going to say will hurt him. He can't tell if you're bracing yourself or giving him time do so as well.

"Sometimes I just miss you when you're around and it's tiring to feel like I’m still fighting to keep you."

Colombia 1988

“I couldn't understand that. When we were together each moment felt like she was slipping away from me. I just didn’t know she could feel the same way. I was a present partner.” He sighs, an itch in his molars. A weird tick he gets when he wants to see your face. “I tried to be.”

Dr. Hertz pressed her lips in a firm smile, “It may seem difficult to assess a situation you are so tied to, do you suppose maybe Andrea felt this way because your relationship was on borrowed time?”

“It wasn’t on borrowed time.”

“Maybe borrowed time isn't the correct phrase, but you began the relationship fully aware that you would leave. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you agree that-that idea could’ve struck a nerve in the insecurities you said she had in relationships.”

“Is this a therapy session for her or for me?” Javier snaps and he isn’t sure why he takes it there, isn’t sure why he says her name so bitterly like you did anything wrong. Dr. Hertz nods, and scribbles with a crease between her brow. 

“I have never met Andrea, you are my patient. I want to help you recognize a place we could work together to improve.” 

“Alright.” He rolls his jaw for a moment feeling like a scolded child. His eyes flick to the clock. Another half hour left, he wants to head back into his apartment where it’s safe. 

“Alright, was it the next morning that you met with Lorraine?” 

Javier’s nostrils flare, thinking of her makes him feel physically ill. She says her name and sees your face when he tells you. 

“I didn’t meet up with her, I was ambushed.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, the weight of the word feeling useless in this setting. He knows what the word truly means, ambushed, he stood in front of Carillo’s closed casket days after the ambush. “I was caught off guard.” Javier decides to correct himself.

The next morning, June 17th 1986

There is another car in his driveway. A car unfamiliar to him. The sun blares down and he’s already sun tired and he just woke two hours ago. He decides to light a cigarette before stepping up to his front door, still his father holds a no smoking policy in the house. 

He shuts his eyes, eyelids burning orange and he drags in his first breath since last night. He wonders if you’d be free for a drive to the lake. You played into his biggest fantasy a few days ago in your tiny bikini, nose nuzzled in your mound. He’d like to do it again. 

He could hear the main road 3 minutes down the hill, that and the crackling from his burning cigarette. He flicks his wrist to check the time, strange for his father to have guests at any time of day. Javier shrugged it off with a step on the cigarette butt. He’s been burning through them lately, smoking one for only two minutes. He supposes his habit is now an addiction, he’s good at it at least. 

Javier walks up the small steps to his front door to be greeted by his father with a frown. His eyes scan over his father’s body, blocking any view of the inside of the house. His body on autopilot, he hands the car keys to his father like he does every time he comes home. But the air was still and this wasn’t like every time he came home. Javier’s heart dropped to his stomach, a fear that something happened to you. “¿Qué pasó? ¿Quién está aquí?"

“Lorraine and her parents are here.” 

Javier shuts his eyes and takes a step back into the porch. Allowing his father to follow him, shutting the screen door behind them. Javier pinches his nose. 

“I’m not interested in talking to them. Fuck this.” Javier pats his pockets for the keys he had just given away without thinking.

“You can’t leave this time.”

Javier walks into his home. Feeling like he’s attending a principals conference. His pastor–the father of his ex-girlfriend, her mother and her sat on the couch with solemn faces. Javier nods at both parents, adjusting his collar bundled with nerves. Despite feeling betrayed by his own father, he still will never disrespect guests in the home he built. Javier offers his hand to Mr. Smithfield to which he takes because ultimately he is a christian. He presses a kiss to the cheeks of Mrs. Smithfield and Lorraine. It reminds him of the first time he had dinner at their home. He knew the family his whole life because of church but being introduced as their darling girl's boyfriend was one of the most anxiety inducing moments of his adolescence. He remembers them with the same stone cold faces, ready to devour him whole if he had stepped out of line. 

He knew them as powerful people, he knew if he had wronged their daughter he would no longer have any work in town. 

So, Javier was quite the wreck.

“Sorry If i kept you all waiting— I was caught off guard.” Javi sits across from them, all scary looking with intense sad stares. 

Mr. Smithfield nods, “We knew you wouldn’t have shown if you were given a warning.” 

His initial reaction is to rebut, to jump to his feet and tell them they hadn’t had a clue of who he was. It feels like a body shot. Javier hadn’t grown into a full man yet. The comment still triggered the nerve that sends him off on anger infused raves. He thinks of you, and the face you’d make if he did. He realizes that this moment is one he shouldn’t run from, maybe this will be the moment to prove himself to be a better man. For you. It’s wrong but it’s what he thinks. 

If he stays here and listens to whatever berating this family has for him, maybe, just maybe, you’ll be proud of him for hearing them out. 

So Javier clenches his jaw and allows Mr. Smithfield to speak. “We as parents are concerned for our daughter. Javier— you know we trusted you with her and we see clearly that you took care of her. But—you bolted in her most vulnerable moment.”

Javier furrows his brows, looking into the eyes of Lorraine.

 She seems to have been in another room, on another planet. Her icy eyes, the ones he once gazed into with adoration— served him nothing but coldness. He wanted to snap in her face and ask if she was there. Was this a bad dream? He looks to his father once more. Chucho stands at the arm of the couch with his arms crossed. Javier never felt this weak. 

Look at me

At least look at me Lorraine.

He assumes this silence as an olive branch for his explanation. 

He’s unsure of what he needs to explain but he does anyway. 

“Mr… and Mrs.” Javier looks at the both of them, god what scary looking people. “I care for Lorraine, for a long time I loved her but we were too young and too serious. We fell out of love just as fast and— and we stayed together out of convenience for our careers but there were weeks where we didn’t speak to each other. We didn’t have the time or the will to work on it.” 

It was the truth. Last year they reached a point where she’d come in without a word, dropping groceries on the counter, ripping off her scrubs, getting into bed and locking the door. A sign that tonight, Javier must sleep on the couch. He stared at the bubbled ceiling, with his bones aching from his oversized limbs making space in the futon. He stared until his eyes burned and wondered what he was doing with his life just at the ripe age of twenty three. 

Mrs. Smithfield looks like she’s seen red, like, how dare you not love my daughter? Javier is sure if she’d said those words out loud he’d laugh and send them all to hell. But she doesn’t. 

She does not. 

Her chin quivers and her nose twitches. Teeth barred like she’s about to let out a profanity but instead, she begins to cry. 

“But you have time to get my daughter pregnant.”

Colombia 1988

Javier laughs bitterly. As if the sentence didn’t ruin his life. Here he is whining about it to his beautiful therapist. She frowns, shaking her head. Javier wants the session to end already. 

“It was like I died in that living room. The dreams I was just creating stayed there. I was in so much shock I hadn’t even second guessed the accusation.”

She nods with that understanding face of hers, it reminds him a bit of yours.

“It may be important to understand the rest of your story, it may be important to know exactly what you felt after she revealed the news.”

Javier is bothered by the way the doctor says news as if any of it had been truthful. 

Javier lights another, Dr. Hertz scribbles a short one. Javier flicks his eyes up to hers as his cigarette burns. 

“You keepin’ tally?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm.

She doesn’t smile, “Yes. I am. Please continue.”

Javier stares at her for a moment and it reminds him so much of you it makes him sick. He can’t help but obey. 

“Truthfully, I first felt like I regressed. I had been cruising through my life until that moment, losing track of time. I thought… how? I’m just a kid? I felt like I was ten and my dad was sitting me on that same couch to tell me my mom ran off. I was in that same head space. Both times I felt like I was being punished for my actions, both times I felt like an open wound, ”

“You felt like both situations had been karma?”

“Yes. I felt like a human wedge between my father and my mother. My existence had been a bad mark and when she left it was a final message of “look what you’ve done.” Javier’s throat is scratchy and he wishes these things were said to you first but he supposes a professional listener will do. “And I grew up to be so selfish and reckless, reckless with my relationships and with sex. And so abruptly I decided to leave that all behind for Andrea, I started to be safe, caring, a better man. But there I was facing the consequences of my own actions. Look what I have done.”

Look at the mess I made.

Will you still love me? After I have made a mess of all we found sacred? 

She nods with a look in her eyes that feels bright, like she was so proud of him for such an articulate and honest answer. He wasn’t sure why today he was being so honest. 

“Anyway. I was stumbling over my words asking how she knew— which felt like a shitty question to ask in front of her parents but considering the outcome I guess I was onto something.” Javier pulls his cigarette from his lips with a pulled brow, he’s burning through these far too quickly, he’ll be broke in no time. “She told me she was 5 months which tied me back to being her only sexual partner the entire year of 1985 and some of 1986 you know until I moved away. I just went cold while her family ranted.”

He hears them in his head when he looks at Dr. Hertz. He spares her the details, their time is inching towards the finish line. 

“We talked with your father and we know you’re a good young man. We know our daughter was tempted.”

“I don’t see you as a man to abandon his child.”

“Our daughter will not have this child out of wedlock.”

“We are willing to make arrangements swiftly to stifle the talk in our church.”

He sat with his head in his hands.  Ears ringing and he felt so fucking guilty for having such a reaction to his own consequences. For being so broken when he wasn’t the person carrying the child, for the woman across from him. 

And he knows her family well, he knows that their faith and christianity only stretches so far. He knows about Lorraine’s eldest brother who came out as gay and is no longer seen in Laredo. He knows Lorraine despite their fall out, he knows the stress of image that was placed on her at just six years old. He knows, he held her head as she cried while she spoke about their conditional love. It scares him deep in his soul, he knows and it breaks him. That he’d not only ruin her life but his future child’s life if he doesn’t man up.  He knows that the delicate bones in her body move aside for life, a life he had part in creating. He could not–he cannot add to the stress. He sees it in her gaze.

“I know now I was seeing guilt in her eyes. She knew the child wasn’t mine, she took advantage of me. But at the time I saw a girl I had loved, I saw her alone in a room full of people.” Javier leans against the chair. “I was a fucking idiot.”

“You were trying your best.” Dr. Hertz corrects him, “You were deceived, you were young. When you speak of Lorraine you still have room for grace and understanding of her circumstance despite her manipulating you and still, still you give her that grace to be a flawed human . You should apply that to yourself too. “

Javier looks down at his shoes for a moment. His brows pulled tightly together. His chin quivers and he isn’t sure why he feels her words with such intensity. Two weeks ago Javier told Dr. Hertz that the first time he considered therapy was when his ex-girlfriend burst into tears after sex. It was that session she finally pushed to know who Andrea was, Javier spent the bulk of the session smiling. Hertz had been smiling too, last week Javier had been frowning again. He told her about Louisiana. He had beaten himself up repeatedly for the insecurity he placed in your heart, Dr. Hertz hadn’t agreed. She quite unprofessionally called him, an idiot, for being so unkind to himself. “It seems like you were a great person for her, not everyone gets the chance to truly understand their lover.” Javier disagreed, he explained the wedding and how he hadn't felt so detached from you until that moment in the yard.

“That was the last time we were really together as a couple. “

We never really got the chance to be a couple, huh.

Hertz nods, and Javier drops the pregnancy scandal on her like a small footnote in his story. 

ThenwesplitbecausemyexmanipulatedmeintobelievingIwasthefatherofherunbornchild. 

In one fast jumbled mess between cigarette pulls. Dr. Hertz had thrown her hands in the air, earning him a Javier…

Today he tells his story and it hurts bone deep. Today he couldn't escape the trauma he kept in the corner of his mind during the lonely years in Colombia. Javier pulls himself together, pushing his agony aside to lift his chin. Checking the clock. Five minutes. 

“I knew I would have to-I knew I hadn't had a choice. I knew some sort of modern couple co-parenting with step-parents would never fly. They’d send Lorraine and my baby off somewhere I would never find them. I mean, maybe it's different here in Colombia but I’m talking about bible belt American socialites, it was already a travesty to them that a hispanic man got their baby pregnant. I also knew my father would never speak to me again, he gave up everything to be my father. He lost his own wife while he tried to be the best for me, I knew this wouldn't kill her. I knew I wasn't right for her in any way. I caused so much mess in Andrea’s life, this was the only way to leave swiftly and make her hate me. It would be easier that way, if none of this happened she’d be home in Laredo burning for me. I already wasted too much of her life with my antics.” Fuck it, Javier’s cheeks were wet. He had been crying the second he opened his mouth. Rushing to say his peace until next week. 

He knows todays your birthday, but he wanted to keep something for himself. He wants to suffer that alone.

“It would hurt her but it wouldn't kill her. They knew I’d go away to Colombia anyway but at least she’ll be wed. I was set to be married two weeks later.”

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future Part II, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 6: A weird-looking old man and a little guy in a leather jacket.

Previous posts here

• Instead of describing Doc as a “crazy, wild-eyed old man,” Old Biff says, “a weird-looking old man,” which is just so personal, lol

• There’s an interesting scene where Marty is almost caught in Biff’s garage. The shouting between Biff and his grandmother isn’t there to alert Marty, and instead, Biff just walks straight out to the garage. Marty thinks it’s Doc who has come to rescue him and calls out, which Biff hears. Marty then hides in the car, and waits as Biff looks around a bit before getting distracted.

• I really want the full scene of Doc scrambling to get that new hat and bike so he can head over to Biff’s house. The book mentions that he’d bought the bike a few hours prior (then had to wait for it to get dark enough) but I’d love to see how that played out. I also want Marty doing his shopping for his Inconspicuous outfit.

• Marty has a very funny response to Doc reminding him to be careful at the dance since his other self is there with Lorraine. “Yeah, that’s right! Hey, that’s cool, Doc. Maybe I’ll say hello to myself.”

This is followed immediately by, “’No!’ Doc felt like he might have a heart attack.”

And what I want to know is: is Marty just being a wisenheimer, or is he genuinely considering stopping to chit-chat with his other self? I could honestly see it going either way with Marty.

• This chapter is giving me a few good chuckles so far. Marty enters the dance and it says, “He stepped through, and found himself in the same alcove where he’d had that heart-to-heart with his future parents—the one about being nice when your son sets fire to the rug.”

Why don’t we have any definitive information on The Rug Incident? That story should’ve been included in the comics. I need to know what unfolded that day. Why did Marty set the rug on fire? Was it purely accidental? Did little Marty go through an arsonist phase?

I demand answers.

• When we return to Doc, who is still riding his bike all over the place, he ends up at the Peabody farm. There’s a cop there talking to Mr. Peabody, who’s recounting the alien encounter he had. Which…doesn’t make much sense to me since this is a week now since the “flying saucer” originally crashed into his barn. But I guess this has been an ongoing ordeal, and Otis has been trying to get someone to take him seriously.

Anyway, Doc is worried that they might actually stumble upon where he’s hidden the DeLorean behind the billboard, so he goes over and announces that he saw the spacecraft take off wayyy in the other direction. The police officer and Otis immediately take off in search of it.

• I wish I got a dollar for every time in this novel that Marty has said, “Yo, Doc!” because I would have many dollars.

• Lester (Wallet Guy) describes Marty to Biff as, “A little guy in a leather jacket.” So true, Lester. He IS just a little guy in a leather jacket.

• Ok, OK!! So! Two things to mention about the scene after the dance where Marty runs into Biff outside the door. After Biff calls him chicken, Marty once again recalls that, per his mother’s repeated suggestions, he’s supposed to count to 10 when he’s upset. And as he wrestles with his feelings, he thinks, “Maybe he always felt he needed to do this because he was so short.” !!!!! May I direct you to this ask and poll? There you have it, folks. Marty (book Marty, at least) is quite aware of his height and ALSO aware that it might be the reason he wants to fight at the slightest provocation.

• I already always feel bad for the Western Union guy when I watch the movie, and this makes me feel even more sorry for him. He gets no closure!!! He will NEVER know what the 70-year-old mystery letter was all about. The most disappointed voice Marty has ever heard!!

• We close with the scene of Marty running back to the clock tower. However, his revealing his presence to Doc is pretty different in the book than it is in the movie. We’re told, “Marty stepped out of the shadow of the courthouse. He tapped Doc on the shoulder.”

I mean. It definitely doesn’t have The Flair of Marty running full speed and dramatically spinning Doc to face him, but it is funny. He just. Steps out from the shadows and gives him a little tap. A gentle, “Um, hi, hello, I’m back.” Amuses me to think about.

This is how I imagine it, btw.

• The book ends with Doc passing out and Marty legitimately fearing that Doc may have just DIED before his very eyes, and how will he ever get home now?

I guess we’ll find out in the part III novel! Stay tuned.

[daryfromthefuture]

smashing my three hyperfixations together in a layton ft. ace attorney bttf au

hear me out (spoilers for the back to the future trilogy, unwound future, azran legacy and a spoiler-y character from ace attorney 3 (though no aa context is provided)

and yes, this deserves to be on my main blog

part 1: so we have luke as the mc (=marty) and hershel as his mentor (=doc). they live an ordinary life in 1960 london when hershel suddenly tells luke that he's constructed a time machine out of the laytonmobile (not telling flora (= jennifer except she's luke's sister figure instead of gf because i dont ship them) because of the safety shtick he has going on unfortunately </3), and demonstrates it to him.

the reason he built it? well, claire (dead wife) taught him a lot about physics and her field and yapped to him about the time machine they were creating, and it was always her dream to finish one, so hershel, following her death, took it upon himself to make it real because that's the kind of person he is.

dimitri (=taking the role of terrorist) too, wants access to a time machine to get claire back, and with the help of spies tracks layton down that night and has him killed. luke escapes to the past, a day 15 years prior that hershel had typed into the machine because of something personal i haven't thought of yet lmao. anyway.

the main characters here are college-aged layton, brenda (= lorraine) and clark (= george), as well as descole (= biff except he's not after romance). clark was actually an even more competent archeologist than hershel was during college, having earned a good reputation. descole, invested in the azran and wanting to hunt down target, constantly tries pressuring clark into giving him information, and since clark doesn't strike me as having much of a spine, he complies. he and brenda meet by accident when they literally bump into each other in the university hallway. luke, realizing he's in the past, runs to the university to get hershel and fix the damn time machine, prevents clark and brenda from running into each other (“oh, i would have bumped into that guy if it weren't for you! thank you!”), causing his parents to never meet. since they've told their first meeting story a lot, luke picks up on it and realizes he's cooked.

cue him trying to get them together, which is hard since brenda isn't a fan of clark being kind of a doormat and is just. not interested. (in the movie, martys mom falls for him because they're the same age when he's in the past, but i will not do this here because brenda would be around 20-ish and she's NOT falling for a 13 year old boy). in the end, he succeeds, also distracting descole when he boosts hershels confidence and reputation when enlisting him for repairing the busted laytonmobile (they run out of some maybe ancient af metal that is needed for the time machine to run, and hershel, being a great archeologist, digs it up for luke to get home somehow idk yet).

luke gets back to 1960 and, having warned hershel in the past, finds him alive and well at the site of the demonstration! yay! all is fun and games until…

part 2: layton, having just traveled 30 years into the future, comes back to 1960, frantic and panicked. someone who he assumes to be lukes child because of the similarity in appearance is threatening london, and he needs luke to help put an end to this madness. flora gets to be there this time, too, because she was very insistent on coming with them.

so they all travel to 1990, where scientists are disappearing. sound familiar? that's right, the young man is, in fact, not lukes child, but in fact, clive (= taking marty jrs place). in this au it wasn't the time machine accident that killed his parents but maybe an explosion in a factory since his birth is delayed a couple decades from the canon timeline, and he seeks revenge for the explosion by wanting to destroy the company and rich businessmen responsible for this (capitalism am i right). so hershel, luke and flora kinda stop him from doing that - except descole, older but still around, overhears luke and flora talking about buying a sports almanac and taking it to the past to make quick cash. and so, when the laytonmobile is left unattended, descole yeets himself to 1945 to give the book to his own younger self and brings the time machine back to 1990.

when hershel, luke and flora return to 1960, they find it a hellhole. in this reality, descole remained clarks terrorizer to the point of having him killed because he knew too much. with the money he bet on, he financed the downfall of targent and rules london now. realizing they need to fix what went wrong, they find out when exactly young descole got hold of the wretched book, and then travel back to 1945, where luke and flora go on a whole espionage mission to watch older descole give younger descole the book before spending a day snatching it away from him. they succeed, securing their timeline - until there's an accident and hershel is sent to the 1890s with no ticket back.

part 3: hershel left the time machine somewhere hidden for the kids to recover in 1945, with repair instructions for his younger self because he can actually replace the busted parts because technology advancement from the 1890s to the 1940s. in a letter, he tells luke and flora not to go back for him and that they should return to 1960 to their regular lives (flora will have to be staying with luke and his parents if they do so). however, before they do that, they accidentally discover hershels gravestone: died by poisoning, september 7, 1890, erected in eternal memory by his beloved nick. (flora and luke looking at each other. “who the hell is nick?!”)

and so, the kids go to 1890s london on september 2 to save layton's life. hershel is surprised - he's made a life for himself as librarian and historian, and was getting content with his fate of staying here. as soon as he hears that he will die, however, he agrees to go back to the 1960s - except the laytonmobile is out of fuel and there is a limited availability of gas stations. so until that is settled, they have 5 days.

hershel, in all this commotion, forgot that he had made a commitment and had agreed to help a group of american lawyers to help research a case that had ties to london. however, as fate would have it, he walks by when one of them slips and almost falls off a bridge. he manages to save the man's life, they lock eyes - oops.

turns out this is phoenix wright (= clara)(because yeah hi main blog followers, i am a laywright truther. layton vs ace attorney makes you ship them) together with his assistant maya fey and friend and prosecutor miles edgeworth (who needs to be there because his pompous cravat screams 1890s). the two of them instantly click, and it is only when maya calls phoenix nick that hershel realizes this is the nick referred to on his tombstone as seen on the photograph of it that luke and flora showed him.

but hershel is actually super in love and doesn't say no when phoenix invites him and the kids to a fancy ball taking place on the 5th. they dance and bond and have a great time until dahlia, a woman having a crush on phoenix (maybe the three lawyers are actually somewhat celebrities), gets very jealous and decides to poison laytons drink. he would have drunk it and died two days later if flora hadn't been interested in that kind of thing and instantly detected it, preventing her father from drinking the poison and thus preventing his demise.

phoenix and hershel run away from the ball into the night, spending the time at an empty park and kissing under the stars, but hershel is faced with the decision of either staying in 1890 with phoenix or going back to 1960 with his children. he goes with the latter because he's rational and feels enough guilt for the mess his machine has resulted in as it is, which leads to an argument between him and nick because the latter doesn't believe the time machine excuse, leaving him heartbroken.

meanwhile, dahlia is pissed at flora for screwing up her murder plan and wants revenge (i don't know how yet, bear with me here). maybe nick ends up saving the day because despite the fight, he doesn't want hershel or luke or flora to die. they reconcile, and phoenix, after seeing the time machine with his own eyes, instantly agrees to come with hershel, and maya and edgeworth also get to come because it'd be boring without them.

THE END!!

congrats for making it here. here's a sketch of them in their 1890s outfits that i hope to color tomorrow

this all is so silly and incredibly self-indulgent lmao, but at the same time i cooked can't lie

[netherfeildren]

AHHH fable of the dog is so good I was thinking about it all day at work!! need more of them.

it got me thinking - have you read any romances of a similar western/ranch vibe? i love your taste so I trust your recs.

i went down a huge omegaverse rabbit hole after reading your alpha joel fic (can’t remember the title rn) so i also wouldn’t be mad at any of your fave books/fics in that category lol

lorraine heath texas trilogy

lisa kleypas the travises series

whiskey moon winter renshaw

melanie harlow

elsie silver

lucy score

also if anyone is a yellowstone/1923 fan and wants to talk spencer dutton / rip wheeler i’m ALL EARS

and thank u so much I’m so glad you’re enjoying the story!!!! 💗

[everythingshewantsss]

Florian's Background Made No Sense (Theory)

As I played Florian and finished his deductions, I fell in love with his story and his character. He was a survivor of a house fire that killed his parents, raised in a well-known orphanage, and developed a pyromaniac hero complex as a result of his experiences. I became invested and wanted to know how he ties into the rest of the story of the White Sand Street Orphanage, since his deductions state he was raised there. News flash- He doesn't fit in with the story. The number of years he stayed there, the lack of a fire brought up in relating characters' accounts of the location, and Florian's deductions having no information about the asylum itself, that the orphanage was turned into. I was wondering about his experience there, as we all know it's a staple location in Identity V's lore. I thought at first that the writers on IDV's dev team fucked up terribly. But after piecing together the full story of White Sand Street Orphanage, I have reason to believe he was never there at all.

The current story of the orphanage is known: White Sand Street Orphanage was founded by Kreacher where he homed Robbie and his sister. The church in the town had a lot of power and demanded that Kreacher sell them the orphanage, or he will be prosecuted. The time that Kreacher owned the orphanage lasted ten months before selling the property to Father Duke.

Under the ownership of the church, Father Duke and Emily (under the account of Baron) started drugging and experimenting on the children, including Emma, Robbie and his sister. However, Sister Lorraine, the assistant director, would have little to no idea about these actions. After transforming the orphanage into a mental hospital, they started admitting both adults and juveniles. We know some of these admissions to be Emma, Kurt, and Emil. Robbie's sister, Dolores, would cause a lot of trouble because she was very aware of the malevolence taking place. She and him were roomed separately, but Dolores would be caught throwing Robbie's medication out the window or even take his doses herself— this leading to her quick psychological degradation. Robbie would usually sneak into her room more often to see her, but one day she starts screaming. Dolores doesn't remember her little brother due to the effects of the drugs. She was dragged away, and Robbie went back to his room. After not seeing his sister for 3 days, he tries to sneak out of his room's window, leading to the window falling on him and decapitating and killing him.

At one point when Dolores is more sober, she realizes Robbie is dead and starts freaking the fuck out. She had to be thrown off of her brother's grave and dragged back inside several times. Dolores writes Robbie a letter telling him there's one last thing she has to do. She finds an axe and at night, she went to kill as many people as she could find— staff, nuns, and other children.

The local public would begin to question if the mental hospital should stay open. Sister Lorraine would take over as director as Father Duke moved up into a district position. Sister Lorraine had reevaluated the juvenile patients and deemed them sane to discharge. She left a resignation letter and disappeared. The rest of the patients there were transferred before the business shut down. There are so so so many more details about the White Sand Mental Hospital, but this is the summarized story from start to end!

This story takes place over the course of no more than 2 years. It was in Kreacher's possession when he founded it for ten months, then Robbie and Dolores remained very young children up to Robbie's death and Sister Lorraine leaving. Emily had tortured Lisa there before Lisa was likely discharged and grown into the identity of Emma Woods. The orphanage was only called an orphanage until the kids were reported to be sick and needed treatment. It was then known widely as White Sand Street Mental Hospital, or White Sand Street Asylum. I thought to myself, could Florian have burnt it down and then it was rebuilt later?

No. Florian was orphaned when he was 6 years old and presumably pulled his arsonist stunt sometime during teenhood. Within his time span, the orphanage would have been turned into an asylum and closed down not so long after. His deductions never report an asylum at White Sand Street nor any of the events that have been established before. None of the characters with relations to the location have never mentioned a fire or a rebuilding. Robbie and Dolores were homed there from the start to the finish of the business, and not once were they interrupted by a fire. So where was Florian raised?

I have to believe that Florian's White Sand Street Orphanage is a complete reopening with new administrators and staffing. During his time there, the grown-ups help Florian cope with the death of his parents. They tell him that they are still with him and still love him, and Florian found that his parent's love is in the fire. This brings him comfort and he is content with his past as he becomes the poster boy for the orphanage to gain funding. According to his written background story, he was proactive and diligent, and appointed to be the manager of the other children.

Additionally, I still do think the Baron may be in control or have influence of it. In Florian's background video, there is a shot of a nun adding something from a vial to a pitcher— presumably drugging water for the children.

Sister Lorraine and Emily are no longer associated here and that provides an opportunity for a fresh start. After the first location being so careless and unorganized, Baron and/or Father Duke may have been able to properly organize illicit experimenting without it getting obvious. The first White Sand Street Asylum story mentions a writer visiting before Dolores' incident happened— this is likely Orpheus. With the loose ties that Baron and Orpheus have narratively, it would be of interest for either to keep continuing these experiments. With the amount of drug usage that is in the manor games, it would make sense to have them tested here first.

Florian's story starts a new story for White Sand Street Orphanage. Sister Lorraine is gone, and other linked characters were already at the Manor much earlier. Emil's game at the Manor is the first test run, and by that time the original asylum should be long gone. The town must have needed an orphanage again and a new one has opened, just as the Baron or Orpheus needed more testing grounds for their drugs used in the games.

[satashiiwrites]

Writers Wrapped

Tagged by @missanniewhimsy—thanks for the tag dear!

Favorite Story you've worked on this year: oof. Uh, maybe from an accomplishment of finishing it I’d have to go with Choices and Regrets—it started as my NaNoWriMo/Rough Trade project in Nov 2023 but it really got edited and finished in 2024. The source of this 911 semi-fusion is Dark Matter the book by Blake Crouch/tv show and I have yet to really see anything else done with this trope. It’s dimension hopping, doppelgänger, stolen identities and true love kinda all wrapped into one thriller of a fic. I hope I did right by the inspiration source as it’s been one of my favorite books for years.

Favorite Character that you've written this year: Probably Eddie Diaz. I feel like in the 911 fandom a lot of people tend to favor Buck’s pov and some days Eddie just speaks to me in a very different and clearer way. With the final chapter of Family, Familia, ‘Ohana finally completed this year, I really struggled with this chapter until I realized I needed to change the POVs order around and let Eddie have his moment to play vanguard for Buck.

The other character I’ve been having a lot of fun writing is Danny Williams in Jersey Boys which so far has been his POV. This is Danny pre-series, he’s more jersey in all the jersey ways. Also, his partner who’s an OC, Lorraine, has real main character energy and give’s Danny a run for his money. So far, the fic has been really fun to write because of how bombastic these two are.

Favorite scene you've worked on this year: There’s a few to chose from but I’m going to mention the scene where Jonas Taylor and Owen Grady meet in Scratching an Itch. This is a complete and utter crack fic with a crack pairing—there is no way that these two characters could meet as they’re in different movies… yet there’s a thread of craziness that connects them. Owen walks into Jonas’ neighborhood bar and terrible pickup lines aside, they end up going home together. Jonas’ POV is vey clear cut, cynical, and down to uh, ‘have fun’ (the whole fic is a pwp with a plot holding it together with duct tape). It’s just a ridiculous fic overall but it was fun writing in Jonas’ POV and going for it. And why not have a Jurassic World/the Meg crossover?

Favorite piece of inspiration you've used this year(i.e. song, movie, art):

The finale/epilogue of Family, Familia, ‘Ohana was always going to Home by Jack Johnson. Similarly, Choices and Regrets was always going to have its epilogue built around Semisonic’s Closing Time. I write a lot based on emotions in certain lyrics or the song itself. Both of these songs evoke the feeling I’m going for in these chapters and both were long fics that feel like a huge accomplishment to have finished.

Favorite line or lines you've written:

uh, well, I’ve been collecting terrible one-liners lately (see Scratching an Itch or Jersey Boys). There’s a few honorable mentions, but the one that made me sputter and fall off my chair laughing as I wrote it was from Chasing My Ghosts Away (If Only For Tonight) which is a one-shot set in The Lincoln Lawyer season 3 and is basically an excuse to have Mickey taken out of his spiraling thoughts by Omar the bodyguard.

“And what do you call this?” Mickey asks helplessly, clenching down rhythmically, trying to encourage Omar to give him a real thrust, feeling his peak vanish out of reach. 

“I call this stamina, hermoso,” Omar says with a smirk before withdrawing and giving Mickey a real thrust, making him yelp, before catching his mouth and fusing their lips together. 

Writing piece or accomplishment you're most proud of: I finished Family Familia ‘Ohana. This fic took me years to write. I’m so damn happy to have it finished and out there. Give me a month or two and I’ll clean up a few things and start posting the sequels. The Bobby POV fic What Becomes of the Broken Hearted will be next with probably A Final Vow (David ‘Deacon’ Kay/Daniel ‘Hondo’ Harrelson) fic to follow.

Tagging @tiny-reader @rosieposiepuddingnpie @tkwritesdumbassassins @harleyjquinwrites and anyone else who wants to play along

[pooonnyboooyyy]

The outsiders OCs I created because I had nothing better to do with my life.

Ladybird Jane Curtis

• 16 going on 17

• Sodapop’s twin sister

• Nicknames are Bird, Birdie, doll and Lady (but only Dallas call’s her Lady)

• was President of her school’s drama club until she had to drop out to help support her family after their parents died

•Great liar, the only one who can tell if she’s lying is Dally

•Secretly dated a soc (Randy) but broke up with him the night of her parents funeral

•She’s often the gang’s alibi because of her gift for lying (she’s gotten Dallas out of jail more times than she can count)

•Her and Two-bit are platonic besties (they watch Disney and Micky Mouse together a lot)

•works at the local 24 hour dinner with Sandy (before ya know, she cheated)

• fiercely protective of Ponyboy (she had to practically become his mom)

•idolizes Marilyn Monroe and Clara Bow (she loves old Hollywood)

•Smokes and will put her cigarettes in her rolled up sleeves for easy access but hates the taste of alcohol

• She’s her mom’s twin

• Has a unrealized crush on Dallas (they often flirt with one another while Silvia and Dally are broken up but Darrel often puts a stop to it)

• “My only sister Ladybird runs up to us, she’s Sodapop’s twin and pretty much the female version of him, beautiful and always positive, she has bombshell blonde hair and mom’s kind eyes, always looking at you like they’re is no one else in the world that she rather be looking at, but now her eyes are looking at me with horror. She despises the sight of blood or me being hurt, she treats me like a damn baby who is always hurt”

Book description of Ladybird aka Ladybird from Pony’s perspective

• I got inspired by Daisy Buchanan for her character description and design

Kathrine “Kitty” Lorraine Lebeau-Curtis

•20

• Darrel’s then gf turned wife by the end of the story

• Has a mom who in the nicest terms is a drunken a hole who is literally insane

• She’s short because she was oftentimes malnourished as a child and would be locked in a room with no food for days on end as punishments

• From Montgomery, Alabama but moved to Tulsa when she was 10 when her baby sister (Margaret) was found de@d in the bathtub and her mother’s reputation was ruined.

• Grew up on the soc side of town and was practically a soc for many of her teenage years but always hated how socs treated greasers

•Sews all of her own clothes and will fix the gang’s clothes as well (and she’s great at it)

• “Patiently” waiting for her mother to kick the bucket so she can sell her house (it’s a soc house so it would go for a lot) so she can help her husband out with the bills more (Darrel insists that she doesn’t need to do that for him but she doesn’t listen) it probably won’t take much longer for her to pass because of the amount of drügs she’s taking

• Works as a seamstress

• Was cheer captain back in high school and was damn good at it (her team won several national titles under her leadership and she owns several championship rings)

• Originally dated Paul Holden (that’s how she met Darry) but he was a horrible boyfriend who would often beat on her and belittle her, Darrel was the one who stood up for her and treated her like she was a person and not some doll to be tossed around, that’s one of the reasons why she fell in love with Darry

• Paul hates Darrel for “taking her away from him” when Darry literally was the only one who treated her like a person

• Darrel doesn’t know why she stayed with him (but he isn’t complaining)

• The gang’s mom

• Doesn’t smoke or drink (she has trauma from her mother burning her with cigarettes)

• Becomes her high school’s cheer coach by the end of the story (Cherry and Marcia idolize her)

• Worries about Darrel a lot (she thinks he’s over working himself too much)

•literally the original Cherry Valance

• “Darry’s girlfriend, Kathrine “Kitty” Lebeau was behind Birdie, she’s pretty short with strawberry blonde hair and deep sea blue eyes and a scar just underneath her lip from a cheerleading accident when she was 13. She’s the complete opposite of Darry, and a ex soc no less, but I still like her she’s a good cook and a good person to talk to. I don’t get why she wastes her time with Darry, she has her pick of the crop but still picks Darry.”

Book description of Kitty/ Pony’s pov of her

Tell me what y’all think!

[okdamage423]

BTTF review (buckle up)

so ya'll I saw the bttf musical tour last night and HOLY HECK it was so good. First off-Caden was a PHENOMENAL Marty. He brought the right amount of energy and was also just genuinely fun to watch. The way that he has sharp movements and has fun with the choreography was so satisfying to me as a dancer since I've noticed that most of the time leads are really stiff and tend to focus more on their vocals than their overall body. I'm telling ya'll this was not the case. I literally can watch him all day and not get bored. That's how underrated this man is.

I have no major complaints about the actual show but I do think that some of the songs weren't really broadway-esque, if you know what I mean. Like while there were some really catchy songs and numbers, some of them just felt like complete placeholders and didn't add much to the story (My Myiopia, Hello, is anybody home, For the dreamers).

Besides that minor thing I had no big complaints at all! I loved the set design and thought that the use of multiple screen/sikes was really intuitive. Like during the time travel parts I thought that I was on one of those rides at universal studios because of how real it seemed. It was hard to believe that the car (WHICH WAS AN ACTUAL DELOREAN YA'LL) wasn't actually going that fast. And lets take the time to give appreciation to all of the sets they built for even tiny scenes: the tree George was climbing, Lorraine's room + exterior of her house, the enchantment under the sea set pieces.

Other things:

-The actor that played Doc was really good and really funny. Like his whole reaction after Lorraine says to marty "pick me up at 7 and take me to heaven was complete GOLD.

-The actor that played Lorraine could sing! She was really good and has so much potential! Her voice was so smooth and she completely nailed both the acting and singing during Pretty Baby (y'all best believe I had to bite my tongue to not talk about that scene and how hilarious it was BAHAHAHAHA).

- The actor that played George McFLy did SUCH a great job acting like him it was hard to believe it wasn't the og actor from the movie.

-THE ACTOR THAT PLAYED MAYOR GOLDIE WILSON ATE "GOTTA START SOMEWHERE" IT WAS A JAW DROPPING PERFORMANCE

-THAT SOMETHING ABOUT THAT BOY SCENE!!!???? That was the best use of set pieces and set design and that fight choreography was sm fun to watch!

-Put your mind to it was such a fun number! Mike and Caden were amazing during it! I wish I could describe how much fun that scene was to watch and lowkey I wish I recorded it (I need a bootleg) because its hard to describe how I feel about that scene without the video for ya'll to watch lmao.

-the lightsaber scene was so cute and grew my Caden appreciation

Overall, I freaking love this musical, as many of you who are reading this most likely know, I really am a huge Outsiders Musical fan but now I've sort of reflected on this. Watching Bttf reminded me of how musicals are supposed to light hearted and entertaining-and while the outsiders does have fun parts it is overall a lot darker than I realized. Also, the fandom for back to the future isn't toxic like the outsiders. It overall just seems like a fun group of people who appreciate the actors for who they are and respect their boundaries (**cough cough).

Anyways: If this musical stops in your town I highly recommend you see it! Although I know the og tour cast is already swapping out and Caden is going to west end (FUCKING SO HAPPY FOR HIM HE DESERVES IT) I guarantee you that whoever you see you will walk out of that theatre feeling light and fun and with Back in time stuck in your head!

Love you all. xoxo

now its time for me to rewatch the movie for the 800th time

[hero-deserves-to-be-happy]

At The End of the Road: Chapter 1: Unforgettable

In the future, nearly 14 years after the good ending of OMORI, Hero meets up with his old friends from college and reflects on how a Fall break vacation over a decade ago quickly turned into a road trip Hero and his friends would never forget.

Hero's friendships with his college friends Brandi, Kyle (OC), Zoey (OC), Tamra (OC), C.J. (OC) and Lorraine (OC)-centric. (Past Hero/Mari, Eventual Hero/OC, and Brandi/OC are also mentioned)

Slice of Life and Friendship Shenanigans Post-Good End (with a little bit of Hurt/Comfort).

Rated G. Some mild warnings for canon-typical heavy themes (i.e. grief and mourning) & some occasional mild language in later chapters, but this is mostly friendship fun and shenanigans. Please see AO3 tags for more information and also be mindful of OMORI spoilers.

Chapter 1 of 5 || Chapter Word Count: 2,412

Reading "When Sun Shines Again" and "Am I Ready For Love? Or Maybe Just a Best Friend" before this story is recommended.

A/N: This story is a gift for @shine-n-bright and was inspired by Shine's prompt and beautiful artwork of Hero and his friends. Thank you so much again for the wonderful art inspired by "When Sun Shines Again" and the prompt for this story!! We are so sorry for all the delays and appreciate your patience. We loved your prompt so much that this story became a much bigger work than we anticipated so we have divided it into chapters. We hope to post the next chapters very soon and really hope you like this story! 😊

Link to the chapter on AO3. Full Chapter Text Below the Cut.

Thank you for reading and supporting our work in progress! ⛅

PROLOGUE:

“There you are! What took you so long?”

Fidgeting, Hero scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, Kyle. I got caught at work.”

“Eh don’t worry about it,” Kyle insisted as he shrugged his shoulders with a lopsided grin. He patted Hero on the back as he ushered him into the house, then laughed as he took his jacket. “Nice scrubs.”

Hero sheepishly smoothed his hands across his shirt. These days, he spent most of his time in scrubs, so it was easy to forget he was wearing them. “Sorry,” he apologized again. “I didn’t have time to change.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Kyle laughed again. “You know I don’t care. I love scrubs—it’s like wearing pajamas to work every day, but what in the world happened to you? We got off at the exact same time—or at least we were supposed to.” Kyle tilted his head, and Hero shuffled his feet. It was easy to forget that Kyle knew all about his schedule now that they were working in the same orthopedic clinic. “I thought you took this outpatient job, so you’d have more time for yourself than you did in your residency. That’s not gonna work if you keep working after hours.”

Hero sighed heavily. “I know…but I got behind on some of my charting today and—”

“You work way too hard, Mama,” Kyle interrupted with a tut bringing up an old nickname that had somehow stuck around since their undergrad. “And you’re already like the busiest person I know. You need a break.” 

“I’m fine. Please don’t worry.” Hero insisted, then chuckled lightly to himself. This conversation was all too familiar. He and Kyle must have had the exact same one at least a hundred times over the decade they had been roommates before Kyle had finally moved out and into this lovely house in the suburbs.

Kyle shrugged. “You know I don’t worry about anything, but you need a vacation. I think I’ll buy you one.”

“Oh you really don’t have to—”

Hero’s protests were promptly cut off by the frantic flurry of clip-clopping high heels, bouncing golden curls, a twirling sparkling tutu, high-pitched giggling, and an excited squeal of “Uncle Hero!”

He wasn’t really her uncle, only her godfather, but the title made him smile brightly as he scooped up Kyle’s daughter, Eloise, and she placed a tiara triumphantly into his unruly hair.

“Thank you, Ellie,” said Hero with a laugh as the tiara began to droop over his eyes. Eloise’s tiny brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to catch the crown, practically smacking Hero in the head with it as Kyle cackled in the background. Kyle only laughed harder as Hero reached up with his hand to try to affix the tiara to his head which, unfortunately, it seemed was much too big for a crown designed for toddlers. He looked at Eloise apologetically, but he couldn’t hold back his smile as he heard familiar laughter coming from a nearby doorway.

“You’ve finally got your crown, Mr. Prince.”

Hero stifled his laughter at another nickname it seemed he would never be able to outgrow, and Zoey leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms with a quirk of an eyebrow. Her voice was dry, but Hero knew her well enough after all these years to see the twitch of a smile in the corners of her mouth and that teasing sparkle in her green eyes as she added, “It suits you.”

Hero’s face grew warm. The fact he was blushing at Zoey’s recurring ‘prince’ joke after all this time was even more embarrassing than the joke itself. For a split second, he hoped she hadn’t noticed, but she knew him far too well for that. Hero was sure of it—even without her pointed flash of the engagement ring on her left hand as she raised it to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Hero shrugged but smiled. Touché.

“I think it’s better for a princess,” he said as he gently nestled the tiara into Eloise’s blonde curls.

“I’m playing Cinderella,” Eloise explained. “You’ll be the prince for me—won’t you? Dad says you’re just like prince charming.”

Laughing, Kyle took his little girl from Hero and held her himself. “I said he was ‘basically prince charming,’” he corrected—clearly more for Hero’s benefit than for the understanding of his toddler. “Which he is.”

Before Hero could even begin to protest, a high-pitched voice laughed, “Oh he totally is!” followed by the excited footsteps of Lorraine sprinting through the doorway and practically jumping on him to squeeze him into a tight hug. It had always been her preferred method of greeting, but even after all of these years, it still surprised him, as did her unexpectedly tight grip for someone so dainty.

“My future brother, the prince,” she teased with a beaming smile, ruffling a hand through his hair before she turned to Eloise. “He’d be the perfect prince for your game, but he’s here to do some grown-up stuff, so he can’t play today.”

With a disappointed hum, Eloise pouted, “But Uncle Hero…” She blinked at him with big eyes and a pleading expression which reminded him a lot of her father’s. If Hero had to guess, she’d be just as persuasive as him someday—a troublemaker who somehow always managed to be earnest and look innocent, and just as Hero had always struggled saying no to Kyle, he struggled to say no to Eloise too. He almost wanted to say that he would play with her for a little while, but he had kept his friends waiting for so long already, so instead he sighed with a half-smile and said, “I promise we’ll play next time, okay?”

Eloise frowned—clearly not too pleased with the idea, but her face lit up into a bright smile when her dad said, “Hey, you wanna watch Cinderella on the big tv?” and led her off practically skipping up the stairs her plastic dress-up high-heels loudly clip-clopping all the way.

“Gotta keep an eye on our goddaughter,” quipped Zoey. “She’s dangerous. Before we know it, she’ll be roping her friends into who knows what—have them camping out in the middle of nowhere in an RV that had broken down on the side of the highway.”

Hero stifled a laugh. He hadn’t thought about that in years. Looking back, it was kind of amazing to think of the kinds of shenanigans he and his friends had gotten into back in college—all mostly thanks to Kyle and his hairbrained ideas. Truthfully, it was a little unbelievable seeing as they were all such responsible adults now: a teacher, a doctor, a speech therapist, two lawyers, an engineer, and a physical therapist. Nearly all of them married—some, like Kyle, with children who, in Eloise’s case, at least, for better or worse, seemed to be just like her dad.

“Ooh that reminds me,” interjected Lorraine. “I got out all my photo albums out for you to look at. Basil called me about pictures for some collage or wedding video or something, and you’re welcome to borrow any you want.” She clapped her hands with a smile. “I have an album from that trip, you know?”

“I still don’t know why you wanted to document that…” Shaking her head, Zoey sighed but shrugged. “Just don’t show Brandi, okay? I’m pretty sure she still calls it ‘the Road Trip from hell.’”

“Aww but it was the first time we all ever went on vacation together. It was so much fun!” Lorraine beamed, but her sister just shrugged. She quickly turned to Hero. “You want to see the pictures, don’t you, Hero?”

He could barely mumble a polite, “Um…sure, Lorraine” before she had dragged him through the doorway towards the dining room and kitchen where the rest of their friends were hard at work seemingly getting ready for dinner. C.J. and Tamra turned towards him with smiles and friendly greetings, but Brandi just huffed and crossed her arms.

“Well look who finally decided to show up.” She bristled, but Hero liked to think she happy to see him. Maybe… It was often difficult to tell with her.

“Finally,” C.J. repeated, though he sounded relieved rather than disgruntled. “We were about to cut our losses and order takeout. You know none of us can cook.”

“Hey,” huffed Brandi, but C.J. just smiled.

“You know I love you, but it was your idea to order takeout.”

Brandi frowned. “I didn’t mean me.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” Kyle interjected with a bright, smarmy smile as he walked in through another entrance. “But honestly, I think I could still burn a Pop-Tart.”

Brandi rolled her eyes, but paused glancing around, Hero could only assume, for Eloise, not wanting to insult Kyle in front of his kid. Even though the little girl was upstairs now, Brandi still just muttered a tame, “moron” under her breath and otherwise she pretended she hadn’t heard him and continued, “Lorraine is a pretty good cook, and Tamra’s still working on that lasagna.”

“Yeah…I think we should probably give up on the lasagna.” With a weary sigh, a particularly bedraggled Tamra chuckled somewhat sheepishly and wiped her floury hands on a stained apron. “We should not have tried to substitute the eggs when we ran out.” She shook her head but smiled at Hero with a shrug her shoulders, “I don’t think even you can rescue this one, Hero.”

“I think we should just order takeout,” huffed Brandi. “I’m starving.”

“And cranky,” quipped Kyle in a playful scold.

“You’re the one who invited people over for a dinner with no food.”

Kyle shrugged. “I thought Hero would cook for us—like the old days, but he was late.”  

“I’m sorry, everyone.” Hero had lost track of how many times he had apologized, but he felt another apology was warranted. “I can whip something up right away.”

A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. “No,” said Zoey. “I’ll order some takeout. Don’t worry about it.”

“Kyle will order some takeout,” Brandi corrected. “Since this is his fault.”

Laughing, Kyle held up his hands in a sort of helpless surrender. “Okay. Okay.” He pulled a menu for a local Chinese restaurant off of his refrigerator. From it’s prominent placement amongst family photos and Eloise’s artwork, Hero could only assume that Kyle was a frequent customer. As Kyle began to pass the menu around to his friends, Lorraine placed a stack of photo albums on the table.

“We should look through some pictures while we wait for the food!” She smiled brightly handing an album with “Our First Road Trip” emblazoned on the cover to Hero. “Here’s the one we were talking about.”

“Oh no. Not that one,” complained Brandi, peering over Hero’s shoulder. “I had almost blocked that road trip from hell out of my memory.”

“Told you,” quipped Zoey with a chuckle, but Hero doubted she was heard by too many of their companions over Kyle’s very loud and very dramatic gasp of offense.

“Why would you want to do that? It was the best trip ever!”

From the looks that were being exchanged, Hero could tell that while none of them would likely go so far as Brandi to call their vacation the “road trip from hell,” no one agreed that it was anywhere near the “best trip ever.” The way Hero remembered it, everything that possibly could have gone wrong did. Starting from the first moment Kyle had pulled up the driveway of their fraternity house in a weathered, broken-down RV equipped with a gross carpet interior and peeling paint. His mouth twitched in the corners as he released that his truly unforgettable recreational vehicle had been immortalized forever as the first photo in Lorraine’s album.

Though Lorraine hadn’t gotten a photo of it, Hero could vividly picture the bright beaming smile on Kyle’s face as he had proudly declared he had had “the best idea ever” to use their plane ticket money in order to rent that hunk of junk RV on the somewhat fantastical notion that a road trip would permanently bond them, make them all “best friends forever” like in one of those coming-of-age sitcoms Kyle loved so much. Hero could distinctly remember Brandi huffing, “This isn’t ‘Saved By the Bell,’ Kyle” as if friendships that close were just a fantasy—something only found on TV.

Hero supposed that in a way, at that time, it was a sort of fantasy to him too—a distant dream that almost didn’t feel real. He had had friends like that once, but, back then, back when Kyle was masterminding that road trip, he couldn’t imagine ever having friends like that again.

It was strange thinking back to that time, now, after everything that had happened. In a way, he felt almost like a different person—like the  young man who had driven that dilapidated RV all the way to Kyle’s family lake house wasn’t even him at all. That Hero could have never imagined that their ragtag group would still be in touch with each other after all this time, let alone such close friends. He could have never imagined that at the end of the road they’d someday all be gathering around the table to look through Lorraine’s photo album of that fateful road trip to find pictures for his wedding of all things.

Hero covered his mouth with his hand and laughed in spite of himself. It was truly unbelievable. Impossible. Even now, having reached this destination it almost didn’t feel real, but as Kyle had once said, some of the best journeys in life wind up at places you could never expect—that’s part of the fun!  

In that way, Hero supposed it was impossible to ever really know what was waiting at the end of the road. After so many twists and turns in the winding dark, there was a future surrounded by friendship and love that he hadn’t believed he could ever have after losing Mari, that he hadn’t believed he deserved anymore. 

But he had had no way of knowing that, had no way of knowing he could ever be happy again, just like he had no way of knowing that his Fall break vacation to Kyle’s family lake house would turn into a cross-country road trip he and his friends would never forget.