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javierpena-inatacvest · 1 day ago

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Chapter 21- Paradise

Summary: Now that you and Javi are married, it's time for you to enjoy two weeks of nothing but your three favorite "S's"- Sun, sand, and sex. Lots of Sex.

Word Count: 13.9K

Warnings: SMUT (18+) unprotected p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving) vaginal fingering, praise kink, marriage kink, big, fat, nasty, unspeakable breeding kink (WHOOPS), stopping birth control/starting a family, kind of semi-public sex (sex on the beach hehe), alcohol/drinking (y'all are getting wasted at the pool), I'm convinced these two can't have sex without getting caught (sorry, Chucho), Javi in a bathing suit, these two are so stupidly in love

A/N: ..... Hey.... Y'all remember when I actually wrote for this story.... 😭 I'm genuinely SO sorry that this chapter took me literal months to finish, but she is finally here!!! Thank you so much for all of your patience and the love you've shown these two even in this story's absence 🥺 I hope you enjoy these two horndogs on their honeymoon!!!

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“We have all of our bags?”

“Yup.”

“Passports?”

“Mhmmmm.”

“Plane tickets?”

“Yes.”

“We’re positive that we have-”

“Baby, I promise, I triple checked everything this morning, it’s all waiting by the front door, all we have to do now is just wait for my dad to pick us up and take us to the airport, and all my wife needs to do is take a deep breath and relax.”

My wife.

Even though you had been married for less than 24 hours, you knew the sentiment of finally getting to be Javi’s wife wasn’t wearing off on you any time soon.

Javi smiled, playfully crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at you as you ran through your honeymoon inventory again, knowing damn well you looked like a fool in your frantic pre-traveling state. You more than trusted that Javi had everything the two of you needed before you left for the airport, but you just couldn’t shake the fact that you felt like you were forgetting something, despite all your checks and re-checks.

“Well, your wife will be much more relaxed once we land after being trapped in a flying tin can and have two feet on the ground again.” You sighed, trying not to let your fear of flying override your excitement to finally arrive in the Bahamas later that day. “God, I feel like I forgot to pack something important but I can’t figure out what.”

As you stared in frustration at your pile of suitcases, you could feel Javi sneaking behind you, flushing his chest to your back as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he rested his chin on your shoulder, planting a soft kiss on your temple.

“I think I know what it is.” Javi smirked, his kisses traveling down your jaw as he nipped at your ear, making you turn your head back toward him in confusion.

“Oh, so now you’re a husband and a mind reader. That honestly will come in very handy.” You teased, giggling while you shifted around to face him, draping his arms around his neck as his hands traveled down your waist, reaching down to grab a handful of your ass. “Jesus Javi, what in the world am I forgetting, because you seem pretty darn happy I can’t remember it.”

“You really don’t know?” Javi asked, almost mockingly, tightening his grip around your hips, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, the hot words of his breath dancing across your skin.

“No, Mr. Mind Reader, I don’t, and you’re making it very hard to concentrate and figure out what it is.”

You were trying your best to genuinely let your brain run out its train of thought, but as Javi’s kisses across your collarbone became wetter and sloppier, trying to form any sort of coherent idea was practically impossible.

Javi paused for a moment, reaching both hands up to cusp your face, his broad hands cradling your jaw as his thumbs swiped across your cheeks, looking up at him to see the boyish grin spread from cheek to cheek.

“You’re forgetting something because you’re forgetting to bring it on purpose. Something we threw away this morning, remember?”

Oh shit.

You were forgetting something. Only, now that you finally remembered what it was, you couldn’t be happier that you had forgotten it.

Your birth control.

As Javi watched your face quickly fade from confusion to delight, your grin was just about as wide as his, biting down on your lip to try and contain your excitement while your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest.

The two of you could actually start trying for a baby.

“You remember now?” Javi teased, laughing to himself at how wide your eyes had gone, practically beaming from the inside out at your husband, feeling butterflies swirl in your stomach and heat building in your core.

Leaning up, your mouth met Javi’s in a sloppy dance of tongues and teeth, lips crashing together in electric excitement, grabbing a fistfull of the fitted green t-shirt covering his chest and tugging him closer towards you.

“How much longer until your dad is supposed to be here?” You rasped, already breathing heavily from your frantic kisses and anticipation.

Quickly, Javi looked down at his watch wrapped around his wrist, the gears turn in his brain, calculating if the two of you had enough time to do what he knew you were proposing.

“Fuck- Like, 40 minutes?”

Without saying a word, both of you agreed in silent, rushed nods that 40 minutes was enough time to give yourself enough of a buffer, and the risk definitely didn’t outweigh the reward, knowing there was no way in hell that you could wait an entire plane ride and arriving at your hotel room to fuck.

In an instant, your mouths were crashing together again, Javi grabbing the underside of your thighs to hoist you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you back towards the couch in the living room, the back of his knees hitting the sofa as he collapsed into his seat, you still straddling his lap without ever parting your lips.

Javi’s hands crept below the hem of your shirt, shuffling it over your head and tossing it on the floor before shuffling your shorts and underwear off to join your top in a crumpled pile on the floor. Your hands worked rapidly at the waistband of Javi’s shorts, lifting up off his lap to push them down his thighs, revealing the hard and weeping mess his cock had already become since carrying you over to the couch, your cunt aching at the sight of his length and how desperately you wanted to be filled by it.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad.” You whimpered between your wet kisses, shifting yourself closer to hover over his dick, so turned on that you were convinced that your arousal was already dripping down your thighs at an embarrassing rate.

“Baby, you have no fucking idea.” Javi groaned, dragging his fingers through your folds, your body jolting at the sensation at the pads of his fingers rubbing over your clit, throbbing and aching under his touch. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.”

Reaching down to wrap your hand around the base of his cock, stroking it a few times, you slowly lowered yourself down onto his tip, knowing that with your limited time and how turned on you were, you didn’t want to feel anything besides the sweet sting of Javi’s stretch filling you to the brim.

The two of you moaned in unison as you sank down on his length, bottoming out until you had taken every inch of him, taking a second to adjust to his size before rolling your hips over his lap in figure eights.

“F-fuck, you feel so good, Javi.” You whined, circling your bottom half faster, the friction of the hairs at the base of Javi’s cock rubbing deliciously against your clit combined with Javi groping at your breasts, sucking at one of your pebbled nipples while he rolled the other between his fingers, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat.

Javi began to let his hips rut up into yours, thrusting his length deeper into your cunt as you rode him, his hands sliding down the sides of your body and wrapping around your ass, massaging the plump flesh between his fingers while his lips crashed into yours again, catching each other’s muffled moans.

“F-fuck…” Javi whined, tightening his grip to try and maintain his composure as his thoughts began to flow straight from his brain through his mouth. “I’m gonna fuck you so full of me, Osita. Fuck a baby into you, get you pregnant, watch you grow our our kid and give us our perfect family.”

“Oh my god- fuck- yes. Please, Javi. Fuck, I want you to knock me up. I wanna- fuck- I wanna make you a daddy.” You moaned, running your hands through the dark curls of Javi’s hair as he began to pound into you even harder, his fingertips gripping your hips with bruising intensity as he guided you up and down his cock, the two of you both so lost in your own pleasure that you hadn’t heard a faintly familiar voice echoing from the front door.

“Javi, Mija, I know I’m a little early but I figured you’d rather get to the airport earlier than later!”

Little did poor Chucho know that today was one of the few times in his life that he would regret showing up anywhere earlier than expected.

Surprised by the lack of response, despite the packed and stacked bags waiting by the front door, an unsuspecting Chucho kicked off his boots and began meandering down the entryway towards your living room, where and even more unsuspecting you and Javi were half dressed and sprawled across your couch trying to make a baby.

“Javier? Mija? Are you two ready to leave soon? I was hoping that- Oh Dios Mio!”

“AHHHHHHH!”

With Javi’s back to his dad as you sat in his lap, you were the first to lock eyes with your now father-in-law, your jaw practically falling to the floor as you let out a panicked shriek, causing Javi to whip his own head around, terror running through his veins as he frantically threw you off his lap and tried to cover the both of you with the nearest blanket he could find.

“Jesus Christ, Pops!” Javi shouted, hands covering his face that had turned bright red in quite possibly the world's worst kind of embarrassment. “Why are you here so early?! Please just, I- I don’t know, for Christ’s sake, please go wait outside!” He sighed, pointing towards the front door where Chucho had just regrettably entered from.

“How was I supposed to know!? I figured I would be safe! Say no more, I will just go wait on the front porch. Aye, aye, aye…” Chucho replied, quickly scampering away towards the door, eyes peeled to the ground and arms up in self-defense, waiting until you heard the soft slam and clicking lock behind him before peering out from underneath your blanket shield.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, hands still covering his face as you looked up at him, cheeks glowing beet red in embarrassment.

“Please don’t tell me your dad just walked in on us having sex…” You winced, absolutely knowing the answer to your question, but still somehow praying that maybe, just maybe, you were imaging things.

“... My dad definitely just walked in on us having sex.” Javi sighed, his face as almost as red as yours, scrambling to find your clothes scattered between the cushions, tossing them over to you, frantically trying to cover yourself up to save any ounce of dignity you had left.

“Well, looks like I am going to start walking to the airport because I don’t think I can ever make eye contact with your dad again…” You muttered, making you and Javi laugh just enough to try and ease the uncomfortable tension, wondering how in the world you were supposed to spend an entire ride to the airport with Chucho without wanting to crawl out of your skin. “I thought you said he was supposed to get here later!”

“Well that’s what I thought too, but apparently not!” Javi grumbled, shuffling his shirt over his head, combing his hand through his hair to try and fix the mess you had made raking your fingers through it.

“Guess we won’t have any worries about getting to the airport on time…”

“Guess you’re right about that. Fuck me…”

“Sure you don’t wanna start walking?”

While Chucho, you and Javi had seemingly made a silent pact to not say a peep to each other the entire car ride for the duration of your drive, every passing second seemed more awkward and uncomfortable than the last, truly regretting your decision to not grab your bags and walk along the highway to try and catch your flight.

It wasn’t until Chucho began pulling up to drop the two of you off that he decided it was time to break your truce, his eyes meeting yours in the rear view mirror as the two of you sat awkwardly in the backseat, bracing yourself the moment you could feel his mouth begin to open.

“You know, the night of our wedding, Lucia and I just couldn’t keep our hands off each other either, it was so-”

“Dad!” Javi interjected, his face physically scrunching in pain at the thought of how his father planned to complete the rest of that thought, trying to cut him off before he could get any further.

“Lo siento (Sorry)! God forbid I try to do something to ease the tension!” Chucho chuckled, throwing his hands up in defense at his statement.

“I don’t think where you were headed was the way to do that, Pops.” Javi muttered, letting out another deep sigh of embarrassment.

“Well lucky for you, it looks like we’re here.” Chucho smiled, pulling into one of the parking spots outside of your gate and turning off the ignition. “Here, let me help you with the bags in the trunk and-”

“Nope, already got it, Pops, please do not get out of the car.” Javi begged, practically sprinting out of the backseat to the trunk, you quickly following behind him, beginning to sheepishly unload your luggage from the car.

Of course, Chucho being Chucho was not about to take no for an answer, slowly fumbling his way out of the car to greet the two of you at the trunk with a mischievous grin stretched ear to ear.

“Pops, please, I told you I’ve got it, I-”

“Oh hush, Javier, I am just coming out to say goodbye, yo promento (I promise).” Chucho laughed, grabbing Javi by the shoulder, giving him a little shake.

“Bye Chucho.” You grimaced, leaning in reluctantly for a hug. “Thanks for dropping us off. S-sorry about earlier.” You couldn’t help but wince again, eyes darting to the ground at your last sentence.

“Oh mija, don’t apologize. Could be worse.”

“I’m not really sure how it could be…” You whispered under your breath, just loud enough for Javi to hear, making him hold back a snort.

“Besides, I think this bodes well for my bet I have placed.” Chucho smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as the two of you looked at him in confusion,

“Your bet?” Javi asked, raising an eyebrow at his dad.

“Mhmmm. The bet between me, your family, Mija, and the Murphy’s.”

“As much as I love a vague and cryptic guessing game, any chance you’re gonna tell us what that bet is?” You laughed uncomfortably, looking back between Javi and Chucho.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mija. I think the two of you will know soon enough. Okay, enough of that! I will let the two of you go. Have a safe flight and a wonderful trip. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you. Enjoy your first of your many amazing adventures as a married couple.”

While you couldn’t deny you still weren’t far off from wanting to find the nearest hole and disappear in, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm at the sentiment of Chucho’s well-wishes, placing your hand in Javi’s and squeezing it tight, beaming up at your husband with love and excitement.

“Thanks, Pops.”

“Claro (of course). Alright, mijos, adios. Have fun. But not too much fun, if you know what I-”

“Yup, we know exactly what you mean, bye, Dad!” Javi grunted, gently turning his father around and pushing him back towards the car making him laugh, giving the both of you one last wave goodbye before disappearing down the road.

“Jesus Christ, I’m glad that’s over…” Javi sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You can say that again. What bet do you think he was talking about?”

“Honestly, no fucking clue. And truth be told, right now, I couldn’t care less. Because right now,” He paused, leaning down to hold your cheek in his palm, forcing your gaze up at him, “all I care about,” he paused once again, planting a playful kiss on your lips, “is getting my beautiful wife onto this plane so we can start our honeymoon.”

“Say it again.” You smiled, pressing up on your tiptoes to kiss him back.

“My wife. My beautiful, amazing, drop dead gorgeous wife, who has single-handedly made me the luckiest man in the entire world.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip as his grip tightened around you, making you giggle.

“Easy there, Romeo, we still have a whole flight to get through, ya know.”

Fortunately, your flight and arrival to the Bahamas was much less eventful than anything that had happened this morning, the embarrassment of your father-in-law’s unfortunate timing quickly fading away as you strolled up to the front desk to check into your room for the next ten days of nothing but what you had deemed your three favorite “S’s”-

Sun, sand, and sex.

Lots of sex.

“Hi there! Welcome! My name is Cassandra, how can I help the two of you today?” A woman smiled politely from behind the check-in desk, quickly clacking away at her keyboard.

“Hi. We’re checking in for Peña.” Javi beamed, grabbing your hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over both sets of rings wrapped around your finger, knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ever get used to the fact he was lucky enough to get to call you his wife for the rest of his life.

“Perfect! Let me get right on that.” She nodded, fingers tapping across the keys as she looked up your information. “Any special reason for your stay here?”

“Honeymoon.” The two of you answered in sync, laughing to yourselves at your well timed response.

“Well why didn’t you say that to begin with?! Let me see if I have anything I can upgrade you to for your stay!” Cassandra scoffed, almost comedically offended that your opening line hadn’t been “It’s our honeymoon, upgrade our room please!”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Oh, honey, please. This is my favorite part of my job. Absolutely the least I can do for the two of you. Congratulations. Just give me one second here and…. Ah! Yes! I thought this one was available. Let’s upgrade you to the Ocean View King Suite. This one is one of my favorite rooms. You get the most beautiful view of the sunrise right from your balcony!”

You and Javi looked at each other beaming, grins plastered across your faces in surprise. “Thank you so much, this is so nice of you to do for us.” You smiled.

“Of course. Least that I can do. Like I said, it’s one of the highlights of doing this job. Alright, well, here are your room keys!” Cassandra grinned, passing the key cards and room information over the concierge desk and handing them to you and Javi. “If you head over to your right, there’s a bay of elevators that will take you to your room. I hope that you two have a wonderful stay, and enjoy your honeymoon!”

“Thank you again, we really appreciate it.” Javi nodded, stuffing things into his pocket before leaning down to give you a kiss and reaching back to grab his suitcase and your hand in his.

As Javi turned, leading the two of you towards the elevator, you couldn’t help but laugh at Cassandra’s face, her eyebrow playfully raised and head nodding in approval, pointing at Javi and giving you a thumbs up, as if you needed more confirmation that you had made a top-tier choice on the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with.

“What’s so funny?” Javi smirked, tilting his head in confusion at your giggles as the two of you stepped into the elevator with the small crowd of people on their way back to their hotel rooms.

“Nothing. Just some reassurance that I cleaned up pretty damn well in the husband department, which I can’t say I disagree with.” You snickered, reaching up to wrap your hand around his jaw, squeezing his cheeks in your grasp.

“You’re such a dork, you know that?”

“A dork who is now your wife, thank you very much.” You sassed, crossing your arms over your chest, making the two of you laugh quietly to yourselves until the ding of the elevator caught your attention. “Oh! I think this is us!” Quickly scrambling to grab your suitcase, you dashed out of the elevator as the doors parted, followed by Javi, trying to keep up with your excited pace.

“Alright, Mrs. Dork, we’re room 2331.” Javi grinned, pulling the information from the front desk out of his pocket, scanning the hallway for rooms approaching your number, watching you search in front of him with detective-like accuracy.

“Okay, let’s see, 2329… 2330… Here! Here it is! 2331!” You beamed, showing off the number of your room Vanna White style to Javi as he began to slip the room key into the card reader, pausing for a moment to stare at you with his sweet brown eyes in the midst of your goofiness. “What’s that look for?” You teased, smiling back at him.

“Just reminding myself of how lucky I am. I love you, Mrs. Peña.”

Mrs. Peña.

You couldn’t help but let your heart skip a beat at the sound of him saying it, still not quite sure that the incredible reality of your new last name had completely sunk in with you yet.

“I love you too, Mr. Peña. Now, you gonna open this door so we can put this room to use or what?” You smirked, raising your eyebrow at him playfully, gesturing towards your hotel room door.

With a quick swipe of your room key the two of you unlocked your door to get a first glimpse of your hotel room. At first, the both of you were convinced you must have been in the wrong place, because this was the most beautiful, luxurious hotel room that you had ever laid eyes on. Complete with a giant king bed covered in fresh white sheets, free standing tub, huge couch and living room area, newly renovated, and most impressively, a huge set of sliding glass doors that lead to your balcony overlooking a breath-taking view of the beach and ocean below you.

Mental note to self- you owed Cassandra at the big desk the biggest thank you ever.

“Holy shit, Javi. This is gorgeous.” You muttered to yourself, dropping your bags off at one of the closets at the front of the room as you began to wander and explore, gently poking and prodding around as if you were a tourist in a museum, rather than a hotel guest in your own room.

“It’s got no lack of options, that’s for sure.” Javi laughed quietly to himself, following behind you as he set down his own bags before doing an investigation of his own, the majority of which was spent watching you excitedly explore the in’s and outs of your new home for the next 10 days.

“No lack of options?” You asked, tilting your head in confusion, as you turned towards Javi, hands resting on his hips with a smug grin spread from ear to ear.

“Mmmhmmm.” He replied, making his way towards you until his hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest to force your gaze up at his brown eyes, pooling with an equal combination of excitement and mischief. “No lack of options in this room for places I get to fuck my beautiful wife.”

“You’re so bad!” You teased, giving him a little slap to his chest as the two of you laughed, knowing that you had the exact same thought, he was just the first to say it.

“Oh c’mon, like you didn’t think the same thing.”

“Okay listen… you’re not wrong. I would be a liar if I didn’t walk in here and think about how many different furniture choices we could fuck on before we had to leave.” You sighed in a playful defeat, your breaths slowly transforming to light and giggly to low and needy as Javi slid his hands resting on your hips down to your ass, palming it in his grasp.

Craning his head down to rest in the crook of your neck, you couldn’t help but moan as he sucked at your pulse point, wet kisses consuming your neck and jawline as a damp patch began to pool in your underwear, falling apart under Javi’s touch.

“Well if that’s the case, what should we break in first, Osita? What does mi esposa (my wife) want? ” Javi hummed, slipping his hands under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, pushing them over your hips and down your legs until they pooled around your ankles, leaving your bottom half bare.

Snaking his hand between your bodies, you whimpered as his fingers ghosted over your core, grazing over your clit with just enough pressure to make you shutter in anticipation, feeling the slick of your arousal beginning to coat your thighs with want and need.

“F-fuck-” You stammered, trying to string together anything that resembled a coherent thought, “The b-bed. Fuck me on the bed, baby, please.”

Without another word, Javi had scooped you up under your thighs, forcing your legs to lock around his waist as he carried you toward the bed, mouths crashing together in a hungry mess of tongues and teeth.

Javi set you down, gently laying your back on the bed just enough to let your lower half hang off the edge so he could make a home between your legs, draping each one over his shoulders and pushing them open further to reveal the wet, puffy mess in between your thighs.

You should have been embarrassed with how worked up you already were from a few kisses and some ass grabbing, but with how excited you were to be here with your husband, without a worry in the world besides how many times you could disrespect your hotel room before you had to leave, you had no shame in how you were already dripping with anticipation as Javi’s eyes locked on your core.

“Fuck, she’s so pretty.” Javi cooed, admiring the glistening sheen of your slick covering your folds, planting gentle kisses along the soft skin of your thighs, creeping closer and closer to your center. You sat up on your elbows to watch as Javi’s fingers lazily traced your cunt, collecting your arousal, rubbing with just enough pressure to make your clit throb even harder than it already had been. “Always so wet for me, Hermosa. My perfect wife. Fuck, I still can’t believe you’re all mine forever.”

“Forever.” You whimpered, breath hitching in the back of your throat as Javi’s tongue dragged across your core with a broad, flat stroke, looking up at you with those devastatingly sweet, chocolate brown eyes, pulling off you with the look you knew all too well meant you were absolutely a goner.

“Tastes so fucking sweet, baby.” Javi hummed, carefully bringing two fingers to your core, sinking them inside your weeping hole to prod steadily against your g-spot

“Oh my god, fuck-” You whimpered, Javi working at a painstakingly slow pace that still had you writhing under his touch, his mouth and fingers moving in the perfect combination of pressure to already have a tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine despite the fact he had just started eating you out.

Your jaw went slack as his digits prodded faster, his tongue swirling and flicking against your sensitive bundle of nerves, ragged moans and whimpers escaping from your lips, growing louder and more wonton by the second.

“That’s my girl.” Javi cooed, pulling off you just enough to catch your attention, his fingers never faltering in pace, “Fuck, I could listen to you like this all day, Osita. All the pretty noises my wife makes just for me. C’mon, baby. You want everyone here to know who makes you feel this good, huh? Tell them, sweet girl, who makes you feel this good?”

“Y-you, Javi, fuck- You do, baby.” You moaned, feeling your pussy begin to flutter around Javi’s fingers as his smug smirk pressed back against your cunt, now sucking at your clit with a ferocious switch intensity he knew would send you over the edge in an instant.

Squeezing Javi’s head between your thighs, you cried out louder, chanting his name like a prayer with each second you grew closer and closer to your end, feeling arousal creeping through your body at a rapid rate.

“Javi, Javi, fuck- Oh, baby, Javi, I’m gonna- gonnaahhhhhhh-”

In an instant, your orgasm crashed through you, filling you with all consuming pleasure that had you seeing stars, sobbing out as your cunt clamped down around Javi’s fingers that were pulsing inside you through your high.

At this point, you were probably close to suffocating your poor husband, but it was his own damn fault for knowing how to make you cum so hard, your soul just about left your body.

Finally regaining enough inhibition, you let your legs fall open, freeing Javi from the thigh prison he had trapped himself in, still smirking with delight despite his red face and shortness of breath.

“Jesus Christ, Osita.” He laughed, standing up as he began to shed his clothes, tossing his shirt and shorts in a crumpled pile on the floor, followed by his already tented and stained boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, slapping against his stomach and bobbing between his legs as it was freed. “You tryin’ to kill me, baby?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” You huffed, chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths as you came down from your high. “Sorry, not my fault you make me cum so hard I put you in a headlock between my legs.”

You and Javi both couldn’t help but laugh as he helped you slide further up the bed, crawling over you and caging you under his broad body, peppering every inch of your body with kisses and intentionally tickling you with his mustache in all the places he knew made you giggle the most.

“If I die between my wife’s thighs buried face deep in her pussy, I’d die a happy man.”

“Well I have no plans on intentionally murdering you on this trip, so count yourself safe this time, Peña.”

“Baby, I’m convinced you’re just trying to kill me slowly this entire trip, considering you have nothing packed in your suitcase besides bikinis and sundresses.” Javi sighed, arms planted around your head as he laid overtop of you, kissing up your collarbone and neck, all the way up your jawline.

“Javier Peña, we are literally on a tropical vacation to the Bahamas. Would you have liked me to pack, a parka and snow pants?” You teased, breath hitching in the back of your throat between giggles, trying to maintain your composure between the wet, hot kisses, Javi was planting across your skin.

“No,” He grumbled, “You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever fucking met, baby, you don’t think people aren’t staring at you everywhere you go? I can’t fucking blame ‘em, but they better notice that ring on your finger and know you’re off limits.”

Heat crept through your cheeks, butterflies swirling in your stomach from what he had said, picking up on the notion behind his thoughts. Javi wasn’t a jealous man, but fuck, was he a protective one, and God help any man who tried to knowingly make a move on you while he was around.

He wanted everyone to know you were his, and you just as badly wanted everyone to know he was yours.

“Maybe just the ring isn’t enough, baby.” He smirked, nipping and tugging at your skin with his teeth as he snaked his hand between your bodies to stroke himself and line his cock up with your entrance. “‘Cause you know what else isn’t in your suitcase?”

Your birth control.

You didn’t have to say a word to know exactly what Javi meant, your face swelling with a mixture of excitement and want.

“Javi, oh fuck-” You moaned, cut off by the sweet sting of Javi pushing into you, filling you up with every inch of himself until he had bottomed out, stalling for a moment to let you adjust to his fullness before slowly dragging his cock in and out of your cunt.

“Maybe,” he groaned, biting down on his lip at just how good you felt around him, warmth and wetness coating his length with each stroke, “Maybe that ring on your finger isn’t enough, Ostia. Maybe once they see you pregnant with our baby growing inside you, they’ll know you’re mine.”

It never failed to amaze you just how Javi knew how to make you short circuit with words alone, hoping the entire resort didn’t hear the absolutely pathetic whimper you let out at the idea of finally carrying his baby, showing off your family to the world, and the man who had given it to you.

“Fuck, knock me up Javi. Wanna- wanna make you a daddy.” You whined, wrapping your arm up around his neck, running your fingers through his dark and sweaty curls, tugging him closer to you until your mouths were molded in a messy clash of tongues and teeth.

“Christ- Yeah, baby girl? Fuck, I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you, it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take. Keep you stuffed with my cum every day until it sticks.” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth as he grabbed the backs of your thighs, pushing them to your chest and pulling you closer to him so your back began to arch, giving himself the perfect angle to split you open and keep every last drop inside of you.

You could feel every inch of Javi filling you, perfectly punching against that soft, spongy spot inside your cunt with each thrust, keeping your thighs still pressed against your chest as the lower half of your legs wrapped around the small of Javi’s back, ankles locking together to keep him as close and deep inside you as you could.

“Dámelo, papi.” You cooed, wicked smile stretched from ear to ear watching Javi physically having to stop himself to let out a strangled groan, clenching his jaw and scrunching his face to keep from busting right then and there.

“Jesus, fuck-” Javi grunted, finally gaining enough composure to open his eyes and look back down at you beneath him, smugly smirking, “That’s how this is gonna go, huh?"

The chocolate brown of Javi’s eyes began to darken with lust, dragging his cock out and ramming into you so deeply, a pathetic whimper fell from your lips, nearly knocking the wind out of your chest feeling him practically in your stomach. Your whimpers quickly turned to sobs as he did it again, slowly dragging his length out of your wet, warm walls before pounding back in to you with a blinding intensity.

Leaning down, Javi grabbed your arms, pushing them outstretched above your head until your wrists were crossed over each other and Javi had them both in his firm grasp, pinning you to the bed with the weight of his body and grip. It was like something feral had ignited inside him, brow furrowed and teeth gritted with a laser focus, snapping his hips to thrust himself deeper and harder, melting you to a helpless puddle beneath him, your cries of pleasure and desperation only egging him on more.

“You want me to fill you up, baby? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take every last fucking drop. Every. Last. One.” He huffed, syncing his words to each thrust, keeping a bruising grip over your wrists with one hand, and digging his fingertips into the meat of your hips with his other. “Tell me what you’re gonna do for me, baby girl. Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“It’s yours, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- it’s yours, baby! I- oh shit- I promise I’ll be a good girl and take it all. Want you to fill me up, Papi.” You sobbed, arousal seeping through your veins as Javi’s cock punched against your g-spot over and over, each stroke faster and more intense, blinding your body with pleasure.

Your hotel room was drenched in the borderline pornographic sounds of skin slapping against skin, wet squelching of your pussy squeezing Javi’s cock tighter and tighter as you could feel the coil beginning to tighten in your stomach, crying out without any inhibition for your volume, Javi grunting and panting with equal intensity.

“That’s my girl. You gonna let everyone hear who this pussy belongs to? Let everyone know that I’m gonna fill you up and get you pregnant?” Javi mewled, watching the way your eyes were nearly rolling in the back of your head, snaking his hand gripping your hip down between your bodies to rub firm and frantic circles around your clit to help push you over the edge knowing how close you were.

As soon as the calloused pads of Javi’s fingers were pressed against your sensitive nub, you were seconds away from the brink of collapse, cunt clamping tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, choking it with your velvety walls.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, fuck, I’m so close baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, fuckfuckfuckfuck!”

Instantly, your orgasm crashed through your body, blinding white heat flooding your vision, pleasure shooting through every inch of you to the point you felt like you had left your own body. You could feel your body going limp beneath Javi, knowing he wasn’t far behind you given all his tell tale signs as you soaked his length with your arousal.

Javi’s thrusts had forgone any type of rhythm, now sloppy and erratic, his balls tightening and tensing in his stomach, babbling and moaning in your ear, whispering sweet nothings before he found himself in the same state of you.

“That’s it, hermosa. Cum all over my cock. Cum all over me before I fill up this tight little pussy so full it’s got no choice but to take. Oh fuck- Fuck, can’t wait to get you pregnant. See you carrying our baby. Gonna make you the prettiest fucking Momma-ahhhhhhh, fuck!”

With one final stutter of his hips, Javi was painting the inside of your cunt with thick, warm ropes of his spend, keeping himself flushed as tight as he could to your pelvis, making sure a single drop didn’t escape as he plugged you with his cock, cumming so hard he couldn’t help but whimper. The weight of his body slumped on top of you, syncing your heavy breaths, the sticky and sweaty sheen of your chests pressed together as Javi planted a slow and sensual kiss on your lips, swallowing your moans in his mouth.

“Holy fuck.” You half whispered to yourself, letting out a bliss-filled giggle.

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” Javi panted, quietly laughing along with you, gently brushing the damp and wild strands of your hair out of your face, “Fuck- You gotta be careful with that “Papi” shit, Osita.”

“Oh yeah? And why would that be?” You teased, smirking as you raised an eyebrow at him and bit down on your lip, knowing damn well why.

“Because if you keep that up, I don’t think we’re ever leaving this room.”

After dinner and giving a few more pieces of furniture in your hotel room a good test run, the two of you had happily called it a night on day one of your honeymoon, eager to explore the rest of the resort as the two of you rose with the golden rays of the sun beaming over the horizon of your ocean view window, flooding your room with warm and welcoming sunlight.

As much as the both of you were convinced you could have easily spent the next 10 days without leaving your hotel room, you made a pact that you would spend some time going to explore the rest of the resort after spending some much deserved post-wedding de-stressing in the sun by the pool, drinking as many mojitos and frozen daiquiris as you could stomach.

And as amazing as non-stop sex with Javi would have been, soaking up in the sun poolside with a drink on one side of you and a shirtless husband on the other, you’d say that this was a pretty close second.

“Another one?” Javi smirked, eyebrows raised at you as his brown eyes peeked over the edge of his aviators, gesturing at your nearly empty glass.

“I mean… if you’re offering.” You giggled, tipsy after a few drinks and hours baking in the sun, happily holding out the remainder of your mojito for Javi to exchange for a new one.

“I think the bartender and I are about to be on a first name basis pretty soon.” Javi laughed, shuffling out of his beach chair, grabbing his empty cup along with yours to bring back with him to the poolside bar that had been visited a questionable amount of times by the two of you since you had gotten to the pool this morning.

“Yeah? Are you gonna tell the bartender the frozen strawberry margaritas you’ve been getting from him all day are for you and not for your wife?” You teased, pulling your sunglasses down to look at Javi, playfully rolling his eyes back at you.

“Shut up. They’re fucking addicting. You had one, can you blame me?”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, Mr. I Won’t Drink Anything But Beer and Whiskey. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Although, I’m sure Steve would get a kick out of knowing you’ve downed like, 7 of these since we’ve gotten here.”

Setting down both of the drinks, you found yourself in a fit of squeals and giggles as Javi reached down to scoop you up out of your chair, carrying you bridal style to the edge of the pool before jumping in with the both of you, the refreshing cool of the pool water crashing over you as your bodies bobbed under the surface.

“Pendejo!” You laughed, splashing Javi as your heads peered above the edge of the water, Javi shaking his hair, damp and clinging to his forehead from your added assault, grabbing you by the waist before you could go any further, shifting you to wrap your legs around him as he held you, childishly swaying you through the water.

“Te amo, esposa.” (I love you, wife) Javi teased in a mocking tone, responding to your name calling.

“Joke’s on you, because I wanted to get into the pool anyways. You’re lucky you’re handsome. Mojito me, Peña.” You splashed again, rolling your eyes at his over exaggerated kiss before he swam away, shooting you a wink while he waded his way to the poolside bar.

It wasn’t long before Javi was making his way back, a drink in each hand, happily handing you your mojito as he got to the edge of the pool where you were sitting, lifting himself up to sit beside you and take a swig of his margarita.

“Miss me?” He smirked, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Terribly. Most agonizing 6 minutes of my entire life.” You teased, playing into the dramatics as Javi picked up your left hand, admiring the diamond ring and wedding band adorned on your finger before gently kissing it.

“Sorry to keep my wife waiting. I hope that you’ll accept this mojito as a token of my apology.”

“I think that’s a fair enough compromise.”

After a few more hours and several drinks later, it was safe to say that you and Javi had definitely both been in better states than you currently were, too far gone to care about the potential consequences of tomorrow’s hangover to stop yourselves.

“What time do you think it is?” You asked, sunkissed body sprawled out across the pool chair.

“Wife O’Clock.” Javi answered, snickering to himself at his answer.

“Javier Peña, that’s not a real time, you dork.”

“Half past mojito. A quarter ‘til my next margarita.”

“Jesus Christ….” You paused, one of the life guards crossing behind you catching your attention, “Hey, excuse me! Do you know what time it is?”

“Uhhhhh, looks like it’s almost 6!” The lifeguard replied, looking down at his watch before continuing on his path.

“6?! Oh shit!” You gasped, sitting up straight in your chair.

“What? What’s happening at 6?!” Javi inquired, seemingly less concerned with whatever was supposed to be happening then that had you so riled up.

“Javi, we're supposed to be at dinner right now! We made reservations at that italian place, remember?!” You grimaced, frantically starting to grab the towels and clothes you had scattered around the pool deck.

“Oh fuck! Shit, uh- okay, here, lemme help you!” Javi joined in on the gathering of any item that belonged to you that he could find, tossing it into the bag you had brought down with you, hoping that you didn’t forget anything that had come with you to the pool.

While the haphazard gathering of items was a good enough sign to any onlooker that you and Javi were more than likely intoxicated, the both of you didn’t realized just how drunk you were until you both tried to stand up out of your beach chairs, grabbing on to each other in a wobbly dance of giggles.

“Woah, I think I drank a little lotta margaritas.” Javi stammered, laughing to himself.

“Fuck, I did too. Jesus, how many do you think we had?” You giggled, face scrunching in anticipation of the number that was definitely going to be higher than you had intended when you came to the pool this morning.

You could see Javi trying to drunkenly calculate his trips to the pool bar in his head, counting across his fingers in a serious concentration, tongue sticking out of his mouth, as if it was going to help him focus better.

“Let’s see, I think after adding them all up… We drank a lot.”

“If we can’t even come up with a number, that’s not good. Fuck, I didn’t even bring real clothes! Our room is so far from the restaurant, there’s no way we’re even gonna be close to making it!” You pouted, shrugging your shoulders in defeat.

“Just put on the cute little dressy thingy over your bathing suit. Or just go in your bikini. You’re so hot they have to let you in.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip as he looked you up and down, giving you his best drunken attempt at his bedroom eyes.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t think the other patrons of this resort want to watch me eat pasta half naked, ya sicko.” You teased, giving him a nudge to his stomach a little harder than you had intended. “Okay, cover up will have to do, I guess. Do you have your shirt?”

“You don’t wanna watch me eat pasta half naked?”

“As much as I’d love to, maybe another time, weirdo. Okay, we have to go! Or else we’re not getting any pasta, naked or not! Focus, Peña, focus!” You commanded in your best pretend stern voice, grabbing the rest of your things in your hands while Javi stood there, admiring you like the drunken, lovesick fool he was.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re bossy.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you, “Okay, fine, fine fine, let’s go. Lead the way, Mrs. Peña.”

If you didn’t feel drunk enough after simply trying just to stand up out of your pool chairs and collect all your belongings within a 5 foot radius of you, you sure as hell did trying to drunkenly navigate the resort to find the restaurant you were looking for. After asking several employees, you somehow managed to stumble your way through the hotel to find your intended location, “Ciao!” , one of the higher-end dining experiences the two of you had planned for your vacation.

“Hi. We are married, and we are here to eat pasta.” Javi proclaimed to the hostess at the front of the restaurant, who was looking back and forth between you and Javi, riddled with confusion not only by Javi’s opening statement, but from the fact the two of you were nearly out of breath from running around every inch of the resort, clearly drunk, and still dressed in your swimsuits.

“Ummmm, okay? What’s the name on the reservation?” The hostess asked hesitantly, flipping through the pages of names and times written down for seating tonight.

“Peña. We were supposed to be here at 6 but we had a lil too much fun at the pool, but not enough fun that we completely forgot about dinner! We’re really sorry!” You explained, trying your best to keep your composure, biting your tongue to subdue your drunken giggles.

“Yeah, like, so sorry. I had a lot of margaritas today.” Javi added, turning his head to let out a little burp at the end of his sentence.

“I don’t see any Peña’s on the reservation for tonight….” The hostess sighed, flipping back and forth between today’s pages, clearly not amused by either of your antics.

“Oh no… Does that mean we’re not getting pasta? Shit.” Javi pouted, crossing his arms over his chest like a little boy.

“Oh wait, are- are you sure it was a reservation for today? I see Peña on here at 6 for tomorrow?”

“Oh shit…” You and Javi replied, nearly in sync, visibly grimacing at the fact that you had spent the past 45 minutes in an alcohol induced frenzy, running through the resort to find a restaurant you weren’t even supposed to eat at until tomorrow.

Whoops.

“My bad….” You shrugged, sheepishly frowning as you looked back and forth between the hostess and Javi, “Okay, well, um, we’re gonna- We’re gonna go then.” You winced, grabbing Javi by the hand to slowly drag him away from the restaurant, hoping that the physical distance would somehow spare you the embarrassment you had just subjected yourself to.

“You’re fine, just- We do ask that our guests wear more, um- appropriate attire when they come to dine with us.” The hostess scoffed, huffing at you and Javi, looking you up and down with your beach bound outfits and hands full of pool accessories as you continued to back away.

“She doesn’t wanna see us eat pasta in our bathing suits?” Javi whispered in your ear, making you snort so loud it almost hurt your chest, trying to keep from bursting into full blown laughter before making it out of eye and earshot of the hostess, jabbing him in the stomach with your elbow, only spurring him on further, “She doesn’t know how sexy you’d look shoving a fist full of garlic bread down your throat with nothing on but a bikini? Her loss.”

Now out of sight of the restaurant, you and Javi exploded into an obnoxious fit of drunken giggles, feeling completely idiotic for wasting nearly the last hour of your night in a whirlwind journey to nowhere.

“Well, looks like no pasta for dinner tonight.” You sighed, playfully throwing up your hands in defeat. “I am starting to get really hungry though… Like too hungry to go back up to the room and change and then come back down and wait at a restaurant for more food.”

“Yeah, shit, I’m really hungry too… Wait!” Javi paused, his face lighting up with excitement.

“What, Jav?”

“Didn’t we pass a pizza place on the way up to the room when we first got here?

The grin on your face was now equally as wide, almost certain that you and Javi were having the same drunk recollection.

“I knew there was a good reason I married you.”

Somehow or another, you had not only managed to find your way to “Papa’s Pizzeria”, you had managed to successfully order an extra large pizza for the two of you to split, and make it back to the room without any pizza casualties on the way.

Even a drunken you couldn’t help but realize how lucky she was to have married a man like Javi, and not just because of his excellent memory for pizza restaurants- What you had been through in the past hour and a half could have easily sent any other couple into an ugly spiral of arguments and blame they’d cast upon each other for “ruining” the rest of their night.

You’d been witness to so many relationships and marriages where couples barely managed to genuinely enjoy each other’s company, let alone have fun together. Cohabitation drenched in resentment and unhappiness towards each other, forced proximity the only thing keeping them together.

You were positive that there would never be enough “thank you’s” that you could send out into the universe for letting you marry your best friend.

Because what would have been a soiled evening for so many others, was quickly turning out to be a better night than you could have ever imagined, plans tossed out the window to sit cross legged in your king sized bed together, bodies draped in fluffy hotel robes as you mowed down on slices of pepperoni pizza, giggling over shared, drunken secrets with your favorite person in the world.

“Okay, your turn now.” You snickered, shoving another bite of lukewarm pizza into your mouth, giving Javi a playful shove into the sea of pillows at the head of your bed.

“I just went!” He protested, trying to talk through the mess of cheese, sauce and crust he was still chewing.

“Nuh uh! I just did, remember? We got off topic because we started talking about the Farrah Fawsect poster you had in your room that your mom made you take down, but you were the one who asked me about who my first celebrity crush was, remember?” You insisted, pointing your half bitten piece of pizza at him, forcing him to hold up his hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay! Can’t blame me for forgetting after thinking about that poster, though.” Javi shrugged, smirking at the thought of his 12 year old self gawking at the beautiful blonde actress hanging above his bed, “Shit…. Gimmie a second, let me think.”

“I’ve given you plenty of seconds, goofball! Like all the seconds I spared you thinking about Farrah.”

“Shut up. Okay,” he paused, taking another bite of pizza, “who was your first kiss?”

“Really? Why, you gonna go hunt him down?” You snorted, feeling like you were gossiping with your teenage best friend at a sleepover rather than with your husband, Javi laughing along with you as he shook his head, “It was Jack Mullins in the 7th grade.”

“Okay, and?” Javi prodded, smirking as he interrogated you for more information.

“It was at a Halloween Party my friend Sarah had at her house. I’m pretty sure we were playing truth or dare, and all my friends knew I had a massive crush on him because he was the cutest boy in the 7th grade. So they dared me to kiss him and I did it. It was so awkward, and I had no idea what I was doing. Pretty sure we kissed while the “The Monster Mash” was playing, too. I was so embarrassed after that I cried in the bathroom and then walked home and didn’t even say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t ever think I’d speak to him again and he ended up being my date to prom.”

“Wow. That was a way better story than I was expecting to get. “The Monster Mash”? Truth or Dare?” Javi chuckled as your cheeks turned red, watching your eyes at his enjoyment of your story.

“Okay, I was 12 Javi, some of us were weird, awkward teenagers. I’m sure that you were very easily the Jack Mullins of your middle school and had girls at the door lining up to kiss you.” You rebutted, having seen plenty of pictures of teenage Javi, thanks to Chucho, knowing whatever awkward phase he went through was only a fraction of your pre-teen pain.

“No, I wasn’t. I was a pretty shy kid. All my friends had their first kiss way before I did.” Javi shrugged, now sounding slightly more embarrassed.

“Okay, so what? They were 12 and you were 13? I don’t believe it. I would have had the biggest crush on you in middle school.”

“I’m being serious!”

C’mon, Javi, if I’m telling you about my Monster Mash kiss, I get to hear about yours!” You insisted, giving him the biggest fake pout that you could muster until he gave in.

“I- I was 16 when I had my first kiss.”

“You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“16?!”

“Osita, you’re making it sound like I was 72 when I had my first kiss, not 16.”

“Considering how cute you were, yeah, I am! Okay, spill! Now I need to know!”

“I’m telling you, I was a shy kid. Didn’t really come out of my shell until 10th grade when I started doing swimming. There was a girl on the team I always thought was really cute, but I was too chicken shit to do anything about it. All my friends had girlfriends and dates to go to homecoming with, and I didn’t have anyone, so they forced me to ask her. She turned me down, told me she already had a date. I was devastated. Went to a party with the team after, got drunk for the first time because I was so upset, and ended up kissing my friend’s older sister, Katie. Made out in the laundry room in the basement for the rest of the night. My friend found us after he realized we both had gone missing and ended up punching me in the face and almost breaking my nose.”

“Holy shit. That’s a way better story than mine.” You gawked, eyes going wide at the turn Javi’s story had taken.

“I wouldn’t say way better, just stupid.” Javi huffed, “You do dumb things when you’re young.”

“Well, you must have been a pretty good kisser even back then if she made out with you for an hour. Honestly, would have been dumb if she didn’t make out with you, in my humble opinion.” You giggled, scooting closer to Javi as you snuggled into his lap, resting your head on his outstretched thigh and letting out a big yawn. Resting his hand on your back, Javi pulled you closer, running his fingers through the sun kissed ends of your messy hair, smiling at all the tell tale signs sleep was beginning to creep through your body and the way you snuggled up next to him.

“Okay, one last question because all these mojitos are catching up to me and I’m getting sleepy.” You mumbled, feeling your eyelids begin to droop as you curled up in the warmth of his body, comfort flooding over you from Javi’s presence.

“Okay, hermosa. Your turn.” Javi cooed, his voice softening to match your sleepy tone, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“If you could change anything about your life, anything you want, what would it be?”

Javi paused for a moment, his fingers still daintily stroking across your hair and back as he thought. Truthfully, there were plenty of things he wished he could change about his past. It would take him less than a minute to come up with a list longer than most people could muster in a lifetime. He had wasted so many years of his life, bitter and remorseful about the things he had done, condemning himself to suffer the consequences of his actions. And yet, somehow, despite all of the things he could have said, out of all the painful things he wished he could go back in time to change, there was one answer that prevailed above all the rest, an answer that couldn’t have been easier to choose.

“I wish there was a world where I would have met you sooner. That I would have gotten to love you just a little longer.”

He waited for your response, settling into the silence until it was broken by one of your soft snores humming against his thigh, signaling to him you were sound asleep in his lap, not having heard a word you said. He laughed softly to himself, remembering the first night he had stayed at your apartment, and how it had ended just like this, conversation flowing until the early hours of the morning until you couldn’t fight sleep any longer, eyelids shutting as you fell asleep in his arms. How he watched you gently drift to dreaming, wondering if he was, too. That somehow, some way, the world had managed to bring the two of you together. And even if he wished he would have gotten more time to love you before you’d met, Javi knew that he’d be forever grateful for every minute he had left with you.

Despite the raging hangover the two of you had the next morning after you woke up from your alcohol and pizza induced coma, the rest of your honeymoon had been some of the most fun that the two of you had had in years. You’d spent multiple days at the pool, soaking up sun on the beach and swimming in the ocean, eaten so much delicious food you were convinced you were going to combust, drank more mojitos than you’d like to admit, and had even gone snorkeling on a tour through some of the islands outside your resort.

You also had been having so much sex, you were starting to feel bad for the rooms on either side of you.

Everything about your honeymoon had been everything you’d ever hoped for and more, but with only one full day left of your vacation, you couldn’t help but feel a little sad that your perfect trip to tropical paradise was coming to a close.

“What’s that look for, porbrecita?” Javi laughed, sneaking up behind you on the edge of the balcony, watching you watch the sunrise with your cheeks propped up in your palms, pouting at the way bright pinks and oranges were greeting the sky. Standing behind you, he snaked his arms around your front so he could bring your back to his chest, kissing the top of your head while his arms settled around your middle.

“I don’t want our honeymoon to end.” You sighed, craning your neck just enough to look at Javi over your shoulder, “I’m sad it’s gonna be over.”

“I know, mi amor, me too.” He softly chuckled, planting a long kiss on your cheek, the whiskers of his mustache making you giggle, “But what if I told you I have one more surprise for us before we go home tomorrow?”

This made you swing all the way around, now chest to chest with Javi as you looked up at him in confusion, “What? I thought we were spending our last day on the beach just hanging out?”

“Well we are, but what if I told you I rented one of those fancy cabanas at the end of the beach for us to use to celebrate our last day here?” Javi smirked, watching your face light up at his proposition.

“Wait, actually?”

“Yes, actually.”

“But aren’t they like, super expensive to rent for the day?”

“I mean… they’re not that expensive.”

“Okay, the pause tells me that you spent way more money than you needed to on this, Jav.”

“And what if it was? I’m not allowed to wanna spoil my wife on our honeymoon?” Javi grinned, gently cupping your face and playfully shaking it, making you laugh again.

“Your wife doesn’t need to be spoiled, just getting to be here with you is more than enough.” You paused, giving Javi a little nudge as he dramatically rolled his eyes at you, chuckling to himself, ��What, you goof?”

“I hope you know that because you’re my wife, I’m planning on spending the rest of my life spoiling you, whether you like it or not. I’d give you the fucking moon if I could, Osita.”

“Well lucky for you, a day at a beach cabana will do just fine.”

While you never would have asked Javi to purposely spend extra money on things you really didn’t need to make your trip any more special than it already was, you couldn’t deny that spending the day in your own private cove of the beach in a luxurious cabana with food and drinks being served to you at your request wasn’t a bad way to spend the last day of your honeymoon.

The daybeds in the cabana had made a perfect place for a shady, mid day nap for the both of you, lazily waking up from the soft kiss Javi had planted on your shoulder, exposed from your bikini top, freckled and sunkissed from days in the tropics.

“I’m gonna go for a swim, Hermosa. Be back in a sec.” Javi cooed, gently stirring you from your catnap.

“Mmmmmmkay.” You smiled, flipping over for another kiss on the lips before Javi slipped out from the flaps of your tent, softly blowing in the breeze. You sat up on your lounger, the sight of Javi in nothing but his bathing suit waking you from your brief sleep in a matter of moments.

Even though you had seen Javi in nothing but bathing suits for the past 9 days, you were convinced it was a sight you’d never find yourself getting over. There was no doubt that you had always found him incredibly attractive, but something about this trip had skyrocketed him to another level of sexy you didn’t even know was attainable. You weren’t sure if it was the unbuttoned floral shirts, excessive time spent shirtless, his messy and wet beach hair, or just the fact that now you got to call him your husband- truthfully, it was most likely a combination of all of the above.

You perked up, pulling back the fabric door of the cabana enough to watch Javi’s arms stroke through the ocean, popping his head above water with a brief shake before he was shallow enough to touch the sandy bottom again. As he sauntered in from the ocean, you couldn’t help but admire the width of his shoulders and chest, glistening from the sun and salty water. You let your gaze travel down to his swim trunks, feeling your mouth water at the way they hugged his waist and crept up his thick thighs. With each step closer to shore, you couldn’t stop staring at the way his trunks were clinging to his lower half, perfectly outlining his generous length.

Javi must have noticed the way you were staring at him by the subtle smirk that had broken out across his face as he approached the cabana, eyeing you up and down right back.

“You have a good swim?” You asked, feeling your stomach swirl as you took in every inch of him, glowing in the sunlight.

“Mhmm. Did you have fun watching me swim?” He teased, tongue tracing over his teeth while he raised his eyebrows, knowing damn well the effect he was having on you.

“Maybe. What, I’m not allowed to enjoy the view? Not my fault my husband is so handsome.” Your smirk was almost as wide as his, biting down on your bottom lip as Javi entered the cabana, letting the flap to the entrance close behind him before caging your body under his on the lounge chair, trailing hot, wet, kisses across your chest and stomach.

“Say it again.” He mewled, looking up at you with his big, brown eyes as his kisses trailed lower and lower, watching as he began to settle himself at the edge of the chair between your thighs.

“My husband is so handsome. You’re so handsome, Javi.” You sighed, feeling the damp patch in your swimsuit bottoms growing, soaking the fabric with your slick and arousal.

“You’re so fucking good to me. Fuck, I’m so lucky.” He groaned, slinging your thighs over his shoulders, eyes still locked on you while he began to tug at the strings of your bikini, leaving your bottom half bare.

There was a part of you that knew you should be worried about someone catching the two of you, barely concealed by the flimsy confines of your cabana, but the part of you staring at your husband between your legs about to eat you out seemed a lot more convinced that this was the best idea Javi had all day.

“You’re so fucking perfect. Everything about you. I’m the goddamn luckiest man alive, you know that baby?”

Your response to his question was nothing but a ragged moan, feeling him draping his arm over your hips to hold you in place as he slid two fingers into your heat. He curled his hand to reach the spot inside you he knew made you crumble before diving back in between your legs, beginning to lick you up like a man starved.

His tongue swirled against your clit, the firmness of each stroke and the deep press of his fingers making you writhe under his touch, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his damp, curly locks to brace yourself as he ate you out relentlessly.

“Oh my god, fuck, Javi. Fuck, you feel so good. Fuck-”

You could feel him switching tactics, latching his lips around your sensitive nub, rapidly sucking at the throbbing bundle of nerves, working his fingers deeper in your cunt as he felt you begin to clench around him.

“Fuck Javi, fuck, right there baby- fuck, I’m close.” Your fingers were buried so deep in his curls, tugging just enough to pull his face closer to you as you could feel your orgasm building at the base of your spine, desperate for him to give you your sweet release.

His thick fingers bumped along your g-spot, curving them ever so slightly in the way he had memorized like the back of his hand to make you come undone. The tingle along your spine quickly spread down your legs, pleasure building rapidly throughout your body as you felt yourself on the edge of release. Lifting his arm off your waist, he reached up to grab your hand laying out on the lounge chair, engulfing it in his grasp as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Dameló, (give it to me) sweet girl. Let go, baby, I’ve got you.”

You could feel the pressure inside you snap, the tingling in your veins quickly transforming into full blown pleasure as your orgasm swept through you. You gushed around his hand, cunt clenching down on his fingers as you came, losing all sense of inhibitions as you cried out with a volume much louder than intended.

But with Javi’s fingers still curled, prodding against your g-spot, you had a feeling those cries weren’t coming to a halt any time soon. It was only moments after your orgasm had finished he was already on a mission to give you another, tongue lapping up every ounce of your slick as it pressed against your clit.

“Javi, holy shit, baby, oh fuck.” You whined, bucking your hips towards his face and arching your back as he circled around your bundle of nerves, your moans and whimpers only egging him on more.

Even after all this time, there was a part of you that still couldn’t believe how fast Javi could make you cum. He had memorized every twitch, every tug of his hair, every breathy whisper to know what made you fall apart under his touch, loving every second of watching you come undone for him.

You could already feel the tingling of your next orgasm beginning to creep up your legs and into your stomach as Javi sucked at your clit, greedy for him to help you hit your second high.

“Please don’t stop, Javi. Fuck baby, fuck, fuck, I- ahhhhhhhhh.” That was all it took before you could feel the waves of pleasure rushing through your body again, your pussy throbbing as your orgasm flooded over you.

Your legs were all but jello at this point, trembling around Javi’s head, still buried between them. Your last two orgasms had been so intense, you weren’t sure you could take a third, but with the way Javi knew your body, you also were convinced it would barely take anything for you to cum again.

“J-Javi- fuck, baby, fuck I can’t-”

“Gimme one more, Osita. C’mon, sweet girl. Wanna make my wife cum one more time.” You nodded, looking down at the shine of your arousal covering his smirk, knowing that at this point, you were so worked up and overstimulated that just the fingers already inside of you really were all you needed to give him your last orgasm.

Javi’s fingers had already sunk so deep into your cunt, already so overly sensitive to every push and pull of his hand, that the grip you had on his hand had become so tight, you could feel your knuckles turning white. You cried out his name as it fell from your lips, babbling incoherently as the third rush of pleasure crashed over you, gushing onto Javi’s fingers.

“That’s my good girl. My perfect fucking wife. I love you so much.” Javi carefully pulsed his fingers a few more times as he felt you clench around him, making you hiss as he withdrew his hand now soaked in your slick, bringing the digits to his fingers to suck them clean with a satisfied smirk.

It was only moments before his sly grin had quickly shifted to full blown panic, you, still too blissed out to wonder why he was scrambling to throw a towel over your bottom half and one to hide the erection under his as he sat himself in the chair next to you. Thank god Javi still at least had an ounce of inhibition left to see the footsteps of the server who had been periodically checking in on you strolling their way through the sand under the edge of the cabana, saving you both from what could have been an incredible amount of embarrassment.

“Hi, how are you two doing? Anything else I can get for you right now?” Your server asked, peeking his head in through the flaps to see you and Javi trying your best to act as natural as possible.

“N-no, I’m good. You good, honey? Need anything?” Javi asked, looking over at you as his hand ran over the back of his neck, trying his best not to grimace at the awkward tension stewing between him, you and your poor, unsuspecting server.

“You know what, I think I’m gonna have another drink.”

“Alright! Another mojito for you, ma’am?” Your server asked, whipping out his pad of paper to note down your order.

“No, can you make this next one a Sex on the Beach? That sounds really good.”

It truly took everything in Javi not to burst out laughing, choking on his own spit at your perfectly timed order, shaking his head at you in a humorous disbelief.

“Perfect, well I’ll be right back with your drink!”

“Thank you so much!”

Once your server had disappeared, you and Javi erupted in hyena like laughter, the combination of your joke and almost fatal timing throwing the two of you into a fit of giggles.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Javi chuckled, looking over at you as he shook his head.

“What? It’s our last day, figured we might as well have a little sex on the beach. The drink sounds like it’ll be good, too.”

Your mid-afternoon flight had made for an easy morning to pack up and soak in the last little bit of your honeymoon. It had given you just enough time to enjoy your favorite breakfast place, and have one more of the best blueberry waffles you’d ever tasted before your last shower (and shower sex) to get ready for your departure home.

While you were sad your vacation had come to an end, there was no denying that every last bit of your trip was absolutely perfect, and even more so that you got to spend it with the most perfect person you could think of. You were convinced you could have gone anywhere in the world for your honeymoon and you would have felt the same- in the end, it wasn’t the destination that mattered, it was the fact you got to spend it with your husband.

The fact that you got to spend every vacation together for the rest of your lives only made it that much sweeter.

While flying would never be enjoyable, you were thankful your trip home was fairly painless, granting Javi’s hand some grace, considering you didn’t feel the need to keep it in an iron grip for the two hours it took you to arrive back home.

You were also thankful that it was Steve and Connie who had offered to pick you up from the airport instead of Chucho, sparing you and Javi the same sort of awkward embarrassment you had endured on the ride to start off your honeymoon.

Well, it may not been the same kind of embarrassment that you had experienced with Javi’s dad, but it was foolish of you to think that Steve was letting you get away scott free.

At least he had managed to get creative with it, making a greeting poster with “Welcome home, lovebirds!” on it to help you find him and Connie in the airport crowd, making Javi let out a sigh loud enough that Steve probably could have heard it from the tarmac.

“Hey! There they are! Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Peña!” Steve grinned, pulling you and Javi in for a hug as you found him, Connie following suit with a much less dramatic greeting for the both of you afterwards.

“How was the honeymoon? Did you guys have a great time?” Connie asked, offering to take one of your suitcases, nudging Steve to do the same. “

“It was really nice. It was everything we could have hoped for. The resort was beautiful, the food was great, and the weather was fantastic. It really was perfect.” You smiled, looking up at Javi, nodding in agreement, reaching out to wrap his arm over your shoulder.

“Thanks again for picking us up.” Javi chimed in, the two of you now following along behind your friends as they began leading you through the airport towards their car.

“Don’t mention it, Jav. Least we could do.” Steve replied, reaching out to give Javi a little punch to the arm.

“We’re super excited to hear all about your trip!” Connie added, looking back at you and Javi with a genuine grin.

“Excited to hear if I’m gonna make good on my bet…” Steve muttered, laughing under his breath.

“Steve! Seriously? You promised in the car you weren’t gonna bring this up!” Connie huffed, giving her husband a slap to the chest, and a grimace that clearly was the silent way to ask “Will you please shut up?”

“What?! I put good money on it, I’m confident!”

“Wait, is this the same bet that Javi’s dad was talking about on the way here?” You asked, looking back and forth between Javi, Steve and Connie in confusion, perplexed as to what you and Javi had to do with whatever bet he and the Murphy’s were in on.

“Go ahead, Steve! Why don’t you explain?” Connie scolded, hands on her hips as she stared down her husband in all his big mouthed glory.

“You bet on it, too!” Steve retorted, holding his hands up in defense, pointing at Connie to claim her as part of the guilty party to whatever was going on.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Javi asked, trying to cut to the chase of whatever cryptic game they were playing.

“After y’all left on your wedding night, we- shit, this does sound kinda bad when you say it to their face, huh?” Steve paused, letting out a huff as he turned back to Connie, grimacing in agreement, “Us and your family and your dad made a bet.”

“A bet on…” You led, waiting for your answer.

Steve sighed again, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground before looking back up at you and Javi, “A bet on how quick it would take after the wedding until the two of you announced you were pregnant.”

You didn’t even want to know how red your face was turning, but judging by the sudden pink flush of Javi’s cheeks, you had no doubt you looked exactly the same, if not worse.

“To be fair, your dad was the one who started it!” Steve exclaimed, pointing at Javi to let him know he wasn’t to blame for his friend’s embarrassment before shifting his finger to point at you, “And your brothers were the one who said we should make it a bet! I just wanted in on it!”

“Jesus fucking christ.” Javi sighed, face in his palm as he rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers.

“I hope now you know we’re not gonna have kids just to spite all of you.” You teased, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilted your head at Steve. It was enough to catch Javi’s attention, eyes going wide that there was even a shred of you being serious, laughing to yourself as you watched the relief flush over him when you shook your head at your own joke.

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.” Steve chuckled, his voice oozing with sarcasm, simply shrugging before turning back around to continue your journey to the parking garage.

Javi took his free hand, intertwining it with yours and giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you trailed behind the Murphy’s soft smile on his face that despite his friends and families bet revolved around your sex life, there was a very real possibility that sooner rather than later, someone was bound to make their fifty bucks.

“What’d you bet?” Javi asked, feeling entitled to know how Steve had gambled after he’d spilled the beans on his little wager.

“Well, let’s see, y’all got married at the end of July, so July to August, August to September,” Steve paused, doing the quick math on his fingers as he calculated his answer, “9 months from now would be April, so I’ll be damned if you’re not tellin’ us your havin’ a baby by the fall and it’s here by the spring. And I know for a fact neither of y’all would be mad about that one bit.”

And as much as you both hated to admit it, it was one of the few things in life that Steve Murphy was very, very right about.

@chaotic-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 @messinadresa @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 @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3 @survivingandenduring

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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bitterrfruit · 2 months ago

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houndtooth [1]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - cw: below the cut - 2.2k words

you're the pampered wife of a russian warlord. ghost hunts you down and finds a use for you.

Hello loves, a brief intermission from me (quick I promise) - I thought it would be fun to cross-post my Ao3 fic Houndtooth on tumblr. It is still in progress!

Needless to say, this fic comes with some content warnings: implied SA (not by Ghost), drug addiction, waterboarding, and heavy physical violence.

Reader insert goes by her alias, Mia, a name she invented to protect herself in her previous profession.

If I cannot be feared, I must be loved.

There’s something special about you.

Something sickly.

Your body, your lips, your eyes. Bait like dripping entrails in a loose twine net; dragging bloody along the wooded, overgrown path of your life, and luring ravenous carnivores to your trail around every bend.

It’s something you’ve grown accustomed to, expectant of – that lecherous scrutiny, from any man you have ever met, or ever might. Used to the huffing snouts that suck in the vapour of your beguiling skin, tonguing it like they might ever get to take a bite.

Offering mouthfuls of yourself is the only way you have been able to keep them at bay. Appeasing when necessary. Rebuffing only when you can be certain that your extermination will not be the consequence.

Sometimes they gnaw at you anyway. Sometimes their canines sink rapaciously into your soft flesh, popping through your skin like it’s the velvety hide of a peach. They drink the sweet pink syrup until you’re bled dry, careful to spit out the cyanide core once they've finished.

Until that poisonous pit, coated in the stringy viscera that those teeth had missed, was all that was left of you.

So, when your husband found you, dressed as the hound-bait character you played along the redlight strip, you were allured by the promise that he might plant you again. Maybe, with his exorbitant riches and clandestine occupation, he might water you and fertilise your soil, he might let your pit sprout into a sapling. Maybe, your branches might blossom again.

When he expatriated you to Russia, his snow-blown motherland, you imagined yourself a Tsarina; jejunely clinging to his arm like you might fly away with him, carried to an undefiled paradise as though he were your archangel and you his rapture.

That was the last time you loved him.

One step off that jet, the first leap with your exuberant paw; there was no paradise, no utopia waiting for you. Landing hard on icy cement, your husband was quick to stifle your lament. Offered you oxycodone like pebbles of dogfood in the palm of his hand, swearing you an unending supply – his remuneration for your services, whose nature you were not yet privy to.

But those opioids were your wage.

They were your shackles, too.

Even if you managed to outrun your paralysing addiction to them, it didn’t take you long to be tackled and smothered by your intemperate dependence on your husband himself.

On his status, on his money, on his reputation.

Without, you would have been long used and discarded, tossed hollow and floppy like freshly flayed doeskin; exsanguinated by the very men he colludes with, the very creatures that slither into your home, that sit at your table and speak puzzles in their Cyrillic tongues.

The very beasts who your husband endeavours to entertain and indulge with your presence at his side – a glittering trophy, or a ripe fruit, juicy and plump. He holds you in greedy hands and brandishes the shine of your skin, he polishes you with a firm palm on your ass, he boasts his possession of you with a hot tongue on your cheek.

The prize they can never win, that’s what you are. The meal they can never devour. Only his teeth have the privilege of gorging on your supple flesh.

With your English passport long stolen from you, you are left with no option but to be grateful for that fact – that your husband does not whore you out to his compatriots, does not sell your body for some other man to graze on or to pick at, like you used to do yourself.

That is one of the few reprieves he offers you.

Protection.

Maybe, if you had never met him, you would have eventually crawled out of the chasm that your previous life had sunk to. If you had never met him, you might have found a way to break free from your dependence on those poppies. If you had never met him, you might have found worth for yourself beyond the coins hungry men would offer you in exchange for a taste of you.

But any hope you may have had in those days is a distant, futile memory. A bittersweet daydream you sometimes venture to.

Frozen in your sordid reality, you’ve no option but to indulge him.

To oblige him, whatever he wants from you, you play the role he carved out just for you to fill. You massage his neck after a long day. You listen to his broken English as he does his best to explain what had happened at work, in as little detail as possible, in an effort to shield you from the truth of his profession. You swallow his cock when he asks you to. You pretend to let him satiate you all the same, a professional actor you are – you sing those moans for him, when he licks you, when he fucks you, when he pledges to impregnate you.

He doesn’t know you’ve got a copper coil in your womb. You tell him there’s something wrong with his come, he doesn’t believe you. He sends you a doctor, and with his money, you pay them to lie.

That’s the other perquisite, one you can’t belittle.

His money.

His mountains, mountains, mountains of money.

None of it tangible, no real cash, no paper stacks tucked away in places any brave burglars might be able to find it. All of it digital, little numbers, binary code hidden behind so many layers of encryption it’s a wonder it can be counted at all.

But there’s never a need to count it. All you know is that it is unending.

He lets you spend it how you like, and there’s no amount of expenditure that could ever put a dent in his wealth large enough for him to notice.

Still, the prince, he imprisons you in his castle. You can throw invisible money at whatever your bored and inebriated heart might desire, any priceless art, any extortionate car, any lavish designer shoes – and it means nothing. It fills no void. There’s nobody to show it off to.

It appeased you, at first, after your stint of homelessness, then your weeks living in a dim red brothel, until he found you. When he offered you such a nauseating amount of money as payment for your salacious dance, that you felt your knees buckle beneath you at the sight of it. When he took you shopping and bought new lingerie to decorate you with, when he carted you giddy to his private jet.

All too good to be true.

And it was.

Too late now, anyway. This is the hand you’ve been dealt; you play your cards as best you can. Close to your chest. Who knows when you’ll fold.

You lean over the marble vanity, the harsh, downward lighting of the gaudy ensuite carves out the divots and lumps of your face that are typically imperceptible.

You used to think you were beautiful. That’s what everyone told you.

But watching your husband’s cold semen trickle down your décolletage, saturating and staining the invaluable lace and silk chiffon of your rosy babydoll, drying flaky on your skin – you can only see lipstick on a pig. An ugly little creature, destined for the slaughter. Your belly waiting to be made into crackling, your ass into bacon. It won’t be long now.

You sense that you are beginning to overstay your welcome. What had once been pliancy had now turned stiff and sharp. Any sweetness you once felt for the man who swept you off your feet has since coagulated into bitter milk, too lumpy to swallow, so instead, you spit.

The contempt inside your husband has been bubbling, fermenting. You can see it, and feel it, and taste it. He made it known to you especially tonight, fucking you with the brutality of a rabid animal, clutching and clawing, tugging and throwing, biting and beating. Painting you with his come to humiliate you, to degrade you, to remind you what you are, and always will be. He got some of it in your eye.

There’s a bruise on your collarbone. It’s not the first he’s given you. It won’t be the last.

You wipe away the crusting fluid with an opulent towel, dampened with warm water; lush white cotton turning creamy and black as it cleans away the come and mascara. You use it to dab clean your negligee. It’s your favourite one.

Clink.

Your ears perk.

Clash.

Frozen on your feet, your head darts to face the door to the ensuite - heavy and ornate, it sits ajar. Last you checked, your husband was asleep, snoring like a fucking engine. The silence that follows the peculiar noise is what unsettles you most.

Maybe it was him reaching for the pills on his nightstand, or readjusting the eiderdown duvet he sleeps under. But you’d expect a grunt, at least, some huffs of complaint as he was forced to do something for himself for once.

Instead, quiet.

You know that your husband keeps guns around the estate. Both figuratively, in the forms of armed and well-paid sentries that roam the grounds and stand guard by the doors. And, literally. A pistol in the kitchen, a shotgun in his cupboard, an assault rifle under the coffee table.

And, you remember, a Beretta under the sink.

With quivering and cautious fingers, you reach for the brass handle of the drawer.

“Милый?” Sweetie?

You utter it softly, hesitantly, sweetly. He once told you your accent sounds native when you pamper him with pet names. English is your first language, Russian now your second. He doesn’t know how much of it you can understand. More than he believes.

But there is no answer from him. Not a word, nor a groan, nor a snore.

“Все ли в порядке?” Is everything alright?

Your careful fingertips dive into the drawer, momentarily peeking down to find the black metal. A pant of relief jumps from your throat when your fingers find it, that cold handle; you take it in the palm of your hand, it moulds to your grip like it was made for you.

He showed you once how to load it.

You remember.

You clutch the slide with a harsh grip, tugging it back, click-snap.

The safety is off. You’re not that stupid.

“Дорогой?” Sweetheart?

Calls turn to pleas.

You know vaguely the line of work in which your husband is a kingpin. You know it most likely involves bloodshed.

And, so, you guess it involves fucking people over. That it incites vengeance. That it creates martyrs.

Normally, the guards help you sleep, their thudding boots and murmuring chatter keeping the retribution at bay.

Why is it so quiet?

Thud.

Creak.

Now you resent yourself for calling for him. You’ve made your position obvious. You’ve handed yourself on a platter.

Perhaps you can sneak to the hallway.

Or, perhaps you can simply check to see if it’s your husband, skulking around your bedroom and choosing to silently ignore you out of spite.

So on your bare toes, you glide along the glossy tiled floor, pit pat, pit pat. Feline fingers clutch the edge of the door. You gently draw it open, ever so slowly, the golden hinges moaning quietly at their awakening.

You hold your weapon by your side. You keep your finger off the trigger. God knows what you’d do if you shot your husband by accident. You might be better off just turning the gun on yourself, in that case, rather than be left to the dogs. You know what their teeth would do to you.

The bedroom is dark.

The silvery glow of the moon is the only source of light, bar the dim orange now emerging from the open ensuite door. Your kittenish shadow stretches out before you onto the velvety carpeted floor, your shape carved out even through the sheer fabric of your negligée.

“Не двигайся, черт возьми.” Don’t fucking move.

Your breath lodges in your throat, wedged in your trachea like you had swallowed a jagged rock.

Not your husband.

No, that voice is far too deep, too grumbling, too threatening.

So who?

“Кто ты, черт возьми?” Who the fuck are you?

You hiss it, a growl, though only the kind a snarling little chihuahua might spit out when touched by an overbearing hand.

Hidden from the moonlight, the figure prowls through the shadow. Towering, imperious, that silhouette renders you frigid - you swallow as much oxygen as your stiff diaphragm will allow you. Not much.

Four red beads of light stretch in a line where his eyes should be, reminiscent of a hunting spider; high enough off the ground that it might be crawling up the walls, hanging from its silk, ready to ensnare you. No, that’s just how tall the beast is as it stalks you.

The glint of the moon reflects off the glistening barrel of his gun. Gun feels like an understatement. It’s immense, black. Machine more fitting. Pointed at you. Coaxing. Warning. He gives it a shake.

“Брось этот крошечный пистолет, шлюха.” Drop that little gun of yours, slut.

The more he talks, the more you doubt. His accent is weak. Not a Russian.

“Чего ты хочешь, мудак? Деньги?” What do you want, asshole? Money?

He scoffs. Arrogant. Scornful.

“I don’t want your fuckin’ blood money, you evil little bitch.”

English.

Explains the accent.

But, you’re left with more questions. One, what the fuck?

“Drop the gun. Or I might get your blood on that pretty dress.”

You hesitate. He pounces.

“Сейчас!” Now!

#call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost cod #bitterfruit fics #bitten-fruit

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writers-potion · 4 months ago

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When to Use "P" Sounds

to show unbending authority, bureaucracy and the law

for a character who prides himself in his masculinity

for eortic scenes with male action

for a display of power and pompousness

for a firm patriarchal society

"P" for authority and pride:

power, principle, parilament, empire, approve, impose, president, prelate, prefect, emperor, empress, pastor, priest, prince, pontiff, patriarch, parade, palace, portal, pose, display, pomp, peacock, prance, preen, pretend, imposter, importance, impress

"P" sounds for judgement and punishment:

police, penalty, punishment appraisal, probe, oppose, probate, approve, passport, apprehend, appeal, troop, platoon, deploy, poll, parish, population, protocol, parochial, position, plead, process, prison

"P" for stick-like objects:

pole, pile, pillar, pilaster, peak, pike, spear, poke, pierce, prong, push, pin, prick, penetrate, point, penis, patriarchy, paternal, progenitor

Other thematically unrelated words:

apply, park, perk, pug, puppy, posy, plug, apple, pear, grap apricot, peach, painting, portrait, picture, people, ping, peg, gape, lip, ship, pen, pulse, parchment, palaver, ploy, ape, sap, tap, sip, tip, pillow, pirouette, pry, ploy, slip, plant, peek, peer, nape, plate, platinum, planet, ship, rip, spin, wasp, lamp, ample, shape

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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reality-detective · 11 months ago

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"We're undergoing a soft coup... under the pretext of pandemic preparedness and the biosecurity agenda."

Dr. Meryl Nass explains how the WHO's proposed pandemic treaty will enable the WHO "to take over jurisdiction of everything in the world by saying that climate change, animals, plants, water systems [and] ecosystems are all central to health".

In addition to that, it will remove human rights protections, enforce censorship and digital passports, require governments to push a single "official" narrative, and enable the WHO to declare "pandemics" on a whim. 🤔

#pay attention #educate yourselves #educate yourself #knowledge is power #reeducate yourself #reeducate yourselves #think about it #think for yourselves #think for yourself #do your homework #do some research #do your own research #ask yourself questions #question everything #government corruption #government tyranny #socialism #communism

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collector-of-sticks · 2 months ago

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Ramble about if I were an alien and had a lil one. Just cause I can and am obsessed with the idea of being an alien 💫

✨I wish I were an alien on a big ship just floating through space, passing through colourful gas clouds and watching the stars. I’d love to have multiple arms and a tail I could flick around and hold things with. With multiple arms I could hold a little one while doing other things like watering the many plants inside the ship! I would probably hate other people touching my tail but would happily let a little one hold it! Ideally they’d hold one of my many hands though :3✨

🌒I’d have a nursery for them attached to my room so I could check on them during the “night.” It would have a star themed mobile above the cot and a lot of books on the bookshelf about space, other alien species and planets - but they’d all be kiddie books so my baby could easily understand.🌒

💤I’d hold their hand while we explore different planets with the rest of the crew. I’d probably be the live-in gardener - gotta keep all the plants on the ship alive for everyone’s mental health and so we can use them as food/medicine. Oh! I’d definitely grow a little bioluminescence (glows in the dark) plant in my baby’s nursery so it could be a nightlight for them! Gotta keep the bad dreams away somehow 💤

🔭We could collect stickers and every planet we go to we can put a sticker from that planet into a book/passport! And of course, we’d have to take tons and tons of photos of all these planets, cultures and other beautiful things we see.🔭

🫧With my multiple hands I’d learn how to do really calming/hypnotic movements to help my lil one fall asleep and just to generally entertain them! I’d even wear glow in the dark nail polish for it!🫧

Brrrrrrrrrrrr, aliens!

What would you do if you were a space travelling alien? What would you look like? What would be your favourite thing to do (explore new plants, learn about new animals, watch the stars, play in different streams, go floating in zero gravity etc)?

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akanegotlost · 21 days ago

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Prolouge (Batman x Aunt!Reader)

This is a few of origin I wrote for reader and will be edit in the future if I decide a few changes but so far this my perspective. Pardon my first time my writing like fr. Any ideas are welcome :D (I need friend in DC fandom ngl) warning: My eng is bad and possible multiple typos

Reader is little sister of Bruce. She's only few months old when their parents gone. Reader's existence is secret.

Unlike Bruce cold stare, she's a walking ball of sunshine but still inherit those features but only use it on necessary times

Reader live in the manor and get get proper education like a normal person to not make it suspicious

Reader known as grandchild of Alfred and study in medical course. Also involve with Batman stuff and work as a spy for him (Alfred teach her :))

Bruce afraid the recognition of reader to the media so he make a new identity so that she can live normally. Reader didn't get mad when she know, she saw how Bruce facing those medias and paparazzis make her uncomfortable. (found out herself out of curiosity)

Strongly against Bruce idea to get a kid (robins) involved in the activities that they doing

Become mother figure to the Robins instead. Always be in touch when the Robins out to mission and get their injuries shecked every patrol they did

Getting more protective after listening to their (Robins) story and traumas. Accidentally calling them as "baby/baby bird" many times and end up used to it

Jason's death making a huge impact to reader. Set an attempt to kill Joker herself but got stopped by Batman himself

Reader choose to live outside the manor to cool off her head from grieving. After 2 months living alone, she decided to settle things out with Bruce

Once she get to the Batcave and saw another Robin (Tim) instead of Bruce make her rage when she saw him just arrive. (imagine she punch shit outta him and pull his collar down to her level to talk some shit out)

She knows there was a tracker planted in her body as well during 2 months of her absence within manor before. She get furious when she found out about the tracker and operate to pull it out herself and bring it everywhere she go to play along

End up arguing infront of the new Robin (Tim) and accidentally get him into the arguments. After realize what she let out, she walk out from the manor

With a heavy heart, reader push away Alfred's word of advise and plea. She left the tracker and all of electronic stuff in an empty apartment (gurl i would torture myself if i ever did that)

Already prepared a new identity and passport just in case. Dressed up and move out from the city (to Blüdhaven we go-)

Put up a new mask and suit to make things right in her own way as ...

#batfam #batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batman #Spotify

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

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the deadly kiss of a woman

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: When the 141 isn't planting bombs and executing assaults, they're usually tailing a target or performing their own reconnaissance. What happens when you enter the picture and are sent to do your own recon on them?

pairing: Task Force 141 x undercover!fem!Reader

warnings: depiction of violence/weapons and drugs, swearing, wound depiction, reader being a bad bad girl (except in gaz's case lmao)

a/n: bro i love me a good spy storyline

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price - assassin

Finding Captain Price wasn't an easy feat. You were contracted by the traitorous General Shepherd and he was making sure you worked for your payment. You followed Price mission to mission but he was always one step ahead of you or surrounded by his teammates. You had exhausted all of your international passports and disguises until an opportunity presented itself. From a covertly placed comm, you heard that Price was planning on a retreat to his cabin while on leave. You sped your black vehicle away and raced to the airport. You smiled as you booked the next flight to Fort Augustus.

When you arrived, you booked an Airbnb under an assumed name and just happen to be sitting on the porch when your "neighbor" arrived. "Good morning," you waved as you put on your best fake American accent. He waved back as he casually sipped his morning brew. "Far from home are we?" he asked as he walked closer to the edge of his porch to talk to you. "Guess you Brits can spot an American from miles away," you joked, "The name's Virginia, I thought it was time to take a break from trips to Maine and try going abroad instead." "I'm John and, well, you picked a great place," he smiled at you and you returned the friendly gesture. "Maybe we could chat about some trails over dinner?" you asked and he looked at you surprised. "I just bought too many ribeyes for one person to enjoy," you said sheepishly and he nodded in response. "How about you bring them over and I can grill some up for dinner?" he offered and you agreed on a time for that evening. As you entered your cabin, you knew you would walking away with millions at the end of the night.

When evening finally arrived, you changed into jeans and a flannel shirt. The outfit functioned in multiple ways as the bulkiness of the flannel allowed you to hide your two weapons for the night: monkshood powder to sedate Price and a scopolamine patch to kill him with a seizure quickly. You smiled as you remembered their street names, wolfsbane and Devil's Breath. You grabbed the thawed pieces of meat and adjusted your brunette wig before heading over to his home. When you knocked on the door, he greeted you warmly and invited you inside. The house was warm and he quickly took the ribeyes out of your hand to prep on the grill. "Your place is amazing," you said as you took off your boots. "A slice of paradise," he said as he offered you some scotch. "I also made a tayberry pie for dessert, heard it's a Northeast specialty," he said before walking to the kitchen, "you're lucky they had some at the market." "Sounds great, let me know if there's anything I can do to help," you called out. You walked around the room, checking for any bugs or weapons that he could use to his advantage. Shepherd had informed you that Price was not an old man to underestimate and you took the threat seriously.

"Here you go," he said behind you and you turned with a smile as he held out two glasses. You reached out to grab one but "accidentally" tripped and caused the glasses onto his chest. "I am so sorry!" you said, "I'll pour us another if you want to change." He nodded in response and reassured you that it was alright. As he left to change his shirt, you poured two new glasses and covertly mixed the powder in. He returned quickly and you went to go present him his glass. "I'll drink in a minute, have to check and make sure those cuts haven't burned yet, love," he said before brushing past you. You patiently waited as you knew your opportunity would come soon.

After a few moments, Price returned with two perfectly charred steaks. "Mind just getting some plates for us?" he asked and directed you over to the cabinet. You put your drink down on the table and retrieved the items. Finally, you sat across from Price and sipped your drinks over the delicious meal. You made polite conversation about the variety of trails and enjoyed his cooking.

As the night continued, you felt faint but blamed it on the strong liquor. However, as your eyes began to close and your ears rang, Price quickly got up and moved you to the couch. "When you wake up you're going to explain everything," he cruelly whispered as you fell out of consciousness. "A good assassin would know that tayberries are only from California but I guess you didn't do your research," was the last thing you heard before you passed out on the leather couch.

soap - weapons dealer

Becoming friends with Johnny wasn't part of the plan. You just happened to hit it off at a bar in Scotland when you were executing a deal. You decided to keep him around despite the danger of him exposing you. You lived by the saying "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer” and while you were fond of the Scotsman, you weren’t blind to the fact he was a Sergeant who could implicate your entire business. You kept up a front as an influencer who got paid to travel to lavish destinations and enjoyed the finer things in life. He didn’t question you when you told him you were off to Amsterdam. “Enjoy the sights, lass,” he cheered to you and you made plans to hang out whenever you both returned. Little did you both know, you would be seeing each other much sooner than you expected.

As you sat in a dimly cocktail bar, you sipped delicately on a thousand-dollar rum. Your blackened lipstick stained the edge of the glass as you ordered another. You checked your watch and saw that your client was running behind. You didn’t interfere or ask what they needed the firearms for, you could’ve cared less. But this client was clearly a cartel member based on their Western Hemisphere accent and their offerings for some premium cocaine. “He’s late,” you said, annoyed, to your bodyguard, “I’m giving him five more minutes until the deal is off.” Suddenly, the doors of the cocktail bar opened and you could see three figures illuminated by the street light enter. “Here he finally is,” you exasperatingly said as you threw your hands up in relief. But you would soon swallow your words as a familiar face emerged into the red light.

Your bodyguard moved for his gun as this was not the client you were expecting. “Hold it right there and don’t move, sweetheart,” one of the men commanded as they approached. “Who are you?” you asked coldly as their presumed Captain took the head seat. “People who are very interested as to why you’re transporting guns for the cartel,” he said and lit up a cigar, using your rum glass as an ashtray. “And what makes you think I sell anything of that nature?” you countered as you caught Johnny’s eyes and he stared intently. “Well first because lying to a Sergeant is a federal offense,” Johnny answered with venom in his tone. “Looks like you’ve already been acquainted,” the other man answered and he looked to be the youngest out of the group. “Plus we tracked your client and he brought you to us,” the Captain said as he took another long draw out of his cigar. Every time he dumped ashes you gripped the tablecloth harder.

"What if I don't cooperate?" you asked as you tried to regain power in this situation. "Oh Michelle," Johnny said as he approached you and placed a dominating hand on the table, "or should I say Genevieve Aguillard." You swallowed harshly as he raised his other hand to brush a loose strand of hair. "I think you'll find a way to tell us, Bonnie," he complimented as you shuttered at his tone. Your smile faltered as you turned your attention back to the Captain. "Mactavish, take the Red Widow to another room, and don't come back until we have what we need," he said as you felt Johnny grip your arm and lead you for some light interrogation.

gaz - secret agent

Following General Shepherd's betrayal, the CIA placed you undercover to be their eyes and ears inside the 141. You were experienced with these types of operations and readily accepted the position. Intercepting the team was easy as Laswell had made sure to secure you a position as the task force's newest foreign operations specialist and linguist. The CIA helped to fabricate a dossier that developed your history as one of the youngest members to pass SAS selection and one that quickly climbed the military ladder. Now in, you impressed the men with your mastery of foreign military weapons and vehicles along with your deadly hand-to-hand combat.

After a few months of chasing Makarov, you were trusted to go on missions without supervision or instruction from the entire team. You primarily would go with Price and Gaz so your budding friendship with Gaz was no surprise. You were given the alias of Evelyn Hanssen, a name that combined a fictional special agent and a real one. Gaz affectionately called you Eve and would always be the first one to volunteer to go on patrol with you. One night you got in a pissing contest as you fabricated a lie regarding your times during the Special Air Service selection. "And I thought I had the best times, Eve," Kyle joked as you finished up another spring training. "You wish, Garrick," you replied before heading off to the showers.

However, your position would soon become compromised following a near-death experience with Gaz. You, Price, and Gaz were on the frozen cliffs of Kazakhstan to retrieve stolen American intel. While Price provided overwatch, you and Gaz were tasked with infiltrating the base and securing the American Attack Characterization System. That was the plan but after you had become captured following the data transfer, you had to shoot your way out and steal a Russian aircraft. You were lucky to be alive on the ride home but a bullet wound to your shoulder and Gaz's broken arm landed you in an office with Laswell, Price, and the CIA Director.

"What the fuck were you thinking Agent L/N?" Laswell yelled at you as you sat with Gaz in the large meeting room. "I did my job, Ma'am," you said through gritted teeth. Her tone was harsh, like a mother yelling at her child. It had been a grueling 2 hours of going over everything that had gone wrong during the mission. Gaz had said his peace and now it was your turn on the chopping block. "You blew up a secret Russian military base, where was that in the brief?" the Director added. He then directed his anger to Price, "I thought you said your men could handle this, John." Price's eyes narrowed at you before he responded. Following the fiasco, the team had been briefed on your "secret assignment" and it was clear that hostilities were present in your role with the team. "My men could have handled it but she's not one of mine, General," he said venomously and the tension between him and his American counterparts was evident. "You're done Agent, I expect you on the first flight home to Langley tomorrow," the Director said and dismissed you and Gaz.

As you exited, you tried to grab Gaz's shoulder as he walked away. He looked at you with a new form of hatred in his eyes. "Don't touch me," he said coldly as your grip on his shoulder loosened. "You come in here to babysit us and you can't even do your job correctly," he continued as you looked at him, trying to find something to say. "I'm sick of you messing up our operations, you're a flight risk that needs to run home to the States," he ended and walked away, leaving you to pack your bags and head home.

ghost - spy

Ghost knew he was being followed. As a grey man himself, he knew what to look out for when tailing a target. There were two options to execute surveillance, the first way is to make sure your targets never notice you and the second way is to make sure they only notice you. The young woman who had been mingling through the busy London streets was definitely following the former. Simon noticed you three blocks away when you emerged from a bookstore and had been casually keeping pace with him since.

He didn't know what she wanted but decided to execute his own countermeasures. He pulled off into a small trinkets shop and pretended to look amongst the aisles of vintage teapots. When he heard the signature click of the front door, he knew he had you cornered. You rounded the aisles and eventually pretended to pick up a plate and inspect its engravings. "You've been following me," Ghost said as he too was looking at a teapot. You swallowed and turned to face your target. "So tell me when are you going to ask for my number?" he said and you could see the corners of his eyes rise in a smile. You were suspicious as spies were often taught not to rely on coincidences but you played along. "Is it that obvious?" you flirted, "I'm sorry for being such a weirdo, I have seen you around town and needless to say, you've gotten my attention."

You moved closer to him and seductively bit down on your lip, staining your rouge lipstick. Ghost moved his hand to your face and wiped the stain from your lower lip. "What's your name, doll?" he asked as he stared at you intently. "Belle," you replied with your undercover name prepared, "what's yours handsome?" "Simon" he breathily replied and you knew you had the right person. As Ghost exited the shop with your phone number in hand, he knew he would keep you around until he found out who you were sent by. He was ready to dance this dangerous tango with you.

After weeks of sleeping and getting closer to Simon, you were prepared to give updates to your handler. It was easy to entice him into midnight meetings in darkened hotel rooms. You could have easily taken him out but your client had other plans for him. You exited your faux flat in a grey suit and jacket and made your way to the rendezvous point. Your heels clicked on the street as you perfectly blended in with office workers heading home or on errands after the long work day and entered a cocktail bar. "Just a table for two, in the back please," you asked the young hostess. "My date and I would like our privacy," you winked and they led you to a cocktail table at the back of the restaurant. You sat in the corner, facing the door, as you pulled out a compact to run your fingers through your blonde wig and adjust your brown lipstick. Your handler was to meet you in five minutes but it never hurt to be early.

As you examined yourself in the mirror, someone exited the bathroom and sat across from you. You closed it and tried to suppress your surprise when you saw Simon sitting in front of you. "Apologies sir, I think you have the wrong table," you lied as you donned a convincing French accent. "No I think I'm at the right one, Belle," he said as you knew he had set you up. You heard the click of a gun underneath the table and felt the cold metal brush against your knees and position your stomach. "But we both know, Belle isn't your real name," he said as he stared at you intently with those brown eyes that had looked down at you ever since you met. "Have to say Belle is a nice alias, the same one a Civil War spy had," he said and let out a sickly sweet laugh. As you shakily sipped your water, you prepared to either be shot or hear his demands. "Now you're going to tell me who sent you or you'll have some lead to accessorize with," he whispered before signaling the waiter for two glasses of Bourbon. This was going to be one hell of a dinner date.

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie

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junedenim · 3 months ago

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have lunch with the english

part 1 part 2

one day at home

warnings: fluff, smut, angst (the triple cocktail)

word count: 10.1k

The plane ride is rough. For the first hour, he zones out and watches the airplane-provided entertainment because that's what Lottie would do. It's episodes of Friends and it grows tiresome around the tenth laugh track. He switches to music in the second hour and in the third hour, after the cold but edible meal, he tries to fall asleep. He thinks he makes it an hour before a baby starts crying. Then, he thinks of Franny but then again everything reminds him of Franny.

He's in and out of sleep after that. The baby cries for the rest of the flight and Friends has switched to Planet Earth so he settles for listening to David Attenborough for the rest of the flight instead.

The flight lands at 10 AM London time, but he feels like it's 2 AM. It takes him too long to get through customs as someone with a British passport but the guy is certain that his picture doesn't match his face. That's what he gets for updating his passport when he still had the goatee.

He's still rubbing his eyes going down the escalator. At the bottom, Franny on her hip, stands Lottie. Bell-bottom jeans and that short-sleeve white blouse Franny loves so much because she gets to play with the buttons on it. A distracted Lottie coos Franny, bouncing her on her hip, which means he narrowly missed a crying Franny. Franny, dressed eerily similar to her mother (seriously, this kid ignored all his genes besides his brown hair), giggles ferociously. Lottie laughs back and it's cheesy to say but it mends something in him. Shoots him awake after any restless sleep.

"You look like you were woken by a toddler at 4. Wait, that was me." Lottie is the same as she's always been. She keeps her hair long because Franny likes to tug on it. Her eyes show no signs of tiredness like his do. Her smile, always bright.

Franny makes grabby hands at him as he approaches. Alex takes her, planting a kiss on her chubby cheeks. "I practically was. Baby crying the whole flight. Hi." He grabs the back of Lottie's head and pecks her lips.

Her hand lands on his chest, stroking his collarbone. She puckers her lips in reciprocation. "That poor mother." Lottie holds the belief that Franny likes Alex more than her because Franny never cries when Alex holds her. He finds that untrue but Lottie has always been stubborn in her beliefs.

"Why'd she wake up?" Alex asks. Franny tugs on his hair and falls onto his cheek, her lips slobbering over his cheek. He knows Lottie will likely use this in a later argument she has about who Franny loves more.

"Hungry. Always hungry. And whining 'Papa! Papa!' because I made her eat Cheerios."

Alex huffs. "She doesn't love me more than you, Lot, and since when does she call me Papa?"

Lottie sighs and practically stomps her foot. Sometimes it's like Franny isn't the only toddler. "It's bad enough she loves you more than me, she has to call you dad too. I can't have anything be French. So dull." Yeah, that argument comes up a lot too.

"She calls you maman."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "She calls me 'Ma.'"

Alex laughs. "She can barely get two syllables out. You want her saying se branler."

Lottie bolds her eyes and juts her head out. "Alex! Don't talk about jerking off and our daughter in the same sentence."

Her voice is loud and causes him to look around Heathrow for any shocked onlookers. "When did you become so stuck? I thought the French were supposed to be adventurous."

"She isn't even 2 and you want her to start talking about masturbation. I always knew you were a pig."

He chuckles and kisses her again. He's missed her. He thinks he'll spend his whole life missing her, even though he has her now. Franny just makes that ache even worse. "Where's her stroller?"

"I left it in the car. I didn't want to set up the whole thing if she was going to insist I carry her anyway. I can drag your carry-on."

"No, I got it."

She's got her hands on the handle before he can grab it. "I can manage the carry-on, Alex. You hold your daughter."

Alex wraps his arm around her and there's a crack down his spine where everything aligns again. "What'd my girls get up to while I was gone?" They talked every night—well, night for her, afternoon for him—but hearing it from her in person is always nice.

"Same old. I've got a last-minute opening I have to go to tonight."

"Really? Can I come?"

She looks over puzzled at him. "You want to come to some dumb uni student's gallery opening?"

"Yeah, we'll make a night of it."

"The last time we made 'a night of it' Francoise happened."

"I think Franny's pretty nice."

"Because Francoise likes you."

"Maybe if you called her Franny she'd like you more."

"It sounds like Fanny. I don't want my daughter to be called fanny."

"Shall I start calling you Charlotte then?"

"Ew, even my name is stolen by the English. Why can't she go by her beautiful French name? Is that so hard?"

He finds it's best to change the subject when Lottie gets caught in these knots. "Do you want to go to Bouchon Racine tonight?"

She's giddy and jumping—skipping toward their parked car. "Ooh, can we? Can we?" He laughs at her, so full of childish giddiness, a quality that has only expanded with Franny. "I want to bring home a bucket of their olives."

"You know they are probably the same ones they have at Tesco." They definitely are. When she was pregnant she insisted on olives, olives, olives, and he quickly realized she could never tell the difference between whether the olives were from a can or special-ordered from Bouchon Racine.

"Maybe we should name her Olive," he suggested one night.

Lottie, who was balancing a bowl nearly overflowing with olives on her stomach, sat up quickly, which was a shocking sight; she must have been 8 months pregnant by that point. "She will not be named Olive. You English naming your children after food. We might as well name her Steak or Potato."

"No, they're not!" She insists. "They coat them in something different. You can't tell. You don't have a refined palette like me."

"Alright, I believe ya."

"Olive," Franny sounds, clapping her hands together.

Lottie points her hand at Franny. "See! Even she knows they're different."

"Do you want me to drive?" He asks.

She thinks for a moment. "Uh, no. I'll do it. I told Francoise we'd go to the park today." She reaches into her pocket and grabs the keys, twirling them around her finger.

"Okay, we can go after we park." They've reached the car and he opens the backseat door for Franny while Lottie places his suitcase in the caboose.

"You sure? I can just take her."

"Nonsense. I've missed my girls."

"Nonsense," Lottie imitates like he's a ghastly old British man (something she would say he is). She slips into the driver's seat as he secures Franny in her car seat.

She's started the car before he's even in the passenger seat. "Should I call Laurie for tonight?"

"She can't. She has a date tonight," Lottie says as she backs out of the parking spot.

Alex chuckles. "You know when our babysitter has a date?"

"Yes, Alex, unlike you I talk to Laurie."

"I talk to her!" Alex insists.

Lottie snorts and shakes her head. "You pay her at the end of the night like 'uh, here's, uh, your money, miss, uh.'"

"I don't do that. Most women would be happy I don't talk to the babysitter."

"I should be happy you're not making out with the babysitter? What high standards? Especially considering how we started." Yeah, he should have seen that one coming.

"What? Like you regret it?"

"No, and I'm sure when you run off with the babysitter she won't regret it either. Meanwhile, I'll be sitting all alone, except I won't even have branded you, I'll just have a baby."

"If you want me to get it removed, I'll get it removed." Nowadays, the tattoo that sits on his arm is generally covered by his shirt. Sometimes Lottie stares at it in the dead of night.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Why do I have to want it to be removed? Shouldn't you want it to be removed?"

"When I made the appointment, you told me not to do it."

"I would have told you not to get the tattoo in the first place."

"Well, where were you?"

She giggles and reaches out to fluff her hand through his hair. He gives her a boyish grin, the one that makes him seem a decade younger, traveling through Brussels. Franny erupts in giggles from the backseat and Alex spends the rest of the car ride babbling away with her.

They arrive home around a half hour later, luckily not hitting much traffic. Lottie gets whiny in traffic. The house seems the same as when he left it two weeks ago. Franny's toys scattered on the carpet in front of the TV, Lottie's laptop left open on the kitchen counter, his coffee mug that he left atop his piano still sits empty and unwashed. He's comforted that the painting on Lottie's mini easel is a different unfinished painting meaning she was able to do something other than working and caring for Franny while he was gone.

"Francoise, pourquoi ne montres-tu pas à papa ce que tu as fait?" Franny at nearly 2 years old is better at French than him, go figure.

She walks quickly, scuffing her feet on the wooden floor as she rushes off to her bedroom. "You didn't tell me you finished your painting?" Alex teasingly asks her. Lottie's still so overprotective about it, not wanting him to stare at her while she does it.

Alex sits with a tiresome sigh on the couch. Lottie kneels on the floor, trying to clear some of Franny's plastic kitchen items off the carpet. "That's part of your surprise tonight." She's moving toward him on her knees, closer and closer, until she leans over, placing her hands on his thighs.

He raises his eyebrows. "My surprise?"

She smirks. "Yeah, you have a surprise tonight. I didn't tell you that?" She leans back on her feet as Franny comes toddling back in with a piece of paper.

"Papa! Ah, papa!" He swears Lottie's smile turns into a wry Grinch smile.

"It's what you get for being gone," Lottie tells him. She might as well start taunting him with "Nana, nana, boo, boo."

"Look," Franny tells him, lifting up the piece of paper. It's abstract, to say the least. There are squiggles from crayons and a stick figure that has pipe cleaners glued onto its head for hair, which means Lottie did that part. There are paint imprints from flowers, which must be from the small garden Lottie has grown in the backyard. Franny enthusiastically points at these marks so he guesses Lottie let her do that part.

"You drew this? Are you kidding me? Magritte could never, we're putting this on the fridge."

Franny does that excited squealing thing, claps her hands together, and then she clings to his leg. She looks over at Lottie and says, "Park."

Lottie giggles with delight because Franny really is the cutest thing. Big-eyed baby blues just like her maman and these long lashes that people would kill for. Lottie leans down and wiggles her nose against Franny making her giggle. "Papa might want to take a shower first and relax a little—"

"No, no, we can go now." Franny is jumping up and down.

"You sure?"

Alex stands up, readjusting his trousers. "Yeah, if I relax now I'm just going to fall asleep."

Lottie wrinkles her nose. "You sure you don't want to take a shower."

He reaches his hand down to help her stand up. "I will fall asleep in the shower if I do that."

"Alright, park time," Lottie announces, which causes Franny to repeatedly say "Park! Park! Park!" all through the house.

"Should I get the stroller out?"

Lottie sighs. "She's not going to sit in it anyway."

"You want to carry her the whole time?"

"No, you're going to carry her the whole time."

Alex huffs a peal of laughter. "Franny." She stops her chanting and snaps her head in Alex's direction. "If we get the stroller out, are you going to sit in it?" She eagerly nods.

Lottie throws her hands at her side. "I had to carry her around all week and the second you come back she's all about the stroller again. I'm going to have hip problems because of this kid."

"Shall we get you a stroller too?"

"You're the one that can't sit on the floor because of your back."

London is quiet, at least, their little section of it. It's still early enough in the morning that the heat of summer hasn't caught them yet but late in the day to avoid work travelers. Alex pushes Franny's stroller while Lottie eats an apple. "I can't remember the last time I had a proper meal. Like a very proper meal." She amusingly tells him, "I think we've had mac & cheese for the past 4 nights." Life depending on it, Lottie can't cook. "I am going to go crazy at Bouchon Racine tonight. You're not going to like me when the bill comes."

"It's my treat. I have to keep you healthy."

"I'd be a pile of bones without you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Is it 'Will you marry me?'" That's their biggest problem.

"Lot, come on."

"What? You have to get around to it someday."

"Can we not fight in Princess Diana's playground right now?"

"You're avoiding."

"I'm not avoiding—"

"Yes, you are. You're an avoider, Alex, and it's fine. Continue." She's getting passive-aggressive.

He doesn't want to ask now. It feels awkward and clunky. "I had this thought the other day. I was telling someone the story of how we met—"

"Were they dazzled?" She's obsessed with how people react to the story. It's the romantic in her. The story is a prize she won and she gets to taunt all the other school children that she has the best story out of all of them.

Alex can't lie either. The story is pretty fucking incredible but her excitement over it—the way she grabs his upper arm tightly and those dimples imprint on her cheeks—that's everything and more. "Yes, and they asked me if I hadn't picked up your book what would you have done?"

"You mean from the train?" He nods. "Probably nothing."

"Really?"

"You're shocked by that?"

"No, but I thought you'd indulge me a bit."

She shrugs. "I would have thought you weren't interested."

"I could never not be interested in you. What about me? You thought I wasn't attractive."

She giggles. "You were very adorable at 21."

"Only adorable?"

She looks over at him and downturns her head. "I did have sex with you. You've only grown hotter with age, Al. Not something all of us can say."

"What? Are you talking about you?"

"I've had a baby. You don't have to suffocate me with delusions of grandeur that I'm hotter than I've ever been. I was the hottest at..." she thinks for a moment "25. You would've liked me at 25."

"I like you now and you're hotter than you've ever been now."

"Please. I'm the only mother on the planet whose boobs got smaller when she had a baby. The only haircut I've had this year is when Francoise cut a chunk off with her play scissors. I was never really fit but now—"

"Hey, every you has fit for me. No version of you will fit better for the version of me I am right now. If I had 25-year-old you, sure you'd be hot, but I'd look like a total creep so this is really all for my benefit."

"Well, if it benefits you then we're fine."

"Exactly."

"Good." They laugh. "I'm plenty happy with my body. You don't have to worry about me. However, looking like you do now, I'd totally get with you at 25."

It's days like this when life feels perfect. The sun shone just right and Lottie looked over at him with that beaming smile. It's good for his ego too. "Yeah, I'd probably get with you too. You'd be more mature than me anyway."

Franny is itching to get out of her seat so they take her over to the slide. They've developed a method where Lottie will stand at the end of the slide to catch Franny and Alex will then pick her up and place her on top of the slide for her to go down once again. They do it because Lottie read that if you go down the slide with your child then you're more likely to injure yourself or them because your foot could get caught and break and your child will be flung across the playground. Alex thinks it's because she told him that when she was little she rode down the slide in a skirt once and exposed her knickers to the whole class, but he doesn't say that. It makes Franny more independent anyway, except for the part where she refuses to climb the stairs to take the slide, therefore insisting Alex pick her up or she'll throw a tantrum. She can barely walk upstairs so he gives in.

"My maman wants us to visit soon. Start of July maybe."

He hums. "Paris in July. Will it be abandonment or a whole month of banging?"

"Shush. I don't understand why she won't just come here."

"You've been saying you want to go back for ages now."

"Yeah, not with a 2-year-old though. I'm going to be that poor mother trying to calm her baby on the plane."

"Franny is more well-behaved than that baby. We'll be fine. We could take the train."

"The train?"

"Come on. We've had fun on the train. We could go up to Brussels for a weekend. Stay in 505."

She's biting her lips, which means she's tempted. "You just want my maman to look after Franny so you can knock me up again."

"Precisely. We could get a private cabin. It's a quick train ride anyway. I'll make a fool out of myself on the metro for the thousandth time. You'll love it."

"Fine, fine. But you have to call her Francoise the whole time."

"That's fine. Franny can be Francoise in France and Franny in England and the rest of the world."

"No, in French-speaking countries she will be Francoise."

"Which means in English ones she'll be Franny. Franny Wanny Anny." He plays with her limbs making her giggle.

"Fine," Lottie concedes with a straight face.

"I'm going to have to go back out to LA again before that."

She scoffs, "Really?"

"If we're going to spend all of July there. I left some things there."

"You can't have Matt send them to you?"

"We just have to finish some things up."

"Oh, 'some things.'"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just curious," she says evasively. "I'll have to figure out what to do with work."

"You already work remotely anyway."

"I work remotely in London, Alex. You expect me to come up every weekend to attend a gallery in London."

"Tell them you'll do a Paris special."

"It's a London-based company. The point of what I write is for people to go see these exhibits."

"Tell people to take the train."

"Yeah, I don't think that'll work."

"It's not like you need the job anyway."

"I am practically already a stay-at-home mum, Alex. If I don't have a job, I will turn into Mommie Dearest. You need for me to have a job."

"Bill will understand. Your job will be waiting for you when we're back."

"Maybe if I didn't take the biggest maternity leave ever."

"Stop shaming yourself over the leave." Shockingly, pregnancy and birth weren't exactly easy, and nearly 2 years post, Lottie still guilts herself for the extended leave. As if she didn't have to recover from growing a full human being, having her cut out, and then caring for it. Alex thinks he helped the best he could at least when dealing with Lottie's stubbornness and insistence on 50-50, which luckily became 60-40 for her sake.

"It'll all work itself out. And Francoise will go to Brussels for her first time!" Lottie squats down and wraps her arms around Franny's stomach, squeezing her tightly.

"Fine. Franny can come too."

Lottie gasps. She says to Franny, "Papa was so mean. He wasn't going to let you go to Brussels. What a mean, mean man. But maman will take you anywhere she goes."

"What is this? Parental brainwash?"

"I'm simply informing Francoise of the plans. It's a great way to keep her involved and expand her vocabulary."

"Is she going to start burning bras next?"

"Francoise will be a smart activist. She's the smartest baby I know."

"You barely know any other babies."

"That's not true. Did you hear that, Francoise? Your papa just called you stupid. Maman would never say that about such a smart intelligent angel." She rubs Franny's nose, making her wrinkle it up.

"You're really good at this whole twisting my words thing."

"You're just catching on?"

They move over to the bench where Franny sits on Alex's lap, messily eating strawberries. Lottie tries to blot away at the juice that drips from her cheeks. "Gabriel and Brigitte are getting divorced," Lottie informs him.

Alex's jaw drops. "What?"

Lottie purses her lips and nods her head. "Yeah. I haven't gotten the full details from maman because he, of course, has not called me, but, you know, they've been on and off for the last couple of years so now it's—" She moves her hand across her neck to symbolize finished.

"I never thought they would call it quits though," Alex says.

Lottie chuckles. "I did. I'm surprised they lasted this long. They hated each other even when they got married."

"Another reason not to get married."

She drops her hands to her lap along with her face. "Alex."

He feels bad about that one. He kind of feels bad about all of it. Like there's some part of him he can't change. "Sorry. What about the kids?"

Lottie exhales loudly and shakes her head. "No clue. I can't even get him on the phone. I even tried calling her."

"Yeah, how'd that go?" He laughs.

"I'm pretty sure the second she filed for divorce she blocked me. No longer has to put up with me at family functions."

"I missed you," he says because he has to. She's sitting there, wiping her red-stained strawberry hands with an old McDonald's napkin after cleaning up their daughter's sticky face and sometimes he just gets hit with these waves. It usually happens in parks. Brussels Park, Luxembourg Gardens, Kensington Gardens. Ever since that flower behind his ear and that first kiss that sealed it.

She's sardonic as always. "Pft, it was only 2 weeks, Alex." She walks to toss the napkin out, which gives him a good view of her ass so he can't really complain.

When she walks back, she grabs his head, bends down, and kisses his cheek. "Love you."

She stands up and he grabs her hand, squeezing it. "Thanks, Lot."

She forces a smile down and slaps his arm playfully before putting the remnants of the food baggie back under the stroller. He just watches her. He's always loved doing that.

"We should figure out the babysitter issue."

"Leah's gonna do it." Leah is one of Lottie's friends from university. She's lived in London ever since graduation and the whole reason Lottie made that train ride to Brussels was because she was visiting Leah in London. Leah doesn't know this, of course. Lottie says she'd get too big of an ego.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"What time?"

"She's coming over at 4 once she picks Jace up from camp."

"When's the gallery start?"

"6, I think."

"So we get 2 hours to ourselves?"

"No, you get 2 hours to take a nap. I have 2 hours to get ready, get my notes together, maybe clean up the house for once."

"Oh, Lottie, we're never cleaning up the house."

"A girl can dream."

"Honey, your studio flat was a mess and you didn't have a baby to blame it on. Our house is never getting cleaned."

"I like a cluttered mess. I don't like mice in my house!"

"There's no mice in the house."

"I hear them in the walls, I swear to you, Alex!"

"It's an old house."

"So the house is falling apart. That makes me feel a lot better, Alex."

"Remember when we used to be fun? Now we're arguing about mice."

"Yes, but it's mice in our house and I like the sound of our house." It's been their house for nearly 3 years but Lottie woos about it like it's freshly done. He gets a warm feeling inside whenever she does.

Lottie tries to put Franny back in her stroller. She, of course, cries. "This child hates me. I'm not going to carry you."

Franny just cries more, making grabby hands to be picked up. Alex can't help it. She's got tears streaming down her face, those blue eyes swelling. He blames Lottie for putting the curse upon him back in '07. He picks her up. Her cries soften to whimpers.

"Alex," Lottie warns.

"I haven't seen her in 2 weeks. I'm not going to stand her and watch her cry. Besides, she doesn't seem to like me anyway."

Franny reaches her hands out for her mother and it would be rude to refuse such a cute baby. Lottie places her on her hip. "I didn't want to push the stroller anyway."

They head off in no direction in particular. On empty days when they need to kill time, they walk around London with little care. They've never lacked in walking and talking. It seems like they've walked this area of London a million times. When Lottie was pregnant they walked around the area so much that it became a bore and they would take the underground to different parts of London to have another area to explore. Weekends they'd walk along the Thames for hours. The conversation never lulled, even if it had become as dull as I Spy, they'd turn it into a game of laughter.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around," Alex apologizes. From the moment Lottie got pregnant—probably way before then—he was overcome with the fear of this occurring. Dashing around the planet and leaving Lottie & a baby for endless amounts of time.

Lottie sighs. "You were gone for two weeks. That's nothing."

"That's something. Enough for her to start calling me Papa. I'm missing things. I'm leaving you to eat apples and mac & cheese for days on end—"

Her laughter cuts him off. "Alex, I lived for about 32 years without you, I can manage two weeks."

"Two weeks for Franny's life is like 10% of it."

She can't stop laughing. "No, it's about less than 1%. You avoiding maths in college might not have been the best idea."

"Alright, alright. I just I'm missing it and I'm shoving it off onto you and—"

"Alex, you might want to sit down for this, but she's my daughter too. You spent nearly 2 full years at home while I went back to work."

"You left for 4 hours for a gallery opening. I'll be gone for...too long."

"Baby, my father wasn't even around. You're like ten billion points above him. Gabriel is there every day at his house with his kids and I don't think he once sat down on the floor and played dolls with them. Do you think I'm picking some loser to have a kid with?"

"Maybe for the royalty checks." He cracks a bit, a hint of a smile approaching.

"Have more faith in me." She reaches up and tucks a tuft of his hair behind his ear. "It's okay to have a life outside of us."

And like always, she makes everything make sense. He takes her hand, the one pinching his earlobe and kisses the back of it with a tenderness they've always had. The one that makes him ache even when she's here to heal it.

"I'll still feel bad about it," he says.

"Well, you better," she says bluntly. He's laughing and she's laughing and Franny just looks confused but she laughs too. "It's called parental guilt. It's what prevents us from eating the suckers."

Alex rubs his stomach. "But Franny looks so tasty." He leans over, chomping the air toward her.

She's squealing, clutching onto Lottie with all her might, insisting, "No, no, Daddy, not me!"

Alex sighs and pulls away. "Fine, but all because you gave me one of your strawberries."

They're walking through Kynance Mews where Lottie does her usual musing. "I wish we lived here." She's slow, admiring each inch of wisteria and how it crawls over the buildings. She does this every time. It started when she was pregnant and she insisted Franny kicked harder when they were here. It has only persisted to a greater degree. Her enthrallment with nature is deep. It's why they have a garden in the backyard. She explains each inch to Franny in such a soft voice Alex has trouble hearing, but Franny's quiet. Her eyes follow where her mother points and her lips part in her usual way but she looks blown away.

"You're only about 10 minutes away from it," Alex points out.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "I know I can look at it. I want to live in it. With the cobble-stoned streets and nature overtaking architecture. It's so peaceful." As they walk, she gazes around the mew like it's the first time she's seen it.

Alex looks on at her, a smile perks his cheeks. "It reminds you of home."

She meets his eyes. "Maybe. With the arches and the way my feet click on the street." Franny is squirming in her arms so Lottie sets her down and she goes running off to a tiny plant that's about her height. "But I like it here."

"London or here specifically?" He questions.

"Well, I meant in London but, yeah, here." She puts her hands in her pockets finally able to rest them.

"Me too. Life makes sense, you know?"

She laughs. "No." Her eyes are away from him, watching Franny. "But I don't think it's supposed to. I think this is the closest we'll get. I felt that when Franny was born, you know?"

He nods. "I forgot what it felt like to be excited over nothing." Franny is hugging the plant.

Lottie turns to him and shakes her head. "It's not nothing. For her, it's the first time she's hugged a plant."

"I don't think I ever hugged a plant. I hated nature as a kid."

She's smiling wide, beaming. "Francoise, honey, papa is going to hug the plant now."

"Lottie." Alex chuckles and shakes his head.

But Lottie has already got her hands on his shoulders pushing him toward the tiny plant. Franny is giddy and Lottie is giddy and he's a fool. "Come on, come on, come on!" Franny shouts, her tiny hands tugging on his fingers.

"Alright, alright. The person who lives here is going to think I'm a psycho."

"Plants need love too," Lottie defends.

"Yeah," Franny repeats, "plants need love too."

So, he bends down with a crack in his knees and hugs the plant loosely. Franny claps and Lottie is snapping a picture on her camera. "Adorable!" She cheers.

"Now let's get out of here before they call the police on me."

Franny tugs on his hand. "Shoulders, pweaseeeeeee!" Those eyes should be outlawed. Puppy dog ocean eyes gazing up on that cupcake face, begging him.

Alex looks over at Lottie and she understands. With a huff, she says, "I'll push the stroller."

Franny is already clapping her hands excitedly. Alex picks her up, lifting her over his head, and sitting her onto shoulders. She clutches the ends of his hair like she's stirring him. "Thank you!" She shouts.

"She's going to be such a spoiled brat," Lottie tells Alex.

"Hey, she said thank you," Alex reasons. Lottie is probably right. They give in—he gives in a lot to Franny's will but she's too hard to say no to and she's well-behaved for the most part so he'll give in and carry her on his shoulders and if she'll cry one day when he doesn't.

"Love you, maman," Franny calls down.

Lottie gasps and stops walking. A giant smile spreads across her face as she looks up at Franny. She shakes the little girl's foot. "Well, aren't you the sweetest girl in the world!"

"She's a very smart girl," Alex says as they walk again.

"She has your charm," Lottie says begrudgingly. She's too quick to fall to the smooth words he speaks. He's grateful for it. It might be the only upper hand he has with Lottie. It's probably the only reason he has Lottie. Tucked away in his songs leading them to meet again in Paris.

They start heading home. Franny is tapping on his head and Lottie walks a step ahead of him with the stroller. "What should we do now?" He asks her.

She turns around, biting her lip.

He instantly knows what she's thinking. "You're such an art nerd."

"I am not!" She defends. Alex gives her a knowing look. "Maybe. But I want to go because Francoise gets so excited over the sculptures and it's the cutest thing ever and she's the cutest thing ever and you're the second cutest thing ever and you and me in art museums is always fun and it's free so let's do it."

"You make a convincing argument."

He stays silent as she slowly smiles and bats her lashes. "I'll give you a kiss."

"Fine, but I get a foot rub at the end of the night."

She moves closer to him. "Oh, just a foot rub. No other kind of rub. That's fine."

He laughs. "Shut up. Come here." He wraps his arm around her lower back and kisses her lips, strong and hard. The kind that would usually have them running home to fuck. But that was before Franny.

When they walk into the Victoria & Albert Museum, Lottie takes Franny to her hip, and Alex checks the stroller. As usually happens at museums, Lottie becomes a tour guide. "I love these altarpieces."

"It's the repressed Catholic in you," Alex says.

Lottie chuckles. She leans closer as if they haven't stood before the St. Margaret altarpiece a hundred times before. "All that little detail."

"And it's from the 1500s!"

Lottie turns back at him with a face etched with annoyance. "You're mocking me."

"Never." She stares intensely at him making him feel apologetic. He mutters, "Sorry." He sounds like Franny after she spills her cereal.

Lottie smiles, pleased by the apology. She bounces Franny on her hip, trying to keep her calm and interested. "They tried to kill her and couldn't," she tells her.

"I thought they beheaded her in the end," Alex states.

Lottie turns back, annoyed again. "I was getting there."

They slowly walk through the museum, into various rooms. They venture up to the stained glass section, one not often looked through. It's usually toward the end of their visits and feet are worn out or Franny is cranky.

Alex, ahead of his girls, walks back to them and tugs on Lottie's arm. "I've got something to show you."

"What? Are you on display here?"

"While I might be the great find in your collection," Alex says, getting a laugh out of Lottie, "it's just a little thing."

"Okay." They walk past stained glass windows and sacred silver.

They land in front of one. "I know it might be stupid but...you know."

She looks at the piece. A stained glass panel with an angel with a sword in one hand, a scale in his other weighing the soul of a woman. "It's very pretty."

"And you claim I don't notice anything. It's Saint Michael."

She looks back at him and it clicks. He's beaming with pride in himself like he discovered the Mona Lisa or something. "Do you want to steal it?"

"We could probably just take it," he jokes. "Nobody cares about him as much as we do."

Lottie giggles. "I think some Christians might argue with you." The saint had become a thing between them. On their one-year anniversary right before she got pregnant, he gave her a Saint Michael pendant necklace and she said, "Is this blasphemy?" She doesn't wear it often. It's tucked away in her jewelry box. She usually elects to wear one necklace at a time. Nine times out of ten, it's that shitty one purchased from the babushka. She fiddles with it, Franny fiddles with it, and Alex fiddles with it. It's like some unity stone connecting everything.

Later, when they've returned home, Alex takes a nap. Franny easily occupies herself with toys before Leah picks her up. The second the front door closes behind them it's like a siren sounded, alerting Alex who walks into the living room just like Franny does after a nap. He's rubbing eyes and yawns. He might as well be carrying a stuffed animal.

"I have to get ready!" Lottie instantly says, walking straight past him.

"Oh, come on, we don't have to be there for another 2 hours."

"I have to shower. You have to shower. I have to get ready. You have to get ready. I have to get some notes together. No time."

He walks to her at a tortoise's pace and hunting stare. "So, let's do it together."

"What?"

Alex bends down at a hare's pace and throws Lottie over his shoulder, a screech coming from her lips. "I have to shower. You have to shower." Lottie's giggling, patting her hands on his ass, and kicking her feet.

"Fine but you have to wash my hair," she reasons. He knows she loves that without needing her to say it. He loves it when she does it, even if she always gets shampoo in his eye.

He plops her down on the tiled floor and starts the shower. She's already shed her clothes when he turns back around. He whistles. Lottie rolls her eyes. "Stop it, pig."

"I'm an admirer of art." He wraps his hands around her body, tugging her close. Her boobs up against his shirt. "Seriously, they should be writing pieces about this body."

"Isn't that what you do?" She's flirty, which is a good sign.

He's kissing her, close, tight, together. A true proper kiss. Lottie pulls away with a huff and enters the shower, which means Alex practically rips his clothes off to get in the shower.

"The last time we had a Francoise-free night was back in February when your parents came down." She hands him her shampoo and turns her back to him.

"No," Alex disagrees. "It can't be that long ago." His hands are soothing and meticulous in their kneading.

"Yes, they came down on the week of Valentine's Day, and when we've had Laurie watch her it's only been for nights out. We haven't had the house by ourselves overnight since February."

"Jesus. Then why am I shampooing your hair?"

"Because you're a good man."

"A good man? I thought I was a pig?"

She hums. "Your patience has changed my mind. Besides, I can call you a pig in a few minutes when you try to finger me."

Alex fakes a gasp. "What cruel man would try to please a woman? I would have you blow me."

She's giggling and sending vibrations through him, her back to his stomach. His cock is against her ass, growing harder and harder with each movement.

It starts with him kissing her neck and then she's turning around and getting on her knees. She takes him in her mouth. Her tongue is playing on his tip, swirling around getting him all flustered. She knows exactly what to do. They've done this a hundred times now and yet it still feels like he is experiencing it for the first time.

She takes him fully in her mouth. One hand playing with his balls, the other holding his thigh. It's wet and messy. The water from the showerhead beats down hard on his head and Lottie is giving good head. Every time she pops off, she comes back taking him an inch further and further. He nearly comes down her throat when he hits the back of it.

He's a moaning mess. It's something about the environment. Probably knowing he can be as loud as he wants with no curious ears. Definitely because Lottie is licking up his shaft with such care. "Fuck, Lot," he says. He throws his head back and he's not sure if his cum lands on her or not, either way, it's circling down the drain when he's finally able to open his eyes. "Fuck, you're a saint."

She furrows her brows. "Then why am I on my knees?"

Alex raises an eyebrow. "You want me on my knees?"

"I want to take a shower," she says. She grabs his hand to help her stand up.

He scoffs, "God, how boring of you."

"You have to condition my hair," she insists.

He listens and carefully applies the product just how she likes it, letting it soak in. He detaches the showerhead from its stand, moving it closer to her head, the conditioner slowly washing away. Lottie has always liked the showerhead, specifically the water pressure. She raves about it like it's some Michelin Star showerhead.

Alex drops the showerhead to his side, pets her hair back, and wraps an arm around Lottie's waist. "Job well done?" He asks.

She's rubbing the water out of her eyes as she nods. He moves the shower head so it's right around her. "Alex," she giggles. She tries to move but his arm has locked her in.

"What?" He asks, moving the head closer to her core.

"We have to wash your head," she insists.

Alex says into her ear, "Uh, no, no. I don't think we have to do that right now." She's squirming, which he knows means it feels so good and hits her just right. Her clit is beaten with the water and she's trying to hold her noises in. "Let it out."

She's groaning and rutting her hips in an effort to achieve her high quickly. The water is a torturous pleasure. A hands-free application for getting off. She isn't sure what to do with her hands so she hangs onto Alex's arm holding her in. It's the only thing keeping her arm. His body is a wall for her to thrash upon. Then, she's whining before she's coming in full force. It's enough for her body to shake and for Alex to feel pride in his innovative thinking.

He keeps his arm around her to keep her steady as he returns the showerhead to its holder. "Good, huh?" He asks teasingly.

She's panting and can't say much, so she just nods. After she washes her and they dry off in their towels, with the remaining 45 minutes, he lets Lottie get ready.

Alex is lying on their bed, still undressed minus his underwear. He's always enjoyed watching Lottie get ready. The way she darts in and out of their closet, holding a piece up to her body in the mirror, putting it back, trying a piece on, putting it back. She'll mess with her hair, up, down. She'll dash off into the bathroom to do her makeup before redoing her hair all over again.

She's always particular about it. She told him once she liked the act of getting ready. She liked the chaos and her clothes thrown about on the floor. He thinks she especially likes it when he cleans the mess up for her.

Now, she's settled on a little black dress. She said once she didn't think she had the ability to pull mini dresses or skirts anymore after Franny was born. He said that was idiotic and pleaded with her to never stop wearing her minis. She's continued the habit since. Mostly in this summer heat but it makes him a little happy to know that she's watching him watch her as she pulls on the dress and asks him to zip it on for her. Then, she goes over to their bureau and slips on her Saint Michael necklace.

When she catches his eye in the mirror, she asks, "When are you going to get ready, mister?"

He sighs. "Okay, I'm up." He hops out of bed and hides away in the closet. His daily attire isn't much different from what he's wearing tonight. Something he knows she'll make fun of him for. "Do you want to take the tube?"

"Do I want to take the tube?" She repeats like it's some shocking piece of news.

"Yeah." He steps out of the closet, readjusting his suit jacket. She's putting on a black-heeled Mary Jane and staring at him bewildered. "Don't have to deal with parking and it'll be like old time's sake."

She sighs, "Fine. If my feet hurt you have to carry me on your shoulders like Francoise."

He bends down and kisses the top of her head. "Deal."

Typically on nights out, they'll drive the car, and since they haven't had many nights out without Franny the car has always been the easy choice when it's all three of them. The District line is packed enough that they have to stand against the pole. Alex likes this, even if it's shaky and hurts Lottie's feet. He wraps his arm around her and gets to keep her close as a means of keeping them steady.

"You didn't even get to tell me about LA. I just babbled about myself the whole time," Lottie says in between Embankment and Westminster.

Alex sighs. "It was good. I told you most of it on the phone. Worked, hung out with people, the usual drill. Would've been more fun if you had come with me."

"One day maybe. I don't like leaving Francoise so far away and she's too young for that kind of trip. Maybe next year when you're on tour."

"Yeah." He smiles. He can picture it. Them by the ocean. Lottie in a bikini, Franny in her cute little sun hat. A walk up to Griffith Observatory. Lottie insisting they go to the Walk of Fame then calling it stupid after seeing all the tourist traps. Trips to the Museum of Art, The Getty Museum, The Broad, Hammer Museum, whichever one or all of them. "I'd like that. You'll have to pick your favourite cities you want to join us for."

"I'd want all of them." She stares up at him softly. A sad smile plays on her first for a moment but they still have months before he'll be away. They'll figure it out. They always do. "But I'll make a list. Maybe leave Francoise with my maman for a couple of weeks and join you somewhere nice."

"Like Boston?" She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him close, and giggling into his neck.

The gallery is small but decently packed. The paintings are abstract in a Jackson Pollock way that he's never quite understood but Lottie explained it to him once and it made sense. She doesn't seem to be enjoying this one. Her face is stuck in a frown but she holds the free champagne in her hand in a relaxed way, which means it can't be horrible.

"I liked the first one," he whispers in her ear. Her eyes follow where his eyes have landed—an art piece made of shattered glass that sits at the gallery's front doors. She snorts and crashes her head into his chest. "What?" He chuckles.

She lifts her head, just enough for him to see her. "That's a mirror that broke."

"No, it's..." he trails off looking at the object.

"A mirror that broke," she finishes.

"God, this art sucks."

She loudly shushes him. "I agree with you but I don't want the poor artist to overhear."

They take a few more minutes, trying to observe everything as best they can. He leans down to her ear. "Bouchon Racine."

She lets out a heavy breath. "Yes please."

They shuffle through the crowd quickly, her heels can be heard hitting the wood of the floor. They leave their glasses on the front desk and Alex leads them out of the building. "I swear I was going to suffocate in there."

Lottie giggles. "You are aware you don't have to wear a suit jacket 24/7."

"I like how I look in a suit," he says, all sweet and innocently.

She grabs his upper arm, shelving her head on his shoulder. "I like how you look in a suit."

"Nah, it's got nothing on you in that dress." He tugs on her waist, urgent and needy. "Very hot, Madame Guess."

She rolls her eyes. "Mademoiselle," she corrects. A pit forms in his stomach. He feels bad. These unintentional slip-ups keep occurring. She ignores the misstep. "I'm glad Bouchon is so close by because I'm hungry."

Their table is in the back right next to a wall. They look over their menus but they both already know what they want. They get the olives as a starter but Alex only eats one and leaves the rest for Lottie. "I want a bunny," she says.

Alex laughs. "Who are you? Franny?" Franny has this little bunny she sleeps with every night. Alex's dad got it for her when she was born and they think she'll have it forever. Despite having it for so long, she cares for it so cautiously that other than some slobber and stains, it's in a near-perfect condition.

"I think we should get a pet or something."

"Or another baby," he suggests.

"I'm not having another baby," Lottie casually announces. She sips her wine and looks away like her serious tone is no big deal.

"Lottie."

She ignores him. "I wish Cadbury Eggs were in season year-round." Their dishes come and the conversation drifts away.

Lottie is cutting her chicken and tells him, "Last night, Francoise came into our room in the middle of the night. She had a bad dream and she was telling me about it and she was lying, you know, on your side of the bed, and the whole time I'm thinking I'm talking to Alex."

He smiles so big it turns into a laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, she's so imaginative and she talks the same way you do—dreams the same way you do. She's got this active mind and she's so creative in the way she tells these things just like you. And she was so cute, you know how she is under those big covers, her body so small but so wiggly. She was like how you get in the morning when you stretch out."

"I'm glad she's a little like me. She looks just like you."

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You should've seen her last night. You would've thought you were looking in a mirror."

"All that creative stuff is from you too. That drawing she gave me today. You know what it reminds me of."

Lottie lands her head in the palm of her right hand laughing. "No, it does not."

"Yes, it does. It looks exactly like that drawing you did of me. It even had the flower prints around it like the ones you drew." In the first month, when they hid out in her little Parisian apartment, she sketched him one morning while they sat near her little Juliet balcony, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette between them.

She concedes. "She's smarter than both of us."

And that he'll agree with.

After dinner, with an extra takeaway order of olives, they walk down the street for a box of macarons to cap off the French cuisine night. They take one each and put the rest away with the olives.

"I wish I could bake," she says as she bites into her raspberry macaron. "Or you could bake. I wish one of us could bake."

"I'll learn for you," he says. "It'll be shit but it'll be better than whatever you make."

"I'd tell you to fuck off with that if it weren't true."

A lull of silence falls between them and he feels that questioning pit in his stomach. He finishes his vanilla one and once they cross the street he asks, "So, that thing about no more kids earlier."

"Hm?"

"We've never talked about it before but, you know, I'd like another one, maybe." He's trying to tread lightly. It's weird to not know where Lottie stands on something. He always figured she wanted more. Her words always seemed to be that way.

"I don't think so."

"Oh, okay."

"Why would we even have another kid if we're not going to get married?"

This neverending argumentative contention between them. "Lottie—"

"I just don't understand it," she's calm when she says this, unlike other times. The heat between them always tends to rise when they have this discussion that they never get to actually talk through it.

Before he can say anything, she boils over. "I mean, you want to have another kid but we won't get married."

"That's not it."

"That is it! How is it not it?"

"Can we not fight right now?"

"You always do this! You always deflect everything!"

He grabs her forearm, stopping her from walking. "I'm not deflecting, I just don't want you to be screaming at me in the middle of the street."

The ride home is silent. He doesn't think that's ever happened before between them. Even when she was in labour they talked on the ride over. It's unnerving and he feels like something is lodged in his throat.

When they leave the underground, she walks five steps ahead of him and never gives him the chance to catch up so he figures he'll give her the physical space she needs. He walks with his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shoes. She walks with her arms crossed.

At home, she storms back into their bedroom without a word, slamming the door. "Can we talk about this? Come on." He stands in the living room. He drops to the couch, running his hands through his hair frustratingly.

He hears the door click open and she comes rushing back out shoeless. She stops a few feet away from him. Her arms are crossed, her foot tapping the floor. "Well?"

Alex leans with his arms on his knees. "I don't know what you want me to do, Lottie."

"What I want you to do?" She's already firing up and he knows he can't stop it. "What do you want to do? It shouldn't be about what I want you to do. I'm not some control freak, Alex."

He scoffs, "No, you're not, but then you yell at me for every decision I make. You hold it against me like I forced you to do it."

She huffs, "No, I do not!"

Alex rolls his eyes and leans back against the couch. "Yeah, right."

"I moved to a whole other country for you! I had a baby for you!"

"Yes, yes, Lottie, in the ultimate sacrifice polls you're winning. Sorry, I've made your life so hard."

"Throw your own pity party, Alex. I don't want to deal with it." She's walking away, bitter and superior, and he can't take it.

"And that little display of yours. The poor French girl kidnapped from her home and impregnated against her will. Everything we've done has been mutual. We decided on London together. When you got pregnant we decided to have Franny. Don't act like I forced that on you."

"Then why won't you marry me?"

"I never said I didn't want to marry you."

"Are you kidding me?! You have shunned the idea completely. When I got pregnant and I wanted to get married you said it was because I had abandonment issues." He winces at that one. The last time they fought about this like they are doing now—full-out and acidic—he was mean, bringing up her dad. He's apologized for it ever since and he was right in thinking Lottie never forgave him for it.

"I didn't want you to think I married you because of Franny," he explains.

"I'm in this relationship too. I know how I feel about you and I was confident in the way you felt about me." Was. Had he really fucked up that badly? "You told me so!" He remembers. It was on the bathroom floor at her old place. A positive test sitting on the floor in front of them, everything felt right.

"And I asked you then and you said that you didn't want me to be forced into it. Every time I've tried you've shut me down. I don't know what the fuck you want me to do, Lottie."

"I want you to want to do it. You ask me in the middle of a fight or when I've brought it up. It's a second thought to you."

"But it's not something I want to do." He just wants to be honest.

There are tears in his eyes and he feels like the biggest jerk ever. "Why?"

He shrugs. "It's just not my thing. But I'll do it if you want it."

She seems so small to him. Her hands are behind her back and she's looking down at her feet. "I want you to want me to be your wife."

"Lottie," he consoles. He stands up making his way over to her. "I do. I'm not going to shack up with some other chic—" he stops himself. Her eyes dart away from him, looking at the opposite wall from him. "Is this what this is about? You think I'm going to leave you."

She shrugs. "Once a cheater."

He's taken aback by it. He has to catch his breath for a moment. "Wow. You did that too, you know."

"What with my once-every-six-months boyfriend? You had a whole life with her—"

"No, I had a relationship with her. I have a life with you. I have a kid with you! Isn't that some sense of permanency?

"You have her name tattooed on your arm!"

"I thought we put this shit to bed years ago. Why do you have to dig it up? You don't think I feel horrible about that? I thought you were never a possibility. You know what it was like and if I could have done it differently I would have. If we got together in 2007 it would have never been an issue."

"You're going back to me not showing up in 2007. That's a new one, Alex. You're running on such low material you have to pull that out. You want me to be some housewife for you—"

He talks over her, "What are you talking about?!"

"I was doing something for my career, for my life. Sorry, I didn't care about a stupid boy enough to mess with my whole future."

"It was a dumb comment. Why do you have to make it into such a huge issue? You're making a molehill out of a mountain."

"I don't even know what that means but at least I'm better than you. You never even bothered with French."

"You're just bringing up every problem you have with me. What next? You don't like that I drive on the left-hand side of the road? You want to go through the problems I have with you, huh?"

"Yeah. Tell me how awful I am."

"That!" He points his finger at her. "You think everything is some attack against you."

"Right now it feels like it is."

"You're not a victim. Not against me. You're going to have a hard time getting rid of me, Lottie. I will be with you in whatever way you want but just because I don't want to have a wedding and I don't care about marriage that doesn't mean I love you any less. I loved you when I met you and that was that. Maybe I am a horrible guy that I was with other people and still thinking about you but I don't really think about everything else now that I'm with you. You and Franny are all I think about. You're all that matters."

She's got tears streaming down her face. He steps closer and wipes them away, holding her face in his hands. "You're a real sucker." She wetly giggles. "I love you. Did you know that?"

He shrugs. "I had a feeling." He kisses her softly and chastely. Some seal of love after a rough night. "Do you wanna go to bed now?"

"I don't want to have sex, Al."

He kisses her cheek. "I just want to lie with you. I'm really tired anyway."

She giggles. "Me too."

She wears one of his ratty old t-shirts and his boxers. He wears just his boxers and pulls her on top of him, skin-to-skin. They hold each other. No talking, just touch. She tucks herself in the nook of his neck and he rubs up and down her back until he feels her fall asleep. He falls asleep sometime after her.

Then, something wakes him up at around 4 AM. He thinks it's Franny at first but then he remembers she's not here. Lottie lies still beside him and he figures it must just be his jetlag. He thinks about getting up but doesn't. For a while, he hopes he'll fall asleep and then he starts to think.

He nudges Lottie awake. She stirs for a bit. She tosses and turns before finally opening her eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

"Do you want to get married in Brussels?"

She's sleepy and still gaining cognizance. "What?"

"In July, I'd like to get married in Brussels. We could do it at the Town Hall. Can you do it in the Town Hall?"

She shakes her head against her pillow. "I don't know."

"Well, if we can, I'd like to do it there."

"With Saint Michael looking down." He nods. "Who knew you were such a religious guy?"

"Do you want to?" He rounds an arm around her waist. "Please say you want to."

Lottie nods. "Yeah. I want to."

"Good. Should Franny be our witness? Our flower girl?"

"Aw!" She coos. "She'd be such a cute flower girl. I'm going to find her the cutest dress."

"You can plan the rest. I just want my two girls and Saint Michael."

a/n: i really wanted to get this out there so it hasn't gotten the full read-through. hopefully, it makes sense or my mistakes gave you a laugh. this is probably the last full part i'll do for this series unless i get struck with inspiration again. i might do some vignettes from it. either way, thanks for reading it!

#alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #junedenim #alex turner #alex turner smut #arctic monkeys

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