Summary: Dieter copes with stress by getting ice cream
Warnings/Tags: Cursing, Reeses ice cream bar, driving, sober living, ice cream fiasco
A/N: Being sober is some weird shit. The events in this story may or may not be based on a true story.... If I can't laugh at my own experiences then I'm just gonna wind up crying. Thank you much to @beefrobeefcal and @encasedinobsidian for their love and eyes. Also Kiki for the lovely photo of Dieter!
Masterlist||AO3
Dieter had never felt so stressed in his life. He was trying to cope as best as he could without the drugs or alcohol. He loved being sober but in times like this where the stress became too much, he felt he didn’t know what to do.
His therapist had encouraged distracting himself. He tried driving around but soon became bored, winding up at the gas station down the street from his house. A Reese’s ice cream bar. That is what he needed. What better way to distract yourself than ice cream? Ice cream was not the end all be all cure, but in the moment it helped. It soothed his soul to the very core. The cold cream going down his throat to his stomach felt like a satisfied itch that had finally been scratched.
The only thing it hadn’t helped was his waist line. He wore pajama pants more now for the stretchy band than for comfort. Although, they were comfortable too and that was important. He glanced down at his purple plaid pajama pants he had put on earlier this evening. They were a light and flowy material, perfect for the humid weather. Dieter loved these pants, the way they swished as he walked from his car to the gas station entrance made him feel glamorous.
Dieter made his way to the frozen container of sweet treats, eyeing all the options. Sure, he’d thought a Reese’s bar was what he wanted but who could be positive of their choice unless they knew all their options? But alas, the frozen good of choice was still the Reese’s bar. The way the cake pieces crumbled in his mouth after taking a bite was his favorite part and the peanut butter ice cream was a wonderful addition. Dieter grabbed one of the orange packages and triumphantly made his way to the cashier.
“Will that be all, sir?” The woman behind the counter asked, popping the gum in her mouth waiting on his response.
“Yes, please.” Dieter replied with a nod of his head. It felt like the times he was meeting his dealer to score some coke. His fingers fidgeted with the mat on top of the counter, his nail caught on the corner piece that was broken and produced a soothing click.
“Rewards?” She asked, fighting back a yawn.
Dieter shook his head, his nail clicking against that broken corner of the mat faster- clickclickclick- growing impatient as he waited for the cashier to punch the keys on the register to ring up the delicious morsel he wanted to consume.
“That’ll be two sixtey-nine.” She grunted, her glasses sliding down her nose as she looked towards him again.
Dieter rammed his hand into his pocket, producing a twenty dollar bill. He threw it down on the counter before swooping up the ice cream again and made a dash for the door.
“Sir,” the cashier yelled after him, “Your change!”
“Keep it!” Dieter shouted, pushing all his weight into the door. The fresh humid air whipped him in the face as he walked to his car. He didn’t care about his change or how he looked like he may have just stolen something from the store. He just wanted to get to his car and eat his ice cream. It had been a day.
His car beeped, lights flickering across the dark asphalt, once he got close enough that the key fob would register. Dieter flung his car door open, quickly getting into the driver's seat and started the ignition. He sat debating before he moved— wait til he got home to eat his treat or eat it during the drive? Now, he knew he wasn’t the best at multitasking but the more he glanced in the passenger seat and saw the orange and brown packaging sitting there as if mocking him ‘I’ll be melted by the time you get home,” he had made up his mind.
Dieter reached over grabbing the reese’s ice cream bar and tore into the packaging with vigor. The small cake pieces crumbled off the bar and fell into his lap but he didn’t care. The first bite into the bar was beyond anything he could explain. If heaven were real, Dieter felt he had found it inside of this peanut butter ice cream bar wrapped in chocolate and vanilla cake pieces. He let out a deep sigh of contentment as he swallowed that bite and went for another, putting his car into drive and making his way home.
Two blocks. That’s all it took before all hell broke loose in Dieter’s vehicle. The Reese’s bar betrayed him! Dieter went to take a rather large bite of the treat and it broke in half. Two whole pieces of the ice cream bar toppled off the wooden stick and straight into his lap. He grabbed one, then the other, and began to panic as they started to melt in the palm of his hand. He did the only thing he could think to do, shove both pieces into his waiting mouth.
He shrieked as the cold of the ice cream seared its way into his brain. He gulped down the ice cream that was in his mouth and let out a heaving breath. One of his hands tightened around the steering wheel and the other held onto the wooden stick while he screamed profanities at the windshield, as flecks of the cake pieces flew from his lips. It was too dark to see where all the cake pieces had landed and in his continued panic Dieter began to swipe his hand along the car's fabric interior, wishing he had taken the advice of the salesman at the dealership about getting leather seats instead of cloth.
Dieter could feel the crumbled mess through the thin material of his pants under his butt. How on earth did this ice cream bar have so many damn cake pieces?! He was only a couple blocks away from home, everything would be fine, he just had to make it home. He lifted the wooden stick, noticing the lump of ice cream that clung on for life. He poked out his tongue and licked it up, savoring the last little remnants of his blessed treat turned nightmare.
He let out a small satisfied hum as he pulled into the driveway of his home before reality settled in. The mess, the mess he made. He turned the car off and sat as the dome lights turned on. He glanced down to see a smear of dark chocolate coming from between his legs. He groaned as he lifted his butt off the seat to see better but his belly was in the way of his view. He let out an irritated grunt as he got out of the car and turned around to inspect the damage. Melted chocolate pieces warmed by his bottom threaded themselves between the fabric of his car’s seat. He groaned, folding his hands on the top of his car, glaring at the mess.
“Fuck!” He snapped, reaching for his phone, swiping until he found his assistant's contact, sending them a quick text.
I need my car detailed
“Oh fuck me!” Dieter whined, feeling the urge to cry as he stared at the mess again, wanting to reassure himself and his assistant he sent another message.
summary: You are forced to marry quickly after a rumor is spread about you.
warnings: loose historical au (read I had no time period in mind just an idea which means historically inaccurate to any time period), forced marriage, forced proximity, religion (implied christian), unspecified age gap, shame, loneliness, guilt, religious guilt and shame, anxiety and depression, mentions of death/wanting to die, abusive family dynamics, kind of dad's friend but only kinda, fear of violence, fear of intimate violence, mentions of violence, gender norms of the time period, sexually inexperienced reader, brief smut (fingering, handjob, piv)
a/n: this was literally supposed to be 700 words. girl, anyway.
He is much older than you thought he would be.
Much older than you were led to believe in the feeble, short few days you had to come to terms with the betrothal.
Fear chokes you, holds your lungs in terrible, tight fists, as work roughened hands lift your veil.
This is how you first see him, cloaked in lace quickly scrounged by your mother for this moment, fingers trembling in white sleeves that don't belong to you. You have avoided looking at him, until this moment, unsteady gaze on his shoes instead, the hem of his trousers, afraid that you might lose your composure otherwise. And you will not give anyone the satisfaction of your tears.
The veil softens his features, rubs out some of the lines from his face like charcoal smudged on a page. You tilt your face up as he folds the fabric back. His movements are surprisingly gentle, careful not to brush your face or hair.
You keep your expression carefully composed, stony. He might be your father's friend and peer, but he is certainly older. His forehead is lined; crow's feet bracket his eyes. His beard is mostly gray, and it looks as though his dark hair is following suit. A scar bisects the bridge of his nose, others mark the high points in his cheeks, faint nicks that could have been from shaving or something else entirely. Brawling when he was a boy, maybe, falls taken while drunk.
It's hard for you to pass judgment since you don't know him at all.
Despite that, his shoulders are broad. His chest and arms are thick. He looks strong and capable, and that could bode very badly for you.
Even so, even so much older, he is handsome.
That handsomeness means nothing for you know nothing of him, of what kind of man he is, how he might treat you as a wife.
The chapel echoes around you, empty but for your father and the priest. White winter light spears down from a window set high in the stone wall, cold, high wind whistling just beyond.
His eyes travel over your face, cataloguing your features like you have been memorizing his. Your eyes meet his for the briefest of moments. The touch is not warm; his brows lower over a hardened gaze. He looks to the priest and nods, who begins the ceremony without preamble. Apparently your looks have been found suitable enough to go through with it.
You will yourself not to cry, to keep the bile rising up the back of your throat in check.
The words pass over you in a torrent, meaningless and loud, vows and promises of obedience and faithfulness, humility and deference. All, it seemed, directed at you. Your husband, you gather, would be your shepherd, your judge and jury, your king, dealing out punishment as he saw fit for the mistakes you were guaranteed to make.
Like a child. For obviously you, a girl, a woman, needed such guidance. Your family would.
Your stomach knots at the thought. Children, which meant you would have to endure the act you'd been accused of in the first place to land you here, in this quiet church on a blindingly cold Saturday morning. In shame, in relative secret.
"You have been ruined," your mother had said when you were told of the arrangement, spittle flying in her anger and disappointment. "We have no choice."
"Mother," you had pleaded, "It isn't true."
Her gaze had been cold and hard by necessity, steeling herself for the fate that awaited you. All because jealous girls had condemned you. "The mayor's daughter has spoken against you. Would accuse her of being a liar?"
Bad enough, to have relations out of wedlock; terrible, wretched, that you had done so where someone could see. That you had been caught in the snow, against the side of her father's stables with a farmhand. Loud and unseemly, and, worse, unabashed. The picture of untrammeled lust.
"I did not—" You had protested, throat thick with tears. "I haven't spoken more than a word to the boy." Boy, because he was a few years younger than you. He'd eagerly taken up the story from the mayor's daughter, something swaggering in his voice, falsely humbled by his mistake for which he would not be punished. The only reason you were not being forced to marry him, was his engagement to the daughter's best friend. Though, she had not looked happy to be taking on the embarrassment of being attached to a man with a wandering eyes, something mean had glittered in her face too. "I wasn't even anywhere near those stables—"
"Enough!" Her voice had rung loudly in the kitchen. "It's been settled. You will be grateful anyone would marry you with those accusations hanging over your head. It's this or-or," she stammers over the words, "destitution."
It doesn't matter. You know nothing you could say matters. It's the mayor's darling daughter's word, and all her friends', against yours, and you have spent too many years being untamed for it to matter. You should have been married years ago, instead you disappeared into the forests surrounding the village for days at a time, read when you should have been pursuing the womanly arts of cooking or mending or weaving, argued when you should have practiced humility and silence, skipped Sunday service. Worn trousers only once, because you had received lashes for that.
You were accused of waywardness or sharpness of tongue and ill discipline. Someone, the whispers said, should have beaten it out of you long ago; that a timely marriage and children could have mellowed you out.
Too late for all that now.
"An old friend of your father's has graciously agreed to help us," she'd said casually, bustling about the washing. "You're lucky he is in need of a wife."
It froze something within you. "Mother, please—"
"You should have been married years ago, anyway," she says briskly. "Your father should have never allowed you such wildness and freedom. It does not suit a lady. Look where it has landed you."
Her scorn hurt, and your venomous tongue retaliated. "But to a man I don't know? You would throw me to wolves for this? He might be a brute—"
"You could do with a hard man," she'd said, not looking at you. "It might finally teach you your place."
"I would rather die—" you'd all but choked.
"By all means," she'd all but snarled, throwing down the washing in her hands, "drown yourself in the river if you see fit to. It would spare us the shame."
She had refused to come to the chapel, though she'd helped you dress, done your hair, that morning. She walked as far as the gate at the end of the yard, and you'd sworn as you walked away, through the encroaching blizzard, that you'd heard her sob.
You suspect your father is only present because it is his duty to present you, and give you away. Since the accusation, he hasn't been able to look at you. His darling daughter he'd always been so kind to, so proud of despite the way people spoke of you, your cleverness.
The thought makes your throat ache, that they could so easily lose their only child.
A hand touches yours and you jump.
Your fiance slides his rough palm around your hand and grips it softly in his, squeezing. He says your name, a question in his voice, and you feel faint, dizzy.
The priest clears his throat and you sense that you've been absent from the room for longer than you meant to be, lingering in memories that already seem a lifetime ago. The vows are repeated again, droning and long.
His hand is warm on yours, your trembling, icy fingers.
You are thankful you don't have to repeat the vows verbatim. Saying his name would rot something inside you, falsehoods hidden inside promises. I take thee, Joel—
No. You couldn't bear it.
All you have to do is say—
"I do."
You aren't sure it's your voice but who else could have said it?
Far away inside yourself, you watch in horror as his mouth repeats the same.
"I do."
A deep voice, like his mouth is cave.
You brace yourself for his kiss, his touch, his head bowing over yours, but he only squeezes your hands again and releases you.
Like birds with broken wings, they fall limp at your sides.
The men gather themselves, leave you at the altar along as the descend from the pulpit and cross the chapel.
You hear warnings as you stand there alone in the pale shaft of light that grows fainter with each passing moment, the storm worsening outside, the sun already sinking on this terrible December day.
Headstrong, you hear of your character.
Willful.
Stubborn.
Needlessly reckless, sharp tongued, sly.
A tricky little thing.
"She may require a firm hand," the priest says, "I know her temperament well, have known her since she was a child. But she's a good girl and will learn her place, with the proper corrections. She can learn to be an obedient wife."
Your father doesn't dispute this as help from the church is offered, if needed, to assist you in learning the place and pace of an obedient, good wife. Spending time with godly women, instead of among the trees. "And mother," he adds. "Of course." He chuckles, "Winter is very long here. And she is nearly past childbearing years."
It's bullshit, of course.
It should not be possible for your stomach to knot itself more, but something sours and you have to press a hand to your stomach to keep the empty maw yawning open inside you at bay.
You still stand at the head of the church, listening to this, thinking that the icy water of the river might yet be an option. Maybe you can fling yourself off the wagon as you pass over a bridge.
The priest calls your name sharply, and makes an exaggerated gesture toward your husband. "Off with you, girl. Your husband is waiting or did you not notice?" His expression, when he turns back, says, see? this is the obstinacy I tell you of.
Joel doesn't comment and you can't yet read the expression on his face .
He pushes the church doors open and disappears into the worsening storm, the coming night.
You are not even afforded a wedding band.
.
.
.
Though his home is supposedly only a half day's ride west from your town, it is full dark by the time you arrive.
You have never really left your village before, and to you it seems a world away and terribly lonely. Isolated. A cottage at the edge of the world, hemmed in by bristling fir trees, whispering snow drifts.
You're glad to be there, if only to get out of the snow and wind, away from his body next to yours on the wagon bench that you want to curl into just to warm yourself for a moment.
Joel offers you a hand which you reluctantly take, helps you down from the wagon. He ushers you inside and says something about the horses before he disappears back into the storm, leaving you there alone. The space is small and cold, the hearth only ashes after his day away from home.
Though you're freezing, you can't make yourself stoke the fire.
Although, maybe if you did and he could warm himself, he might not want to warm himself with you. On the other hand, maybe warmth would encourage him, would tempt him.
In either case, you're a wife now and you watched your mother long enough to know what that means. Aside from the rest of it, he will expect cooking, a hot meal when he comes back inside.
But, the priest and your father had called you stubborn, and so you would be. You might as well be all the things they accused you of.
Something petulant pulses in your belly.
Swallowing your anxiety, you perch at the table and decide to wait. You don't want to serve him; you don't want to be his wife. And, besides, you don't know what provisions he has, where the larder is. He may beat you for poking around where you don't belong while trying to find it.
Every choice seems worse than the last, so you refuse to make one. You sit at the table, freezing slowly as the snow on your shoulders melts and bleeds into your coat. You feel a distance from yourself, as though you are literally frozen to the chair, mind pulling apart from your body like sticky caramel leaving looping threads behind. Time crawls by and you aren't sure how much of it passes before the door bangs inward in a swirl of white.
When he comes in, his eyes flick to the cold grate, to the empty stove. He does not berate you. He doesn't look at you at all.
Joel merely passes you at the table and builds up the fire, a process that takes longer than it should because the wood is wet. He hadn't any by the stove and had to bring some in, snow flecked and iced over.
You don't offer him any conversation, and he leaves you to your thoughts until quietly coaxed meek flames sputter into a roar.
It's only then that he speaks to you for the first time.
"You're cold. C'mon over here and warm up."
You're terrified to approach him, and hesitate to buy time. "You've been working so hard," you offer demurely as you can. These are some of the first full sentences you've spoken to him. "You should warm up."
He eyes you for a moment. "You're shiverin'."
There's no denying it. Tremors rack your shoulders, the thick wool of your coat soaked and weighed down.
You clear your throat and stand, steeling yourself to stand next to him at the grate, to surely have his hands press against you. You're his wife now, sold like a pig to slaughter, and he will want to touch you. You might as well stop being prudish about it and get over it. As far as he's been told, as far as your reputation is concerned, you are versed in this anyway.
You smooth out your skirts and approach.
To your surprise, he moves out of the way, giving you a wide berth to stand at the fire alone.
"You can take your coat off," he offers.
"Must I?" You ask, a tad snarkily, without thinking.
"No," he answers, and you swear his mustache twitches, like he is repressing a smile, "might help with the cold, though."
It weighs heavily on your shoulders, cold and wet. You know he's right but shedding it feels like peeling off your skin, all that's beneath is that thin, hurried, second-hand wedding dress.
Even as unconventional a girl as you were, as opinionated and strong willed, you'd always dreamed of a wedding. A love match, in a dress sown by your mother's hands, witnessed by your friends and family, merriment, so many flowers you could drown in them. Instead, this. A fist closes tightly around your heart, squeezes until it feel like something might pop.
Joel opens cabinets, pulls out provisions you hadn't dared to look for earlier. His hands are rough and red from the cold, the brutal weather. The knobs of his knuckles are swollen. You sense he's keeping his back to you, moving slowly, so that you can observe him uninterrupted. Snow is peppered over his shoulders and hair, still unmelted for how cold the room is.
Despite it all, you find you'd like to touch that fine snow, curl a lick of dark hair around your finger just to see if it was as soft as it looked.
You unfasten the buttons and let the coat slip down your shoulders. The warmth is sudden and hot against your back through the thin material of the dress. You turn into it and close your eyes, try to imagine you're by the hearth at home, flames flicking hungrily behind your eyelids.
Joel clears his throat, nearer than you expect, and you start. "I'll hang that up to dry," he says, holding out a hand. "You hungry?"
You clutch the coat to your chest before releasing it to him, careful not to touch his hand. "No," you answer, sure that putting anything in your body would come straight back up. "But please, you should sit," you plead. You hate how simpering you sound, your voice an unrecognizably anxious animal in your throat. But he wields so much power over you, will always now, and should be decide you weren't fit to be his wife he could cast you out, or correct you as he saw fit. You are now this, forever. Nothing but this. "I'm your wife," you continue, the word hot and dry in your mouth, "and it's my duty. Let me fix something for you. I'm a decent cook."
You are a terrible cook. You never had the patience, which had made your mother click her tongue. But there are a couple things you learned to make.
Joel, to your surprise, waves you down, after hanging your coat on a hook by the door. "That's all right. I've been feedin' myself for awhile; one more night won't hurt nothin'."
You hover awkwardly and only sit when he insists that you do, warming yourself by the hearth while he rummages around.
The wind moans outside, rattles the shutters and the panes of glass in their window frames. The front door creaks, like someone is leaning on it, trying to get in.
The sounds are lonely but you don't break the silence of his quick dinner.
He clears the table and then sets about filling a warming plate with hot coal from the grate.
You heart stutters a nervous tattoo in your chest when he disappears with it through a door behind you. Your mind had skimmed over it, not let you contemplate where it might lead.
All the stories you've heard from the many girls that married before you told of pain, that it was just something you endured for your husband's pleasure. It feels okay, you'd heard from one blushing friend, whispering just outside the belfry on summer afternoon, once you get used to it. But it's awful to start.
It does not help matters, that your mother made the man out to be a brute, that he might be the man to cure you of your willful ways.
What wilfulness, you have to wonder.
You simply did as you pleased, which, you suppose was the point. Women were to be obedient and meek, led not leaders. You took your own counsel, spoke your mind. Look where that had landed you. With the mean daughter of the mayor jealous and telling tales of all that time you spent alone.
It had all ended with a husband twice your age, that you did not know, that might be a strict disciplinarian. Your world had always been small, but you were free to roam it. Now it has shrunken to the size of a pin. To this room and this man and nothing more.
And, you are terribly afraid of violence.
Your parents were never strict with you, had hardly ever used corporal punished. You don't know how to endure that kind of pain. Better to be cautious for now, follow each of his whims, bow to any request or demand. You can push later, find the weak spots later, you only have to bear him for now.
Joel returns twice for more pans of coal, lids snapping closed with a metallic clang, before he carries your little suitcase through.
You stand when he gestures you within.
The room is spare and clean, and you have to tramp down the instinct to turn and run, fling yourself into the snow and run until your legs gave out.
The door closes behind you with a soft snick. To contain the heat of the room, you think desperately.
Something rustles and you turn to find him undressing.
You have never seen a man's nude body before, aside from the time you and a friend has spied on boys at the river once when you were young, seeing nothing but murky water and thin, veiny chests, and the curious part of you just wants to watch, to discover it. Instead, you reach for the buttons on your dress and follow suit, fingers shaking.
It seems odd, you think, that he isn't touching you, tugging the fabric loose himself, but maybe this is how it's done. Maybe this is how he does it. Perhaps you should be helping him.
You glance up to find him still not looking at you, redressing in warm underclothes.
You falter, unsure, and let the buttons hang loose at your chest.
The uncertainty is making you feel like a caged animal.
What does he want with you? You can take it into your own hands.
They had called you brave and determined, let that be true.
You let the dress slip off your shoulders and pool on the floor. You step out of the ring of fabric, approach him slowly, presenting yourself to him in your underthings, shoulders bare, nipples perking against the fabric in the bone-deep cold.
His eyes travel the length of your body, eyes eventually landing on yours.
His gaze doesn't seem aggressive, but men are good at hiding it when they liked to. Maybe you're seeing what you need to, to reach for his hands.
Joel curls one hand around both of your wrists, stops the trajectory of your hands toward his chest. "We don't have to."
A confused combination of rejection and relief rushes through you. "I'm your wife. You don't want to have me?"
He exhales, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. "It ain't that. I know you didn't choose to marry an old man," he says, tongue soaked with a bitterness turned inward. He releases your hands, steps back. "I'm sorry I don't have nowhere else for ya to sleep."
"Oh," you murmur, a tight fist clenching around your throat.
You had been prepared for anything but consideration, but this.
None of this is how you imagined marriage, a husband, this long night.
He nods, doesn't seem to expect you to say anything else. You close your hands around one of his. "Husband," you say softly, saying his name feels too intimate. "I can't bear the uncertainty. Please, I would rather have it done."
Joel watches you, his eyes flicking between both of yours. He covers your hands with his free hand and pushes them down. "Nothin' to be uncertain about. I won't touch you."
He moves away, seeming to mean what he said.
The candles are blown out, the room plunged into darkness and you settle in the blissfully warm bed together, a wide space between your bodies.
The coverlet smells of sweet summer hay, at odds with the chill in the room, freezing your nose. It smells of something deeper too, a heady scent of salt and skin and cotton.
You don't dare sleep, despite his words and supposed kindness.
It could be a trick, a test, something to make you loosen your guard, for you to fall asleep only to wake with those rough hands on your body, pulling you apart in ways you can only guess at.
You lie in the dark, missing something you never even really had.
His breathing evens and deepens in sleep, but adrenaline and distrust and worry won't let you follow. You do not want to follow. You watch his shoulders lift through the dark, the line of his nose, the part of his chapped lips.
Eventually the world lightens to a gray muteness beyond the shuttered windows, and only then do you let yourself cry.
Mourning, but relief, too, that at least the first night is over.
.
.
.
While the blizzard abates over the next few days, the snow does not.
It continues down day after day, making the already perilous, winter weathered roads, completely impassable. You are stuck, trapped, an animal with it's foot caught in a snare.
For the first three days, you don't sleep at all, forcing yourself to stay awake and vigilant by any means, pinching your skin until you bled to forego sleep. But eventually exhaustion forces you to, shepherds you into dreams where it's warm, there are no men, no churches or mayor's daughters, and you walk unmolested through green forests alone, only a leather-bound notebook and leaping fish for company.
You wake and mourn something that will never be.
The land is beautiful, at least, iced white like the little cakes you sometimes saw in the baker's window just down the road from your home, but brutal and harsh, unforgiving.
You become aquatinted with Joel's house and the keeping of it, and feel quietly relived when he spends most of the day tending to the land, the horses, the other animals in the stables you've yet to see. You sense that he doesn't know what to make you of either, what to do with you, how to interact with you, how to fit together now that you're condemned to be stuck that way.
Loneliness infects you like a sickness, an unattractive melancholia that's only broken in the evenings when you warm yourself at the grate and eat dinner with Joel. Even though you don't speak the company is welcome, just the presence of him buoys you a little, shields you from the cold. Your fears that he would be a terror to you pass slowly, though you haven't had the opportunity to do something that might require his retributive, readjusting hand, stuck inside as you are.
A guiding hand, the priest would call it, towards the just path of being a good wife.
You mend clothes, cook to the best of your ability, sweep and scrub and wash until your hands are raw and stinging from the pervasive cold. You yearn to wander as you used to, to walk among the swaying, frozen trees, to at least go outside. You tell yourself that you are working toward asking him, that you won't neglect tasks for it.
As long and terribly lonely as the days are, the nights are worse. You ache with homesickness and betrayal. You are without even the comfort of your own things, since passing the roads are impossible, you only have the small suitcase you'd been able to carry. Your father had been set to deliver your things the next day. You have no way of knowing if he even attempted the journey.
A different feeling has joined that cacophony of confused familial hurt, something like lust and shame.
Joel washes before bed at the basin on the dresser, and you are often subject to this display though he turns his back to you. You are the one to lie out the cloth, the soap, and warm the water he uses to wash away the stink of the stables. Musky leather and hay and heady sweat, replaced with the clean scent of soap and skin. Often, water drips down his broad shoulders, pools at the base of his spine, curves over the thick, twisting muscle in his biceps and forearms.
He is no boy at a river, but neither is he your contemporary. His chest hair is gray as the hair of his beard, wrinkles tucked into curious corners of his body. It fascinates you, so different from your own body.
Betrayal of yourself pulses between your thighs, an ache that you want to reach beneath the coverlet and touch away, though you don't dare.
Each night, you expect to be the one where he reaches for you, claims you and seals your marriage but he never does.
You remember your friend's words. It would hurt and then be okay. You want to know for yourself what okay feels like.
It makes you wonder what it would be like, a curious daydream.
One horrible night, your usual dream of freedom morphs into that want, only it's not your hand massaging away the want, but Joel's. Those rough, broad fingers between your legs. You had to roll out of bed and gulp down water at the pitcher in the corner of the room, feeling stupid and wretched. Silly, even. For what would he get out of touching you there? Nothing, just your own desire run amok.
The closest you get to touching him, is bandaging his cold ruined hands, standing between his legs where he sits at the table, looking and not looking at him, his eyes raking over you. He had said thank you so earnestly, it had made your face warm.
Weeks pass into more than a month and a half in this way, one cold, dark day bleeding into the next, the soft humiliation of feeling unwelcome and unwanted and terribly alone, like a butterfly with it's wings pinned. For all your intrigue, he seems profoundly uninterested in you. He leaves you to your own mind, to your own lonesomeness. You are, maybe, just a girl that did his cooking.
You long to stretch your legs, take a walk, explore uninterrupted as you used to, report what you saw in the journal you haven't dared to take out in front of Joel, buried in your case beneath your clothes. You're already trapped, what if he didn't like you to write? Trapped by body and mind might really drive you to drown yourself in a river or go seeking a length of rope.
Things change when he finds you crying one evening, from the ache in your chest, from the caged wounded-ness, from the fear that still occasionally lurched to the front of your mind, for all the cruelties he could inflict so suddenly, if he chose.
You don't dry your eyes quickly enough and the next sleepy afternoon, eyes drooping from boredom, Joel slips inside in a burst of cold, snow peppered in his hair. Before you have the chance to offer him supper from the stove, he's saying your name and giving you pause.
"You want to come out to the stables? Maybe it'd do you good to get out of this house." If you didn't know better, you'd say he sounds worried.
"Are you—"
"I ain't puttin' you to work just yet," he says with a smile. It's a joke, and you find it disarming. "Just to stretch your legs. See another living thing that ain't me."
"Yes, okay," you agree, maybe too quickly and eagerly, because he laughs. You let him hold out your coat so you can slip your arms into the sleeves.
Joel holds the door open and offers his arm for you to balance on as you cross together through the thick icy drifts of snow to the stables. His arm is sturdy and strong beneath your fingers, warm even through all the layers you're both wearing. Fat flakes of snow sticks to your lashes, white flurries drowning your vision of Joel. His strong jaw, the tight squint of his eyes against the white glare of the world.
You glance away, feel that tightness bloom in your belly.
It feels good to walk, to cross a distance instead of pacing the cottage floor in circles all day long. He pulls back the stable door. It's surprisingly warm within, from the combined heat of the animals' bodies and whatever work he'd been sweating over. There are two horses and a cow, a smattering of chickens with their own little coop at the back.
You can't help but rush to them, patting noses, feeling hot breath on your face. The chickens squawk something terrible, but a spotted one rubs against your leg and let's you bend at the waist to pet it.
Joel fiddles around at a bench in the corner, breath puffing before his face. You see the flash of a pairing knife, wood shavings fluttering to the ground.
You tentatively creep closer, trying to peer over his shoulder at what he might be making. You would have never guessed he was creative.
"We only have goats," you say as you stroke the face of the mare whose stall is nearest Joel, as near as you can get without being obvious. "Very mean and terribly stubborn."
He chuckles, puts down his work and leans over the side of the stall. "Well, none a' those here."
It's silent for a long time, the plunk of snow against the roof, the quiet sound of the animals breathing. Joel clears his throat awkwardly after awhile and you stiffen. "Listen, I know we ain't had the best start with the weather and all. That and I'm not exactly the husband anyone looks for."
You turn to him, meeting his eyes, and feel something between you soften. "You've been kind to me. Kinder than I deserve," you answer. "Considering that marrying me will have hurt your reputation."
You wonder what he was promised in return for this. You assumed it was a child, that he was getting older and wanted to continue his line and so needed a young wife. But, he hasn't attempted to touch you at all.
"Ain't really got a reputation to speak of anyway," he chuckles. "Never cared about it neither."
How you wish you had the luxury of not caring about it. You glance away, smooth your fingers down the horse's freckled nose. "Were you ever married before?"
"Once," he answers. "Long time ago."
"When did she die?"
Joel shifts. "Hasn't," he grunts. "Far as I know. One mornin' she was gone, never came home."
You feel your eyes go wide. "Oh. I didn't know."
A runaway wife.
A vast thing you did not know possible.
"It's all right." He shakes his head. "I'm guess I'm askin' what I can do to help you feel better about this whole mess. I shouldn't have—" he waves a hand toward the direction of the house, "just left you on your own for so long. In the house. I figured it was better. That you might not. . ." He doesn't continue and you don't need him too.
He thought he was making you more comfortable, that you wouldn't have liked his company.
You don't correct him, because it's true. When you first arrived it was very true.
"Oh." You think for a long moment, of all the silence and tiptoeing around each other. Maybe there's a better way than that, if not the way of a married couple. "They lied about me, you know. The mayor's daughter and her friends and that boy. I didn't do anything wrong."
He looks a little embarrassed to be hearing talk of your supposed sin of the flesh so bluntly. "I figured," he answers, rubbing his chin.
You blink. "You did?" He nods and you continue. "She was jealous, I think, that I did as I pleased. I guess that's what could help me." You hurry to continue, because he'd only just told you of his first wife disappearing without a trace. "Of course, I would keep up with the work, and I can help here, too," you gesture around. "I'd like to help with the animals. . .But I'd like to roam, too."
He thinks on it for a long minute. "I'd maybe even appreciate work out here more. I can milk the cow, if it's anything like milking a goat. I can chop wood. If you'd allow it."
That earns you a chuckle. "You want to chop wood?" He asks, a little amused.
"If you'd allow it," you cast your eyes down. "Of course I don't want to disobey you."
You aren't expecting him to take your hand and jump when he does. You'd both removed your gloves when you entered the barn and his skin is warm and calloused against your own.
His jaw works as he contemplates you, a fascination in his eyes. "Forget all that nonsense about obeying and whatever else that priest was goin' on about." He shakes his head, "I'm too old to think any of it means anything."
You aren't sure what he means by that, but nod all the same.
"So, how 'bout this. We'll start takin' it all on together. I did my own damn housework for years so I ain't completely useless. And you can help chop wood, if it suits you to."
It sounds too good, so you contain your enthusiasm and nod. "A fine idea. We might know each other better then, to spend some time togeher."
He nods, and something pink rises in his cheeks. "And," he shuffles his feet, squeezes your hand in both of his. "that's enough. Understand? You're might be my wife, but I'm no fool."
You understand what he means. That this thing is more partnership than relationship. It soothes you, if it also disappoints you a little. All those parts of him you think of exploring, suddenly out of reach.
"I understand."
"Good, come spring, when it's warmer, we'll figure something better for sleepin'."
You nod and then dare to ask, "And wandering? If the work is finished and I'd like to walk alone?"
He touches your cheek for the first time, the barest brush of his fingers, a tentative affection. "Always home before dark. That's all I ask."
"I can do that." You cradle the hand that had touched your face against the mare's stall, daring to hope.
You feel like you can breathe for the first time since the mayor's daughter stood and pointed her finger at you in church all those weeks ago.
.
.
.
Spring comes late in the year this far north.
The roads turn to mud that sticks the horses' hooves in place, bogs down the wagon.
Joel watches you lift the ax above your head and bring it neatly down on the splint of wood balanced on the stump in front of you, just the way he'd shown you months ago, in the dead of that terrible winter. If you wanted to chop firewood, who was he to tell you not to?
The shawl around your shoulders flutters in the breeze as you retrieve the fallen logs, reveals the strength in your forearms.
He glances away. You are the most unsettlingly pretty creature he's ever set eyes on, and much too young for him. Much too good for him, much too good for anyone. All the warnings he'd been given on your temperament had sounded only like compliments to him, and he'd been proven right. And now that you'd loosened, he appreciates your unflinching opinions, your sharp pointed tongue.
And, Joel doesn't necessarily mind being bossed all that much. You're usually right, anyway.
If he is worried sick right up until the moment when you return to the cottage when you roam about, no one is the wiser of it. You always return before dark, and he never tells you not to go.
Some creatures just didn't need caging; they'd come home all on their own if you let them.
Preventing you from walking alone, taking time to yourself to explore would be akin to clipping a bird's wings. He's sorry for all those weeks at the start when he left you inside, hadn't realized you thought you couldn't leave the cottage, not even just outside.
It's still cold and your breath unspools in front of you in a pale cloud as you work, sweating and breathing hard through your teeth.
He feels a longing for you that he probably shouldn't. He had made a promise to you and he intended to keep it, wife or not. You content now, at ease, in his presence. The longer he keeps that vow as the days grow longer, the more you'll settle.
Soon, the roads will clear and you can go into the village for supplies that are bitterly needed after such a long winter. He thinks you'll like the town, less haughty and judgemental than the one you grew up in.
The afternoon sun dapples over your skin, makes the sweat on your brow, at the base of your throat, shimmer. He glances away, his thoughts already spiraling toward what you will smell like that evening, coated in a day's hard work. Lying beside you each night in bed is a sweet, unending torture. You dream often, murmuring in your sleep, occasionally pierced with a cry, sometimes a grunt and moan. Mouth parted, chest heaving. He wonders what or who you dream of, and goes to great pains to hide how hard he often is in the morning.
It feels sort of like a betrayal, how quickly his mind conjures up your bare skin, waiting and open, unfolding just for him, the imagined taste of you on his tongue, the plush part of your lips, little pink tongue pressing against your teeth.
He could only endure it. Once summer came, he might be able to take care of it elsewhere and not risk you overhearing, or worse, catching him.
Aside from the torture of sleep, everything else is fine. You're clever and quick; a better chess player than him by far. You best him nearly every evening you plat. You write and draw in a little notebook that you once squirreled away like he might take it. Now, you leave it on the table, let him read little bits of stories, thumb through your drawings of animals you come across. You only have to hear something once to be able to repeat it verbatim, reciting poetry or stories not in your notebook for him when requested.
You've improved his life, the cottage and farm, in way he wouldn't have been able to picture before. This isn't what your father had meant when he came begging him to marry you and save their reputation, said Joel could use a woman's touch, a kind of helper.
It was bullshit, but maybe the loneliness finally got the better of him. After his wife disappeared, he hadn't thought of remarrying. Clearly he's the type you leave.
He continues watching you, brushing the mare, when the sound of an approaching wagon meets his ears. Joel glances up to find the ax abandoned against the stump, you hurrying quickly toward him in the mouth of the open stable.
"Someone's coming," you say, brow creased with worry, reaching for his sleeve. "Joel, I thought the roads were too—"
"Me too," he answers, checking the revolver at his hip. "Let's see who it is." He pushes his hand against your spine and feels your body loosen as you walk together toward the distant road.
The wagon plodding up the road eventually pulls to a muddy stop just at the fence line, a man jumping down from the driver's seat. "Father," he hears you murmur, before starting across the yard without waiting for him.
Joel follows, watches his old friend wrap an arm around you, murmuring your mother's sent greetings. You face folds at the mention of your mother, but you brighten quickly.
Joel hadn't even known your father had a daughter, until he appeared like a wraith at the edge of his land all those months ago, begging a favor.
Joel had told you of his own daughter one late evening when neither of you could sleep. Feeling your comforting warm attention across the mattress as he spoke to the dark ceiling. How his wife leaving, had also been a mother leaving.
Sarah had died very, very young, and though he'd never know for certain, he can't imagine selling her off the way your father had you. A wad of cash offered like you were goods to be traded in service of their name. It had soured his opinion of the man, and any leftover good will he felt toward him when they were younger.
Soiled, now that Joel was a hypocrite, finding comfort, among other feelings, in you, even if you were his wife. You're young, and you've placed immeasurable trust in him that he'd had to very carefully earn.
Joel joins you and shakes your father's well meaning hand as you say, "Stay for dinner, please. We'd love to have you and hear any news from town. We've been alone all winter."
"Of course," he answers jovially, glancing over you. "I thought for sure you'd have a spring chicken on the way, my dear."
It takes you a long moment to realize what he's getting at. A complicated knot of feelings writhes over your face before hurt dominates.
He clearly expected to find you pregnant.
You smile and don't answer, leading them toward the house instead.
.
.
.
The afternoon air is already below freezing again when your father finally leaves, wagon disappearing back down the road, unloaded of your meager things that you haven't missed in months. An odd anxiety has taken hold of you, and though you have too many chores to get done, you tell Joel you're going on a walk and leave without waiting for an answer.
You feel like a lamb put out to slaughter, though what else should your father have expected than to find you a pregnant wife, muted and different than you had been before marriage. It stings that he hadn't even asked after your well being, if Joel was treating you well, was good to you. It didn't matter you suppose, you aren't his problem, and if your husband saw fit to be cruel to you, that was that man's right.
He'd sat at the table and talked only to Joel where once he used to look to you, find pride in his clever daughter's conversation.
Now, you are silent, talked about like you aren't present, about how well you are or aren't fulfilling wifely duties. Clearly you'd failed in at least one respect since you were not pregnant. Never would he guess that Joel had never even stuck you, left the marriage unconsummated. It makes you feel adrift, all the easier to discard, since he could easily nullify the marriage for something like that.
You couldn't read how Joel felt about the whole thing as your father threw out childhood anecdotes about your petulance and reluctance to learn from your mother without care.
Humiliating. It made you seem frivolous and silly. Worse, many times over he implied thanks to Joel for the purchase of damaged goods, your supposed fling with the farmhand referenced repeatedly and only thinly veiled by polite convention.
Joel, apparently a damned martyr for marrying you. He was suffering so greatly by taking your hand in marriage.
Though, your father had said, wiping his chin of the grease spilling down it, good to have a woman's touch, as I told you before. It's no good for a man to take on duties of the home, or be, ah, alone all the time. I don't know how you stood to be without a wife for so many years.
It was a humiliating, punishing few hours. Clearly, your family had not thought of you beyond gladness that your indiscretion no long sullied their name.
You feel foolish too, for the affection you feel for Joel. When you are only a little help mate to him. That is why he draws no closer, doesn't really want to know you as a husband would know you.
You walk and walk, head down, alternating between seething rage and despair in turns. You don't notice the shadows creeping in at the edges of your vision, how quickly the sun has sunk behind the mountains. A horrible shame traces up your spine, making you shiver.
The world is still icy and cold, snowbanks piled high between muddy ruts cut into the earth. You don't notice how close you've strayed to the rushing creek, swollen with melted snow runoff spilling down the mountainside. Your boot catches on the edge of a slick stone.
You grasp at a low hanging tree branch to keep upright but fall into the water heavily, spluttering as it sweeps you into it's rush. Your lungs feel frozen as you gasp and flail for anything to find purchase on. All those times you thought of throwing yourself to a river's mercy, here was God doing it for you, for your ungrateful hardness, a nasty little girl that wanted too much and had no good sense.
Maybe God thought you had sex with that farmhand too.
Or maybe it was the sins of the flesh you imagined with a husband that did not return your desire.
It's almost easy to stop fighting the current and let it drag you down instead. You can't swim and maybe this is fate. No one would miss you, people would sigh and say maybe it was the most decent thing to happen to you, a blight scorched off the town's good name.
The water closes over your head, darkness swims at the corners of your vision.
You aren't sure how long you're under when something hard catches under your elbow, hauls you coughing and spluttering to shore.
A face looms above yours as you try to draw breath into your frozen lungs, coughing until you turn on your side and throw up, first water and then the little dinner you'd been able to stomach. "Breathe," a voice murmurs, which you only belatedly connect to Joel. Then, angrier, "What the hell were you thinkin'?"
You can't answer him just yet, feeling faint, still hiccoughing into the dirt, lungs still spasming from the shock of the cold water.
"Before dark," he growls suddenly when you finally manage to suck in a full breath of night air. "Come home before dark. That is the one goddamn thing I asked from you."
A new fear steals into you, that you will finally find out what happens when you disobey, and on the heels of your father, Joel's good friend, reminding him that you were dirty and used, beneath him in almost every way.
You cower, waiting for a blow on the black soil of the creek bank. "Joel, please, I'm sorry—" The word sicks in your graveled voice.
It doesn't come right then. Instead, his arms fit beneath your legs, around your back, and lifts you from the ground. "Jesus, sweetheart, no—I got you," he says softly. "Just breathe."
"Joel—"
"'s all right, now."
"Please don't—"
"We're just goin' home, or you'll freeze to death."
Your mind sways in and out of consciousness as he walks, dark branches wheeling above your head in a dark tangle, the world silent and near pitch black by the time you return to the cottage.
He sets you on your feet in the bedroom, yanks your coat down your arms. "Help me here, darlin'," he says, his voice softly desperate, that sweet little pet name a suspected accident. "You might lose fingers if you don't."
You help him wrestle with the fastenings of your clothes. "I didn't mean to."
"I know."
Only a muted embarrassment and helplessness reaches your mind, that he is seeing you nearly naked for the first time like this. His hands seem far away.
Joel tugs the blankets around your shoulders and hastily fills a pan with coal from the hearth. "Too damn cold," he mutters, and you wonder how long and far you'd gone if the fire from dinner was already spent. Distantly, you realize he is peeling himself out of his own clothes. "You'll get warmer faster," he explains. You nod, feeling very tired. "Don't close your eyes," he says, voice suddenly harsh. "Keep lookin' at me."
You struggle to follow his command, watching as so much skin is revealed, then pressed against yours.
His body is so hot, when your skin touches his, that it feels like being set aflame, touched by a scorching fire.
You whimper and he shushes you, presses you closer, head tucked beneath his chin. "You're all right," he murmurs, though it sounds as though he is trying desperately to convince himself. "You'll be all right, sweetheart."
For a long while he holds you in silence, scratchy lips against your forehead, beard pressed against your temple. You feel every part of him pressed against every part of you, the hair on his legs and chest, the muscle of his biceps and forearms, chest and collarbones and feet. The first time his hands are on you this way, because you'd been a little too emotional and nearly drowned yourself.
His broad palms splay over your spine, cradling you as shivers start to rack your body again. You hadn't realized they had stopped.
A relieved sigh climbs out of his throat.
"Were you trying to leave?"
You don't know how he means it, like his first wife had, or like you were trying to die. "No," you answer, "No, I fell in. I was upset." Your teeth chatter, click together so violently you're afraid you might bite your tongue. "I didn't realize how late it was. I'm sorry, Joel."
"Scared me, is all."
"I'm sorry," you whisper against his throat. "For all of it. I'm so ashamed."
He shakes his head. "Should be your father that's ashamed."
"I'm being punished," you continue. "For something I did not do."
Joel's hand pauses in its path down your spine, for just a moment. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "I'm sorry for it."
"Not you," you nest down against him. Maybe if you were more coherent, you'd feel nervous about it, but it just feels good, his arms around you, his body against yours, finally. "I don't mean you, Joel. You are not my punishment."
"All right now," he mutters. "Enough a' that."
You are sure you move first, though if asked, Joel will say he did. You tilt your chin up and press your cold mouth to his.
Stolen little girlhood kisses amount to nothing compared to this. His heavy hands, his scratchy cheeks against yours. Full and warm blooded. Cradling and caressing and sighing just like you. His breath is yours.
It's all consuming, like a star parting the night sky.
.
.
.
Summer arrives quietly, softly.
You visit your family as a married couple, and Joel holds your hand through the Sunday church service you attend together even though some of the congregants eye you with stony, judgemental stares. You take pleasure in the burning gaze of those girls on you, angry that you don't seem uncomfortable with the man they'd indirectly sentenced you to.
As quickly as is possible, you leave again. It's hard to be there, among the stares but also among a village that used to be your home.
"Sure you wanna go so quick?"
"Yes, Joel."
He mulls it over, hands on his hips.
"What?" It occurs to you that maybe he isn't ready to leave. He has no family; you've only spoken to each other for months and months aside from that visit from your father and once from Joel's brother, who had been taken by surprise at your presence. Maybe he was craving company other than your own. "Would you like to stay longer?"
"No, I don't want you to feel like we're in any rush to get back."
You blink, taken aback. "I don't. I'd like to. . .go home."
His face softens. "All right, girl. Let's get a move on then." Joel helps you onto the wagon bench and starts to climb up when the priest, who Joel had managed to avoid earlier, passes by your parents' house.
"Mr. Miller! A moment?"
"What's he want, I wonder?" He asks, leaning his arms against the side of the wagon, his face close to yours. "I ain't his parishioner. Technically."
You roll your eyes. "Go see what he'd like," you say tenderly, touching his cheek just to nettle the other man. Indecent touching! You can hear the sermon already forming. Lusts of the flesh! Good thing you no longer attend to this town's church and will not have to hear it.
"Yes, ma'am."
Despite the intimacy, he has not touched you, not really, since that day you nearly drowned. You long for him to kiss you again, just once, but fear it may have been an accident borne of your stupidity, his fear of loss.
Joel steps back down from the wagon and approaches. You watch the robin's egg sky instead of the men, counting the crowding of little white puffs on the horizon, pretending that you can't hear every word being spoken, of being tamed, cowed, broken. How is he faring with his new wife?
You mean to hear Joel's answer, but your mother is suddenly laboring onto the wagon bench beside you. You had not heard her approaching and had avoided speaking to her at church and lunch, Joel dutifully standing between you.
"We didn't get a chance to speak."
"Should I have something to say to you?"
You mother catches up your hand, holds it between both of hers. "I didn't want to send you away."
"And yet you did, for something you know I did not do. To a man you knew nothing of."
She huffs. "What's done is done. We did it to protect you, to save your name." You nod and tug your hand away. "Never mind all that," she says gently. "Tell me, how is he as a man? Does he treat you well?"
"I think," you start, watching Joel and the priest. "He might be the best man I've ever known."
She peers at you curiously. "He doesn't hurt you?"
"It would be much too late for your guilt if he did," you answer, "but no, he doesn't."
"You listen to him." Your mother sounds amazed.
"He listens to me. Let's me be." You shrug, "So I do the same."
She seems bewildered by that, that by not holding you down, forcing you to something else, you were better for it.
Your mother doesn't get to give an answer, because Joel is approaching.
She kisses you goodbye and he helps her down from the wagon. "So," you say when the village is finally behind you. "What did you tell the Father? How did you break my restless spirit?"
He chuckles. "I told him there wasn't anything to break."
It warms you to think he believes it. "Even when I fall into creeks in the cold?"
"I think your spirit is what kept you from drownin' so—"
"Oh, ha ha, very funny."
You want to lean into him, but wait until you're on the final stretch of dusty road when the evening sky is beginning to darken at the edges to do so, heavy against his shoulder.
You work together to curry the horses and stable them for the night, exhaustion aching in your bones by the time you turn in. Summer is as bright as winter is dark, and the sky is only just starting to darken, blushing pinks and smouldering orange over the trees.
Joel is saying something about a book, something about chess. He talks so much, now. Even when he's quiet, you know the language of him.
"Why don't you kiss me again?"
He blinks and meets your gaze, looking like a fish out of water. "I, uh—"
"If the first time was a mistake," you say. "It doesn't offend me. I like things as they are."
He clears his throat and bows his head, approaches you slowly, all the time looking down at his feet, brows tilted together. "I didn't mean for it to go like that," he admits. "That's true."
You meant it when you said you like things as they are, but disappointment still burns hot that his affection had been unintentional. "Okay," you agree when he stops in front of you. "That's just fine."
He shakes his head. "It ain't that I don't want that. But I promised you, I wouldn't. Our, uh, marriage vows didn't mean shit. But that, sweetheart, it meant something. I meant it."
"And if I said I wanted it?"
"You don't need to feel like you have to," he says quietly but firmly. "I wouldn't be able to stomach it."
You push your palm against his cheek, stand nearly chest to chest with him. "You have never made me feel like I needed to do or be anything at all for you." You lean against him, "I'd like it if you kissed me. And if, um, you'd like to—" Long held shame, years of hearing about how women were lustful temptresses comes creeping in. "Well, the rest of it—"
"If I'd like to what?" He teases, something wicked in the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Touch you?"
"I suppose," you say haughtily, flustered.
"Where?" His hot hands press to your sides, over the curves of your hips where no one has ever touched before. You startle and fall against him, your skin alive beneath his hands. "Here?"
You cover his hands, guide them boldly over your body, to your ass and waist and just beneath your breasts, back down to your hips. You lean in so your mouth just brushes his. "You should make more vows to me. New ones that say you promise to never stop touching me."
"That could be arranged."
"Oh wonderful. I should hate to have to hunt down another husband."
He's pulls you toward the bedroom, the bed beyond. He hasn't kissed you again, but he intends to do something to you, that much is clear.
"Hunt one down, huh? I think I fell into your lap."
He fell into your lap. The thought is a nice one.
You nod, bum hitting the edge of the bed. "I should think so. Had those girls witnessed even this behind that barn, I would have been killed where I stood. A happy accident that they didn't and I was given you instead."
His laugh is like a bark. "Ain't you somethin'."
He tilts you back, looks at your coiled body and hums. Your knees are pressed together out of habit, arms folded across your belly now. Still fully clothed and you feel naked as he looks down at you with a reverence and devotion you have only before seen in a pew. You settle your heels at the edge of the bed."Tell me again," he requests.
"I want you," you say quietly. "I want you to touch me."
Just as in your dreams that you thought frivolous and unrealistic, he peels your thighs apart and pushes his hand between your legs. You gasp and fight not to skitter away from his touch, to keep your hips against the mattress. If that's how warm only his hand felt through your clothes, you can't imagine what it will be like without.
He leans over you, moves his hand to tilt your chin up instead, finally presses his lips against yours again after so long.
"Joel," you sigh against his mouth, scratchy cheeks that you cup in your hands. "You'll be gentle with me."
It's not a question.
"Mm." His nose draws a line down your cheek to your jaw, mouth pressing against the underside of your jaw. You gasp when his teeth scrape along your skin, just a little. You tangle your hands in his hair, tug at the graying strands that slip through your fingers until he grunts against you.
Joel settles between your parted thighs, lost to you, apparently. "Joel."
"Sweetheart," he answers, lifting his head to look at you.
"I know it will hurt. Please make it easy on me."
He leans on his forearm, placed above the crown of your head, his other hand yanking the skirt of your dress up. "I will do everything to make it easy on you."
"Okay," you breathe, smoothing the worry. He wouldn't hurt you on purpose, of that you're sure.
He works you out of your clothes as you pull at his. There's only one part of him you haven't seen, one part of him you've never seen of any man. You tug at his trousers until a button pops open and you can push your hand down.
You gasp at the feeling of him in your hand, hard and warm, his skin soft and damp. You aren't sure what to do, not the way he moves with such certainty, thick fingers slipping beneath your underwear, parting the folds of you.
You watch his face as you move your hand, circling your fingers around him seems the natural fit of things, sliding your fist up and down his length. There's friction though and you wonder if it feels good for him.
He is signularly focused on you though, and for a moment you forget his cock in your hand because he touches something that makes your back arch off the bed, a moan yanked from your chest.
"There she goes," he coos, still moving his fingers over you, not even inside you yet.
That will go inside you, you remember suddenly. It feels too big for your hand, let alone your cunt. You squeeze his cock and rub your thumb along the head where you feel something leaking, helping your hand slide around him.
"How does that feel—"
He groans, and you turn your gaze to him, repeating the action, watching him shudder. "Am I doing okay?"
It gives you no small satisfaction to literately have him in the palm of your hand, giving to him. You stroke him slowly, tightening your grip as you reach the tip. "Jesus, girl," he murmurs, and then thrusts into your hand.
"Am I?"
"Little too good," he grunts. "I ain't gonna be much use to you if you keep that up."
You don't know what he means, especially since you want to keep making him sound like that forever. But you trust him, so you release him and kiss him instead, nipping at his bottom lip, feeling like an aching wound as his slips a finger inside you.
There's a little pressure but it doesn't hurt. You can feel how damp you are, easing the passage of his fingers, a second and third following, stretching you to almost the point of pain, but mostly it feels good, his hands working some kind of spell over you in tandem until your world bursts with pleasure.
Waves of it crash over you, slicking your skin with sweat in the warmth of your bedroom. He helps you out of the last bit of your clothes, nude body bared to him, hands scooping your breasts in too warm palms, brushing tentatively over your nipples.
So many thngs that you did not know could feel good.
Your mouth goes dry when you finally see his cock, aching from your attentions, the head an angry red. You have the most bizarre desire to out him in your mouth, that is only vindicated as not odd when Joel puts his head between your legs and makes you come again without his fingers even entering you.
"Please," you whine, beckoning him toward you, so open and vulnerable and never so safe. "Please just do it. I'm ready."
"You are, sweetheart," he coos. "Best I can get you anyway."
He lets you grip him and guide him to your entrance, pushing inside you in increments. You wonder at what brutes the men in your village must be like to have all the girls saying this is only something to endure. For though it hurts a little, it overwhelmingly feels good. Like stretching a sore muscle. He is heavy and warm, your bodies locked together in a way you will mourn when it parts.
Joel holds you close, pushes his forehead gently to yours, breath ghosting over your lips, so warm and present it makes something deep inside you sigh in satisfaction.
Here you belong, you are sure, here you are understood and wanted. You touch him wherever your hands can reach, marveling at the plains of his body as he ruts into you, skin slapping against skin.
He grunts against your neck when he comes and you follow only a moment later, panting into the dark of something that is now yours, clutching him tightly to your chest.
A new vow kept.
.
.
.
He wakes you in the middle of the night with gentle prodding.
The night is a soft sweet song outside your window, the low sounds of the land around you. "Joel?" you ask, pressing one hand over your eyes, rubbing away sleep. "What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," he assures. "There's just somethin' I wanna show you."
"Now?"
"If you're willin'."
Well, you are always willing, with him. Wrapped in only your dressing robe, he leads you outside, across the yard to the stables by lamplight.
He is shirtless, and you are close enough that you can see the flex of muscle in his arms when he rolls the doors open, and the cratered parts of him you finally got to touch.
"Joel—" You complain. "What—"
"C'mon, now," he motions you inside, the red light flickering over his features comforting instead of eerie.
"I'm sore you know," you grumble. And you are, a pleasant kind of pain that accompanies the pleasure he had given you. It's nothing like the girls had described to you. It had only been good. He had only been good.
He just chuckles, no small amount of pride in it, and leads you to the workbench that you can never quite tell what he does at. "You feel okay?" He asks, sincere.
"Okay," you scoff. "You very well know what you did to me."
"All right," he says softly. "Enough of that."
"Show me."
He clears his throat, and nods, pulling you near him at the bench.
There among the softly snuffling horses, he presents you with a tiny wood carving of a woman that looks just like you. You gasp and take her carefully from his hands, holding her up to moonlight and then lamplight, the exquisite detailing of her.
She has your nose and eyes. The shape of her body in movement, the exact way you hold your hands in miniature. An expression on her face of determination and muddled anxiety. Afraid, but getting on with it.
He has adored you, you see, from the moment he met you. He studied you as closely as you studied him. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah," he agrees, hand on your spine, "suppose I've got a good muse, though."
Your face feels hot, your whole body alight. "When did you—" just to confirm what you think you know.
"Morning after we married," he says. "Somethin' about the way you looked, I just. . .I had to get it down somewhere."
You rub your thumb over her silhouette. "She is missing her wedding band."
Joel's eyes flick to your hand, empty. "I suppose she is." He takes your hand and kisses it's fingers. "As you are."
You nod and tuck her into your palm, leaning up to kiss him again. It's okay, you know he keeps his word.
guy who's having gauzy idealized wife flashbacks for the whole adventure but it turns out she isn't dead or anything he just really misses her and wants to get home
Warnings: Hunter/Prey dynamic, binders, capture, spanking, bargaining, flirting, slight dub-con due to being captive, rough sex, vaginal sex, dirty talking Mandalorian, bound sex, loss of consciousness, blow jobs, removing helmets, kissing, oral (female receiving), sex in the dark, hurt/confusion, betrayal, escape/capture, cock riding, vows.
Comments: Appearing to want to blow off steam, you attempt to seduce a Mandalorian who comes into your club. Only to find out that he's a bounty hunter, and his bounty is you.
A/N: MAY THE 4th BE WITH YOU!!!! In honor of the day and our upcoming The Mandalorian & Grogu movie, we have thottttsssss.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
The door opens and two dozen eyes turn to watch him walk into the club. Some wary, some speculative, all of them making him tense slightly even though no one could tell. Not when he’s covered from head to toe in armor. A Mandalorian. He watches as a few sink back into the shadows, probably has a puck on them, but he’s not here for them. He’s here to blow off some steam. This is the place and he’s been wound tight for a long time. He walks up to the bar and sets his foot against the rail, twisting his body to look out at the crowd. Watching and waiting to see if anyone would approach him.
The crowd murmurs as you pass by. A recent regular to the club as a server. You carry drinks through the crowd, swaying your hips, and you know your time here is limited but you like it. It’s lively and the people tip well. You see the Mandalorian saddled up against the bar despite not ordering a drink and you swallow. The beskar always intrigues you. You walk over to him, wanting to speak to him and you tilt your head, “how you doing, Mando? You want a drink?” You ask and Mando turns his head to look at you. “No. I’m good.”
Underneath the helmet, he scans you up and down, the only indication of that the slight tilt of his head. Eyes hidden behind the darkness of his visor and he watches as you blatantly do the same to him. “Anything you’re looking for?” You are sexy, your tits pushed up in a top designed to reveal more than hold back and he’s sure it helps earn more credits. “Blowing off steam.” He says, glancing around the room again. “Any suggestions?”
You smirk, adjusting the tray in your hands, “plenty of options. It’s up to you. What’s your flavor, Mando?” You drag your eyes along the armor again, “there are back rooms if you want more than a drink.” It’s a seedy planet. There’s a lot to offer. Drinks. Drugs. Sex. Whatever you want. Mando bites his lip under his helmet and you don’t see it, don’t see the way he eyes you. You’re exactly what he wants. “I like your tattoo.” He says, gesturing to the tattoo under your ear.
Your brow lifts and you smirk as you let your eyes slide up and down his body again. “I bet you have tattoos underneath that beskar.” You hum and he recognizes the look in your eyes as pure lust. Plenty of people are attracted to him simply because they can’t see him. It works because most of them never expect him to remove his helmet. He chuckles quietly. “Perhaps.”
“What’s a girl gotta do to find out?” You smirk, shifting the tray to place it under your arm. Mando tilts his helmet down and your stomach twists at the intensity. You can’t even see his eyes but you know he’s fucking you with his eyes. “Show me to a private room.” He demands quietly, knowing that there’s eyes on him and he refuses to continue this flirtation in public.
You spin on your heels and your ass sways as you stride away from him. He pushes off the bar and follows you, moving easily through the crowd as if he was stalking his prey. He smirks under his helmet, cock already starting to harden under his flight suit.
Eyes follow you but no one says a word as the band continues to play. It’s impossible to ignore the Mandalorian but no one dares to approach as you make your way towards the door that leads to seedier hallways. “Right this way.” You smirk, pushing it open and Din follows you, the door shutting behind him. His boots echo as he strides down the hall, fingers flexing over his blaster as a reflex, and when you open a private room, he doesn’t step in first. “What a gentleman.” You tease, setting your tray down and Din kicks the door shut. “I don’t usually do-” You don’t get to finish your sentence as Din slaps cuffs on your wrists.
“Hey, what the fuck?” You huff, pulling on the binders but they won’t unlock. “What kind of kinky ass-“ you stop as Din pulls a transmitter off his hip and turns it on. The beeping rapid and zeroed in on you as he says your name and identification code. “I can bring you in warm…” he puffs out steadily, voice low and hard. “Or I can bring you in cold.”
Your eyes widen as you realize what he is. A bounty hunter. “Fuck.” You whisper, looking up from the cuffs to his helmet. “Please. You don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.” You promise and Din scoffs, “I’ve heard it all before, mesh’la. I don’t care if it wasn’t your fault. I need to take you in.”
“You bastard!” He’s been called every name you can think of, but it doesn’t change the fact that you will be taken in. He doesn’t say anything and you bite your lip and huff silently. “I thought you really wanted to fuck me.” You pout and he chuckles softly. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want to fuck you.” He reminds you. “Believe me, I do.”
“Then do it. And let me go.” You bargain, “I’ll let you fuck me and then I go free.” Din snorts, “trust me, I’ve been offered sex many times in exchange for freedom. I haven’t accepted it.” He confesses and you huff. “I’ll do anything. Just don’t take me in.”
He puts the tracker away and reaches for the cuffs to grab them and you pull away. “It won’t do any good.” He growls through his modulator. “You are going back.”
You try to drag your feet, struggling but he growls again in annoyance. "Dank Farrik." He hisses, grabbing you to fling you over his shoulder. "You are going back." He says with finality and carries you out of the room. He doesn't care as he carries you through the club, ignoring the cheers and claps of approval. "Yeah, Mando. Get some!" A Twi'lek whoops and Din ignores them as he carries you despite you kicking your legs.
Your bound hands beat on the back plate of his armor and once he’s outside the club, his free hand comes up and slaps your ass sharply. “Stop struggling,” he growls, approving when you stiffen up and stop moving. He almost spanks you again, but his cock is already tenting the front of his flight suit. The only thing keeping it from being too noticeable is his belt. He carries you towards the docking bays, knowing you have a ship there and he will use that to take you back rather than the star fighter. “Bay 35.” He grunts as he gets to the door.
You wiggle, trying to get him to drop you, and he doesn’t. His grip is like beskar as he carries you to bay 35. “You have a Razor Crest.” He says in surprise and you smirk, “you like that, Mando?” You ask and he huffs, “used to have one. Before it got destroyed.”
Seeing the Razor Crest is like finding a long lost friend. His hand runs over the panel before pressing the button to open it. You don’t have the modifications that he had, but walking into the cargo bay is like coming home. He drops you to your feet and looks around. “I’ll make you a deal.” He says, offering something he’s never done before. “I’ll let you go if you give me your ship.”
You are disoriented from being carried and you look at the Mandalorian who is caressing your ship. “At least get a girl a drink before you start feeling up her ship.” You tease and he doesn’t react, at least not in a way you can see it. “That ship is my home. I can’t just give it to you.” You protest despite knowing you’re booking your ticket to carbonite. “What if I-” You slowly say then decide to try and run for it, spinning on your feet to run in the opposite direction of the Mandalorian who sighs and lets you go for a moment until he throws his line from his wrist to wrap it around your ankles.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” He huffs in exasperation and you twist around from your stomach and glare at him. “Kiss my ass.” You hiss and he chuckles as he walks slowly towards you, pulling the line tighter so you can’t wiggle away. “Can’t kiss it.” He reminds you, tapping his helmet. “But if you don’t quit, I’ll spank it again.” He had enjoyed the way your ass felt against his hand and he would do it again if it made you behave.
You huff, knowing that escaping the Mandalorian is a fruitless effort. “What if…what if I offer you something else? Instead of my ship…you can fuck me? As much as you want for 24 hours?” You arch your back as much as you can to entice him.
His cock twitches in his pants as he stares at your ass. “No deal.” He decides after a moment, even though he is pent up and would love to fuck you. “I could throw you in carbonite and go back to the bar to fuck someone.”
“Yeah? But you wouldn’t get that hard for anyone else in there.” You smirk, letting your gaze fix on the bulge in his flight suit. “Is that a blaster in your pants or are you happy to see me?” You tease, shifting onto your knees, “what do you want? To let me go.” You clarify and Din strides over to you, keeping you tied up in his line. “Your ship.” He says and you pout, “and you.” He adds after a moment.
“Fuck off!” You hiss, trying to yank your legs away but you can’t because the wire is tight to his cuff. You look ridiculous with your hands cuffed and your feet bound, like a worm trying to inch away. He chuckles to himself, expecting that answer as he bends down to untie the wire and hauls you to your feet. “Then I’ll just take it after I’ve turned you in.” He tells you mildly, pushing you against a wall and activating the magnetic locks to keep you there. You can’t pull the cuffs free of the bulkhead. “Just for the hassle.” You huff but he turns towards the ladder and starts up towards the cockpit. “Stay there.” He taunts, knowing you aren’t going anywhere while he takes off.
You refuse to cry but tears sting from frustration. This asshole is going to turn you in and then you’ll lose the ship you worked so hard for. You huff and tilt your head back, listening to him as he makes himself comfortable in the pilot seat. “Has anyone told you you’re a dick?” You call out as he starts the engine.
He doesn’t answer, but he’s got a small smirk on his face under the helmet. admiring your attitude and enjoying your sharp tongue. The engine purrs and he groans happily as he lifts the ship off the ground. The star fighter was nice, but this- this is what he loves flying.
Your hands are stuck to the metal of the ship and you huff, wondering how the hell you fucked up. You should’ve guessed he was a bounty hunter but noooo, your attraction to a man wearing a helmet blinded you. The ship goes into hyperspace and Din checks the autopilot before he makes his way down the ladder. “Have you calmed down?” He asks and you scoff, “you should never ask a woman if she’s calmed down.” He snorts and tilts his head, “I’ll take that as a no. I was going to release you but your bratty attitude is not gonna let that happen.”
You scoff, offended that he is calling you bratty when he’s literally kidnapped you and told you he’s going to steal your ship. “That’s rich coming from a big metal bully.” You huff. “I can’t believe that I let myself get turned on by the biggest asshole in the galaxy.” He chuckles, tucking his thumbs into the loops of his belt and leaning against the wall, watching you pout. “You seemed pretty eager for my cock earlier.” He reminds you. “Shaking your ass and begging for it.”
You scoff, “I was in a cloud of spice from the club.” You lie and he crosses one boot over the other, “and now?” He asks, tilting his helmet and you roll your eyes, “clear headed. I promise, asshole.” You try to tug on your cuffs but it doesn’t work. He smirks and chuckles, “so you wouldn’t want my cock anymore, huh?”
You roll your eyes and turn away from him, ignoring what he said, so he just waits. Waiting is what works most of the time. “Well, get comfortable, it’s going to be a long trip back to collect your bounty.”
"Are you - you're gonna leave me like this?" You whine, tugging on the cuffs but you are stuck to the metal. "You think I'm gonna let you go? I'm not an idiot." Din scoffs and you bite your lip, "you really don't want your cock sucked in exchange for my freedom? I've been told I am the best in the galaxy by my exes."
Din snorts and blows out a bored sigh. “I’m sure they told you that when they were with you. But I don’t think you understand how many credits I’ll collect for you.” He snorts. “A blow job is worth being released here on the ship, but I can always jerk off.”
“You are such a dick!” You stomp your foot and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You are a brat. You deserve to be treated like one.” He strides over to grip your chin, “you wanna stay cuffed?” He asks and you narrow your eyes at the smirk you can hear in his voice. “I want to be let go and have my ship back.” You declare and he rubs his gloved thumb over your lower lip. You can’t help but bite it, tasting the blaster residue on the material and you hate how it makes your pussy clench around nothing.
He watches your eyes dilate, sees the want in them and he chuckles roughly. “You’re getting wet.” He declares, smirking under his helmet. “You don’t want to be turned on, it pisses you off, but you are.” He rubs his thumb over your lips again and this time your lips part slightly but you don’t bite him. “Pussy is wet, isn’t it? Starting to ache with need. Wishing that I would fuck you right now,” his head tilts down to where you are cuffed to the wall. “Just like this.”
“The bulge in your pants says you also want to fuck me like this. I doubt jerking off would scratch the itch. You sure you don’t want some relief in a wet cunt, Mando?” You ask breathlessly, fluttering your eyelashes as you look at him. “You look tense. Like you need a good release…of tension.”
He knows what you are trying to do and it’s tempting. Still, he has a reputation and you are a job. “I’d fuck you.” He admits it easily. “Hard and deep, hard enough that your legs wouldn’t hold you up anymore and your throat will be raw from screaming in pleasure.”
His words make your mouth go dry and you stare at him for a moment. You shake your head, almost attempting to clear your thoughts. You lick your lips, “big words for a man who is too scared to show his face.” You taunt him, “maybe you are a gungun under that armor?”
“Meesa thinks not.” He jokes, making you snort and try to hide your smile, but he sees it. “I’m too pretty to show my face. Too many people would want to fuck me. I’d be exhausted.”
“Maker, you are either being serious and you really are handsome as fuck under that helmet or you are cocky as hell and ugly, hence why you wear the helmet. Either way, I don’t think I’m ever gonna find out.” The Mandalorian nods in response to your summary. “Tell me what you want.” You demand, knowing you need to be on the same page as him, even if you don’t like the answer.’
“Be a good girl and I’ll let you out of the binders.” Din tells you, watching you swallow harshly as his voice dips lower. “The trip back doesn’t have to be hard.”
“Well, harder.” You chuckle shakily, eyes drifting down to the bulge he’s sporting. “What do you consider a good girl, Mando?” You ask breathily, parting your lips to look at him with wide eyes, acting like you don’t know what he wants. What you both want
His cock twitches but he decides to play along. Hands resting on your sides, fingertips barely brushing the undersides of your breasts as he leans in. Crowds you as he presses against the curve of your body. “A good girl listens to me.” He growls out quietly as his hands start to slowly slide down your body to your hips. “Takes everything I give her.” His cock twitches against your ass.
You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips when he presses against you. “What happens if I’m not a good girl?” You test, grinding back against him and he’s all beskar - solid like a wall behind you. Fuck, that turns you on more. “Do you want to find out?” Din asks and you shake your head, “n-no. I - I can be a good girl.”
He hums in approval, squeezing your hips tight. “Good.” He growls and presses harder into your body. “Tell me what you want, good girl.” He murmurs. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as his words wash over you, making your pulse race. “I want you to fuck me. Hard.” You confess, “want you to use me. Take what you need from me.” You finish with a gasp when his hands slide up to squeeze your tits through your shirt.
“It’s been a long time.” He warns, thinking that it’s only fair that he lets you know what you are in for when he touches you. You moan again, pushing back against his crotch. “Good.” You whimper, making him growl as he yanks down the top you’re wearing, breast band and all so he can cup your tits fully in his gloved hands. His foot hooks around your right and he kicks it farther out, making you yelp in surprise as he positions you.
You gasp as he maneuvers you into the position he wants you in. His gloves are smooth and cold as he pinches your nipples. You clench around nothing at the roughness, loving how he’s taking what he wants. You haven’t experienced that in so long. “Mando. Please.” You beg, not above it now that you know he’s going to give you what you want.
You’re magnetized to the bulkhead of the ship you are being taken in for bounty collection, your ship, tits in his hands and begging to take his cock. He pinches your responsive nipples one more time before he is reaching for your pants, dragging them down your thighs and pulling your ass farther back as he reaches down to pull his cock out of his flight suit. There’s precum leaking from the head and he knows you are wet. That’s all the lube you’re going to get as he shuffles closer and without another word, slams his cock deep into your pussy with a groan of pleasure.
Your cry echoes off the body of the ship, reverberating back to you, and he stretches you out in a way no other man has. “Maker!” You squeal, hands immobile and his grip on your hips ensures you are staying in this position.
There’s a split second where he gives you to adjust. Just one. Making sure that the cry was one of pleasured pain and not rejection before he is pulling his hips back with a feral growl. “Dank ferik, you are so fucking tight.” He groans, surging back into you just as harshly. His hands are the only things keeping your body from slamming into the wall of the ship as he hammers into you. “Gonna enjoy this.”
His words aren’t wrong as he starts to fuck you, really fuck you. You cry out with every slam of his cock inside you. The cold beskar hits your flesh as he works himself into your cunt with brutal stamina. “Ma-Mando.” You pant, unable to do anything but stand there and take what he gives you.
This is just what he needed. He grunts and pants under his helmet as he fucks you. Squeezing your hips before moving up to cup your tits again. “You wanted it hard.” He reminds you, enjoying the little whimpers and the way you try to stretch up onto your toes when he pushes deep. Trying to soften how you take him but you are already stretched out. He can tell you love it, your pussy is squirting every time he pushes against your cervix. “Gonna fuck you so hard that you’re ruined.”
His words, modulated and sharp, make you clench around him, and you squeal when he slaps your tits with his gloved hand. “Maker. Fuck!” You would collapse but your restrained hands keep you upright. “You’ve already ruined me.”
He chuckles and slaps your tit again, loving how you just take everything he gives you and wants more. It’s been a long time since he’s been with someone who enjoys it as rough as he sometimes wants. Needing to work out the stress and tension of his life. You moan and he slides one hand down to your clit, orange leather covered fingers expertly swiping through your folds before rubbing tight circles on the sensitive flesh. “Good, Mesh’la.” He rasps out. “Good girl.”
“Fuck.” You pant, loving how he knows exactly how to touch you. “Keep - just like that.” Your head drops between your shoulders and you look down at his hand between your thighs. “Maker, that’s hot.” You gasp, clenching around him, and it doesn’t take more than a few swipes of his fingers to fall apart around him.
He grunts when your pussy squeezes him tight, having to rock his hips harder to fuck you. “That’s it, Fuck, you get wet.” He hisses, cock twitching deep inside you and making you moan. He wants to cum, but he wants to feel you fall apart again. Even though he’s pent up, he’s got control, he won’t cum until he makes himself. “Good girl, good fucking girl.”
His words make your eyes roll into the back of your head and he fucks you through your pleasure. “Mando. I can’t - it’s too much.” You gasp when he continues rubbing your clit and he growls, “you can. You fucking can.” You shake your head and whine, thighs shaking as he pushes you through your orgasm onto another one.
His hips are slapping against your ass and he is holding you tight, loving how you respond to him. “Soak me.” He pants out and groans when he feels another rush of wet heat coat his cock. You whimper and he feels your entire body shake so he decides to pull out of you abruptly, cock dripping with your juices as he lets go of you and presses a button on his vambrace to release the magnetic hold on your cuffs.
You’re confused even as your body rides your high and you frown, looking at him over your shoulder. “What?” Your wrists are in front of you and you nearly fall forward from the release but his arm wraps around your waist.
“On your back.” He orders roughly as he grabs a blanket you have tossed over a crate and throws it down. He wants to watch you this time, wants to see your face even though you can’t see his. Although you like the blank expression of his visor. When you drop down, he drags a boot off one foot and yanks your pants leg off one leg so he can spread you open and see your pussy glisten and quiver. The metal edge of his armor clinks against the floor as he drops downs and reaches up to push your arms over your head and bind them to the floor.
The movements make you dizzy and you can’t stop the whine of arousal that escapes your lips. Your arms ache a little from being held high and you watch him press on your thighs to push them further apart. “Oh my - fuck!” You squeal when he starts to push into you again.
“Fuck.” His echoed words are deeper, less surprised and more relieved. Like he had been aching to slide back inside you again. The angle is different, the leverage better as he braces himself over you and houses his weight to press into you. “Perfect.” He grunts. “Made for my cock.” You whine as he grinds his hips slowly, teasing you.
His helmet is tilted down so he can watch his cock disappear inside you. Part of you wishes you could see all of him but you look down at the girth and your eyelashes flutter. “Mando. You - shit - didn’t know you were packing that much.” You chuckle breathlessly and he smirks under the helmet but you don’t see.
“You feel it though.” He’s cocky about that for a reason, knowing his cock is impressive enough to satisfy anyone and he’s willing to spend hours fucking when he gets the chance. “Aren’t you glad you decided to be a good girl?” His hands caress your thighs before shifting them to rest on his pauldrons.
“I won’t be - be good all the time.” You respond, shaking your head and you gasp when his hand wraps around your neck. “You’re gonna be my good girl.” He decides and your jaw slacks as he hits just right inside you. “I will.” You promise, eyes fluttering closed.
He doesn’t squeeze, but his grip is firm, feeling your heart pounding against his hand. “Dirty.” He growls through the modulator, delighted that you enjoy this. “Want you to cum again.” He decides as he starts to rock his hips faster again.
You have never been this responsive to any one. He seems to bring something out of you that has you moaning out, thighs starting to shake as he works you up until finally, you fall apart. Your cry is loud, nails digging into your palms as you soak him. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and that’s when it all goes dark.
****
You come to with a gasp, lurching up and the first thing you realize is that your hands are free. Twisting around and disoriented until you figure out that you are laying in your own cot, in the tiny sleeping alcove on the ship. Completely redressed too, except both of your boots are off. You would think that it had all been a dream, except for the hum of the engines and ache in your pussy that is always present after sex.
You wince as you shift from your cot, the door whooshing as it lifts, and you stand on shaky legs. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet but you ignore that as you search for the Mandalorian. You gingerly climb the ladder to the cockpit, seeing the bounty hunter in the pilot seat. "Taking me to get your reward?"
Din doesn’t answer, just calmly adjusting the course of the ship. He’s changed his heading after depositing you into your bunk, trying to justify it as he maneuvers the ship. After you had passed out, he had been worried. Concerned for a moment until he realized you had just passed out while cumming. It had been ironic as he had pulled out of you gently to tuck his hard cock away. He had promised to use you and he was the one left unsatisfied.
You frown when he doesn't answer but you look out at the stars, almost dizzy again from the speed you're passing them, and you walk closer to the man who was inside you. "What happened? Did - did you, uh, finish?" You ask, unconsciously rubbing your wrists.
He grunts, hands pausing on the controllers before he flicks a switch. “You passed out.” He tells you quietly. “So I dressed you and put you in your bunk.” He can sense you frowning, even though his back is to you. “If you aren’t conscious, I’m not fucking you.” He explains. “We didn’t have prior agreement to that.”
You are surprised by that. Most men would've continued until they came. You move closer, "you are confusing, Mando." You observe and he snorts. Your eyes drop to his crotch and you see the bulge in his flight suit. "You're still hard." You murmur and he hums, "yep." You want to show him how much you like his reaction - the way he respected you. You shift to kneel on the floor, hard metal beneath you and you trail your hand along his inner thigh under his armor. "I want to - to make you cum."
He tenses for a moment, but then forces himself to relax. It’s rare that someone touches him with no intent to harm. His helmet tips down watching you as you look up and try to find his eyes underneath the visor. “You want to show me that mouth that your former lovers have been bragging about?” He asks, reaching down and stroking your cheek and humming when he rubs your mouth with his thumb and you open up to suck on it. His cock twitches and you are aware of it by the smirk you manage to give him, even while sucking on the leather of his gloves.
"I told you I got high praise." You brag when you release his thumb, and he chuckles. You work on the belt of his flight suit, "Maker, how much do you wear? What do you do when you need to piss?" You ask curiously as you fumble to pull him free of his suit. "Holy - you are blessed by the Maker." You gasp when you finally see his length, "can I-?" You ask, leaning closer as you squeeze him.
“I take it out.” Din chuckles before cutting off the sound with a groan. “Told you I wasn’t a Gungan.” He jokes. “Suck it if you want to. Your jaw can be as sore as your pussy.”
You don't need to be told twice. You eagerly surge forward to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Pre-cum hitting your tongue and you moan at the salty taste while you stretch your jaw to accommodate him.
He had cleaned up in the ‘fresher after checking the ship for weapons but he wishes that he had kept your juices on his cock for you to clean off. “Mesh’la.” He groans, head tipping back slightly as he enjoys the feeling of your mouth on him. “Harder.”
You hum, taking him deeper and you start to bob your head, wanting to make him fall apart. He groans and you look up, seeing your reflection in his helmet and it is surprisingly hot to watch yourself in his visor.
It’s been a long time since he’s had a blowjob. Even longer since it’s been so eagerly given. He groans again, twitching in your mouth when you swallow around him and your hum vibrates along the shaft. “You can take it all, can’t you?” He rasps out.
You want to. You want to make him fall apart. You hum around his length, taking him deeper until you choke. You gasp as you pull back and Mano chuckles, “best blowjob, huh?” He mocks you, reaching down to cup your cheek and you narrow your eyes, knowing you need to push yourself. You take him back into your mouth, inhaling through your nose as you push him down your throat.
He smirks under his helmet, giving you a small grunt of pleasure as your lips touch the base. He feels the hinge of your jaw work, your throat close around him. “That’s it.” He praises, “just like that. Do you like sucking my cock?” He asks. “Are you getting wet again?”
Moaning around him, you are getting wet from having the weight of his cock in your mouth. You brace yourself on his knees, using only your mouth to pleasure him. You breathe heavily through your nose and your eyes water but you don’t stop.
“Yeah, you are.” He chuckles breathlessly through the modulator and groans when you pull him just a bit deeper. “Fuck, good girl.” His fingers tighten around your jaw and his other curls into a fist on the arm of the pilot’s chair. “Do you want me to cum down your throat? Or in your aching pussy?”
You hate to do it but you pull off his cock to look up at him, “cum down my throat.” You demand, knowing your pussy is too sore to take him right now and you desperately want to hear him fall apart even if you cannot see it.
He nods once, sure that would be the answer you gave him. He’s positive that you are sore but he can help with that later on. You take him back into your mouth and he hisses in pleasure, thighs tensing and his body poised to fall apart.
He’s about to fall apart. You can tell by the way he twitches in your mouth and you moan around him, lifting your gaze to his visor again so he can look into your eyes as he cums.
His eyes meet yours, although you don’t know it. “Mesh’la.” He groans, watching as you pull your cheeks taunt and the pressure against his cock pushes him over the edge.
His cum hits the back of your throat and you whimper, swallowing hard to make sure you don’t let a drop escape but it’s impossible. He seems pent up and a few drops of cum drip down your chin.
You don’t stop sucking until every drop of his cum has been in your mouth. Din pants under his helmet, body melting into the seat even as he caresses your cheek gently. “Dank ferik.” He hisses. “I needed that.”
You lean back to look up at him, a smirk on your lips as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Good, huh?” You tease, wanting him to be pleased with you.
“It was good.” He nods as he reaches down to tuck his softening cock away. He chuckles. “Do you want me to grade it or just say it was good?” His tone is light as he reaches out to wipe off a drop of cum that you missed.
You huff playfully, tilting your head as you look at him, “you can just say it was good.” You promise and he snorts, nodding his head, “it was good.” You grab his hand to lick the drop of cum from the leather.
He stares at you for a moment before he moves to flip a switch. “We will have to land soon.” He grunts. “You didn’t have much fuel.”
You shift to stand up, your knees aching, and you look at the Mandalorian. “I didn’t exactly expect to be taking a long trip through space.” You snort, shaking your head as you watch him pilot your ship.
He can tell. He can also tell that you didn’t have much in the way of provisions on the ship. “We’ll stop in Navarro.” He grunts, knowing that it’s taking you out of the way, but he would prefer a planet he knows.
You shift to sit in the copilot seat, watching him pilot has you biting your lip. He’s sexy and you don’t think he even realizes it. “So, Mando, can I know your name or are we not on those terms yet?”
He considers not telling you for a moment, but then he changes his mind. Beyond being a bounty and slightly bratty, you aren’t a threat to him. You aren’t a danger to his safety. Many people know his name. “Din.” He doesn’t look at you as he tells you his name. “Din Djarin.” He flips the autopilot off and takes the controls fully, enjoying the way the Crest feels.
“Din Djarin.” You repeat and smile softly, “it suits you. Even though I can’t see your face.” You chuckles and tilt your head towards him, “you hungry? I do have some rations left over before we get to Navarro.” You walk towards the ladder, needing to use the fresher and you are hungry.
“Make sure you eat.” He glances over his shoulder before he turns back out to state into hyper space. The view always centers him. “You will need your strength. Next time I’m going to fuck you until I cum.”
“Yes sir.” You tease as you lower yourself and your legs ache but you already want him again. You suppose that’s from being without sex since you left your shitty ex - he never made you orgasm anyway - and you work on cleaning yourself up. You’re surprised but happy he didn’t cuff you again, even if it was hot during sex. You heat your meal and sit down, wondering if you’ll ever see Din’s face.
In the cockpit, Din watches the stars streak by in a constant stream through the viewport and thinks about you. He pulls the puck out from his belt and opens it, revealing a hologram picture of you and your name, chain code and the reason for the bounty. Debt was the reason he was after you, credits you defaulted on. He doesn’t see any lavish spending, nothing to suggest it on the crest after he had searched it. He wonders what your story is and why he cares.
You finish eating just as he makes his way down the ladder. You look up and tilt your head, “do you not need to sleep?” You ask, curious about how he lives and what he wants. He’s a mystery and you find that extremely attractive and dangerous.
“Why are you going to try to take the ship while I’m asleep?” He asks, knowing that you wouldn’t. He’s already figured out that you aren’t a threat. You had one blaster on the ship and the tools were worn and obviously scavenged. You huff and he chuckles. “I’m human.” He reminds you. “I eat, sleep….fuck.”
You snort, nodding in response, "I won't take the ship. You can sleep." You reassure him, knowing that he will need to rest but you have no idea what his plan is for you. Perhaps he will let you go once you are on Navarro.
“I’m fine.” He motions to the ship. “Where did you get her?” He asks, leaning against the wall that your sleeping alcove is in. “They are rare now. Smugglers mostly have them for quick runs.”
"I, uh, stole it." You confess, "from my ex. He's the one who - he's the reason why there's a puck with my name on it. He used my name to buy this, went out gambling, took out loans in my name and I had no idea. It was - it was a lot of credits and he couldn't pay it back. The creditors came after me so I ran. Stole the ship and tried to hide."
He hums quietly, jaw rocking slightly under his helmet at the shitty ex that had put you in this mess. “How many credits are you in for?” He asks and when you tell him, his stomach lurches as he whistles. “Dank ferik.”
Sighing, you rub your hands on your thighs, "yeah. He really fucked me." You snort, "which is ironic because he never did a good job at that." Tapping your fingers, you tilt your head at the Mandalorian, "that's why I'm sure my bounty is a tempting amount.
He doesn’t say anything, just watches you. Seeing the fatigue that you try to hide, the worry that simmers under the surface of your skin. You need some rest. “Sleep.” He orders after a moment. “I’ll let you know when we get to Nevarro.” He watches as you glance around the ship and he tilts his head. “Do you need to be fucked unconscious again to sleep?” He teases.
You giggle at his offer and smirk as you look at him, “you ready to go again, Mando?” You tease, shifting to stand up from your seat, walking over to him. “I want to - I want to feel all of you. Can we?” You ask, dragging your finger along his beskar.
He considers saying no for a moment. He would be vulnerable and there’s a chance something could happen. “You would have to be blindfolded.” He tells you, tilting his head down to watch your fingers as they trail over the curves of his armor.
You nod, “you can cuff me too, if you’re more comfortable.” You promise. You just want to feel all of him, kiss him. There’s something about him that makes your head spin and you can’t seem to get enough.
“Maybe later.” Din’s cock twitches under his flight suit. “Are you too sore?” He asks seriously. “I was rough on you.” While he doesn’t mind rough sex, he doesn’t want to hurt you, regardless of you being his bounty.
You shake your head, “ache a little but I can take it. I can take you.” You promise, knowing your limits. “Maybe not so rough this time, huh?” You ask, sliding your hand up towards his helmet. He flinches and you stop, “I’m not gonna take your helmet off.” You promise and he relaxes a little. You reach up to caress the metal of his helmet like you're caressing his cheek.
“I won’t be rough.” He promises as he leans into your touch. He can’t feel it, but it’s the gesture that makes his stomach twisted. “Strip down and get into your bunk.” He orders softly. “I’ll make sure we are on course and power down the lights.” He doesn’t know why he trusts you, but he does. He wants to strip down and feel every inch of your body against his.
“I’ll wait for you.” You reassure him, sliding your hand down his chest plate before you stride into the fresher to strip down and wait for him in the hull. He immediately dims the lights and you shiver in anticipation as you stand naked in the hull after he makes his way to the cockpit to check the navigation.
Din doesn’t rush as he checks and rechecks the calculations on fuel and there’s enough to orbit the planet when the ship arrives. He doesn’t like landing on autopilot. He would rather be able to react if there’s a complication and he’s never landed this ship before. When he’s satisfied, he slowly shuts down the lights on the entire ship from the control panel. They cannot be turned back on unless it’s from here, so it’s perfect.
You shiver at the cold air that hits your bare skin from the vents and you push the button to your bunk, exposing it. You shift to sit down, heart fluttering in anticipation of feeling every inch of the Mandalorian who kidnapped you.
He hears the door to your bunk slide closed right as his boots hit the ground at the bottom of the ladder. Waiting for a moment before he starts to slowly unlatch his armor from the magnetic plates holding it to his flight suit. Feeling the cold air of the Crest as takes off his gloves. Stripping down just as thoroughly as you had and stepping into the ‘fresher to clean up for you since he had been in his suit all day.
You are anxious, twisting your sheets in your fingers as you lay down and wait for Din. The lights go out moments later and you inhale deeply as the door to your bunk opens but you can’t see a thing. “Din?” You gasp, heart pounding at the thought of him touching you.
He says your name, quiet and clear without the modulator distorting his voice. It’s quiet except for the hum of the engines and sharp intake of your breath when you realize that he has removed his helmet. “I’ve- never done this before.” He confesses even as he reaches for your ankle and wraps his hands around it.
His voice is softer, not as harsh when he has the modulator on. You gasp at his touch but relax when you hear him kneel on your bunk. “I’m honoured to be your first.” You tease breathing as he caresses your calf.
He chuckles quietly, shivering slightly as his hand slides over your skin. He can feel so much more without his gloves on. Without the barrier that holds him apart from the rest of the galaxy. “Gonna show me the ropes?” He jokes as he shifts between your legs and slides his hands up to your knees and they fall open even more.
It’s impossible to not giggle, almost high from his touch. Knowing you’re the first person he’s touched like this is intoxicating. “Yes sir.” You tease, trying to guess where he is since it’s dark and you gasp when you feel him press his form against you. “Oh Maker.” You moan, already wet from just feeling his body against yours. “Can I- can I touch you?” You ask and he grunts, “yes.” Your hands fumble in the dark but eventually your fingers caress his biceps.
He shudders and groans, making you snatch your fingers away but he shakes his head and grabs your hand to bring it back. “It’s- it’s good.” He promises, voice cracking roughly. “I- let me-“ he sighs when your fingers brush against his skin again. “I want to kiss you?” He asks. “Is that okay?”
"Please." You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel his lips on yours. You caress up to his shoulders, feeling the muscles under his skin, and you are confused until you feel his breath puff over your chin. You tilt your head, searching for his lips in the darkness and when they meet yours, you can't stop the moan in your throat.
He had watched kissing in the halo vids, wondering how it felt. He had almost let his helmet be taken off to kiss Omera, but his honor hadn’t allowed it. He would have never left that little planet if he had. No one else had tempted him, until now. It’s like nothing he had ever imagined and he groans as he clumsily kisses you.
He doesn't seem to know what he's doing but you don't care. You tangle your fingers in his hair - it's short but not too short - and you eagerly show him how to kiss. Your tongue slides into his mouth and his answering groan makes you clench around nothing.
He could spend the entire trip to Nevarro kissing you. His arms slide under your back to pull you close. Following your lead and slowly becoming more confident. He’s always been a quick learner and this is no different. Your breath mingles with his as you pant into his mouth and he feels himself start to harden against your stomach
It's easy to tell he likes kissing and you are happy to show him, sliding your tongue against his, and you caress his neck as he starts to grind against you.
After long minutes, Din pulls back, kissing your lips again and again before he speaks. “I want- can I?” He shifts down slightly and he bites his lip. “I’ve never done it, but I want to use my mouth on you.”
You are surprised but you won't deny him what he wants. "Are you - if you want." You promise, "you don't have to if you don't want to." You murmur and he chuckles, nudging his nose against yours. "I want to." You smile even though he can't see it. "Go ahead, Mando."
He can’t see you but he can feel you. Kisses scattered down your body and he twitches when you moan as his tongue runs across your tits. He’s given pleasure with his fingers, his cock, but never his mouth and he wants to see what it’s like. Loving how your whimpers encourage him on until he is hovering right in front of your pussy.
His hot breath already has you squirming and he notices, grabbing your thighs. You moan when you hear him inhale deeply. “Maker. You really haven’t done this before.” You comment and then realize that might make him self conscious, “doesn’t matter. I want you to explore. Enjoy yourself.” Your words spur him on and the first swipe of his tongue makes you cry out in pleasure
This had been another favorite of his when watching holo vids in his need to release. The taste of your pussy is incredible. Hot, fragrant, tangy. He’s never thought it could be so good. He’s tasted someone’s juices off the leather of his gloves after an encounter, but it can’t compare to the source. He moans and his fingers bite into your thighs as he holds them open. Sliding his tongue through your folds again feeling the way your hips spasm in pleasure when it flicks across your clit. “Right there?” He asks, but there’s a smugness to his tone, as if he already knows and is just showing off.
You gasp when he repeats the action. He may have never done this before but he seems to know what he’s doing. You whimper when he slides his tongue through your folds, his nose pressing into your clit, and you blindly reach down to run your fingers through his hair. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” You ask breathlessly.
He chuckles as he pulls back. “Favorite holo vid to watch when I’m jerking off.” He confesses shamelessly before diving back into your cunt. His cock is throbbing but he would have to have a blaster pointed at his head to stop right now.
That makes you gush hearing that this seems to be his fantasy and you’re fulfilling it. You moan and rock your hips but he flings his arm over your stomach to keep you still. “Oh fuck. That’s - like that.” You moan when he pushes his tongue into your cunt, nose pressed against your clit.
He had always wondered if a tongue felt as good as a cock inside but he can tell you aren’t faking. He groans into your folds and loves how your juices coat his mouth and chin. Spurred on by your moans and whimpers of pleasure in the dark, your fingers tight in his hair.
Your thighs shake as he works you higher and higher. He’s eager and hungry and fuck, it makes you cry out when he slides his tongue up to suck on your clit. “Din. That - oh fuck!” You squeal, thighs closing around his head as you fall apart on his mouth.
Din moans as he feels you start to shake. The flood of heat and sweetness is the best treat that he could ever get. He laps at your quivering hole and enjoys the way you whimper and whine as you thrash in your bunk until you are begging him to quit. “Mando- please- I need-“ he pulls away with a smack of his lips and grins. “That was better than a holo vid.”
You giggle, breathless from the orgasm, and you collapse back into your bunk. Blinking into the darkness, you feel like everything is heightened by not being able to see. “That was - wow.” You mutter in disbelief.
“Do you want more?” He asks, crawling up your body and pressing his lips to yours. He loves the way you immediately kiss him back.
You cup the back of his neck, loving how his breath puffs over your mouth, and you hum, “of course I do.” You reach down blindly until your fingers wrap around his length. “I want you to cum inside me now.”
He growls softly, cock twitching in your grip as you guide him to your pussy. Both of you have the implant, he felt the impression in your hip and his own is current and functioning. Still, he notches himself at your entrance and groans. “Gonna fill you so full it takes.” He murmurs. “Fill you with my ad.”
You moan at the thought even though you assume ad means baby in Mando. You whimper when he starts to push into you and he pauses. “Don’t you dare stop.” You demand, caressing his shoulders and you feel bumps of scars from battles won.
His chuckle is filthy, rocking his hips deep and only pulling back an inch before surging deep once more. “Not gonna stop until you are full.” He grunts. “So full you’ll drip my cum for days and then I’ll fuck more into you.”
“Fuck.” You choke at his words, shocked that the stoic Mandalorian is saying these things to you. “Yesss. Keep me full of you.” You whine, grabbing the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours once more, tangling your tongue with his.
His thrusts are slower, less harsh than before but no less devastating. Maybe they are more so because he can feel everything. Your thighs tighten around his body, wrapped around him and his skin is pressed to yours. Slick with sweat as he moves. He groans because there aren’t any words right now and he can’t talk and kiss you at the same time. Almost overwhelmed by the sensations.
He’s intense but you love it. He seems to overtake your body as he thrusts into you. It’s heightened by your lack of sight. You can smell him, feel him, and hear him and it pushes you higher to your pleasure. “Shit. Din. I-” You pant into his mouth. “Please.” He begs and you nod even though he can’t see you, pushed over the edge to spiral into your orgasm, clamping down onto his cock with a cry of his name.
Your fingers are brushing up and down his back, making him shiver as he tries to thrust, working you through it. Except he’s too worked up, too excited to hold out. He rocks his hips two more times before he buries his cock deep and groans your name as he presses his face into your neck.
You moan when he twitches deep inside you. You whimper and caress his back, letting him work himself through his high as he fills you up for the first time. “Din.” You sigh, relaxing beneath him as he hovers above you and you seek out his mouth in the darkness until you can kiss him.
He hums against your lips, body relaxing and he shifts to roll you onto your side in the small alcove. “Sleep.” He murmurs when you break away from the kiss. His head tilts up and he kisses your forehead. “Instead of passing out this time.” His cock is still buried inside you, but he doesn’t pull out.
You giggle, lifting your leg over his hip as you snuggle into his chest. You’re warm and satisfied and you inhale his scent as you close your eyes, falling asleep within moments in the arms of the Mandalorian.
You don’t even stir when the alarm goes off. The proximity alarm means that the ship has arrived at Nevarro and has entered an orbiting pattern until he changes the command. He slips out of the bunk, redressing in the dark and making his way back up to the cockpit and turns on the lights again. The alcove is still dark, so you don’t wake while he brings the ship into the atmosphere and flies towards the landing site.
You blink when the soft lights come on in your bunk and you open your eyes. You gasp after a moment, knowing that Din doesn’t want you to see him, so you quickly close your eyes. “Din?” You call out and you don’t hear him. You hesitate before opening one eyes, not seeing the Mandalorian so you make your way into the hull. His cum is sticky on your thighs and you call out his name again. “In the cockpit.” His voice comes over the intercoms and you sigh in relief, making your way to the fresher to clean up. Once you’re dressed, you walk out to find the Mandalorian standing there. “Hi.” You smile softly and he tilts his helmet, “we are in Navarro.” You nod and sigh, “are you - is this where you turn me in?”
“No.” Din shakes his head once and his hand hovers over the button to lower the ramp. He had landed and the ship is powered down. “We’ll refuel and get provisions.” He tells you, watching the relief wash over your face. “You need to be taken back to Hoth for collection of the bounty.” He doesn’t care for Hoth, but he doesn’t argue specifics.
Your face falls at his words. He’s taking you in. You swallow as tears sting in your eyes. You thought last night meant that he wouldn’t take you in. “Let’s, uh, let’s go then.” You choke, walking down the ramp and you will have to think of something. Even if it means leaving your ship behind.
Din frowns under his helmet. He has assumed you would be happy that you don’t have to face your debtors right away. He follows you, not putting the binders back on. Karga runs a respectful planet now and he doesn’t want to draw attention to your situation.
You are contemplating how to make your escape and you glance around as you make your way into the town. It’s busy but not busy enough for you to escape from the Mandalorian. You thought last night meant something to him but evidently now when he’s ready to cash you in. He walks towards the cantina and your stomach grumbles with hunger that makes him turn his helmet to look at you.
He sees the hurt in your eyes and guilt twists in his stomach. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He says as he motions to the cantina. “I don’t have any credits.” You shake your head but he cuts your elbow to bring you forward. “I’ll pay.” He promises quietly, leaning in towards you. “You need your strength.” You huff and stiffen but you don’t pull away and he wonders why you are upset with him.
Following him to the cantina, you glance around as people either look at him in awe or scurry away from him. It’s interesting to watch and when you walk into the cantina, he strides over to an empty table. “Sit. Order what you want.” He demands as he takes a seat opposite you.
You sit down and he glances around the cantina as a server comes over to the table. “What do you want?” She’s a bored looking Torgruta, her blue lekku complimenting the pale pink skin and darker blue eyes. She glances from you to Mando, waiting for someone to speak. Din gestures towards you, “she’s eating.” He answers when you don’t. “Whatever your best meal is.”
You nod, watching her stride off and you sigh, tapping your fingers on the table. “Do you ever eat?” You ask, curious about a man who seems to neglect his bodily functions more than anyone you’ve ever known.
“I eat.” He tells you. “I ate before you woke up.” He had grabbed a ration bar, your last ration bar, when he had gone up to the cockpit. “I prefer to eat alone because…” he reaches up and taps his helmet. “It’s a pain in the ass to lift my helmet and take a bite every time.”
You tilt your head in understanding and then you ask, “why do you wear the helmet all the time? I have never talked to Mandalorian before. Is it part of your religion?” You inquire, curious and respectful despite him turning you in soon.
“It is.” He confirms. “We do not show our faces to the galaxy. It is a part of our Creed.” He thinks about how he had taken his helmet off for Grogu and now he needs to redeem himself. “Our strength is in our anonymity.” He leans forward. “Why did you let your ex saddle you with debt?” He asks.
You suppose it’s fair that he asks you a question so you huff, “I didn’t. He got my identification card and started taking out loans in my name. Once he had the loans, he gambled and lost it all. Couldn’t repay it and guess who they came calling to?” You scoff, “he tried to steal the Crest too but I managed to get away before it was claimed by some asshole he owed credits to.”
He nods slowly and then tilts his head. “So why do you have so few provisions? No fuel?” He asks, although he feels like he knows the answer. You had just enough fuel in the ship to run the systems for a month. Using it as a place to sleep. No real food stores. “You must earn good credits at that club?” You sigh softly and look away. “I was trying to pay off the debt.” You confess. “But it’s too much and they sent you to collect me.” You sound defeated and tired as you glance back at him. “When will you turn me in?” You ask, as the waitress sets your meal down in front of you. “Eat.” He orders, ignoring your question. “After that, we will get provisions.”
Watching him as he crosses his arm, you pick up the spoon to eat your meal. It’s good, better than anything you’ve eaten since you ran away and you moan at the taste. He shifts slightly and you smile softly, “so there’s no Mrs. Djarin?” You assume not since he fucked you but you find men have no morals.
Din tilts his head. “No.” He says after a moment. “I do not have a riduur. If I did, I would not have touched you.” He believes in the vows you take with a partner. Watching you eat, he realizes that you probably have not been eating well since you went on the run. The server comes back and he offers more credits. “Another meal to go and another drink.” He nods towards the gamoran ale you had nearly finished. “She’s thirsty.”
He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You swallow harshly and tilt your head at him after you set your drink down. “Are you always so accommodating with your bounties?” You smirk and lean back in your seat.
“Most of my bounties don’t cooperate.” He reminds you, a smirk you can’t see under his helmet but you can hear it in his voice. He leans back as well and watches your eyes darken slightly as they drift over his body. “You decided to be a good girl for me.”
You smirk, “you do give good incentives, Mando.” You wink and glance around the cantina. “I guess it was all for nothing though, huh?” You snort and he sighs, shaking his head.
He knows you expect him to just let you go, but he can’t do that. He’s expected to bring you back. They bring the extra meal, packaged up and your drink. “Drink up.” He tells you as he stands and takes the package. “We have a few more stops to make.”
“Okay.” You murmur, pulling back from him since he seems set on cashing you in. You sigh and drink the ale, slamming the cup down on the table. “Let’s go.” You huff, standing up with a shake of your head
The trip to the market is made in uncomfortable silence. Din doesn’t say anything and you are pouting. He buys enough provisions for two people for at least a month. Ignoring the questioning glances as he hands over credits and carries packages. “Back to the ship.” He tells you. “I’ve got one more errand but he’s coming to me.”
You sigh, knowing your fate is closer as you make your way back to the Crest with the supplies. He carries them easily and you hate how that turns you on to watch him as he shows his strength. You’ve felt those muscles in the dark and when he turns his visor towards you, you look away.
“Mando!” The booming voice comes from outside the ship and he smiles under his helmet as the impressive robes that Karga has taken to wearing appears before the man himself does. “You found yourself another Razor Crest!” Greeting him like a friend, Karga comes up the ramp with his arms extended. “The last time I was on a ship with you, the Beskar saved me.” He reminds Din with a hearty laugh, even though at the time, they had been adversaries. “What brings you to Nevarro? Have you seen the changes? We are thriving, I tell you.” Din chuckles. “Business.” He admits, although he had said as much on the holo he had sent Karga before landing. He turns his helmet towards you and introduces you. “This is Governor Karga.” He tells you. “Former head of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro.”
Your eyes widen and you reach out to shake the hand of the Governor. “Nice to meet you.” You say and then glance at Din, wondering what this is all about. You’re confused and concerned - wondering what this has to do with him dropping you off for your bounty.
Karga’s smile turns knowing and he bends over your hand and kisses the back of it. “What a beautiful lady!” He coos. “We are delighted you visited our planet.” Din huffs slightly, annoyed that the other man is flirting with you, although Karga always fancied himself as a ladies man. “Do you have it?” He interrupts, making Karga turn his attention back to him. “I do.” He lets go of your hand to reach for a large pouch from one of the pockets of his voluminous robes. “This is quite the-“ Din reaches for the pouch, “thank you.” He tells the governor, cutting him off because he doesn’t want the comments. Karga seems off kilter for a moment and then glances back at you. “Of course.” He nods. “Remember my offer.” He tells Mando. “We would love to have you right here, calling Navarro home.” Mando nods once and reaches out to shake Karga’s hand. “Thanks, but I have a bounty to complete.”
Even more confused, you look between the two men and frown, nodding when Karga bids you goodbye. “May the force be with you.” He says and you watch him walk off. “Din-” You start but he shakes his head, “don’t. Let’s go.” You swallow harshly and nod, knowing you have to accept your mistakes
It takes a few minutes to store everything he had bought and soon he’s up in the cockpit with you in the seat behind him. The Crest is full of fuel and he hums as he starts the engines. “This machine is perfect.” He mutters to himself as he lifts off.
You sit there, biting your lip as you watch him punch in the coordinates. You wonder if you could change his mind about turning you in so you stand up, walking over to him, and you straddle his lap. “What-” You fumble to reach down for his belt. “Let me - I want to show you why you should keep me around.” You demand and Din reaches down to stop your hands. “Stop.” He demands and you shake your head, “I can be good. I promise. I can show you.” You try to move your hands again but he growls, “stop.” He grabs your wrists and you cry, managing to release your wrists from his hold. You fall off his lap, stumbling as you make your way to the ladder as tears steam down your cheeks. “You’re a bastard, Djarin.” You choke, climbing down the ladder so you can throw yourself in your bunk.
Din sighs, knowing that you hate him right now, but he doesn’t follow you. Instead he checks the coordinates and watches as the ship jumps into hyperspace. Hoth will be in the viewscreen in just an hour and he can take care of his business and get off the frozen planet.
You curl into your sheets, realizing this could be your last moments of freedom so you inhale deeply and try to catch your breath after sobbing. You feel betrayed and a little used but you know deep down you knew what you were getting into by fucking the Mandalorian. You wanted him and you like him. That’s what makes this so painful.
He hears your crying and it tugs at his heart. Making him clench his fists to prevent himself from getting up and going down to your bunk. He needs to do this. He can’t let you distract him. He sighs again as he leans back and thinks about the kid. Wondering if he would like you. He feels like he would.
You’re not sure how much time passes. You pass out from exhausting yourself from your cries and you aren’t sure when but you feel the ship land. You start to panic, wiping your eyes, and you wonder if you can outrun the Mandalorian. You shuffle from your bunk, waiting until you hear the Crest land, and as soon as you can, you press the button to open the ramp. You bounce from one foot to the other as it lowers until you can finally run down it, glancing around and you shiver at the freezing temperature.
“Dank ferik!” Din sees you run across the ice an he’s quickly throwing switches to shut the engines down before racing down the ladder and off the ship after you. Shouting your name is useless as the wind howls around him and he can see that you are already slowing down because of how cold it is. However, that’s not what worries him, the last time he was here, he had encountered a huge creature under the ice and he doesn’t have his rifle this time. Instead of running, Mando activates the jet pack on his back and launches himself into the air, shooting out across the distance between you faster than he could run. His heart is hammering in his chest, hoping that you don’t call the creature to you by the vibration of your feet over the ice. The roar of the jet pack is not even heard over the wind, so he knows you don’t hear him coming when you look back and don’t see him running behind you, because he’s already dropping down in front of you to grab you when you run into him.
You scream when you bump into him, the wind whipping your face. “Let go of me, you bastard!” You cry when his arm wraps around you and you struggle against him. “I’m sorry!” He shouts over the wind and you bang on his chest plate until you slump against him. Defeated. You sob and he wastes no time wrapping his arm around your legs, lifting you over his shoulder. You hang limping over his form, resigned to your fate.
He doesn’t land and walk to the cluster of buildings that look like alien pods on the frozen landscape. You are shivering over his shoulder so he speeds up slightly, wanting to get you inside. It was stupid for you to run, but he doesn’t blame you. This is the only way this will be resolved and you won’t have anyone else coming for you. When he lands, you whimper as he sets you on your feet but you don’t resist as he clinks the binder cuffs around your wrists again. “You bastard.” You murmur and he ignores it as he guides you towards the door where the client is waiting.
You are shivering as he escorts you into the cantina, your hands cuffed together as he holds you by the upper arm. “Ah, Mando. I knew you’d be able to find her.” The man stands up to greet Din and you curl your lip, “you know I didn’t owe you the money. It was my asshole ex.” You hiss, knowing that this is the moment your heart gets broken by the Mandalorian.
“Doesn’t matter.” His greedy eyes slide over you with a lecherous look in them as the client smirks. “The debt is under your chain code, belongs to you in every way.” He licks his lips as he chuckles. “But maybe we can work out a way for you to work off the debt for me.” Mando tenses for a moment, angry at the implication, before he pulls out the large pouch and tosses it to the other man. The portly human is startled and fumbles, nearly dropping the pouch as he frowns. “What’s this?” He asks, “I’m supposed to pay you for bringing her to me .” Mando grunts, “her debt.” He tells the client stiffly. “She had the credits on her when I found her.” He lies. “I brought her in like you wanted, but she’s paying you.” The man huffs and starts to sputter out an excuse to not honor the payment, but Mando’s hand moves to rest on his blaster, his intention clear. “Her debt is paid.” The bounty hunter tells him bluntly. “Erase the bounty and the alert on her chain code. You have your credits, she goes free.” It’s not a suggestion, it’s a demand with a threat underneath. You are free from being hunted by anyone else or he will kill the bastard right here.
Your eyes are wide at his actions. He just paid off your debt. You gasp and glance between him and the other man. Din’s fingers flex on his blaster and you almost collapse in relief when the man spits out “fine” when he knows he cannot fight a Mandalorian. “Erase it. Now.” Din demands, not willing to leave until the job is completed. The man fumbles, pulling out his comm to delete the bounty and clear your name. “It’s done.” He promises and Din tilts his helmet to confirm. “Good. Oh and give her your cape.” He orders and the man frowns, “my cape? Now you’re just being ridiculous.” He scoffs and Din grips his blaster. “Fine. Fine. Take it.” He demands, shrugging it off and tosses it at you. You wrap it around yourself and Din nods, “let’s go cyar’ika.” You are pissed at him for not telling you what his plan was but you follow him out into the cold.
He stops along the walkway, feeling your eyes on him but he doesn’t explain. A droid ferry stops and Din tosses him a credit, telling him where the Crest is located and he holds his hand out to help you into the hovercraft. You stare at him for a second until the droid beeps that he won’t wait forever and you climb in. Din hops in after you and settles back against the seat as the taxi shoots out across the ice.
You stare out across the ice, the wind is bitter on your face and you pull the cape tighter around you. Din seems to notice and unclips his own cape, putting it over your shoulders. “Thank you.” You murmur and tears sting in your eyes as it smells like him when you nudge your face into it.
The rest of the ride is silent until the droid pulls to a stop in front of the ship. Din hops out and reaches for your hand but you ignore it as you climb out of the speeder awkwardly. He sighs but doesn’t say anything, just nodding to the droid before turning and walking up the ramp into the ship behind you. He notices you immediately go to your bunk and sighs again as he closes the hatch and wonders if you will ever talk to him again. It shouldn’t matter, but it does and your silence hurts worse than he had imagined as he climbs the ladder into the cockpit and quickly fires up the engines to leave Hoth.
You aren’t sure what happens next but as you depart Hoth you try to make sense of it all. He had omitted telling you what his plan was, letting you think he was turning you in. You sigh and after too long with your thoughts, you make your way up to the cockpit where he is. “Why’d you do it? Why didn’t you turn me in and take the credits?” You question with his back turned to you as he looks into hyperspace.
“Because the only thing that you are guilty of is trusting the wrong person.” Din admits but he didn’t turn around to face you. You huff quietly and he chuckles dryly. “You wonder why I didn’t tell you what I was going to do.” He guesses, but he knows that’s what’s on your mind. “I’ve never not turned in a bounty.” He tells you. “He needed to believe that you believed that you were being turned in. Otherwise, he would have never accepted the credits.”
You frown, “that’s - that’s ridiculous. Are you saying I couldn’t act? Fuck you, Djarin. You made me think - I thought after the time in the bunk that we - I thought you trusted me enough - apparently not. You didn’t trust me enough to not let me think you were turning me in and the sex between us meant nothing. Did it mean nothing to you?” You ask, wondering now if he didn’t turn you in because he felt guilty for sleeping with you.
Din slowly turns the chair around to face you. Watching you as your chest heaves and he thinks you’re beautiful when you’re angry. “It meant something.” He admits, voice low but he knows you hear him when your face softens just slightly. He doesn’t say anything else, just waits to see what you will say, or do.
Shaking your head, you shift from one foot to the other for a moment until you stride forward, he turns to face you, surprised. You straddle him, cupping his helmet and his hands come up to grip your wrists. “I’m not going to - I just-” You lean forward to press your forehead to his helmet, your eyes level with his visor. “You’re insane, Djarin and I - I cannot thank you enough. You saved me. Thank you.” You declare, staring at your reflection in the visor.
“He wasn’t going to touch you.” He promises, his voice dipping down into a dangerous register. One that makes you smirk as you lean back in his lap. Din slowly lets go of your wrists and puts his hands on the arms of the chair. “You’re free to do what you want.”
It’s impossible to not want him now that you know he’s saved you and grind down onto him. “I am now. Thanks to you.” You murmur, sliding your hands down to his chest plate. “I wish I could see your face.” You say, lost in thought.
Guilt over breaking his creed is mixed with the knowledge that he is already dar’manda. Removing it once more is not any different than when he removed his helmet for the kid. He grunts as you grind down on him, cock twitching as he starts to harden. “So take it off.” He tells you quietly, ignoring the way his stomach churns with fear, with anxiety. You deserve this. .
You pause for a moment, needing to know that he's serious, and he takes your hands to place them on the latches of his helmet. You inhale shakily, slowly unlocking them until you lift it. You gasp when the helmet is off his head and you see his face. "Maker." You murmur, tracing every feature, and he averts his eyes like he's self conscious. "You're gorgeous."
He doubts that, his eyes sliding back to your face to see it without the visor between you. He swallows, feeling more vulnerable than when he had been in your bunk with you, but he doesn’t reach for the helmet again. Letting you look like you had wanted to. The air has shifted and he doesn’t know what you will do next.
You lower the helmet to your lap, letting it balance between you, and you reach up to cup his cheeks, "I mean it." You lean in, eyes open until your lips press against his.
Din groans against your lips and his arms wrap around you. Not dragging you closer but just holding you as your tongue slides against his. His own eyes stay open, watching you as he kisses you back.
You moan, tangling your fingers in his hair, and you whimper when he groans in response. He's pressing into your core and you grind down, wanting to hear him groan again.
Din grabs the helmet and sets it aside so he can pull you closer. Groaning your name into your mouth while he rocks his hardening cock up. Loving how you are writhing on his lap. You break off the kiss to moan and he leans in to kiss your throat. “Forgive me for not telling you yet?” He asks, hands squeezing your ass.
You look into his dark eyes, seeing the raw emotion there. It’s obvious he’s never learned to conceal how he feels behind the visor. You nod, “I forgive you. You saved me.” You murmur, leaning in to press your lips to his again, pressing your entire form against him now that there’s nothing holding you back.
He kisses you back fiercely, his tongue tangling with yours and there’s a hunger that is unmatched. Running his hands over your body like he can’t touch enough of you. “Fuck.” He pants. “I want you.” It’s a request, you can turn him down, you can deny him, but he wants you. He wants you now that you know you owe him nothing or that you’re not trying to bargain your freedom with your body.
“I need you.” You respond, kissing his jaw and he groans at the contact. “Now.” You peck his lips and shift off his lap, working on your pants to push them down to your ankles so you can straddle him again. Your fingers work on undoing his flight suit until you reach in and wrap your fingers around his hardening cock.
Din groans and twitches against your palm. “Dank ferik.” He hisses, leaning in and biting down on your shoulder through your shirt. “Take it.” He grunts, loving how you immediately shift to put him in position.
You shift to nudge him against your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his cock with a low moan, and once your thighs meet his, you surge forward to press your lips to his.
He loves how hot your pussy is. How tight you grip him as you settle down on his lap. He pulls back and caresses your cheek. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs. “Ride me. I want to see you without my helmet on.”
It’s impossible to deny his request so you start to rock your hip, riding his cock that stretches you out. “Fuck.” You gasp, pressing your lips to his again while you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close as you grind against him.
It’s not rushed but he can’t say that is the slow rhythmic pace that had been set in your bunk in the dark. This is something a little more free, needy. “Maker.” He hisses, eyes rolling back when you clench around him.
You feel free and you want to celebrate that as you rock on top of him, “shit. Din. You feel - you feel so good inside me.” You moan, rocking down onto him and you press your forehead against his, rocking a little faster against him.
He groans in agreement and grips your hips tightly. He doesn’t want to take over, wants you to be in control over this. To fuck him. “You- you look so good on my cock.” He pants out, opening his eyes and looking down to watch you ride him.
You smirk, “I love seeing your face. Your expressions are so free.” You confess, “you look - you look like you are enjoying every second.” You slide your hands along his chest plate even though he can’t feel you.
“What’s not to enjoy?” He grunts, ignoring the way he wants to hide his face again. Guilty for once again breaking his creed. “You are amazing.”
You chuckle breathlessly, “so are you, baby.” You smirk and lean in to kiss along his jaw, “Maker.” You hiss when you find the right angle, so close to falling apart. You rock on his lap, your clit pressing just right against his beskar. “Din. I’m gonna-” You choke and he growls, “do it, mesh’la.” You whine and rock your hips, falling apart within moments with a squeal.
Now he takes over. You collapse against his chest plate, your lips against his. Din rocks his hips up, thrusting up into your spasming walls as he holds you close. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He grunts. “So wet, so tight.” He hisses when you clench down hard around him again.
You gasp, biting down on his ear as you lean in closer, “cum for me, baby.” You plead, needing to feel it and you are trying to grind down onto him but he’s gripping you so tight.
Din groans your name, shuddering as he feels your hand on his face. He thrusts up into you once, twice more before he is throbbing inside you.
You press kisses to his face as he pulses inside you, filling you up, and you rest your forehead against his when he relaxes and his grip turns into caresses. “So good.” You murmur, pecking his lips, “I don’t - it’s never been like this before.”
He hums softly. “You’ve never been with me.” He teases, although he knows what you mean. “I’ve set a course back for the planet I found you on.” He admits and you pull back to shoot him a confused frown. “My ship is there.” He explains.
“Oh.” You relax a little, “are you planning to make your own way?” You ask, curious and hesitant that he’s going to leave you there and continue on his journey.
He can see the questions in your eyes and he tilts his head slightly, the same way he would have if he had his helmet on. “That depends on you.” He murmurs quietly. “You were bargaining for your freedom and you have that now.” He points out. “If you want to go somewhere else, I need my ship.”
“I wanted my freedom from the bounty. From my ex’s mistakes. I don’t want - I don’t want to be free of you. I’d be happy to follow you if you want me to.” You murmur, caressing his cheek and waiting anxiously for his answer.
His cock is still buried inside you, warm and cozy and you are offering him more. Time with you, space outside a star fighter. You. That’s the part that he’s really interested in. Someone beside him, the hole the kid left can’t be filled but he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. “I have a dangerous life.” He warns you, wanting to be fair to you. “I have to go to Mandalore. To redeem myself.”
You frown, “redeem yourself? Why?” You question, cupping his jaw, and he sighs. “I am dar'manda.” He reveals and you tilt your head in question. “Shunned.” He clarifies and you scoff, “Maker, why-?” He grips your wrists to lower them from his face, “I shouldn’t reveal my face. It’s against my creed.” He declares and your jaw drops, “but you - right now. Did I - have I made this worse?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I had already removed it.” He murmurs softly. “My- the kid.” You don’t understand and he sighs. “I had another bounty. A kid. Little monster.” His eyes are sad and still light up at the thought of him. “I turned him in too. But I went back for him. The Empire was hunting him because he’s-“ he swallows. “He’s a Jedi.” Your eyes widen and he nods. “He left to be with his people and I- I couldn’t let him go without-“
You nod in understanding, “so you’ll go to Mandalore and redeem yourself then you will not remove the helmet again?” You inquire and he nods, “I won’t.” You pout, “that really is sad for the galaxy. Hiding that gorgeous face behind a helmet.” You smirk and tap his nose, “but I understand. It’s your religion. You need to do it.”
“Still want to come along?” He asks seriously, knowing that he would be hurt if you said no. But he had paid your debt knowing you could walk away. He hadn’t done it to keep you a prisoner. Or to get your ship. He had done it because, like the kid, he had felt something for you.
You smirk, “I’d be a fool not to, baby.” You slide your hands down to press your palms on his chest. “I’ve always liked adventure. I was escaping my bounty, not my life. I want to follow you.” You promise, knowing he could tell you not to follow him but you want to.
“We would have to use your ship.” He warns and you grin at him. “You do want my ship.” You tease and he snorts. “Of course I do. The things I can do with this ship are amazing.” His smirk is a little cocky and a lot of confidence. “Just need to install a weapons locker and improve the ground security.”
You playfully roll your eyes, “already trying to change my ship?” You tease, slapping his chest and he grabs your hand, lifting it to kiss your palm. “And in the meantime, we could have lots of helmetless sex. You know, since technically you haven’t redeemed yourself yet.” You trail off, “unless you no longer wish to do that?” You don’t want to push him if he regrets showing you his face.
Din chuckles, bringing your hand to his face and closes his eyes as he feels your fingers brush over his skin. “I don’t think I would want to put my helmet back on with you.” He knows he has to, but he didn’t want to. “Not right now. When I redeem myself, yes, but not now.”
You nod in understanding, “whatever makes you comfortable.” You promise, knowing his creed is so important to him. “We have some time. We can take advantage of your status until then.” You smirk and you feel him start to harden inside you. “Like now.” You giggle, squealing when he leans in to kiss you.
****
You watch as Din walks into the waters, your heart pounding as he finally redeems himself. He kissed you before he put his helmet back on and you are grieving seeing his face but you know this is what he wants. To redeem himself and his creed. You respect that and you watch him eagerly.
Din takes another step forward and drops down into the abyss. “Din!” Your scream echoes off the stone and Bo Katan waits just another moment before she is diving into the water to save him. Submerged and without his Rising Phoenix, the weight of his Beskar is dragging him down further. He struggles but a part of him wonders if this is fate judging him. Right before his vision goes dark, a watery gargle of your name comes out of his mouth.
You fall to your knees, tears in your eyes as you worry he’s gone forever. Your hand on your chest as your heart pounds until moments later when you see Din and Bo Katan break free of the water. “Oh Maker.” You choke in relief.
He’s unconscious when Bo lays him down and her own chest heaves as she waits for him to sputter up water. It would be horribly ironic to have to remove his helmet again to save his life. After a long, tense moment, Din chokes up water, making you cry out in surprise as he coughs while you rush over to his side.
You want to pull his helmet off but you can’t, caressing the beskar, you look down at him and when he surges forward to sit up, you cry out. “Din. Oh Maker.” You choke, wrapping your arms around him, “are you okay?”
One wet, gloved hand reaches for your arm, squeezing it tight. “Witness.” Din isn’t speaking to you, but to Bo Katan. She’s removed her helmet and her eyes widen in understanding. “Witness.” He demands again through a cough and she nods. “What-“ you start to pull away but Din doesn’t let you pull back far enough. “The last thing that I thought about before I blacked out was that I wanted to see your face one more time without the visor between us.” He rasps out, his voice rough from choking and coughing. “If you are my riduur, my wife, I can remove my helmet with you in private.” He murmurs softly. “I would still be following my creed because we would be one.”
Your eyes widen at the confession and you frown, "you want me to - to be your wife?" You ask and he nods, "I do." You glance at Bo Katan who stares at you until you fix your focus back on Din. "Yes." You blurt out, "I want - I want to be yours. I want to marry you." A grin appears on your lips and you nod.
Din nods once and a few moments later, he is on his feet. Soaked to the bone and barely recovered from nearly drowning, but he takes your hand. “Mandalorian vows are simple.” He tells you. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” He says softly. "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."
You frown as you fumble through the words in Mando’a with help from him until you repeat them in basic. You are now his and you grin, reaching for his wet hands to squeeze him. “I love you, Din.” You promise, knowing this journey has been a rollercoaster but you know you are where you belong.
“I love you, Mesh’la.” Bo smirks slightly at his affection since she’s only known him as stoic and slightly grumpy. He leans in and presses his helmet against your forehead. “Later, when we are alone, I can reveal my face again.”
You nod, glad that you will be able to kiss him when you are alone. “Later.” You agree to his promise and sigh, caressing his beskar. You shift to stand up, taking his hand when he grunts and gets to his feet. “Congratulations.” Bo Katan smirks and you smile, “thank you. We’ve been on a journey but I have a feeling the adventure is only beginning.” You smirk at Din and he chuckles, knowing that life with you will be exciting.
Summary: Marcus, Din and you used to be best friends. Now you're on opposite sides of the law with a decade worth of grudges between you. But hate can quickly become something else ...
Warnings: angst | canon-typical violence | mentions of food and alcohol and smoking | they’re all mean to each other and they have a difficult relationship | (a lot of) dirty talk (by my standards) | slight power imbalance | reader has hair that can be grabbed | threesome m/f/(m) (kinda) | ecouteurism | voyeurism | exhibitionism | a bit of edging | fingering | competitiveness | (unprotected) piv sex | creampie | a tiny, tiny bit of degradation
Notes: "A friends -> enemies -> throuple vibe with cowboy!Din Djarin, cowboy!Marcus Pike, and a third person" was what @quinnnfabrgay-writes wished for for @pedrostories' Secret Santa event and i took it and ran with it for 11k words ... dear, Kaitlin, I hope I got it right and you'll have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. As always, this story wouldn't be what it is without Dani @alexturner who calmed me down when I was still far far away from completing this fic two weeks before the deadline!
***
1866/67
You were all together and it was perfect. Until you weren’t anymore, and you lost your anchor in life, your true north. Oaths given and promises made didn’t mean anything when you were not yet grown but already too old to believe in miracles.
The day Marcus told you and Din he was moving away was the day you made the acquaintance of grief. The childish part of you had thought the three of you would stay together forever, just like you had promised each other last summer lying in the grass by the river. Wherever life would take one of you, the others would follow. But you were barely 13 and couldn’t decide your own fate yet. So when winter came around and the grass died and the river froze over, the promises of the summer had to be broken too.
Marcus just dropped the news while the three of you were out hunting – or pretending to – in the forest behind town. He couldn’t even look at you when he said it. And he didn’t go after Din when Din stormed off, leaving you to listen to Marcus’ excuses. The only thing you thought would be the one constant in your life ran like dirt through your fingers that afternoon. A few weeks later, you saw Marcus for the last time, astride a horse next to his father, leaving town without looking back. With him left a part of your childish innocence.
The grown-up part of you understood. Marcus was a boy, he had to go where his father commanded his family to go. And his father had just been promoted to sheriff – in a town two states away. Of course, Marcus had to go with him, but you still resented him for it. Why couldn’t he stand up to his father and stay? Maybe find work on the same ranch as Din? Din, after all, was your age too, and an orphan, and was doing well by himself. If Din could be self-reliant, why not Marcus?
At least you still had Din and he had you. You tried to keep your friendship alive, visited him on the ranch, invited him to town, sent him gifts when you yourself had less than nothing, just to see him smile. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough. And when the snow disappeared under the warm spring sun, Din disappeared too, without a word, without a trace. One day he was there and the next he wasn’t. That taught you there was a grief worse than your best friend telling you he was moving away. It was your best friend deeming you not important enough for a goodbye.
When the next summer came around, it was only you who was lying in the grass by the river. Your big, childish eyes that had hungrily taken in the wonders around you were narrowed, your heart that had been wide open to the people around you was firmly locked. Neither Din nor Marcus had contacted you in the months since they had left and now you knew – relying on someone else only meant pain and heartbreak. Trusting someone else with a piece of yourself would only leave you lying in the dirt, bloodied and bruised.
That afternoon, you made a promise to yourself: you would never need another person again. You would never give away a piece of yourself again. You would protect yourself at all costs, even if it meant cutting yourself off from the rest of the world. Whatever happened, you would never experience grief like this ever again.
1879
Your arms are stiff and painful when you wake up. The bonds tying your wrists together haven’t loosened at all during the night. You groan and your bottom lip tears open – you’re parched, you’re tired, you’re in pain.
“Mornin’,” Marcus says, stoking the fire with a stick.
Without a word, you roll over onto your other side, so you’re facing away from him. You hear his sure steps, spurs jingling every time his boots land on the cold, hard dirt, and then he rolls you back toward him with a gentle touch to your shoulder. Before you can protest, he pressed the nozzle of a waterskin to your lips and makes you drink. You collect some of the water in your mouth, then spit it right back in his face. He wipes himself dry with a neutral expression, then retreats to the fire, picking up where he left off.
“I’m just tryin’ to be kind,” he mumbles, as if he’s trying to reassure himself he’s doing the right thing. You pretend you haven’t heard him.
His horse whinnies softly when the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts across your camp. Your stomach growls as you’re trying to figure out when you had your last meal. Yesterday morning, you conclude, before Marcus Pike forced himself back into your life, polished boots on his feet and a gleaming star on his chest, heavy shackles in his hand and a loaded gun strapped to his side. That wanted poster stuffed into his back pocket was all the authorization he needed to arrest you, and you let him, because his reappearance after twelve years of absence made you freeze like prey. The only people who could have saved you, Burke and Bridger and the other members of your gang, were too far away to do anything about your arrest.
“You hungry?” he asks from his crouching position next to the fire. “There’s still some beans left over from last night.” The beans you refused to eat. “I could warm them up for you.”
You pretend you haven’t heard him, focusing on an ant scurrying across dried grass and tiny pebbles. He doesn’t get to talk to you, much less cook.
“You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually,” he adds, his voice melodic and clear in the cold morning air.
You don’t, because you don’t owe him anything, and after two more attempts he gives up. Even though your stomach is empty, growling hungrily, it’s also filled with the warmth of pride as you ride next to him later, hands bound to the horn of the saddle. All you have to do is to stay strong until you reach your destination, some jail or other in a dirty town. He’ll never find out that you know who he is if you play your cards right. Let the doubt and prospect eat away at his heart.
“You’ve changed,” he observes some time around midday, as you ride next to each other on a well-worn path over the plains. “When we were kids, you could never shut up.”
You pretend to be interested in the flight of a northern harrier high up in the sky, acting as if you didn’t hear him.
“I always expected you to make a good match or open up a tailor shop,” Marcus goes on, seizing you up from below the brim of his white hat that is too bright in the midday sun. “I never expected this of you.”
His comment gets to you, worming its way under your skin like a splinter ready to infect you with a fever. You bite the inside of your cheek so you don’t shoot him a snide remark. He doesn’t get to hurt you, not again.
“What’s done is done,” he says next, and his horse shakes its head with a snort as if its’ agreeing. “Maybe a few years in prison will clear your head and set you straight.”
The splinter is infected now; it happened much faster than you had expected. The infection spreads to your stomach, making it bubble with acid, it spreads to your cheeks, sets them on fire with anger and shame. You dig your nails into the leather of the saddle and fill your lungs with air, ready to scream all the ugly things at him that you’ve contained for more than a decade. But before you can form a single syllable, the distant roll of thunder interrupts you, the distant pounding of hooves on dirt.
Marcus hears it too, and his hand instinctively flies to the colt strapped to his side. He glances around, eyes narrowed against the sun, but you spot it before he does – a tall rider on a gray horse, so darkly colored it looks black, rushing toward you as if hellhounds are after him, their fangs bared. You don’t know what to make of that sight, but you’re acutely aware of your defenselessness. If he means you harm, you’ll be completely at his mercy. Marcus seems to be thinking the same thing as he glances over at you, but you make a point of facing the approaching rider, your face blank. You don’t want his concern, especially not since it’s his fault you’re in this situation.
The gray horse comes to an abrupt stop a few yards away from you. Its rider is wearing a hat that matches the color of its coat, and his face is hidden by a dark bandanna tied across his mouth and nose and cheeks, so only his brown eyes are visible. Where one hand holds onto the reins of his horse, the other holds a shotgun, propped against his hip so the barrel points up to the sky.
“She’s mine, Pike,” he growls, even before the dust has settled.
“Now, hold your horses,” Marcus says, sizing up the newcomer. “I am an agent of the law, deliverin’ this here prisoner –”
“– into my hands,” the stranger finishes, now aiming the barrel of the shotgun straight at Marcus’ chest.
Your gaze wanders between the two, trying to figure out who is the lesser evil.
“Careful.” Marcus’ voice is steady, but his hand that he lifts instinctively in front of his chest is shaking. His other hand, however, cocks the hammer of his colt in one smooth, practiced motion.
“Don’t be a hero.” The stranger flicks his gun to Marcus’ side, then back onto his chest. “You’ll lose.”
You don’t know what it is, if it’s the way he tilts his head or if it’s the way he pronounces his Ls, with a slight lilt to his voice, but suddenly that stranger isn’t a stranger at all.
“Din?” you gasp, and Marcus’ head snaps to you so fast you hear his neck crack.
Din’s eyes don’t even flicker to you. “Move back, Pike,” he orders.
Your head is spinning. If this is really Din, and you’ve never been surer of anything in your life, then you’re saved. You have no idea what you’ve done to deserve this much luck, but you’re not about to look the gift horse in the mouth. And even though both he and Marcus broke your heart twelve years ago, you can already feel it stitch itself back together inside your chest at the sight before you.
“Move back,” Din repeats. “That bounty is mine.”
The carefully placed stitches tear open again and you bleed. He doesn’t know who you are, or he doesn’t care; all he wants is the money. With every stitch that comes undone and every drop of blood you bleed, your heart turns back into a stone that sits heavy inside your chest.
“I’m not movin’ for you.” Marcus spits down into the dirt and for a moment you’re distracted from your pain by that crude action. “Bounty hunter scum.”
A shot rings out as Din fires at Marcus, shooting the hat off his opponent’s head. Marcus’ horse spooks, rears with a loud shriek, and Marcus, who is caught unawares, tumbles down and hits the ground with a heavy thud and a grunt. He’s back on his feet in no time, his body unhurt, his damaged pride only visible by the flush that creeps into his cheeks. You want to shout when he rushes toward Din’s horse, but it all happens so fast, and then Din hits the ground too, pulled out of the saddle, his shotgun discarded somewhere in the dirt.
Marcus hits Din, and you hear a sickening crack when his fist connects with Din’s jaw. He does it again, one hand holding onto the collar of Din’s shirt. But then Din frees himself with a shove, and Marcus stumbles before he hits the ground again when Din returns his punches. Din climbs on top of him, pinning down Marcus’ arms with his knees, and hits him again, cracking open Marcus’ cheek. Marcus grunts in pain and kicks his legs, trying to free himself, but Din appears to be much stronger. He punches and punches with such precision that watching him becomes almost hypnotic until you can’t take it anymore.
“Din!” you shout, and when he doesn’t stop, you kick your horse and steer it next to the two men. “Din!” you repeat, and he looks up at you, not even a glint of recognition in his eyes. His bandanna hangs askew, but is still covering most of his face. You wonder what he looks like now. “Leave him!” you order, your voice laced with all the hurt you’ve buried for twelve years.
Marcus, his suit dusty and his face bruised, is laughing, and when Din offers him a hand to pull him up, he pulls Din into a tight hug that Din returns with just as much enthusiasm. You can do nothing but stare, feeling dumb.
Once they break apart, Marcus remarks, “You’re strong,” and rubs his chin.
“You too,” Din returns the compliment, patting Marcus’ shoulder.
They have forgotten you’re there. You shrink back in on yourself, hating yourself for wishing they’d just give you one small sign of recognition.
“About her …,” Din starts as if you’re not even there.
“Let’s share the bounty,” Marcus offers without hesitation. “It’s so much money.”
“But you caught her.”
Marcus laughs, and you’re transported back to those long summer days by the river. “And you fought for her. I think that makes us even.”
Din holds out his hand. “Let’s shake on it then.”
Marcus does without hesitation.
And you haven’t felt dirtier in all your life, like you’re nothing but a piece of meat to be bargained with.
*******
When the sun has vanished halfway behind the horizon, you reach a small settlement that is nothing more than a dusty main street and rickety wooden buildings huddled together as if trying to seek comfort. You spent all day riding behind Din and Marcus who talked amicably about their jobs and their lives and their horses while ignoring you. You’re well aware that the tears you fought hard to hold back have left tracks in the dirt on your cheeks, and you wish you could wipe them clean so the men don’t see the evidence of the hurt they’ve caused.
Why don’t they remember you?
Marcus leads your little group to the jail, the only adobe building in the entire town, and is greeted by a dirty man who looks like a weasel.
“Jail’s full,” he says even before Marcus has had time to open his mouth.
“She’s wanted for bank robbery in three states,” Marcus tries.
The man shrugs, unimpressed. “I have a man in there who’s wanted for murder in five.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do with her?” Marcus asks.
The man shrugs again. “Ain’t my problem.”
Marcus looks to Din for help, but Din shrugs too.
Marcus leads you to the saloon next, the only building in town that seems to be busy, and ties his horse up out front. He vanishes inside for a short while, and when he comes back out, he says, “They have one room left.”
“Let’s go,” Din grunts, and pulls you off your horse.
Your legs feel stiff from riding all day, every bone in your body aches from tiredness. You want nothing more than to crumble to the ground and find some rest, but you won’t show any signs of weakness. So you hold your head high and shake off Din’s hands with a snarl, walking into the saloon next to him like an equal, not his prisoner. Marcus leads the way up a creaking wooden staircase and into a dirty corridor that has yellowed pictures on the walls and heavy curtains hanging in front of the windows. From downstairs, you hear the shouts of drunk men and the laughter of women who are paid for their company. You know exactly what kind of establishment you’re in.
Marcus pushes open the door to a room and suddenly the noise from downstairs stops. It’s like you’ve entered another world, maybe one of those fancy hotels back east you sometimes read about in magazines. The curtains in here are a pretty shade of pink, the floors are clean, a fire is crackling in the fireplace, and on a small table in front of the chaise lounge, there are three bowls of steaming hot stew just waiting for you. Off to your left you spot another doorway and through that a big bed covered in white linen. Your body aches with longing.
“Sit,” Din growls, and pushes you onto the chaise lounge. He pulls out more shackles from the saddlebag slung over his shoulder, ones that come with a long chain, and ties you to the chaise lounge. It’s only then you realize the piece of furniture is fixed in place with iron bolts screwed into the floorboards.
Only then does Marcus take off your handcuffs.
You reach for one of the bowls of stew and eagerly begin slurping it down, too hungry to act aloof around the men. You ignore Marcus who throws Din a snide look. Din doesn’t return it; instead, he takes off the bandanna and reaches for a bowl of his own. And you freeze, a piece of half-chewed potato on your tongue. He looks just like the boy you remember, his proud chin and big nose still the defining features in his face. But a stubbly, black beard is covering his jaw now, and a faint scar runs just below his left eye, and his lips are somehow fuller than you remember. You know you’re staring but you can’t help it – you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning.
“Eat your supper,” Marcus snaps at you.
You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or if it’s Din coming back into your life so unexpectedly, but you’ve had it with Marcus Pike. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you snap back.
A smirk lights up Marcus’ face and you wish you could punch him but he’s sitting too far away. “Oh, so you do know how to talk.”
“Marcus …,” Din says, and it sounds like a warning.
“I know how to talk,” you confirm. “I just have nothing to say to you.”
“You had to know you’d get caught sooner or later,” Marcus points out. “No need to be upset. You played a dangerous game and you lost.”
His words hurt more than a slap would have. “That’s not … don’t you remember?”
“He remembers,” Din says quickly before Marcus can reply. “But that was a long time ago. He doesn’t owe you anything.”
“I want to hear it from him.” Your jaw is so tight you have difficulty speaking.
“You broke the law. I caught you. End of story,” is Marcus’ short reply.
You can’t let it go. “So our past doesn’t mean anything to you?”
“Din’s right,” Marcus answers with a shrug. “We were just kids. There’s nothing –”
“You promised we’d always be friends,” you interrupt him, your voice so loud it rings in your ears. “You promised, and then you left.” You turn to Din whose gaze is fixed on his half-empty bowl. “Tell him, Din.”
Before Din can say anything, Marcus puts down his bowl with a loud clang. “Now listen here.” Where your voice was full of emotion, his is calculating. “We were kids. We were playing around. You couldn’t honestly have expected me to keep a promise when I couldn’t decide anything for myself. My father –”
“Fuck your father!” you shout. “Din could look after himself too.”
Marcus laughs and it makes you want to press your hands to your ears to black out the sound. “You’re delusional, missy. Why should I have abandoned my family for a ranch hand and some dirt-poor street kid?”
“You promised!” you scream, flinging your bowl across the room so it bursts against the wall, its contents landing on the floor with a wet plop.
Marcus laughs even louder. “By God, those wanted posters are right. You’re insane.”
“That’s enough.” Din’s deep voice makes both you and Marcus pause and look at him. “Ain’t no reason to be cruel to her.”
“Just listen to her.” Marcus runs his fingers through his hair, a gesture you remember all too well.
“I am,” Din answers with a grunt. “Maybe you should, too.”
Marcus takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. A smile tugs on Din’s lips, one that makes your stomach drop. They share some kind of understanding you’re excluded from.
“Alright,” Marcus says with a nod and turns to you. “Say your piece.”
You don’t want him to call you insane again so you will your voice to be steady when you speak. “You and Din, you were my only friends, the only real family I had. We promised each other to … to be there.” The way Marcus looks at you, his cold gaze full of attention, makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. Now that he listens to you, you can’t seem to keep that anger alive. “And I know you had to leave. If my family had left, I don’t think I would’ve stayed behind either. But you … there was no word from you for twelve years. And then you just turn up as if nothing has happened.”
Marcus nods again and turns his attention to Din. “You feel the same way?” he asks.
“No,” is Din’s simple answer.
That stokes the angry fire again. “But you left too.” Your voice isn’t steady anymore. “You left because the memory of him was too painful.”
Now it’s Din’s turn to laugh in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea why I left.”
“Then tell me,” you demand.
“No.” You’re starting to hate that word. “It had nothing to do with you.”
Before you can press him for an explanation, Marcus clears his throat. “You know where I went. I left you my new address. You also didn’t send word for twelve years.”
“Because you just left,” you say quickly, not prepared to admit that what he’s saying makes sense.
Marcus ignores you. “And what did you expect? You’re practically an outlaw, I’m a sheriff … did you think I’d show up on your doorstep to reminisce about the good old days? I moved on a long time ago and it would be best if you did too.”
“Didn’t it ever occur to you that this might be your fault? If you hadn’t left –”
“Don’t you dare put this on me!” Marcus shouts. “No one forced you to rob banks, that was your decision.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” you snap.
Without warning, Marcus lunges at you, hands outstretched, ready to grab any part of your body he can reach. You flinch back, chains scraping against the wooden floorboards, but before he can touch you, Din is there, shielding you with his body.
“That’s enough,” he says, voice strained from holding back Marcus. “Don’t let her get to you.”
Marcus groans, but takes a step back. “She’s …”
“I know,” Din says, throwing you a disdainful loom over his shoulder. “But ain’t we all lookin’ for someone to blame for our misfortunes?”
A tiny little gear starts turning at the back of your mind at hearing him say that. Is that what you’re doing? Putting the blame for your miserable life on someone who wasn’t even present for most of it, just so you don’t have to hold yourself accountable?
“Din …,” you start carefully, no idea what to say to him but hoping you can catch his attention.
Din only has eyes for Marcus though, “It’s late.” He yawns deeply. “We still have a long ride ahead of us. Let’s go hit the hay.”
“We can’t leave –,” Marcus starts.
“We can leave her here. Trust me,” Din adds when Marcus doesn’t move.
Trust me. Those words echo around your mind later when you’re trying to fall asleep, head resting on a prickly pillow, body uncomfortably twisted on the chaise lounge. Sometimes, that echo is replaced with a different one. Ain’t we all looking for someone to blame for our misfortunes? If Marcus hadn’t left, your life could have gone differently. But you made the decision to push everyone away when he was gone. And you made the decision not to reach out to him. And you made the decision to look for guidance in a band of outlaws instead of in your town’s seamstress or in a nice husband or in faith.
A tear rolls down your cheek and lands on the pillow with a soft plop as embarrassment makes you run cold with dread. Ever since Marcus put you in chains, you’ve behaved like a spoiled brat. You didn’t show him you recognized him either, waiting for him to … you don’t know what it is you want from him. He cooked for you, made sure you were somewhat comfortable, considering the circumstances, and you just spit in his face. It’s not surprising he doesn’t want anything to do with you. If your places were reversed …
But before you can finish that thought, you hear a strange noise, a deep, low moan that you can’t quite place, followed by the creaking of an old bedframe. Then you remember the men and women from downstairs, the way the women were sitting in the men’s laps, laughing at their jokes. You hold your breath and prick up your ears, listening for a higher moan, but none comes. Even the bedframe doesn’t creak a second time. It’s only when you really listen that you can hear strangled pants, as if someone is trying to keep quiet.
“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it.”
Your whole body turns stiff as a board at the sound of Din’s voice, louder than any sounds you heard so far, too loud on your eagerly listening ears. Your face heats up instantly and you squirm, your heart jumping into your throat. No, you’re imagining things … there is no way this sound could have come from Din. He’s in the bedroom with Marcus, not …
Again, your thoughts are interrupted, this time by a low grunt, followed by a sharp intake of breath that is released into the most sinful moan you’ve ever heard. And this time, there is no doubt about who is making those sounds and where they’re coming from. Because while that moan is still sticking to your eardrums like honey, you hear Din’s voice again, sharper this time.
“Will you look at that? So eager, and I haven’t even started yet.”
You press your palms to your ears, hands clammy with shame. Are you more embarrassed for them because you can hear them so clearly or for yourself because your childhood best friends, both men …? You’re not stupid, you’ve heard stories about how men sometimes prefer the company of other men, but a part of you thought those were tall tales, told because it sounded so forbidden. But Din and Marcus …
Carefully, you lift one hand of your ear and listen. At first, you don’t hear anything, but the more you try, the clearer you hear it: sheets rustling, low, breathless pants, even the sound of skin moving against skin. You listen with bated breath, very aware that you shouldn’t, but even though your stomach is still in knots, something else is happening to your body too. A hungry pressure between your legs demands your attention, but you ignore it by digging your nails into the fabric of your dirty pants.
“Din …,” comes Marcus’ strangled voice after a while, and you inhale sharply at hearing the desperation in his voice.
“Oh no.” Din’s voice is eerily calm, still deeper than usual, but steady. “You ain’t done payin’ for what you did to my face.”
“Din, please …,” Marcus begs.
“No, darlin’. I like it too much when you’re like this.”
The bedframe creaks again, just once at first, then the sound of wood being moved against wood turns into a steady rhythm. Marcus mumbles something you can’t hear, but you hear Din reply, “I know … you’re doin’ so well.” Realizing you’ve been holding your breath all this time, you inhale sharply, the dry air in the room irritating your throat. You swallow hard at the same time as Marcus breathes out a trembling, “Fuck.”
The chain around your ankle jingles, and it’s only then you realize you’ve been rubbing your thighs together, chasing friction. You stop immediately, but Din and Marcus haven’t heard you. Marcus’ moans sound strangled now, as if Din is covering his mouth with his hand. Or maybe Marcus is trying to keep quiet, remembering where they are and who is in the other room, just a thin wooden door between you.
“Please,” Marcus tries again, the word muffled and barely intelligible.
“That word sounds so pretty comin’ from your lips,” Din groans, and it’s the first time his voice breaks.
“Din!” A sharp warning.
“Oh, come on now, don’t be shy,” Din coaxes.
Suddenly, all the noise stops, and you hear your blood rushing in your ears. Then you hear Marcus again, his voice straining as if he’s choking on the words. “Fuck!” he groans. “Fuck, Din! Fuck, yeah. Fu- don’t, don’t fuckin’ stop.”
Din grunts, or maybe he laughs. You can’t tell. You’re burning up as if you have a fever. One of your hands is resting at the top of your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles. Your other hand is in your mouth as you bite down, stopping yourself from making a single sound that could betray you. Between your legs, everything is clenching and burning, but you don’t dare give yourself the release you so desperately crave. And when your thumb brushes too close to your center, you remove your hand with a jerk, grabbing the chaise lounge instead.
Din groans, a sound you feel deep in your thorax, and you hear Marcus breathe one final, “Fuck,” before a silence so thick you could slice it with a knife settles over your two rooms. You try to take deep breaths, but your whole body screams for attention, screams to be touched and caressed. It’s painful when you release your grip on the chaise lounge, and your hand shakes when you bring it up to rest against your stomach. Your eyes flicker to the door on your right, but Din and Marcus are quiet. Their groans and sighs and words are still fresh on your mind as you allow yourself to replay them.
Your hand wanders lower and lower, and when you press two fingers against yourself through your pants, you almost sob with relief. You massage yourself eagerly while undoing the chord that holds your pants in place with the other hand. But before you can touch yourself, the door to your right creaks open, and you freeze, remembering just in time to close your eyes.
“Yeah, she’s asleep,” Din grunts, before the door clicks shut again.
That’s enough to break the spell. Swallowing a lump of shame, you turn onto your side, back facing the door.
*******
The next day is hot, the sun stands high in a cloudless sky. You keep your eyes on the neck of your horse, trying to shield it from the bright light. Marcus rides ahead of you on the narrow trail, Din follows behind you. If you hadn’t heard them last night, you wouldn’t be able to tell that something happened between them. Or would you? Were Din’s cheeks flusher this morning before he hid them behind the bandanna? Is Marcus turning around so much to check on you or is he looking at Din?
You’ve barely had time to sort through your own confusing feelings: shame at realizing you might have been treating Marcus unfairly, embarrassment at almost touching yourself last night, anger at the way both Din and Marcus are treating you and … longing. A strange kind of longing. You don’t know what for, but you wish there was something you could say to make them see you as more than an outlaw. But when Din says, “You’re quiet today,” you deliberately give him the cold shoulder. And when Marcus offers you some water, you shake your head, even though you’re parched.
That evening, you’re far away from any human settlement. When the stars come out, even before the blush of the setting sun has completely vanished in the west, Marcus stops by an abandoned adobe building with a roof that is half collapsed and a thorny bush growing next to the doorway, almost blocking it. “That’s as far as we go today,” he says, dismounting.
You don’t have a choice but to follow Din into the building while Marcus unsaddles the horses. The floorboards are covered with sand, but the fireplace and chimney are intact. Din sweeps some of the dirt away with his boot, then shoves you so you have to sit down. “Hey!” you protest, but he just ignores you.
Marcus carries your saddles into the shack, one after the other, then looks around. “I’m findin’ us some kindlin’,” he decides. “Keep an eye on her.” Din grunts in confirmation.
You shift around on the floor, trying to find a more comfortable position, when Din places your saddle at your back so you can lean against it. Then he unlocks your shackles. You groan in relief, rubbing your sore wrists. “Don’t let him see you be nice to me.”
Din throws you a curious glance. “Why do you hate him so much?”
You sigh, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I thought we were friends. Then he left.”
“Oh, come on.” Din rolls his eyes. “Drop the act.”
His direct manner makes you want to be honest with him. “You’re right. It was such a long time ago. Sometimes I don’t even remember why I’m so angry with him, but I can’t stop.” That gets you Din’s undivided attention. His bandanna is still tied over his face, but his eyes light up. “It’s true, you were both so important to me. And then he was gone, and you left too, and I thought it was because of him, so I blamed –”
“It was because of him,” Din corrects you.
“But yesterday you said –”
“I said I didn’t leave because I couldn’t bear the memory of him. That’s not …” The sparkle in his eyes flickers, then dies.
But something within you lights up as you begin to understand. “I heard you last night,” you say, voice breathless.
Din chuckles. “It’s not as if … we run into each other from time to time, that’s all.”
“That’s what he wants it to be, isn’t it?” It all makes sense now. It makes sense that nothing could cheer Din up after Marcus left. It makes sense that Din left too. It’s just that it hasn’t occurred to you yet because it’s so … unusual.
Din shakes his head. “It’s not. It’s … twelve years ago, I left because I wanted to find him. Because when we were still together and you two were practicing kissing while I was trying to catch dinner, he would never stop looking at me. Before he left, he gave me this bracelet he had made out of some leather he had stolen from the tanner and made me promise to come find him. I know he hurt you, but he …”
“He hurt you more?” you guess.
“No, not on purpose. We’re both …”
“You’re men,” you say, hoping you’ve guessed right this time.
“We meet by chance every couple of years in a one-horse town and then we see where the night takes us.”
Your heart aches for Din, for the dull look in his eyes, for his flat voice when he finally tells you the truth. And it aches for yourself, for the way you’re even more on the sidelines than you had thought. But you can’t be angry at him for that.
“So it’s just been Marcus for you ever since we were kids?” you ask carefully.
Din laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t try to make this into a romantic tale. Of course not.” Your confusion must be written all over your face because he elaborates, “I’m not sleeping alone almost every night because a childhood friend gave me a bracelet more than a decade ago. It’s just … we’re fond of each other, that’s all.”
You look at him warily.
“Who knows, if I hadn’t left, maybe I’d have grown fond of you, too.”
“Don’t tease,” you snap.
“I mean it,” Din says calmly. “You’re pretty under that prickly wall you keep hiding behind.”
You choose to change the topic. “Does he hate me?”
“Who? Marcus?” Din laughs again. “I don’t think he’s capable of hatin’ anyone. He’s annoyed with you, sure, he thinks you’re childish and immature, but I also think he’s not as nonchalant as all that.”
You smile at Din, and your cheeks twitch with the unfamiliar motion. “I missed you too, by the way. Not just him.”
“You didn’t miss me as much as him though,” Din points out, and finally pulls the bandanna off his face.
“I’m also not as angry at you as I am at him,” you point out.
Something in Din’s face shifts. “Do you want to get back at him? Because I might have an idea how we could do that.”
“What?” you ask, well aware that Marcus’ footfalls are moving closer and closer to your shack.
“Just follow my lead,” Din says with a quiet smile.
Marcus doesn’t remark on your unshackled wrists or the way you keep digging into your food once he gets a fire going and warms a can of pork and beans for you. He mostly talks to Din about the remainder of your trek, about the formalities involved in picking up the money they’re owed for you, about his plans to travel back to his hometown, the one he moved two twelve years ago, where he was elected sheriff two years ago. Tonight, the way they barely glance at you doesn’t sting. It doesn’t bother you that they talk about you like you’re not there. You only hide your smile, feeling lighter than you have in years.
Once supper is done, Din pulls a flask from his saddlebag and hands it to Marcus before moving his saddle next to yours so he sits closer to you, then offers you the same flask.
“Din,” Marcus warns, and it sounds so much like how he said Din’s name yesterday that it makes you feel that familiar prick of embarrassment.
“Don’t worry,” Din says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
You take a sip from the bottle, grateful for the burning sensation.
The bottle is handed around until it is almost empty, and your head is heavy with a pleasant buzz. You laugh when Din teases Marcus about his uneven mustache, and you laugh even louder when Marcus retorts, “At least I can grow one.” With Din next to you, and Marcus sitting cross-legged opposite you, you feel yourself grow comfortable with the familiarity of it, like your childhood home remains familiar to you even if you haven’t visited in years.
When Din leans in to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, the atmosphere in the room shifts, the walls move in closer, and the air grows thicker. Marcus furrows his brow, and your face heats up, so you clear your throat and sit up straighter, moving your body away from Din’s. But then you remember how he told you to follow his lead, and you smile at him, trying to ignore how your heart picks up speed.
“You know what I’ve been wondering ever since we were kids?” Din asks, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. Before you can answer, he adds, “Marcus?”
“What?” Marcus asks, voice neutral.
“Why was it that only you got to practice kissing with her, and never me?” Din’s eyes flicker down to your lips before he looks over to where Marcus is sitting, fingers balled into nervous fists in his lap. “Isn’t that odd?”
“You never asked?” Marcus replies with a shrug.
“Oh, I did,” Din corrects him.
Marcus runs his finger over his mustache. “I don’t know, Din. Maybe she didn’t want to practice with you.”
You try to remember those long summer days twelve years ago, and you try to remember if you really never kissed Din. What you do remember is Marcus’ soft lips on yours, the way he hardly used any pressure as if he was afraid he’d break you. And the longer you think about it, the surer you are that there was a day Din asked, “When’s it my turn?” and Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand. But you don’t remember not wanting to kiss Din.
Din slings his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. “I think you didn’t want to share.” It sounds like a tease, but Din can’t quite hide the bite in his voice.
Marcus’ gaze flickers to you and then back to Din. He sighs. “That was such a long time ago. I really don’t remember.”
Interesting, you think.
Din tips back his hat and smiles down at you. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind me practicing now.” It sounds almost like a question, and you give him a small nod as answer.
Din catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides you up toward his lips. Your heart skips a beat at that first touch and then it starts hammering painfully at the forcefulness and greed with which Din kisses you, so different from how it used to be with Marcus. You return his kiss hungrily, flicking your tongue across his bottom lip, reaching for his arm to steady yourself, following him eagerly when he leans back. It doesn’t feel like he’s just pretending to get back at Marcus.
Din moves on from your mouth, leaving a hot trail on your jaw and down your neck, before he sinks his teeth into a bit of exposed shoulder where your shirt has shifted. You bite your tongue, holding back a whimper, but he grips your neck lightly and strokes his thumb across the bitemark. “Oh no, darlin’, let it all out.”
“Alright,” Marcus says, slapping his thigh with some finality. You flinch, only now remembering he’s there and why you’re kissing Din in the first place. “Hope you’re happy now.”
Din ignores him and kisses down your chest, flicking open the buttons of your shirt with practiced fingers on his way. You freeze up, gazing across the small space at Marcus, but then Din cups one of your breasts and grazes his teeth across the nipple. “Din,” you groan, both a warning and a plea.
“Din,” Marcus says, and it’s all warning. Hearing him say that single word feels like a punch to the base of your spine.
Din looks up at you, lips glistening. His thumb replaces his mouth as he rolls your hard nipple under the tip of his finger. “Bet you never practiced that with him, did you?”
“Does that still count as a kiss?” you tease, your voice quivering as he keeps stroking your nipple.
“What do you think, Marcus?” Din asks, glancing at the other man.
Marcus has paled, but you have to give him credit for keeping his voice steady when he answers, “I think you should stop this.”
Din ignores him and captures your mouth in another kiss instead. He pushes his tongue past your lips and teeth, exploring how to draw sighs and whimpers from you. You squirm, very aware of a steadily pulsating need between your legs, not only fed by what Din is doing to you, but also by the thick atmosphere in the room. A piece of wood in the fireplace snaps, making you jump, and Din runs his hand down your naked side, rough callouses catching on your soft skin. He stops at the hem of your trousers.
“Do you want me to stop?” Din whispers against your lips, so quietly Marcus can’t hear.
You shake your head.
“Remember that night in Galveston?” Din asks, his voice loud enough to fill the entire cabin. “When we agreed to share that woman and you didn’t let me touch her?”
You swallow hard when Marcus replies with a low, “Think very carefully about what you’re gonna do next, Din.”
“It was easy, really, because I didn’t care about her,” Din goes on as if he hasn’t heard Marcus, untying the chord of your trousers with a flick of his wrist. “But I have a feeling that this is gonna be very hard for you.”
He shoves his hand between your legs and you groan deeply, a sound so foreign that at first you don’t realize it’s coming from you. Your head falls back and lands against your saddle, while you raise your hips at the same time, eager for Din’s touch. If he’s surprised by how wet you are, he doesn’t let on, instead circles your clit with his thumb just like he toyed with your nipple. Soon, his hand moves lower, careful at first, but then he crooks a finger and pushes it into you with such force you can’t help but clamp down around it.
“How does it feel?” Din asks, his voice deeper now, almost as deep as it was the night before. The memory makes you shiver with arousal. “Knowing I have a finger buried inside of her? Oh no, wait.” Din pulls out almost all the way, then pushes back in, a second finger joining the first. “Two fingers.”
Marcus doesn’t reply, but when you dare look at him, you see his face is covered in red blotches, ones you mistake for angry marks until you notice his eyes, blown wide with arousal. And it’s hard to tell in the flickering light from the fireplace, but you think you can make out a bulge between his legs.
“Don’t be shy,” Din coaxes. “Tell me.” He brushes his thumb over your clit to draw another whimper from you and it works on Marcus.
“We both know you’re all talk.” A quick smirk flashes across Marcus’ face. “Ain’t no way you can make her come.”
You clench around Din’s fingers again and he chuckles. “I think she likes it when you talk like that.”
Chest heaving, you look up at Din only to find his eyes locked on Marcus. It makes the breath catch in your throat, the heat with which he stares at the other man.
“How does it make you feel, Marcus?” Din repeats, punctuating each word with a thrust.
You flick your gaze over to Marcus, eager for his reply, but he just shakes his head. You roll your hips tentatively in an attempt to draw a response from him, but even though he briefly lowers his eyes to look at you, he doesn’t respond.
“Kick off your boots,” Din orders, and when you don’t move, he presses his thumb to your clit. “Come on.”
It’s only then that you realize he means you and not Marcus, so you do as you’re told, your leather boots landing against the old wooden floors with soft thumps. Din pulls out of you, but only to use both hands to pull down your pants quickly so your lower body is completely naked, exposed for both him and Marcus. Your first instinct is to cover up, so you move your knees together, but Din pushes them apart again with a shove.
“Oh no, darlin’, let him see,” he mumbles, a tendon in his neck twitching.
You swallow and nod, letting your legs fall open. If you’re not mistaken, it makes Marcus’ breath hitch. That’s enough for you. Din pushes two fingers into you again and you sigh with relief, a sound that makes Marcus twitch as if he’s about to lunge for you, but he remains in his spot instead, hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles are turning white.
“So how does it feel?” Din asks a third time. “Now that you can see everything?”
You roll your hips to meet Din’s thrusts, which earns you a soft stroke down your side.
Finally, Marcus replies, “You know the answer.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Marcus looks at you then, and you feel your face heat up under his attention. His gaze wanders from your parted lips down your heaving chest to where Din’s fingers are slowly pumping in and out of you, coated in your arousal. Your initial embarrassment is gone. In its place is an insatiable desire to be watched by Marcus, to have him see you at your most vulnerable. You roll your hips faster, and throw back your head, moaning loudly, just to get a reaction from him, and it works.
“I think if it was my fingers inside of her, she would’ve already come twice.”
Din chuckles, but something catches at the back of his throat. “You don’t even know if she wants to.”
And then, for the first time, Marcus addresses you, voice tight like a rope around a bull’s neck. “Do you want him to make you come?”
You look at Din as if asking him for permission, but he only kisses your temple and mumbles into your ear, “I can’t help you with that decision, sweetheart.” So you look back at Marcus but he only stares at you, taut concentration written all over his face.
You nod.
Something flashes across Marcus’ face, something you can’t quite place, but he nods once and leans back, eyes back on Din. “Let’s see what you got then.”
Din’s thumb brushes over your clit just once, twice, his fingers toy with your nipple almost gently, his fingertips brush against the most sensitive spots inside of you, and it doesn’t take much more than that for you to roll your hips desperately, your entire body on fire, taut like the hammer of a colt. Din finds your trigger, rolls your clit just so, and you come with a shout, and animalistic sort of noise, eyes on Marcus as he watches you open-mouthed, his eyes impossibly dark.
“There you are,” Din says in a mocking tone and kisses your temple again.
Marcus gains back control by shaking his head lightly, then swallows. “She didn’t even scream your name.”
Next to you, Din tenses and you think you hear a deep grumble somewhere in his chest. He pushes himself up onto his knees and undoes his belt with practiced motions. You’ve barely caught your breath before you’re being pulled up, shoved onto your hands and knees, and Din is behind you, his thick cock brushing against your thighs. You try to look at Marcus again, but Din’s hand is in your hair and he pushes down your head and part of your chest at the same time as he pushes himself into you, stretching you wide. You claw at the wood beneath your palms, groaning in both pleasure and pain.
“Oh, you’re so easily riled up,” Marcus provokes, the slight edge in his voice telling you he is too, although he can hide it better.
Din ignores him. “I don’t need her to scream my name,” he grunts. “Knowin’ you’d give anything to be in my place right now is enough.”
“And you want to be in mine,” Marcus shoots back.
You know he’s right because Din pushes into you with a vicious thrust. “Din,” you groan, and you can feel the attention in the room shift.
Din pulls out all the way so only his tip is still inside of you, then slams back into you, pushing your entire body forward. You groan again, struggle against the hold he has on your neck, but he only tightens his grip.
“Please,” you whimper, feeling overstimulated yet hungry at the same time.
“I don’t hear her begging for your cock,” Din spits at Marcus. You hear Marcus move, but Din orders, “Stay where you are,” and Marcus stops.
You shift, pushing your knees further apart, and suddenly Din reaches deeper, drawing something akin to a howl from you. Din’s hand moves from the back of your head to close around your jaw, and he lifts your chin so you can see Marcus, his face covered in an angry flush, a spot on his bottom lip chewed raw.
“Do you think he wants to fuck my release into you once I’m done?” Din growls in your ear.
You can’t hold on a second longer. Your body gives in, erupting with pleasure so intense everything else loses its meaning. You’re faintly aware of Din groaning, “So good, you feel so good,” of something wet and hot running down your thighs, of Din pulling out of you gently before you collapse on the floor. Then you’re aware of movement in front of you, and your body tightens in anticipation, but when you look up, you find Marcus standing there, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.
“Marcus?” you ask, the name foreign on your tongue.
Without looking back, he walks out of the shack, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, leaving Din to clean up after himself.
*******
You don’t know what you expected to happen, but it certainly wasn’t this: you, back in handcuffs, and Marcus, leading the way without acknowledging your presence. Only Din seems to be in a good mood, pointing out small birds resting on branches or flowers growing by the side of the trail. No one talks about the previous night, and in the bright light of day, you’re not so sure any of it actually happened.
You hold your head up high, refusing to feel humiliated. Din was gentle this morning, almost apologetic, when he put you back in handcuffs, tipping his hat and calling you “ma’am”. You’re not angry with him for last night, far from it. You’re also not angry with Marcus for how he reacted; you’re disappointed, sure, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. But far from angry.
It’s another hot day, but this time you’re riding through open woodland, and the shade brings you some reprieve. The trail is broader, Din can ride next to you, and you talk to him from time to time; it almost feels as if you’re on your way to a Sunday picnic. But despite everything that has happened, and despite the way Din laughs at your jokes, you know there’s no use in asking them to let you go. Whatever happened last night doesn’t influence their sense of duty and righteousness.
In the afternoon, the trail grows rockier as you begin to ascend through a small mountain range. The trees become sturdier and grow closer together, the flowers become less frequent, the birds now screech with a predator’s voice. You’re just beginning to feel drowsy from the heat and the exhaustion of the past few days when a sudden shout tears you out of your daydreams and pulls you back into the forest.
The trail before you is blocked by a tree trunk that makes it impossible to pass without some difficulty. On top of it stands a man you know all too well, one you thought you’d never see again: Burke, the leader of your gang, the man you decided to follow when everyone else in your life had left you. Relief makes your body tremble – you hadn’t expected him to show up to rescue you, hadn’t thought you’d be that important to him. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you don’t have to accept the fate Marcus and Din have decided upon for you after all.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Burke says in his nasal voice you’ve come to know so well. “You’ve reached the end of your journey. Please dismount and let us shackle you, so we can take back what’s rightfully ours.”
Next to you, Din flinches, reaching for his gun holstered at his side. Burke is faster as he draws his own gun and fires, the barrel glinting in the afternoon sun. Din loses balance and falls of his horse, clutching his right shoulder. You’re frozen with shock, your brain too slow to catch up with what is happening, relief turning sour in your mouth. You know you should be grateful you’re not going to jail after all, but all you feel is dread when Din’s body hits the ground with a loud thump and he groans in pain.
Burke aims the barrel of his gun at Marcus next and orders, “Disarm him.”
Three men climb out of the underbrush, Bridger, Burke’s second in command, Ingram, his muscle, and scrawny Jimmy who isn’t much use in a fight but who excels at stabbing people in the back. Marcus raises his hands above his head as if he means to surrender, but once the men reach him and Ingram grabs him to pull him off his horse, Marcus punches him in the face so hard his head snaps back. Ingram recovers too fast, grabs Marcus’ jacket, pulls him off his horse with a jerk, and kicks him as soon as he hits the ground.
“Stop!” you yell and Burke looks straight at you.
He raises his hand and Ingram stills. Marcus groans at his feet, arms slung around his stomach, a bloody scrape along his cheek. “Stop?” Burke asks.
“There is no need to harm them,” you stammer, thinking fast. “Or do you want law enforcement chasing us down for killing a sheriff?”
Somewhere to your right, Din inhales sharply, but you don’t dare to look at him. Instead, your eyes are locked to Burke’s as you watch his face closely to figure out your next move. You’re free; you don’t have to go back to jail. But if it means Marcus and Din die, then you don’t want your freedom.
“I was expecting more gratitude,” Burke finally says, his voice laced with disgust.
“I just don’t want anyone to die because of me,” you try weakly.
“Do I have to remind you who those men are?” Burke snaps. “They wanted to sell your freedom to the highest bidder. They don’t deserve your compassion!”
“They also don’t deserve to die for doing their job,” you point out.
An ugly grin creeps onto Burke’s face. “Who said anything about dying? Ingram, tie him up, and let’s have some fun.”
Ingram grabs the collar of Marcus’ jacket and pulls him to his feet. Marcus struggles against the grip, face contorted with pain, but there is nothing he can do to free himself. You watch as they drag him to a tree by the side of the road and tie him to the trunk with thick ropes. You know what comes next – you’ve seen it often enough. And if there’s anything you can do to keep Marcus from that fate, you’ll do it, even if it means your own death.
Your legs are trembling when you climb off your horse and sneak over to where Din is lying, hand still pressed to his shoulder, his brown leather glove shiny with blood. He can’t help you much; it’s up to you to make sure Marcus gets out of this in one piece.
“Where are the keys, Din?” you whisper, ignoring Marcus’ pained grunt when someone, most likely Ingram, punches him in the gut.
Din reaches for his jacket pocket and pulls out the keys, face paling from the strain of it. He barely manages to unshackle you, but once you’re free, he grunts, “Take my gun.”
You grab the cold metal, your hands trembling so hard you slip at first. But your mind is eerily calm. You know exactly what you need to do and what it could cost you. Slowly, you stand, and take a few steps closer to the tree. Marcus is tied up, the four men are standing around him. Jimmy is playing with his knife, Ingram is stroking his jaw where Marcus hit him, and Burke and Bridger are debating what to do next. You don’t give them a chance to make up their minds.
“Let him go!” you shout, your voice high with fear.
When the four men spin around to face you, you raise the gun, aiming straight at Burke. Burke … the man who was like a father to you, who took you in and taught you how to care for yourself. You almost laugh – how quickly things can change, how quickly loyalties can shift. But if you’re honest with yourself, you have to admit you were never that loyal to Burke and the gang, and definitely not now that you feel you’ve got your real family back, even if they are going to turn you over to the law.
“Well, well, well,” Burke says slowly. “Will you look at that? I can’t say I’m surprised, but I never pegged you as a pig fucker.”
You ignore his words, cocking back the hammer. “I mean it. Let him go.”
Burke gestures to Bridger who takes the knife from Jimmy and presses it against Marcus’ throat. You flinch.
“Does that upset you?” Burke asks with a sneer. “If you lower the gun now, we won’t kill him. I can’t make any promises for you though.”
Before you can ponder actions and consequences, you aim the gun at Bridger and pull the trigger. Both you and Marcus flinch, but while your brow is only covered in sweat, his gets sprayed with blood when you hit Bridger at the side of his head and he crumbles to the ground. For a brief moment, a flash of memory shoots through you, an image of Bridger getting you a big wool coat two winters ago so you wouldn’t freeze to death. Back then, you never would have thought you’d be the one to end his life. But you also hadn’t expected to see Marcus again.
Before you can make sense of what just happened, Ingram is upon you and wrestles the gun from your hands. He hits you in the face with his open palm and you scream, more in surprise and shock than pain.
“You’ll pay for that,” he spits and hits you again, this time with the back of his hand.
Before you can defend yourself, a loud bang makes you turn around. Ingram flinches and follows your gaze, one hand locked around your arm, the other raised to strike a third time. Din is standing next to his horse, the barrel of his shotgun smoking, aiming toward the tree. Jimmy is lying next to Bridger, a gaping hole in his chest. Ingram’s grip on you tightens at the same time as you realize there are more of you know then there are of them. You hear the telltale clicking sounds of Din reloading his shotgun and you shove Ingram as hard as you can away from you. The next second he tumbles to his side, leg torn open.
“Help Marcus!” Din shouts, his face contorted with pain.
You don’t think, you’ve stopped thinking minutes ago, as you turn and sprint toward the tree where Marcus is still tied up, defenseless, while Burke stalks toward him, Jimmy’s knife in his hand. You shove your former leader aside and fling yourself between him and Marcus, but before you can come up with a plan, Burke shoves you and pushes you to the ground. You go down with a surprised shout, the last sound you make before Burke’s hands close around your throat and he squeezes. You kick your legs and claw at his face and neck, but he’s relentless. A lightheadedness comes over you, and you’re only dimly aware of Marcus shouting your name and Din’s, but Burke doesn’t stop. The only thing you can see are his glazed-over eyes, dull with the intent to kill.
Using your last strength you grope around, hoping to find anything that can help you. Your fingers close around something cold and metallic, but you have no time to check if it really is Jimmy’s knife. You raise the thing and plunge it into Burke’s side, groaning with relief when he loosens his grip in response. You pull out the knife, then shove it into Burke’s side again; the man tumbles off you with a scream of pain. You push yourself up, aiming for his neck, the knife gliding into the flesh with hardly any resistance. From then on, it’s just a blur until Burke stops twitching, until your arm burns so much you can barely lift it anymore, until your ears are ringing with your hoarse screams.
Din is there, and he takes the knife from you. You let him, tears streaming down your face. It feels like you’re all alone in this big forest until someone sinks to their knees next to you and cups your face in cold, shaky hands.
“You stupid girl,” Marcus mumbles, wiping at your cheeks, brushing loose strands behind your ears. “You stupid, stupid girl.”
His lips are soft when he kisses you; he tastes of metal. You kiss him back, your whole body trembling. Between kisses he keeps mumbling, “Stupid girl,” until a teary laugh erupts from you.
“Kiss me again,” you demand, knowing it’s the only thing that keeps you from losing consciousness. He does, and there’s an edge of desperation to it now, like he’s only beginning to realize he’s still alive and you’re too. You cling to his jacket and feel his chest vibrate, you lick his lips and are rewarded with a hungry bite. It’s only when you start crying again that he pulls back.
Din is at your other side and pulls you into a tight hug with his good arm. “Don’t listen to him,” he mumbles, his fingers stroking the back of your head. “You’re not stupid; maybe a bit reckless, but incredibly brave.”
Marcus pulls you to your feet and holds you tightly when your knees buckle. Din follows you, and kisses the top of your head. Shielded between both of them, you realize they are the only family you’ll ever need.
beefNote: is this coming soon or is this beef having a grand ol' time with a canva pro subscription? only time will tell! thanks to @for-a-longlongtime & @bitchesuntitled for their eyes & input
Summary: You've been estranged from your husband for years. When you finally track him down to make him sign the divorce papers, you get what you want and what you need - but it comes at a price.
Warnings: divorce | angst | alcohol consumption | masturbation (f) | fingering (f) | pussy pronouns | multiple orgasms | oral (f receiving) | (protected) p in v sex | some butt stuff 🤭 (but in a blink and you'll miss it kind of way) | to no one’s surprise there’s some stuff with hands and fingers too
Notes: Do you guys remember my 10k follower celebration I started about a year ago? I'm still working on all your prompts, I promise!! This one goes out to @milla-frenchy who requested "My tongue still remembers the way you taste.", "I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.", and "Don't make me jealous." with Javi P, so naturally I had to make this about estranged married people who have a lot of history. This is set during S3E6 ('Best Laid Plans') btw because I couldn't stop thinking about Curaçao (the pink shirt doesn't make an appearance though 😔). As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who not only came up with the divorce plot but also with the ending, and yet she still said this fic is one of her favorite things I've ever written like 🤯 and the truth is, I really really like it too 🤭
The heat is oppressive, even during the evenings and nights when the sun is taking a break. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, not even after the three years you now have been living on Curaçao. Your dress sticks to your back and your whole body sticks to the leather chair you’re sitting in, while your palms are slick with sweat. That, at least, you can’t blame on the heat.
You take a sip from your strong cocktail and resume your vigilant watch of the hotel lobby that you can make out perfectly through an open doorway. Despite the late hour, people are still checking in – old men with young women on their arms, families with children sleeping in strollers or in their mothers’ arms; young couples who can’t keep their hands off each other, even when the receptionist looks like she’s about to despair at the line forming behind them.
You were like them once, you and Javi. Not that you would have been able to afford a place like this for your honeymoon. But you remember the feeling of being newly-weds, the way you couldn’t let each other out of sight, how it felt like you were the only two people in the world, and nothing else mattered. You despise them, all the young people who arrive. You want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. Wake up, it’s all a lie, leave right now and save yourselves the heartbreak. You don’t do it, of course. Instead, you take another sip of your cocktail, the cool glass moist with perspiration, and straighten the envelope that is lying on the table in front of you.
A man approaches you, asking if you need company. You touch your neck self-consciously, wishing there was a way to soothe your burning nerves. “I’m waiting for someone, I’m sorry,” you tell him with a sweet smile. You truly are sorry; any other night, you would have said yes, despite the cruel streak around his mouth. Loneliness doesn’t ask questions.
The man accepts your rejection with a shrug, but his eyes linger on you, even when he has retreated to the bar to order himself another beer. For the first time in an hour, you turn your attention away from that familiar doorway and watch as his thick fingers grab the bottleneck tightly. Heat rises into your cheeks and you shift in your chair, tired and frustrated and sore.
“Hi.”
Your head snaps back toward the doorway, but he’s already standing right in front of you. You knew this moment was coming, had two whole days to prepare for it, yet the sight of him makes you lose what little composure you had left as you sharply suck in air, your heart leaping into your throat.
“Sorry I’m late,” Javi goes on when you don’t acknowledge his greeting. “I – give me a minute.”
He too moves away toward the bar, then leans on it right next to the man and his already empty beer bottle. You use the moment to gain back some control, straighten your back, calm your nerves with another sip that turns into a gulp. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, his sudden appearance wasn’t supposed to rattle you so. But it’s been so long since you were in the same room together, so long since the thought of him didn’t feel like a knife being plunged into your heart, that you have completely forgotten how to be around him without it feeling like you’re dying.
He lets himself fall into the chair opposite yours, groaning with relief as he sinks into it. In his hand, he holds a glass of whiskey, neat, and in his expression he holds nothing but exhaustion.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him.
He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp.
You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.
“It’s about these.” You pick up the envelope and open it. Your hands are steady after having practiced this moment over and over again. Now you’re supposed to say, “It’s only three signatures,” but he’s already holding out his hand, waiting for you to give him the papers.
It’s with a creased brow that he looks at them, eyes skimming from the header (“Divorce Agreement”) all the way down to the bottom where he has to place his first signature. You feel compelled to justify it, even after years of living apart and not being faithful to each other, but you hold your tongue. You owe him nothing, and he knows that.
Finally, he says, “And you’re sure about this?”
You laugh. “When was the last time we acted like husband and wife?”
“It’s not about that …,” he says slowly.
“I don’t care what this is about,” you snap, nerves frayed from the heat and the tension of the evening. “I’m not leaving until you sign these.” You rummage around in your bag, pull out a heavy, silver fountain pen, and hold it out to him.
He accepts it but doesn’t make any move to use it. “Beatriz tells me you live here now.”
You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest. “I do,” you confirm.
“Do you like it?” Immediately after he’s said it, he pulls a grimace.
“You were never good at small talk.” There’s no malice in your voice, but you speak those words so softly you’re not sure he catches them. “No, I don’t,” you answer honestly. “I hate the heat and the tourists. But the money is good.”
He nods as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Then he places the pen and the papers on the low table between you. “Do you want another drink?”
You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly.
“Be right back.”
You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard.
“Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.”
“Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser.
His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”
You know there is some truth in that, or at least you want there to be. Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high.
“He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be.
You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.”
Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”
“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear.
“It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders.
You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.”
“And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.”
For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.”
Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?”
You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”
Javi just sips on his whiskey, waiting for you to answer his question.
“I’m okay,” you say after brief consideration. “I got a promotion at work. And I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“And how are you really?” Javi presses.
The smile vanishes from your face. “Lonely.”
He nods at the papers. “And you think that’ll change when I sign these?”
“The closure won’t hurt.”
“Neither will staying married if there isn’t anyone in the picture.”
You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”
“You’ll have to let me go eventually.” Your voice trembles slightly. “You can’t have your cake –”
“I know,” he interrupts you sharply. “But this,” a wave of his hand to encompass the two of you locked in your stand-off, “it reminds me of how good we were together.”
“We were,” you agree, “and I’d rather remember us that way than as the couple who dragged things out until they hated each other.”
“I could never hate you.” He says it quickly, and he doesn’t quite look at you.
You can’t make him that same promise in return. Right after he left, there was a time … hate might be too cruel of a word to describe what you felt then, but you cursed him every day for choosing his job over the perfect thing you two had. You would’ve gone anywhere in the world with him, just not straight to hell where all you could have done was sit at home and wait for that cautious knock at the door preceding the news that he had been killed. And he went anyway. You still can’t quite bring yourself to forgive him for that.
“You made your choice when you took that plane to Colombia.”
He looks at you, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow, pupils blown wide by the darkness of the bar and the alcohol in his blood. “Come up to my room. Just for a little while. Just to talk.”
You shake your head. “Why do you think I asked you to meet here instead of at my apartment?” He shakes his head too, acting as if he has no idea how to answer that question. “Please, just sign the papers.”
“Why did you want to meet here?”
This man sitting opposite you used to be your husband. Legally speaking, he still is. And even though you haven’t seen him in years, you still feel that same old pull tugging you toward him. “I’m not setting foot in a room with a bed. And I don’t think I need to explain why.”
He laughs, something he so seldomly does. “We don’t need a bed for that.”
It’s loud now in the bar, and the ice in your cocktail has melted. What was supposed to be a quick meeting has eaten away your entire evening. You blink fast, and let your gaze wander across the bar. The man who approached you is gone.
“Come up to my room with me,” Javi tries again. “Just for one drink. Then I’ll sign your papers.”
He’s an asshole, and you have every reason to hate him, set your lawyer on him, but he knows you won’t do that. You know it too.
“One drink,” you say emphatically. “That’s it. And then I’m gone.”
He nods, his face serious. But there is a sparkle in his eyes as he stands, victorious. He straightens the papers and picks them up, hands you back your pen. You take it and stand too, straightening your dress.
“I should warn you though,” Javi says as he offers you his arm, “there’s a bed in my room.”
You shake your head, your shoulders tight with determination. No matter how charming he is, no matter how much he tries, you won’t let him in. It’s just one drink, and then you can finally put this marriage behind you.
Javi leads you to a large elevator that opens just as you approach it. An old couple steps out; he’s walking a few paces in front of her, not checking if she can keep up, while she hobbles after him, braced on a cane. At least you didn’t stay married to Javi long enough he started to resent you, you think as he crowds you into the elevator and presses the button for the third floor.
He's standing too close to you – you can feel his hot skin right next to your own naked arm, making your heart do a little dance in your chest. It’s funny how the body remembers, and how much it craves things that are decidedly a bad idea. Javi shifts, and moves closer still, his eyes firmly fixed on the closed elevator doors. You’re alone, there’s no need for him to put on this little show, but it still feels like you’re being claimed.
Javi’s room feels small compared to the grand entrance hall and the broad hallways of the hotel. He opens the door and lets you in first, but he doesn’t turn on the ceiling light once you’re alone with him. Instead, he walks over to a desk in front of the window and switches on a small lamp.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestures at the bed, neatly made by the hotel staff.
You think about pushing past him to sit in the upholstered chair that comes with the desk, but he lets himself sink into it, crossing one leg over the other. The bed it is, then.
While you try to find a comfortable position to sit in, one that lets Javi know you’re not here to play, he opens a small door in the desk, and the minibar hidden behind it. “Vodka or whiskey?” he asks.
“Vodka,” you answer without thinking about it.
He shoots you a surprised look but hands you a small bottle without questioning your choice.
You unscrew the bottle, the seal breaking with a satisfying sound. “What do you want to talk about?”
Javi places his bottle of whiskey on the desk. “Nothing, really. I’m just not done being in your company.”
You laugh and take a sip. It tastes cheap. “Well, we should talk about something.”
“Or we could just enjoy each other’s company.”
“You were never good at that,” you remind him. “Always answering calls, always jumping when your pager went off. There were times I thought you’d do anything just so you wouldn’t have to be in my company.”
“I did make it feel like that, didn’t I?”
You’re caught off-guard by this rare moment of reflection. “I’m enjoying this, you know. I don’t think we ever spent this much time together when we were married.”
“We still are,” Javi reminds you.
You take another sip of your tiny bottle. There isn’t much left now.
“Ah,” Javi makes, “but I haven’t even opened mine yet.”
It shouldn’t catch you by surprise, the way he reads you so well. “You keep changing the rules of the arrangement.” An hour ago, you would have crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him. Now it’s a soft smile that accompanies your words.
“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.”
You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.”
Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.”
“Like what?”
“So confident.”
Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood.
Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.”
Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?”
“Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips.
You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”
He shakes his head, lowers his eyes to the floor. The light from the single lamp casts soft shadows across his face. Maybe you overstepped a line you didn’t know was there. Or maybe you should push him just a little bit further.
“Tell me, Javi,” you repeat.
He remains seated in his chair, the perfect image of composure, wound tighter than a coil. “I liked watching you,” he answers finally, eyes still downcast, “when you knew I wanted you.”
You stop breathing as the memories wash over you. You, wearing that pretty red dress, Javi’s pupils blown wide when he sees you. You, lying on the bed, naked, Javi standing at its foot, tearing off the well-pressed shirt he was in the middle of buttoning up. That one night you danced for him in that shabby motel room, your hips stiff, your arms always awkwardly in the way, but when he palmed himself through those tight jeans all the shame and embarrassment evaporated. You miss them, all those little moments. And you miss how Javi made you feel beautiful, worthy, desired. You miss that most of all.
You try to play it all off by taking that final sip of your bottle. “Yeah,” you agree, “I liked being wanted by you.” Your voice is steady. Right?
Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?”
The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”
Javi nods, as if you’ve just come to an understanding about who is going to pay for dinner. He reaches for his bottle of whiskey, opens it, empties it with one big drag. You watch his throat work as he swallows, think you see the flutter of a nervous heartbeat at the base of it. He runs his tongue over his lips, chasing the taste, before giving you the smallest of nods.
You kick off your sandals slowly, your heart thundering in your chest. The wooden floor of the hotel room is pleasantly cool beneath your feet when you place them there, chasing something solid. Because you feel like you’re floating, high on the way Javi’s arms flex as he balls his hands into tight fists. The air is so thick now you can barely breathe.
Your dress is long, a light cotton blend, and it feels soft between your fingers as you bunch up the fabric and pull it up toward your hips. Javi’s eyes shoot to your legs as more and more skin is exposed – calves, knees, thighs. It’s as if he’s seeing you for the very first time, and he clears his throat almost bashfully as a light giggle escapes you. Both these things do nothing to ease the tension.
You manage to take off your panties without the dress falling down your legs, and Javi’s eyes shoot to where you drop them to the floor. He licks his lips again, a sight to which your body responds with a throbbing sensation at the base of your spine. It’s impossible to stop your hand from shaking as you lightly touch your thigh; it’s impossible to deny how much it affects you when Javi shifts in his chair in eager anticipation either. You shift too, spreading your legs a little further, but leaving the fabric of your dress draped over your thighs as it is – there is no point in giving it all away at once.
You’re soaked. It catches you by surprise, more so than the familiar touch of your fingers, made unfamiliar by the way Javi is watching you, both fists pressed tightly against his thighs, as if he’s trying to control himself. Your mouth forms a surprised O, a gasp escaping from it, as the tip of your index finger brushes your clit and your hips jerk forward, desperate for more. Javi’s mouth falls open too, his chest heaves with deep pants, his eyes now glued to where your hand vanishes beneath the hem of your dress. You push yourself into your touch, your fingers drawing tight little circles over that swollen bundle of nerves, while you clench around nothing, desperate to be filled.
You didn’t expect your body would remember so well.
“I’m so wet,” you breathe before you can stop yourself.
Javi groans in response and shifts in his chair, but his fists remain firmly planted against his thighs. That won’t do. You spread your legs even further and lean back on one elbow while moving your hand lower. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers, and it brings a smile to your face, one that makes Javi bite down on his bottom lip. Hard. Normally, you like to work yourself up to accommodate a bigger stretch, but tonight, two fingers glide into you with ease, and you moan at the sensation, nothing bashful about the way you throw back your head. You pump them out, then back in, once, twice, before you add a third finger, burying them three knuckles deep. Your entire body is shaking with arousal.
Your eyes land back on Javi, whose chest is heaving. “Guess how many fingers I have inside of me,” you challenge, your voice unsteady. You pull them out slowly, teasingly, the sensation making your head spin.
“Shit,” Javi groans, and now you notice the bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. “Shit. I don’t know – two?”
“Three,” you correct him with a self-assured smile.
He breaks. One fist uncurls, and he palms himself, his hips jerking up into his touch. “Let me see her,” he rasps.
You’re not sure if you heard him correctly, but then he repeats the words with sharp command in his voice, that tone making you clench around your fingers. You fall back against the mattress and pull up your dress until it’s bunched against your stomach, leaving the bottom half of your body exposed. Javi’s chair creaks as if it’s about to break, but when you look at him, he has stopped touching himself. He has stopped breathing too as he takes in the sight before him, eyes impossibly dark.
You press the fingers of your free hand against your clit, and your hips jerk upwards, a movement that Javi’s hips mirror. What you can see of his chest is flushed in a deep, dark red, and the sight spurs you on. There is nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re pumping your fingers into yourself now, nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re rubbing your clit. Javi ruts his hips in desperate little circles, but you’re not sure he’s aware of it at all, too busy drinking in the sight of you sprawled on the bed, too far gone to care about what you’re doing. Everything tightens, and suddenly your toes are pressing down against the hard floor as you push your hips up into your hand, shoving your fingers impossibly deep. Your cunt clenches around them eagerly as you come with a deep, drawn-out moan of “Yesyesyes!”, eyes closed now, completely lost in the sensation of one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years.
When you open your eyes, Javi is kneeling in front of you, unbuttoning his shirt deliberately. Everything still feels soft and hazy, so you don’t protest as he gently takes your wrist and pulls out your fingers. “She’s just as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers, his breath tickling your thigh.
You try to push your dress down to cover yourself, but he only tightens his hold on your wrist. “No, no, no.” He’s determined, the pleading from earlier having long since disappeared from his voice. “Can I taste you?” he asks.
You hesitate. Not because you don’t want him to, but because this is so much more than that single drink you agreed to. You should tell him no, make him finally sign those papers and leave this godforsaken room that now smells of sex. But your body is still thrumming with arousal, and the way he’s kneeling between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you, makes it impossible to refuse him anything.
You nod.
You expect him to approach this cautiously, but he delves in like a man starved. You hiss from the overstimulation, but he strokes your thigh soothingly, and you let him lick a broad stripe from your opening all the way up to your clit. Both your moans, and the sounds of his wet tongue against your wet cunt – it’s lewd. It turns you on so much the way you clench around nothing is actually painful.
Javi pulls away, teases your folds with a curious, probing finger. His dark mustache glistens in the dim light as he looks up at you. “My tongue still remembers the way you taste,” he admits, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder, his biceps flexing with the movement. “Especially with your cum all over you.”
“God, Javi,” you groan and, unable to keep looking at him, you let yourself fall back into the mattress.
He kisses your clit, licks it, sucks it in between his lips. You squirm, but he holds you down tightly with both hands, making it clear who’s in charge. You inhale deeply, but there is no way you can hold on for much longer. When he moves lower, licks at the wetness he finds there, has the audacity to moan as if he’s tasting heaven, you break.
“Please, fuck me, Javi,” you groan, arm slung across your eyes so you don’t have to look at him.
He chuckles, and you can feel the sound vibrate all the way into your core. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fuck me?” he asks before rolling his tongue over your clit.
It presses all the air from your lungs. You raise your hips so your clit bumps against his nose. “You’re very confident for a man who just got hard from watching his ex-wife touch herself.”
With a growl, he lets go of you and your eyes fly open, worried you offended him. Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of him unbuckling his belt with shaking fingers before throwing his wallet down on the bed next to you. You think you hear him murmur, “You’re still my wife,” as he pushes down his jeans, but you could be mistaken because you’re busy pulling your dress over your head. Then you’re both naked, the air between you crackling with unspoken challenges.
Javi grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom. “Turn around,” he growls, before tearing the wrapper open with his teeth.
You’re too transfixed by the way he’s rolling it onto his thick length, hanging heavy between his thighs.
“Turn around,” he repeats sharply.
You snap to attention and do as you’re told. Lying flat on your stomach, breathing in the smell of the hotel’s detergent, you await the inevitable. The mattress beneath you dips as Javi climbs onto the bed behind you, pulling your hips up toward him. Then there’s a finger inside of you, and you flutter around it, eager for more. It’s replaced not by his cock but by his tongue, and you grab the duvet, pushing back with a loud moan. He curls it inside of you while spreading your ass cheeks with both hands, and before long, you feel another orgasm approaching.
“Javi,” you warn.
He pulls out and runs his tongue upward to where he’s spreading you open. With a strangled moan, you press your face into the duvet and push against him, chasing the crest of the wave that’s building inside of you. But instead of giving you the release you so desperately crave, he pulls away.
“No man’s fucking you like me.” It isn’t territorial possessiveness. It’s not even a question. It’s just a simple statement.
He pushes down your hips, the force of being pressed into the mattress knocking the wind out of you. One hand he braces right next to your head, the other he uses to guide himself into you, spreading you open so much wider than your three fingers ever could. Then both his arms are caging you in, and the weight of his chest against your back holds you right in place where he wants you.
It's a deep groan and the way his hips stutter that pull you back from the edge. You kiss his hand, then his arm, eyes half closed as your body adjusts to him.
“No other pussy feels as good as yours,” he mumbles into the sudden quietness.
That confession hits you like a bullet right to the heart. “You need to forget about me.”
He swears, but you don’t quite catch the word. “I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.”
You wish it were true. You need it to be true, actually. Because when Javi starts moving, you know you’ll never want another man in your life. He has ruined everyone else for you. And it doesn’t matter where he wants to live or what kind of criminals he wants to chase down – you’re prepared to follow him wherever he might go.
“Shhh,” he makes, and strokes your hair. “You’re thinking too loudly.”
You clear your throat and lift your hips slightly, his cock sliding in impossibly deeper. He grunts at the sensation.
“Wait,” he says, then pulls out and flips you over with ease.
It’s exactly like it was on your wedding night, when he fucked you just like this, telling you to keep your eyes on him. Now your eyes widen at the memory as he pushes back into you, chest pressed against hot chest. Then two of his fingers are resting against your lips and before he even tries to pry them open, your jaw goes slack. He pushes them inside and your eyes flutter close in utter bliss.
“Yeah,” he grunts, “I remember how much you like sucking on these while I fuck you.”
He starts to pump into you, as both your hands close around his wrist to keep his hand in place. His fingers lightly press against your tongue, rich with the salty taste of sweat and arousal, and you massage them, sloppy, wet, eager moans vibrating in your throat.
He’s fucking into you now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing through the air around you. You’re dimly aware of slinging your legs around his hips to pull more of him into you, and of him kissing your neck, but you’re so fucked out of your mind you might be imagining these things. When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, your eyes fly open in protest only to see him gaze at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he has ever seen.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says.
His tongue finds his way in between your parted lips, and then you’re returning the kiss, chasing the sensation of coming home. He must feel it too because his hips are moving faster, and the entire bed is shaking beneath you. You moan, sounds that start low in your throat and come out high and breathless. They make him shudder against you.
Javi breaks the kiss first. “I want you to come for me.”
You nod eagerly and push a hand between your bodies, brushing against his stomach. God, there is so much of him waiting to be rediscovered.
As soon as your fingers find your clit, you give him a clipped, “Javi,” as a warning. It feels like you’ve been right there on the edge for hours, and now that you’re about to break, you’re no longer in control of anything. He bites down on his lip in concentration and then in bliss as you wrap your free hand around his biceps and dig your nails into his skin.
He stills, and groans, and gives you another three desperate thrusts, pulling you over the edge with him. Your orgasm catches you by surprise, makes you cry out with the force of it, and he leans down to reclaim your mouth while he empties himself, engulfed by your hungrily clenching cunt.
*******
Soft morning light tickles you awake. You stretch your aching muscles, then breathe in deeply. The scent surrounding you is unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same. Then you remember.
Javi!
Your eyes fly open. He’s not lying in bed next to you or getting dressed, and you also don’t hear the shower running in the bathroom. Maybe he went out to get breakfast. Maybe he got called into work. All you know is that you were so tired you didn’t hear him leave.
You sit up and roll your stiff shoulders. Sometime during the night, Javi must have draped the blanket over you. The blanket that still smells of sex. Your face heats up.
The empty whiskey bottle is standing on the small desk, right where Javi left it. If he went out to get breakfast, you should clean the desk so you’ll have a place to eat. If he got called into work, you should still tidy up – you don’t want the hotel staff to gossip about him.
As you approach the desk, you notice the divorce papers spread out on top of it. It seems silly how you came here last night in an attempt to make him sign them. You make to push them into a pile when you spot it – a neat signature on a line right next to yours. “No,” you whisper, but there’s the second one, and the third.
Right there on the line where it says “husband”, his signature flashes up at you: Javier Peña.
If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …
this one-shot is inspired by lana del rey’s unreleased song velvet crowbar
javier peña x DEA!fem!reader
javi gif from @perotovar divider by @uzmacchiato
you came to Colombia from New York with a badge, a mission, and no intention of getting attached. but months later when you’re scarred, restless, and unable to forget what you and javier peña went through—you’re not sure what’s left to hold onto. until one night, he shows up at her door, and nothing feels like duty anymore.
masterlist | 7.8k words | photos do not depict what reader looks like | mentions drugs, canon narcos talk, javi has a real bad drinkin problem, allusions of violence, reader gets kidnapped, slooowww burn, lots of javi pov!, smutty smut smut, he loves suckin on tits sue me, munch!javi duh, surprise surprise they hit it raw (DONT DO THAT), soft sex lots of I love you's, little bit of javi receiving head, & riding
I was addicted to you but I didn't know it .✦ You were afflicted by booze .✦ You didn't show it huh .✦ Life is a velvet crowbar Hitting you over the head .✦ You're bleeding but you want more .✦ "This is so like you," I said “Put yourself on back to bed.”
Bogotá smells like rain and grit, like wet stone and burnt coffee and something darker that never quite washes away. You step off the plane in the thick of the rainy season, boots hitting pavement slick with oil, and you already know the city will not be kind to you.
You’re DEA. Five years in New York. Undercover buys, dead drops, informants with trembling hands and blood under their nails. You were good at it, good enough to get noticed. Good enough to be transferred. Now you’re here, knee-deep in the worst war on drugs the agency’s ever seen, and they’ve dropped you into it like you’re a match in a powder keg.
They told you you’d be part of something bigger. That your experience was needed. What they didn’t say—what they didn’t need to say—was that you were walking into a man’s world. A dirty, blood-slicked one that doesn’t make room for women unless they’re bleeding, bruised, or biting back.
Not that you’re entirely surprised. You came from the Big Apple after all.
They talk over you at meetings. Call you mamacita under their breath. Smirk when you offer suggestions. You learn fast that respect isn’t given here. It’s taken.
So you take it.
You drag a cartel runner out of a brothel in the south side of the city, in the middle of the bustling street, cuff him with his pants around his ankles, and drive him back yourself with a cracked rib and half your blouse stained red. The next day, no one calls you sweetheart. They still don’t like you, but they know better.
The job is constant. Always moving. Surveillance, raids, interrogations, bullshit. Colombia eats agents alive. You see it in the eyes of the rookies, the twitchy ones. They come in wide-eyed and go home in body bags or not at all. You’re not sure which you’ll be yet.
You hear about Peña before you meet him. Always just out of frame, the center of every whispered rumor.
He’s the hotshot. The one who plays dirty, drinks harder than he sleeps, and somehow stays three steps ahead of Escobar’s men. Murphy says he’s bad news. Carrillo says he’s driven. Everyone else just says he’s dangerous—and not just to the people he’s chasing.
You try not to care. You’ve dealt with men like him before. Charisma surrounds him like smoke. Charm like a loaded gun. But the name lingers in your mind long after lights-out.
You see him for the first time at the embassy, late at night when the halls are empty and the fluorescent lights hum low overhead. He’s leaning against a doorframe, shirt wrinkled and stained with something too dark to be wine, tie hanging loose like a noose around his neck.
He looks at you like he already knows everything. You slow your steps, your gaze catching on the way his fingers twitch, like he’s halfway through lighting a cigarette that isn’t there.
“You’re the one from New York,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges.
You nod. “That’s me.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. Just let his gaze drag across your face, down to the holster at your hip, then back up. “Welcome to hell, agent.”
And then he’s gone, footsteps fading down the corridor like smoke curling under a door.
You stand there a moment longer, heart thrumming in your throat, before turning away.
Later, when you finally sleep, you dream of velvet and blood and a man with whiskey eyes who looks at you like he’s already seen the ending.
The first time you’re assigned to work with Peña, it’s a stakeout.
No briefing. No welcome. Just a sharp knock on your door at 6:12 a.m., and when you open it, he’s standing there coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, aviators hanging from the neckline of a sweat-damp shirt.
“Grab your shit,” he says. “We got a lead in Teusaquillo.”
You don’t ask questions. Not because you trust him—hell no—but because you’ve learned that here, time spent talking is time someone else uses to get away.
The ride’s quiet. Bogota unfolds around you in soft gray morning light, all crumbling walls and rust-stained rooftops. Peña doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at you. He just drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, a half-lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.
You steal glances. You can’t help it.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t care that you’re studying him.
You’d call it arrogance if it didn’t feel so... hollow. There’s something hollow in him. Like the violence carved out everything else and left a man made of leftover smoke and sinew.
He parks two blocks from a mechanic’s shop with boarded-up windows and an upstairs flat rumored to belong to one of Escobar’s lieutenants. You settle in. Binoculars. Radio. Notebooks. The usual. But the air’s heavy. The kind of thick that presses behind your eyes.
Four hours pass in silence. Five.
You learn the way he fidgets when nothing’s happening: thumb tapping his thigh, tongue pressing against his back molars like he’s chewing on words he won’t say. Every so often, he scribbles something in a small notebook. Names, maybe. Codes. You can’t tell.
Around hour six, you finally speak. “You always this quiet?”
Peña doesn’t look at you. “You always this nosy?”
You let the silence return, but this time, it hums with heat.
It rains at noon. Of course it does.
You shift in your seat and ask if he wants coffee, stretching your arms out, cracking your back. He doesn’t answer right away. He just exhales slowly through his nose, watching the rain hit the windshield, before he finally says, low, “Only if it’s black.”
You bring him a lukewarm cup from the vendor down the street. When you hand it to him, his fingers brush yours for half a second.
It feels like someone flicked a live wire against your skin.
He must feel it too. For the first time that day, he looks at you. Really looks. And you see it: the wreckage behind his eyes. The wear and tear. The man running on fumes and sheer defiance.
You think, fleetingly.
My baby’s on his eighth life, darling.
The thought disturbs you.
The bust happens fast. A kid leaves the upstairs flat with a duffel bag and nervous hands. Peña’s out of the car before you process the door slamming shut. You’re right behind him.
It unravels into gunfire in under three minutes.
You drop to one knee behind the car as bullets crack overhead. Peña’s already returned fire, teeth bared, eyes bright. He moves like he’s dancing with death, like he’s done this so many times it’s boring now.
Someone’s screaming. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s the kid with the duffel. You don’t know. You just fire and move and breathe until the world stills.
Three bodies lie crumpled in the alley. None of them are yours.
When it’s over, you’re sweating and shaking. Adrenaline still rattles in your bones.
You turn to him. “You good?”
He lights another cigarette with a trembling hand, breathes in deep. Then he mutters, almost absently, “You’ll get used to it.”
You want to scream at him.
Get used to it?
To the blood, the stink of it, the way your hands still feel the shape of the trigger even when it’s over?
But you don’t.
Because part of you, a dark, unspoken, shameful one is already used to it.
Maybe always was.
He walks off to talk to Carrillo. You stay behind, staring at the blood pooled in the gutter. Your hand still trembles as you try to light your own cigarette, but it slips between your fingers twice before you finally get it.
Peña doesn’t come back for you. He knows you’ll follow.
And you do.
That night, you can’t sleep.
You lie awake in your tiny apartment, sheets tangled around your legs, fan clattering in the corner. Your body’s sore. You smell like sweat and smoke and steel.
But it’s not the mission that keeps you awake.
It’s him.
His voice. The shake in his hands. The moment he looked at you like he saw every flaw and fracture and welcomed them.
Like he wanted to press his fingers into your broken places and call it comfort.
You roll onto your side and stare at the wall.
You don’t want to want him. You really don’t.
But already, it’s there. Rooting itself deep. Curling around your ribs like vines.
Javier Peña is a slow kind of ruin. And you—God help you—you’ve always been a sucker for a long fall.
It’s been four days since Peña showed up to work.
At first, no one blinked. He was known for disappearing—trailing informants or losing track of time in cartel dives but by day three, even Murphy was checking his watch more than usual. You tried not to care, tried to convince yourself that agents burn out all the time.
But when his informant turned up dead in the Zona Rosa and Peña didn’t answer his radio, something shifted.
Murphy looked up from his desk, jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”
He’s got one kid and another on the way. A wife who’s already half out the door. When another lead comes in at the last minute, he gives you the keys to the Ford Bronco and says, “Just check on him. Please.”
You don’t answer. You just drive.
His apartment’s in a building that’s seen better decades. Faded tile, dim hallway lights, a sour mildew smell that clings to the peeling walls. You knock once, wait, knock again—harder.
No answer.
You press your ear to the door and hear it. The dull clink of glass. The buzz of a radio left on some Spanish station, low and mournful. A body shifting against leather.
You don’t hesitate. You pick the lock and slip inside.
The place is dark, except for the gray-blue light spilling in through the window. A record’s spinning in the corner, half done. The couch is soaked. Not in blood—thank God—but in spilled bourbon and sweat. And there he is.
Javier.
Flat on his back, half-dressed, arm thrown over his face. There’s a bottle on the floor beside him and at least two more empty on the coffee table.
You stand there for a long moment, arms crossed, jaw tight. He doesn’t even stir.
Your voice cuts the quiet like a scalpel.
“This is your big plan, Peña? Drink yourself into a coma and hope Escobar turns himself in?”
He groans, low in his throat, like he’s just now dragging himself back to consciousness. Doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t move.
“Didn’t ask for a babysitter,” he mumbles, voice gravel-thick.
“No,” you snap, “you didn’t. But you stopped answering your radio. You missed the last two intel briefings. You didn’t even show up when Vargas walked.”
He shifts, turning his head toward the ceiling, one eye cracking open just enough to look annoyed. “Why do you care?”
That catches you. Harder than it should.
You don’t answer right away.
Because the truth—the real one, the one pressed up against your ribcage isn’t for him to know. That you do care. That you haven’t stopped thinking about him since that goddamn stakeout. That every part of this job makes you feel more numb, more wrecked, more like him.
You move closer, but not enough to seem gentle. You kick an empty bottle out of the way, hard enough to make it clatter against the wall.
“You don’t get to disappear, Peña. Not now. Not when people are counting on you.”
He laughs dry and mean. “People don’t count on me. They tolerate me.”
You crouch down in front of him, low enough that he has to look at you.
“Murphy’s worried. Carrillo wants you benched. And me? I walked into this apartment half expecting to find your rotting corpse.”
He flinches. Just barely. But you see it.
His voice is quieter now. “Then why the fuck are you still here?”
You pause. Let the air thicken between you. Then say, soft but sharp, “Because I didn’t want you to drink your own regrets alone.”
That lands.
His face tightens. The mask he wears that’s cool, untouchable, cynical slips, just for a second. Enough for you to see the exhaustion underneath. The guilt. The part of him that knows he’s falling apart and doesn’t care enough to stop it.
You stand again, dragging your gaze over the mess he’s let himself become.
“I’ll be back in an hour. If you’re still here when I return, I’m dragging your ass into a cold shower and then straight to Carrillo. You’ll wish you’d died when I found you.”
You walk to the door.
Just before you open it, he says your name.
Quiet. Hoarse. No apology in it. No plea.
Just your name, the way someone might say it in the dark to remind themselves they’re not alone.
You don’t look back.
You just say, “Sober up,” and leave the door open behind you.
It’s been a week since you found him in his own personal graveyard of booze and guilt. A week since he said your name like it was something sacred, then disappeared into silence.
He came back to work the next morning clean-shaven, wearing a shirt that didn’t smell like whiskey, hair combed and expression unreadable. Murphy gave him shit, Carrillo gave him orders, and you gave him nothing.
Not even a nod.
It wasn’t punishment, it was survival. Whatever passed between you in that apartment, it’s a crack in the wall neither of you knows how to patch. So you kept the silence and he respected it.
But he’s different now.
Not better. Not worse.
Just... watching.
You feel his eyes sometimes. When you walk past. When you speak in meetings. When you laugh, when you don’t. He’s not hitting on you he never did. It’s not sleazy or careless. It’s quiet. Careful. Like he’s waiting for something.
Like he’s still thinking about the fact that you didn’t look back.
You’re in the records room when he finally speaks to you again.
It’s late. The embassy’s mostly empty, the halls hushed. You’re surrounded by heat-stained files and the buzz of a dying fluorescent light. You’re tired, sweating under your blouse, hair tied back with a pencil you forgot to remove.
The door creaks behind you. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him.
He doesn’t say your name this time.
“Didn’t think you were the type to stay late.”
You slide a folder back into its drawer. “Didn’t think you were the type to come back.”
He huffs something like a laugh, quiet and sharp. Then, softer, “Touché.”
You don’t face him. You just keep filing.
“You want something, Peña?”
“Just saw the light on,” he says, “and thought—”
You cut him off. “If you’re about to say something stupid like ‘thanks,’ don’t.”
Silence.
Then: “Wasn’t gonna.”
But he doesn’t leave. He steps into the room and leans against the metal cabinet nearest you, arms crossed. His shoulder brushes the edge of yours—just enough contact to feel it, not enough to call attention to.
“You ever wonder why we do this?” he asks after a beat. “Why we stay?”
You glance at him, frowning. “Because if we don’t, Escobar wins.”
“That’s the company line.” He meets your gaze now, his own unreadable. “I mean you. Why you stay.”
You should shut it down. Should tell him to get out and take his existential bullshit with him.
But instead, you say, “Because I’m good at it. Because it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m not wasting space. Because when it’s quiet, I start thinking about all the people I didn’t save.”
It’s too honest. It slips out raw.
You don’t meet his eyes again. You just move to the next drawer.
But Peña doesn’t flinch. He shifts closer. Not enough to crowd you—he never does—but enough for you to feel the warmth coming off him.
“I think about that night,” he says. “You kicking my bottle across the room like you wanted to kill me with it.”
You smile despite yourself. “I still might.”
“You could’ve reported me. Could’ve let Carrillo have my badge. Would’ve been easier.”
You close the drawer. Turn to him. “Would’ve been cowardly.”
His expression softens. Just barely. The hard angles of him blur under the soft buzz of the dying light.
“You scare me a little, you know that?” he says, voice low.
You blink. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“It’s supposed to be the truth.”
You let the silence stretch this time. Let it sit.
There’s something simmering between you now. Not fire. Not yet. But heat. Potential.
He reaches past you, grabs a file he has no reason to touch, lets his fingers brush yours as he does.
This time, you don’t pull away.
And when you finally speak, your voice is quieter. Thicker. “This changes nothing.”
He nods once. Serious and firm. “I know.”
But he doesn’t move. Neither do you.
He can’t stop thinking about her hands.
That’s the thing. Not her mouth, not her ass—though God knows his brain’s tried to go there out of habit. But no. What keeps looping through his skull at night, in the dark, is the way her fingers looked pressed against his chest that night on the couch.
The callus on her trigger finger. The precise anger in her grip when she shoved the empty bottle away from him like it insulted her personally. The way her hand shook, just once, when she thought he couldn’t see.
It’s pathetic. He knows it. But he thinks about her hands when someone else’s are on him.
The woman in his bed tonight smells like coconut oil and cheap cigarettes. She’s some informant’s cousin—or maybe she said she worked at the bar in El Cartucho. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t ask.
She moans his name like she means it, like she knows him.
She doesn’t.
He’s already halfway gone.
He rolls off her when it’s over and lights a cigarette he doesn’t want. She tries to cuddle. He gets up and shrugs his jeans back on, muttering something about early meetings. She doesn’t press. They never do.
By the time he’s back in his car, windows rolled down, sweat drying on his skin, he’s already thinking about her.
Not the woman he just fucked.
Her.
The one who hasn’t so much as smiled at him since she landed in Colombia. The one who walked into his filth-stained apartment and looked at him like he was still worth saving.
He’d rather be punched in the face.
He’s seen it happen to other men—DEA guys who get that wide-eyed thing about one of their own, fall into bed with someone who carries a badge and a temper, only to get left holding the guilt when the mission takes her out first.
Not him. He keeps his women outside the building, off the books, out of the way.
Except... Now he doesn’t want any of them. Not for more than a night.
And he doesn’t want her either.
He wants her gone. Out of his head. Out of his space. But every time she walks by—blouse clinging to her spine in the Bogotá heat, voice calm and sharp in meetings, he finds himself holding his breath.
And when she leaves the room, he has to exhale.
He watches her sometimes. He hates himself for it.
From the breakroom. From the side of a hallway. From the back row of a briefing.
She doesn’t even glance at him anymore. Not since the records room. Not since she looked him dead in the eye and said this changes nothing.
He believed her.
But it had. It changed everything.
He still flirts with the receptionist. Still lets his fingers linger when passing intel to the blonde who runs field logistics. Still makes some dumb comment when the ambassador’s wife brings lunch to the office.
But he never touches her.
Never jokes. Never asks if she’s free Friday. Never offers her a light for her cigarette when she’s outside, leaning on the brick wall like she’s holding the building up by herself.
Because she’s not like the others.
She’s the kind of woman who makes you want to quit drinking—not because she asks you to, but because you suddenly want to deserve to be seen by her again.
And that’s the most dangerous thing in the world.
He dreams about her sometimes. In the dreams, she never says a word. Just looks at him the way she did that night—tight-lipped, furious, afraid.
In the dreams, he always wakes up sweating. Alone.
Sometimes it’s the best part of his day.
He hangs on to all those little moments that occur during the day.
Like when she passes him a manila folder one morning during briefing—fingers grazing his knuckles, just barely. He feels it like a fucking static shock. He doesn’t flinch, but it coils deep in his stomach.
Later, he’ll forget what the folder even said. But he won’t forget the brush of her hand.
Another day. It’s hot. She’s got her sleeves rolled to the elbows and a smear of dirt across her cheek from a bust in the jungle. He watches her gulp down lukewarm water from a dented thermos, her throat flexing, eyes closed.
He has to look away.
When he lights a cigarette, she asks for one. Doesn’t look at him when he hands it over. Doesn’t thank him, either.
Still, he holds that image like it means something.
He dreams of her in that records room.
Not naked. Not moaning his name.
Just standing there, arm crossed, and sweat on her brow.
He wakes up hard anyway.
She starts wearing her hair down. Probably not for him. But maybe.
He watches it stick to the back of her neck. He thinks about moving it aside. He thinks about kissing the skin underneath. He thinks about what she’d do. How she’d slap him, shove him against the wall, maybe kiss him right back.
He doesn’t do it.
A month passes like that. And then, everything breaks.
It’s supposed to be clean.
In and out. Intercept a delivery. Get the courier. Bring him in before breakfast.
They don’t even get a scream on the radio.
Just static.
Then Carrillo’s voice: “We’ve lost eyes on the second vehicle. Peña, respond.”
He’s already grabbing his vest before the words finish.
She was in that car.
The wreck is still smoking when he gets there. Blood on the ground, no bodies. Signs of a struggle. Boot prints. Drag marks. Her weapon on the gravel, clip half-ejected, as if she’d tried to reload mid-scramble.
He finds a smear of blood on the passenger door.
Too much to ignore. Not enough to prove she's gone.
He doesn’t wait for backup.
He doesn’t wait for anything.
He just starts hunting.
Three men die in an alley within the hour.
He doesn’t even ask the first one a question—just shoots him in the kneecap and watches the others panic. The second gives up a name. A warehouse. East end. Off the grid.
He doesn’t thank him.
He doesn’t feel anything.
The warehouse is rotting, windowless, stinking of rust and piss. He doesn’t go in there quietly.
The first two men barely have time to look up. The third draws a gun. Javier shoots him in the throat.
He’s breathing like an animal now. Can’t hear anything over the pulse in his skull. His blood feels radioactive.
Then he sees her.
Tied to a chair. Hands behind her back. Duct tape on her mouth. Blood crusted at her temple.
But she’s breathing.
And she’s looking right at him.
He moves like he’s underwater. Crosses the floor in seconds but it feels like years. Drops to his knees in front of her, pulling a knife from his belt.
Her eyes are wide. There’s no fear in them.
Just recognition. Relief. And something else.
Something fragile.
He cuts the tape from her mouth, and she gasps in air, voice ragged: “You came.”
He can’t speak. He just cups her face, thumbs brushing dried blood, trying to convince himself she’s whole. Her cheek presses into his palm like it’s the only thing holding her up.
“I thought—” she starts, then chokes on it.
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t.”
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
And now he’s the one breaking.
“I would’ve burned this whole city down,” he says, voice shaking. “I would’ve leveled it.”
She closes her eyes, leans forward until their foreheads touch. Her breath fans over his lips. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
The others arrive twenty minutes later.
He doesn’t let go of her until the medics make him.
Even then, his hands hover—like he might need to grab her again. Like she might disappear.
She doesn’t.
She looks at him over her shoulder as they load her into the van. And for once, she does smile. A small one.
Not wide. Not flirtatious.
But real.
And it guts him.
He goes home that night, covered in blood—some hers, some theirs, some his.
Lights a cigarette.
He doesn’t sleep.
He doesn’t dream.
Just stares at the wall and thinks of the way she whispered You came, like he wasn’t the one who needed saving.
She didn’t mean to start thinking about him.
It wasn’t part of the plan. Bogotá was supposed to be all work. Just another station. Just another hunt. Get in, track Escobar, do the job.
She’d dealt with worse than this before—misogynists, cartel hits, bad coffee. She could’ve handled it.
But not him.
Not Javier Peña.
It started small. The cigarette passed between my fingers. The quick glances over briefing reports. The way his eyes found you across rooms he had no business being in.
At first, you thought he was just another man trying to get under your skin.
Then he stopped trying.
And it got worse.
Before the mission, you’d dreamed about him. Not even a sex dream. Just a quiet one. His shoulder against yours on a bench. His hand on your knee. The kind of domestic nothing you didn’t let yourself think about anymore.
You woke up unsettled. Then got in the SUV. Then got taken.
And the whole time you were being dragged through that hell, wrists zip-tied, head pounding, all you could think was: I’ll never see him again.
Not your parents. Not Murphy. Him.
It should’ve scared you more than it did.
Now it’s three days later, and your apartment feels like a jail cell.
You’re healing. Bruised ribs. Scrapes. Nothing major, nothing deep. The medic said you were lucky.
You don’t feel lucky.
Your hands still shake when you’re pouring water. Your dreams are full of gravel and duct tape. And behind all of it is him..
Not the version from the office. The version who found you.
Bloody. Breathless. Eyes like thunder.
When he said I would’ve leveled this city, you believed him.
And you haven't been able to shake the way he said I didn’t have a choice.
It’s almost dark when the knock comes.
You don't expect it to be him.
You open the door anyway, and there he is. Standing in the hall like something scraped raw. His jacket’s slung over one shoulder. His shirt’s wrinkled. He smells like smoke, sweat, and aftershave.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Then:
“I should’ve called,” he says, voice low.
You blinked. “You don’t call.”
His mouth twists at that—something between guilt and a smile.
“I wanted to see if you were okay.”
“You saw the report,” you say, stepping aside anyway.
“I didn’t believe it.”
You stand awkwardly in your living room, hands stuffed in his pockets like he doesn’t trust them. You’re in a pair of shorts and an oversized tee, hair damp from the shower, still smelling faintly of antiseptic.
“Did you come here to check on me,” you ask, “or because you needed to see it for yourself?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since the warehouse. Eyes tracing your bruises like they’re war maps. Stopping at the butterfly bandage near your temple. The tenderness at your ribs.
Then he swallows hard.
“I needed to see you,” he says.
You sit on the edge of the couch. He doesn’t.
The silence stretches.
Then you say softly, “You killed six men looking for me.”
“Seven,” he says. “One of ‘em just didn’t die right away.”
Your throat tightens. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
“No,” he says. “It’s supposed to tell you I’d do it again.”
You finally meet his eyes.
And there it is.
That shift. The thing they’ve both been dancing around since day one. It’s not about sex. Not anymore. It’s about something bigger. Louder. More terrifying.
He cared.
And now they’re both stuck with that truth.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you say.
He nods. “Right back at you.”
“You shouldn’t have come alone.”
“I always come alone.”
You snorted. “Yeah, I know.”
He breathes out a laugh at that. Runs a hand through his hair.
Then: “Can I sit?”
You gesture to the space beside you.
When he sinks into the couch, the cushion shifts. Their knees touch.
It’s the first time they’ve been this close since that night in the records room. But it’s different now. Slower. Like every inch is charged with memory.
You turn toward him. “Why are you really here?”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.
“I’ve been trying to forget about you,” he says.
Your breath catches.
“Thought if I slept around enough, drank enough, worked enough, I’d stop.”
You stay quiet.
“I can’t,” he says finally. “I can’t stop.”
Your voice is just above a whisper. “You respect me too much to flirt. But not enough to stay away.”
He closes his eyes for a beat. “That about sums it up.”
And then he leans forward, forearms on his knees, head in his hands.
“I fucked this up,” he mutters. “I let you get taken. I—”
You grab his wrist.
Not gently. Not softly. Just firm.
He looks up.
“You saved me.”
He searches your face like he’s not sure he’s allowed to believe you.
“I didn’t come out of that warehouse afraid of you,” you say. “I came out knowing exactly who I’d trust to come for me.”
Something in him breaks open then.
He doesn’t kiss you.
He doesn’t touch you.
He just leans in until their foreheads rest together in the quiet.
They stay like that. Breathing the same air.
And maybe that’s all they need right now.
He’s been to her apartment more times in the last three weeks than he has to his own.
At first, it was to check on her. Drop off meds. Bring her dinner when she wouldn’t remember to eat. Make sure she wasn’t trying to get back in the field too soon.
Then she started teasing him about it. Called him Nurse Peña. Said he should get her a little bell to ring when she needed things.
And somehow—somehow—he didn’t run.
She laughs more now.
Not a lot. Not like it’s easy. But it happens.
The first time she laughed at one of his stupid jokes, he almost dropped the coffee mug he was handing her. The sound startled him. It was warm. Unforced. Real.
He didn’t think he’d ever hear her laugh like that.
Didn’t think he’d deserve to.
There’s a new rhythm between them now.
She gives him shit about his taste in music. He tells her she grinds her teeth when she reads case files. They eat on her couch and sometimes fall asleep watching badly dubbed telenovelas with the volume low.
It’s not domestic. Not exactly.
But it’s the closest he’s had in years.
He flirts with her now.
Just a little.
She rolls her eyes every time. Calls him a menace. But she never tells him to stop.
He brings her a sandwich one night after a long debrief. She’s got her feet up on the coffee table, bandage finally off her temple, a yellow legal pad in her lap.
When he sets the sandwich down, she glances up. “Will you always feed me when I’m injured?”
“Nah,” he says. “Only when you look like you’re gonna forget to eat.”
“Oh, so now you care about my nutrition.”
“Wouldn’t want you to pass out mid-briefing. Then Murphy would cry and I’d have to console him.”
She snorts. “I’d pay to see that.”
He grins. “I’d charge you.”
She tosses a crumpled sticky note at him, and he dodges it like a pro. “So rude,” she says.
He shrugs. “You like me rude.”
And it’s there—again. That flicker.
She looks at him a second too long. Then shakes her head and opens the sandwich.
He watches her take a bite and pretends it doesn’t do anything to him.
He doesn’t fuck around anymore.
No informants. No girls at the bars.
He doesn’t have it in him. Not now. Not since every time he closes his eyes, he sees her in that warehouse chair and remembers how empty the world felt until she looked up at him.
She’s healing.
Not just the bruises. The rest of her. He can see it. In the way she stretches without wincing. The way she walks like she owns the floor again.
But there’s still a mark on her. Something permanent.
He knows. Because he’s got it too.
She catches him watching her one night, and instead of brushing it off, she asks softly, “What?”
He almost says I thought you were gone.
He almost says I haven’t slept properly since.
He almost says Don’t get hurt like that again. I don’t think I’d survive it.
Instead he says, “Just making sure you’re alive.”
She blinks. That’s all. Doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t deflect.
She just says, “I am.”
And for the first time in weeks, he breathes like his lungs aren’t on fire.
She’s been cleared to return.
He knew it was coming. Could feel it in the way she moved it was less careful, more sure. The bruises had gone from purple to green to nothing. The bandages were long gone. Her eyes had that fire again.
But it hits him harder than he thought when she says the words.
“I’m cleared. Back in the field next week.”
He nods. Stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on her windowsill. Says something like, that’s good, or you ready?
She doesn’t answer right away.
Just stands in the kitchen, twisting the ring of condensation on her glass of water. She’s in one of his old shirts again—says it’s softer than hers—and it’s hanging off her like it always belonged to her.
Then she says it, quiet, like a sin:
“I never wanted to get better.”
He freezes.
She keeps staring down at the glass like it’ll forgive her for saying it.
“Not really,” she murmurs. “I mean—I knew I couldn’t stay like that forever. I didn’t want to be helpless.”
“But?” he hears himself say, voice low, unsteady.
She finally looks at him.
“But if I got better… I figured you’d stop showing up.”
He could laugh. He could make a joke.
But nothing comes out.
Because something’s burning in his chest now ugly, raw, relentless, and it’s got nowhere to go.
He crosses the room without thinking. Leans on the counter across from her. Close enough to feel her breath.
“You think I only came because you were hurt?”
“No,” she says. “I think you only let yourself come because I was.”
That wrecks him.
Because it’s true.
He should say something else. He doesn’t.
Not for a full minute. Just lets the silence sit there between them, thick and humming like power lines in the heat.
She breaks it first, whisper-soft: “It’s been nice. Having you.”
And that’s it. That’s the moment.
That’s when the thing he’s been swallowing for weeks claws its way up his throat and refuses to die quiet.
“I love you.”
Her eyes widen.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
He steps back, like it’ll soften the blow.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You did.”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, I did.”
She still doesn’t speak. Just walked closer to him.
Stops in front of him.
And when she reaches out, he thinks she’s going to slap him or shove him or say something final.
Instead, her hand lands flat on his chest. Right over his heart.
Her voice is wrecked. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
She closes her eyes. Like she needs it to settle. Like it hurts.
Then:
“I love you too.”
He doesn’t kiss her.
He could. He wants to—God, does he want to—but something tells him this isn’t about that. Not yet. Not tonight.
Instead, he pulls her in.
Arms around her. Her face against his neck. Her hand fisting in the back of his shirt.
He holds her like a man holding the thing he almost lost.
Like she’s air and blood and whatever’s left of his soul.
And she doesn’t pull away.
They stay like that for a long time.
No words. No next steps. Just the heat of skin against skin and the quiet promise: this is real now.
And when he finally leans back and presses his forehead to hers, he says, “You’re going back in the field. I can’t stop that.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know that too.”
And somehow, that’s everything.
And when she pulls back enough to meet his eyes, her voice is barely there. “Stay tonight?”
He nods. Doesn’t even pretend to play it cool.
“I was already going to.”
He didn’t mean to fall asleep. But her body was warm beside him, curled into the crook of his arm, wearing his shirt and nothing else. And for the first time in years, his chest didn’t feel tight. For the first time ever, he wasn’t running.
So he let go. Just for a moment.
And when he wakes—it’s to her fingers tracing his chest, lazy and slow.
“Javi,” she whispers.
He blinks, meets her gaze in the low light. Her voice is hushed, but her eyes are wide awake. Wanting.
“I don’t want to wait anymore.”
She’s over him before he can speak, thighs slipping around his waist, mouth already on his.
And it’s soft at first. Like every kiss they almost shared. Like every moment that made him ache.
He wraps his arms around her waist, palms splaying across her bare back. She’s not wearing panties. Just his shirt, hitched up around her thighs.
And she smells like sleep, vanilla, and him.
“Baby,” he breathes against her lips. “You sure?”
“I’ve been sure,” she says. “Since the first time you bled on my floor and tried to leave without saying thank you.”
He huffs a laugh. And then he kisses her like he’s starving.
She peels the shirt off slowly. Her nipples are already hard, pebbled from the air and his gaze. He sits up, chest to chest, and buries his mouth between them.
“I dreamed about this,” he murmurs against her skin. “Fucking dreamed about your tits in my mouth.”
Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently as he suckles at her breast, teasing the other with his thumb. She gasps when he scrapes his teeth lightly across her nipple, then soothes it with his tongue.
“I’m gonna take my time,” he says, looking up at her. “You deserve that.”
She lies back when he pushes gently at her waist, guiding her onto the sheets.
And he gets between her legs like it’s the only place he’s ever belonged.
Her thighs fall open for him without hesitation. And she’s soaked—slick and glistening, flushed with heat and arousal. He doesn’t touch her right away. Just presses a kiss to the inside of her knee, then higher, then higher—
“Javi—”
“I’ve waited too long for this,” he whispers, breathing hot over her folds. “I’m gonna taste you, baby.”
And he does.
Tongue dragging slow through her heat, lips wrapping around her clit like a kiss. She cries out—his name on her lips like a plea. He groans into her, drunk on her, grinding his hips into the mattress as he eats her like a man half his age.
She fists the sheets. Her back arches. He flattens his tongue and devours, letting her ride his mouth, letting her fuck herself on his face.
“You taste so sweet,” he groans. “Fuck, I could live here. Come for me, cariño. Give it to me.”
She does—with a sob, legs trembling, body shaking against his tongue.
And he doesn’t stop until she begs.
He’s on her before she can catch her breath. Mouth bruising hers, hand stroking his cock between them.
“Condom’s in my wallet,” he says roughly.
“No,” she gasps, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I want you. All of you.”
He nearly comes right then.
He pushes into her slow. So slow. They both groan—hers high and broken, his deep and reverent.
a/n: i am in no way an expert in yeehaw things, so excuse the inaccuracies and such, this story is just for the lols. i just wanted to roll around in a dirty cowboy fantasy for a sec, and who can really blame me
summary: narrowing his eyes, he let your poor fiancé stew a moment in his terror before finally muttering, “alright… I’ll tell you what,” he slowly took a step closer, “I don’t trust as far as I can throw you,” Joel growled, “so I’ll keep a little something as leverage so that I know you won’t go running that rotten mouth of yours,” his grip on you tightened slightly, “if what you claim is true, then I’ll gladly drop your pretty little bride off at the nearest saloon after I’ve gotten my gold,” he vowed calmly, “but if it’s not, well… then I guess you won’t be getting married anymore… unless, of course, corpses are your thing.”
warnings: outlaw!joel miller x innocent!reader, fiance!dark!din djarin, smut, wild west au, historical au (1894), enemies to lovers, kidnapping, violence, guns, alcohol consumption, crying, first kiss, loss of virginity, outdoor sex, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, penetrative sex, unprotected sex
word count: 5366
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2025
It all happened so fast.
One moment you were walking arm in arm with your old pops through the dusty town towards a rickety church, and the next, some big, gruff bandit had popped out from around a corner and bashed the bud of his gun against your father’s temple, knocking the poor fellow clean out.
“Don’t scream,” the man grunted as he swiftly shifted to point the gun at you. Briefly, he aimed it at your trembling visage before he instead grabbed ahold of your frame, his dirty hands surely staining the purity of your wedding dress.
“Please don’t hurt me,” you gasped as he grabbed your arm.
“Shh, shhh, it’ll all be fine,” he discreetly pointed the weapon at your ribs, “just do what I say, and you’ll be okay,” he promised darkly before his worn boots began to shift once again.
As he escorted you the rest of the path you were already on, you tried to steal a glance over your shoulder at your father’s unconscious form, “why are you doing this?” tears stung at the periphery of your vision.
“Nothing personal, darlin’,” he muttered against the shell of your ear as you came upon the church, “it’s just business.”
As he kicked the door open, the gun was redirected at your temple before he began to walk you down the aisle.
The music that had swelled at your arrival promptly fizzled out as everyone assessed the severity of the situation, though all became petrified to make a move.
“Howdy there, Djarin,” the outlaw casually greeted your fiancé at the end of the humble church, standing beside the preacher, his pale features worsening by the second, “beautiful day you picked here for a wedding.”
“Miller!” Din gasped, his wild eyes briefly fluttering to the silent tears streaming down your face before his glare settled back upon the crook, “you’re–”
“Still alive?” Miller filled in with the cock of his eyebrow, “you know, if you’re gonna play with fire, you gotta do it right, have the guts to stand there and watch everything burn, not run off before the job is done.”
“Please, Joel,” your fiancé raised up both of his hands in a plea, “we can work this out, just put down the gun.”
“Give me the fucking money,” Joel instead growled, “I know you have it, so hand it over. It’s the very least you can do after everything.”
“I–…” Din hesitated, his eyes briefly flickering to your horrified features before he uttered, “I can’t.”
A scoff promptly rumbled in the outlaw’s broad chest, “no, yeah, that part is crystal clear to me. You don’t wanna give me a single dime of what you owe me, you greedy bastard.”
“No, I mean that I can’t,” he admitted, “I–…I don’t have it…”
“You–, fucking hell…” Joel swiftly sighed, his head momentarily bowing as he swallowed the harsh reality, “alright,” he then murmured before his thumb cocked the revolver aimed at your head.
“Wait! Wait!” Din instantly panicked at the bone-chilling click, his palms soaring up further in a feeble attempt at halting the criminal, “gold! I–I have gold!”
Joel’s eyes narrowed to a squint before he muttered, “fine, I can work with that,” before he briefly gestured with the barrel of his gun, “go get it.”
“It’s not here, it’s in a mine out west.”
“Seriously?” Joel groaned.
“At least worth double of what I owe you, I swear.”
“So, let me get this right,” the outlaw took a single step closer to your fiancé, dragging you with him, “you want me to believe that you’re sitting on a goldmine and that I should just freely waltz into said mine and pluck out what’s rightfully mine? I’m not a fucking idiot. You just want me out of your hair so that you can run off to the sheriff.”
“I’m not lying, it’s real!” Din swore, “I hired a crew just last week to go out there and break ground!”
Narrowing his eyes, he let your poor fiancé stew a moment in his terror before finally muttering, “alright… I’ll tell you what,” he slowly took a step closer, “I don’t trust as far as I can throw you,” Joel growled, “so I’ll keep a little something as leverage so that I know you won’t go running that rotten mouth of yours,” his grip on you tightened slightly, “if what you claim is true, then I’ll gladly drop your pretty little bride off at the nearest saloon after I’ve gotten my gold,” he vowed calmly, “but if it’s not, well… then I guess you won’t be getting married anymore… unless, of course, corpses are your thing.”
“Wow…” Joel side-eyed you each time you squirmed at every little sound that the night out on the prairie brought, “you really aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No,” you scoffed, slightly offended, “I’m from New York.”
Tying you up with itchy ropes, the outlaw had made you walk beside his horse all during that first day, making you feel like your blistering feet might snap clean off by the time that he had finally stopped for the night. It was right beside a little creek that he had lit a fire. Securing the end of the rope around his own wrist, Joel had settled back against a tree, his other palm hovering against his wide-brimmed hat to tilt it down to shield his eyes from the glow of the small bonfire.
“New York?” his brows knitted together, “well, what in the hell is a city girl like you even doing with a fella like him?”
“Excuse me?” you narrowed your eyes in your kidnapper’s direction.
“Why would he travel all the way up to there just to find a wife? Is there something wrong with him?”
Your mouth promptly fell open at his rude accusation, “nothing’s wrong with him!”
“Other than the obvious, you mean,” he tilted his head.
Still not believing one bit why a ruffian like him would so fiercely loathe a gentleman such as your darling fiancé, you simply rolled your eyes and shared defensively, “my aunt lived down here, and when she passed, I attended the funeral. Turns out, he also knew her, so that was how we became acquainted.”
“Oh, so you met him and then just didn’t leave?”
“No, I went back,” you told him, “but then, not too long after, he travelled all of the way up to New York, just to return a handkerchief I’d misplaced. Or well, that and to ask my father properly for my hand in marriage,” you smiled softly at the memory, “he knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to travel halfway across the country to get it. Takes a certain amount of gumption, and that is admirable if you ask me.”
But instead of swooning at your tale, “no,” Joel instead muttered, “that’s just creepy,” he stated, and when your expression then soured, as if he had just slapped you across the face, he briefly tilted closer to point out, “Miss, the guy hunted you down like a prized cattle.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t think you have any place talking to me about etiquette,” you swiftly motioned to the ropes that restricted your movements.
A sigh then flowed from the cowboy as he sloped back against the tree trunk, “…look, I may not be a gentleman,” he stated gruffly, “but just know that I have a hell of a reason for doing all of this…”
When you woke again the next morning, the sight that met your eyes as soon as you fluttered them open caused you to instantly draw in a sharp breath.
Standing on the edge of the nearby stream, you spotted Joel. Dusty button-down tossed to the side, his suspenders, which usually stretched over the dirty white henley he typically wore beneath, hung low and dangled around his thick thighs as he dipped down to splash some more water against his now bare torso. Back turned to you, you watched as the water droplets cascaded down his spine and over the long and gnarly burn scar that marked most of his back, the bottom of it disappearing into the waistband of his sturdy trousers.
When he finally finished bathing and he turned back around, his eyes instantly caught your hypnotised ones, before you heard yourself ask, almost in a whisper, “how did you get that?”
Tugging his undershirt back over his burly frame, he simply grunted in return, “I don’t think you wish to know that answer, Miss…”
Though being ambushed by some bandits on the road wasn’t exactly what you’d had on your wish list, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as it granted you just enough of an opening to make for your escape.
However, just as you tried to climb back on the spooked horse, which the outlaw had recently begun to let you ride on with him during the long days on the prairie, you made the grave error of glancing back over your shoulder.
The last remaining bandit had managed to pin Joel down against the dirt, his hands tightly wrapped around your kidnapper’s throat.
Tightening your grasp on the reins, at first your body simply slowed down, but then when you watched Joel’s limbs grow sluggish in their attempts, your frame fully stopped, a sharp curse instead flowing from your lungs as you then found yourself picking up a medium-sized rock nearby before, with all of your might, you brought it down over the back of the opponent’s head.
Though it didn’t knock him out, the blow did stun the guy just enough for his fingers to let go of Joel’s neck, and grant him the opening to slip in and finish the job, clocking him in the face till he passed out cold and joined in the state of the other bandits surrounding them.
Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you found your feet glued to the ground.
Coughing briefly, Joel panted as well as he picked himself up onto his knees. Locating his hat, he dusted it off and placed it back upon his head before he even offered you a glance, “…now, why in the hell would you do a thing like that?”
“A simple thank you would suffice,” you glared back at him as he rose to his feet once more. It wasn’t till now that your regretful actions truly hit you, “fuck…” you hissed quietly and bowed your head just in time to watch as the outlaw caught onto the ropes around you once more. Even without them around your limbs, an escape in the constricting wedding dress you still wore would have been a task and a half.
But then as you waited for him to tether the end of the ropes back around his wrist, you instead watched as the outlaw suddenly began to loosen them.
As you blinked up at him with wide eyes, he simply uttered, “thank you, Miss,” his eyes not meeting your own as he continued to take the ropes off till they snaked from your frame completely.
“Sir,” you stayed vigilant, “what are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I can’t let you go yet,” he slowly coiled up the rope in his hand, “you don’t deserve this, none of this is your fault, but I can’t, not yet,” before his gaze finally met your own, “but maybe we could come to an agreement of sorts.”
“An agreement?” your brows furrowed.
Sucking in a breath, he then exhaled, “if you promise not to pull something like that again, then I can agree to keeping these off for good.”
“I–…” you hesitated as your eyes flickered to the ropes in his hands, utterly stunned by the sudden discovery of his good side.
“What? Would you rather stay tied up?”
“No, it’s just–, well, since we’re striking a deal,” you gnawed at your inner cheek, “could I perhaps have something else as well?” you asked, and when a look of confusion muddled his gruff features, you went on, “it’s just that we’ve been out here for days. I have been wearing this goddamn wedding dress for days. Have you ever tried sleeping in a corset? Have you even tried getting on and off a horse in this amount of lace?” you gestured to the dirty and tattered state of your gown.
Biting down on a smirk that threatened to show itself on his lips, he grunted, “can’t say that I have, Miss.”
And as he then began to shift back towards the horse to strap the rope back against the saddlebags, you continued, “I was thinking that maybe the next time we come across a town, we could stop by their tailor and–”
While you spoke, Joel then abruptly walked over to one of the unconscious men and began to rip off his clothing, “here,” he first tossed you the shirt.
For a moment, your eyes merely flickered between the button-down in your stunned grasp and Joel as he kept on stripping the man, “you can’t be serious.”
“Didn’t you just say that you needed clothes?” his fingers paused as he let out a groan.
“Well, yeah, but I can’t–,” you once again glanced down at the men’s shirt, “this isn’t exactly my type of clothing, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Well, I’m sorry that it isn’t spun of the finest silk this side of China,” he joked gruffly before chucking the rest of the apparel at you, “just put it on.”
Staring down at the fabric in your arms, you then quietly murmured to yourself, “…but I’ve never worn trousers before…”
Grasping a wide brimmed hat that had tumbled off one of the fellow’s skulls, Joel then closed the distance between you two and popped it down on your head, “here. This should help with the sun,” he murmured, before he then watched your gaze flicker down to the pile of clothing in your grasp, then expectantly back up at him, as he continued to stand directly in front of you, “right! Sorry,” it swiftly sank through to him, “I’ll turn around…” before his body twisted to grant you some privacy, though he still lingered near, just in case you decided to act out of turn, “just be quick before any of them wake up again…”
Your fingers were timid as they began to tug at your dust-wrecked white dress, although since you had needed help getting into it in the first place, attempting to take it off by yourself wasn’t an easy task.
“Could you maybe–, uhm…” you eventually asked, a mortified heat rising in your cheeks at your own words, “…help me out?” Joel then carefully turned back around, “I couldn’t even get into this on my own, so…”
“Right…” he uttered as you then slowly spun around for him to aid with the tight laces all along your spine.
Though since you were no longer facing him, you didn’t notice till it was too late when the outlaw pulled out a knife, and instead of pulling at the strings with his bare fingers, he sliced clean through them, his movements so swift that you didn’t even realise it till the sharp tip of his blade also cut through the laces along your corset.
“Oh my god!” you promptly yelped as your grasp instinctively soared up to keep your dress from dropping completely and exposing you further. Though as you gasped, the venom that formed on the tip of your tongue never saw the light of day, as your lungs suddenly were able to expand and properly fill up with oxygen for the first time in days.
“Anything else, Miss?” he murmured from behind you as his gaze lingered a moment longer on your bare spine as it shifted with each deep breath you sucked in.
“No,” the squeak hastily left your lips as you realised that this was the most indecent you had ever been in front of a man before, “thank you,” your cheeks heated up even further, “you can turn back around now!”
One day, when you’d reached the point of completely losing track of the time out in the wild, you stopped by a town to stock up on food and supplies.
It was humble in its size, with its sparse citizens being outnumbered by the cattle that roamed all along the outskirts, though even with the lack of people trampling the dusty main street, it still had a beating soul, from the fellow hiding from the ruthless sun in the shadows of a porch, his lazy fingers picking away at a banjo, to the local salon with its soiled doves that winked at everyone that passed.
Apparently, Joel was a regular at the establishment and trusted the girls not to tattle about his whereabouts during the one night you two stayed there. Though the outlaw still stayed ever so vigilant as he moved throughout the city, tugging his hat further down to obscure his face to any passersbys, so that they would recognise his likeness to all of the wanted posters scattered about town.
Though what you didn’t know was the dominant reason behind the brief pit stop, as in truth, being so near to you all day long, having your soft body pressed against his chest as you rode on the same horse, had driven the gruff man so much up the wall that he desperately sought out some other kind of release, as to not make the grave error of shooting his shot with someone like you.
Though when one of the girls whisked him upstairs, you passed the time around the rest of them, and in the process, spilt a few too many secrets of your own, as the vulgarity that you had been plunged into was enough to make them all crystal clear on your face.
It didn’t take long for the girls to grasp the opportunity and flood you with a bucket worth of tips and tricks, however when you had a tough time comprehending just how the intimate details worked, instead of talking your ear off further, they grabbed you by the arm and dragged you upstairs, till your eye was wide directly on the other side of the keyhole to the room that Joel was occupied in, granting you more than a clear visual aid, to say the least.
Some of the folks in the salon even thought your purity a little too intriguing, a few even offering to pay a small fortune for it. But before your cherry could be auctioned off, by then, Joel thankfully descended the staircase just in time to drag you out of the fray with your virginity still intact.
Joel usually still tethered a piece of rope between both of your bodies during the nights while you slept, though this night in particular, it almost seemed as if the outlaw had forgotten the precaution entirely.
Earlier that day, he had taught you how to shoot, after yet another encounter with some unsavoury types, had warranted the lesson, so you could feel more prepared in whatever the prairie may spring on you, whether it was man or beast.
Lowing one of the bottles, that he had picked up in town, after he’d taken another swig, Joel then abruptly tilted it in your direction, the dark liquor within sloshing at the movement, “you want some?”
Shifting your gaze away from the bonfire before you to eye the flask, your stare then gradually narrowed, “oh, I don’t know… I’ve never really drunk before.”
“Really?” Joel’s dark brows floated up, “never?”
“Well, my father was never a fan of liquor, so no, I haven’t,” you shrugged faintly.
Glancing over his shoulder, he then murmured, “I don’t see your daddy around here nowhere,” before extending the bottle further in your direction.
Grasping the bottle, you stared down the narrow opening for a moment before you took a sip, though the strong whisky burned your tongue the instant that it filled your mouth, immediately prompting you to cough raggedly.
“Wow, alright,” a chuckle escaped him as he swiftly helped tilt the flask back down so that you didn’t drop it during your small fit, “maybe take a smaller swig next time.”
“Oh my god! That’s awful!” you wheezed, your face screwed up as you glared down at the bottle, “how do you enjoy that?”
“You get used to the taste,” he tilted his head, “plus, the more you drink, the easier it goes down,” he told you, though that lesson only pushed you to snatch the flask back into your grasp, “wait, that’s not what I meant–, alright…” he swiftly gave up as you took another sip, letting you have your fun no matter how sick you might make yourself from it.
Passing the bottle back to the cowboy beside you, the flames before you flickered and crackled, though as you stared into the fire, you felt as another one began to ignite within your chest with every sip you took, making you slightly dizzy and giggly the higher the moon rose in the night sky.
“Can I ask you something?” out of the blue, you eventually blurted.
“I guess,” Joel grunted slowly as his eyes briefly flickered to your faintly swaying frame beside him.
“…those scars on your back…” your sentence crumbled as you poked, and you let yourself peek at the tip of the mark that stretched up and out of the neckline of his shirt.
Gathering what you were trying to utter, he then slowly cut in before you could manage to find the words, “handiwork of your little fiancé…” a breath filled his lungs as he bowed his head, “just one of the many reasons why I gotta do this.”
Tearing your gaze away from his broad back, your eyes flickered to his cold expression, “…Din did that to you?”
“He hired me and my crew for a job a while back, a big one that would have been able to change all of our lives. But then instead of paying us, he just locked us up in an abandoned building and set it ablaze… I was the only survivor…” his head dipped as he told you, “…took me a long time to track him down again. Flashy as he may be, the fucker can really hide when he wants to… but, now that I think about it, it was probably because he wasn’t down here at all. He was hunting you down on the other end of the country…” his gaze found your own, “in a way, you kind of helped me find him again.”
“How?”
“Well, the wedding,” he cocked his head, “news of that spread like wildfire…”
“Right…” you slowly averted your eyes. You had all but forgotten about that by now. In fact, you hadn’t really thought about the man who had nearly become your husband for a spree of days, if not weeks.
“…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to truly get revenge for what he did,” he stared into the flames flickering before you both, “but I at least have to try…” he murmured quietly before his eyes once more offered you a glance, “…I’m sorry that you had to find out this way, but at least you got to know who he really was before you got stuck with a ring around your finger. I mean, unless you still want to marry him, which wouldn’t be any of my business. We can’t control who we fall in love with…” his gaze continued to pierce your soul, “no matter how wrong they may be for you, matters of the heart aren’t always something you can overrule…”
“…I don’t know what I’ll do after all of this…” you then inhaled deeply, “I mean, I know that I can’t go back to him, but that’s about the only thing that I know…” your stare flickered down to the half-empty bottle of liquor balanced on the ground, “I don’t think I could go back home to New York either. I’m not the same person anymore, I’ve changed too much… but if I stay down here, what are the chances that he’ll find me again and just make me go through with it all so that I finally become his property?” your gaze once more reunited with Joel’s, “like you’ve said, he’s tracked me down before, and that was halfway across the country, not in his own backyard…”
In the heat of the moment, before Joel even had time to think his actions through, he reached out, drew you in, and collided his lips against your own.
Though you were stunned for a moment, clumsily clawing to catch up to the frenzy he’d snapped into, it didn’t take too long for you to also start kissing him as if you had been drowning and he was your first gasp of air.
Though when you found yourself crawling closer, into his lap and clinging onto his frame, Joel suddenly woke back up and realised what he had done.
“Oh god,” he yanked away from you, “I am so sorry, Miss. I–…”
But instead of shifting away from the outlaw, your fingers drifted up to cup his bearded cheeks, “for what?” you planted a soft peck upon his lips.
“I–…Miss…” he struggled in between the gentle kisses you offered him, “…please, you should really stop before–…”
“Before what?” you caught his eye, your own wide with genuine curiosity.
Drawing in a controlled breath as he gazed back at you, he uttered, “before I lose control again and do something that I shouldn’t.”
“But, I–… Joel…” your frame was nearly buzzing as you sat there, balanced in his lap, “oh god… what is it that you do to me…” your fingers tightened in his shirt as you continued to stare into his eyes, “I don’t understand it… what is this? How do you–…”
And it was in that moment that Joel finally realised that you somehow felt the same for him as he did for you.
Melting under your flustered stare, he then drew you in closer and uttered, “oh, darlin’…” his head bowed till his forehead rested against your own. It took a long moment for him to part his lips once more, though when he did, his murmur didn’t clear up your confusion, “…what if you stayed here with me?”
Brow knitting together, you tilted back just enough to catch his eye, “you wanna keep me as your prisoner?”
“No,” his head shifted from side to side in a gentle shake, “I just wanna be with you…”
Sucking in a breath, a smile promptly bloomed on your lips before you echoed, “…I wanna be with you too…”
As Joel then fervently kissed you again, you swiftly threw your arms around his neck as you felt his silky tongue dance against your own.
Though as your hips began to rock down against his hard lap, a desperate whimper couldn’t help but form on your lips.
“God…I–…” your eyes fluttered as you absentmindedly continued to grind down against him, both of his palms digging into your hips, “…I-I need more, please,” you helplessly begged, not really comprehending what it was that your body was pleading for.
“Oh, yeah?” his gravelly tone tickled your skin in between smouldering pecks, “more of what? What do you need?”
“I don’t know… just, more…” you panted, your eyes fluttering shut as the outlaw began to kiss down your neck, “…I don’t understand what’s happening, what this is that you do to me… feels like I’m on fire or something… is that wrong? What is it?”
Catching your jaw in his palm, he tilted it back to catch your dazed eyes, “oh, sweetheart…” he uttered as a soft smile bloomed on his lips, “that’s anything but wrong…”
Twisting you around till your spin melted back against Joel’s burly chest, he continued to hold your gaze over your shoulder as his fingers dipped down over the front of your trousers.
As he began to pet your cunt lightly through the fabric, smirking as your mouth fell open in a gasp, he then asked, “has no fella really never touched you?” his caress found the buttons on your pants, gently ripping them open before stuffing his hand down the loosened waistband for your pussy to soak his fingers, “not even your little fiancé?”
“No…” you purred as his rough fingertips ghosted over your throbbing clit, “…I think he tried to kiss me once, but my father walked in on us before anything happened…”
Blinking hard, the cowboy then uttered, “wait, you mean to tell me, that was your first–,” before he cut himself off and simply let out a warm exhale, “oh, darlin’…”
As he cradled you in his lap, he briefly paused to yank your trousers off entirely, before his touch then returned to your cunt, rubbing it till you trembled atop of him. Peeked over your shoulder to catch sight of your glistening pussy, he soon let his digits dip down to tease your leaking entrance, tracing the quivering opening before you felt him stuff a finger inside.
The root of his rough palm rubbed against your puffy pearl as he buried another digit inside, curving and rocking them inside of you till you felt as if a tether inside of you snapped and a sensation you hadn’t even dared to imagine prior exploded within you, making your entire frame quake atop of his as a loud moan tumbled from your lips.
Recalling the sins that you had spied on through the light of a keyhole, you then dared to reach for Joel’s fat cock before he had even fully freed it from his pants. Caressing it curiously as it throbbed between your legs, pressed flush up against your petals, your hips too rolled slightly, coating him in your mess. You didn’t even fully know if what you were doing was correct, but with the image of the outlaw’s dick buried in between the legs of a soiled dove flickering in your mind, you raised up your hips and nudged the tip of him against your opening.
Your whole body trembled as you sank down on it, the stretch making your toes curl in your boots, “o-oh my god…”
“Holy–,” he too gasped as he had expected you would have needed more guidance, “atta fucking girl,” his brawny arms curled around you as he split you open, his hand drifting up to tilt your head, tearing your eyes away from how his big cock slowly disappeared inside of you, to instead lock with his own hazy gaze.
Your panting lips were merely centimetres apart as your hot gasps and molten moans mingled and melted in the sliver of space between your faces.
With the fire crackling in front of you, Joel let one of his palms slide between your shoulder blades, while the other one scooped down under your knees as he folded you up and twisted you slightly against him.
And as your legs dangled over his flexing forearm and your cheek sloped down to rest upon his shoulder, the outlaw took over and began to move your frame in his arms, rocking you up and down, his hips even rolling beneath you to bury his cock that much deeper inside of you, letting the tip of him rut so far that it kissed your cervix, making you gasp each and every time.
Though when that dizzying edge began to near once more, tears did not only begin to well up in the corners of your eyes at the intensity of the overwhelming sensation, but your cunt too cried out around Joel’s fat cock as you unravelled.
“That’s it, darlin’,” he groaned as your pussy began to squirt messily around his girth, “that’s my girl....”
“Yeah…” star-eyed, you drooled against his collarbone as you blinked up at him, your cunt still weakly gushing as the outlaw’s ravenous efforts hadn’t ceased in the slightest, “…I’m your girl…”
Warnings: Explicit (like so much, 18+, minors do not interact, this is not a drill), PWP (a teeny bit of plot to get them going), stripping, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected, SO MUCH kissing, gentle, soft, sweet loving, dirty talk, tattoos, light sub!Frankie if you squint, naughty pics, established relationship (Frankie and reader are married), no physical description of reader except that she has semi to long hair, it’s up to you
Summary: You find out if Frankie can follow instructions in the bedroom. He can. Sort of.
A/N: Activate all senses, this sent me over the edge like I’d forgotten what writing smut was like. It was so much FUN! I love Frankie, okay? Inspired by this photo and Prompt 3 of this list
I haven’t written something so explicit since 2017 so be merciful and I’d love to hear what you think of it Be kind please
Warnings: Monster Fucking, death, grieving, burial, loss, marriage of convenience, secrets, guilt, discoveries, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, hand jobs, pregnancy
Comments: A stranger arrives on your doorstep telling you that your husband died to save his life and his dying wish was for you to marry him. You realize this man is hiding something that is the key to why your husband gave his life for him.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
The horse plods along slowly, the shod hooves clicking against the stone grooves of the wagon worn road. Pero glances down at the sword that is balanced across his knee. The guilt is heavier than the solid weight of the sharp steel. The last words of a dying man echoing in his ears just like they have every moment since they had been spoken. It’s odd that he would care, normally he wouldn’t. This was personal though. It’s because of him that a husband won’t return to his wife.
You are folding your washing after taking it down from the line outside when there's a knock on the door. You're immediately on edge and you reach for your knife, slowly walking towards the door. You remove the wooden bar and crack the door. Pero tilts his head when the door opens slightly and you narrow your eyes at him, seeing his scar and dirty face. He says your husband's name and your eyes widen, opening the door a little more. "I fought with your husband. He - he was killed. I have his body. I wanted to return him home."
The horse that had carried your husband’s body is tied behind his own. The horse is valuable and he had not had the heart to sell the beast and pocket the coins. He had pilfered from the other body left behind with zero remorse, but all your husband’s things are still there. “I will bring him inside and let you clean him up while I dig the hole.” He knows you can’t bury him yourself and your husband said he did not want to be buried in the church graveyard.
You are shocked, shaking hands coming up to your mouth as you stare at the gruff man on your threshold. "He's - oh." You choke, stumbling and leaning against the door frame as the door opens enough for you to see your husband's body. Pero shifts from one foot to the other, "he wanted to return home to you." He says and you choke on a sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as you push past him to get to your husband.
Pero Tovar is a hard man, one who is mostly selfish, but tears bother him. Especially a woman’s tears. He turns to watch as you pull the hastily wrapped shroud from your husband’s face to caress his cold skin. Pero swallows, scowling as he shuffles and feels the weight of his last words on his shoulders. You are young, pretty, now made a widow and he should just bury the body and leave.
The reality of losing your husband, of being a widow, has you sinking down to the ground as the stranger approaches you. “He spoke of nothing but you.” He reveals and you wrap your arms around yourself. “I - I don’t know what - he’s gone.” You sob until you are hiccuping and trying to breathe. Pero kneels down beside you, his hand reaching for you but he stops before he touches you. “Can you carry him into the house for me?” You whisper, turning your head to look at the man with dark eyes who nods, “of course.”
Pero slowly, gently, pulls your husband’s body off the back of the horse. Not that he cares if Pero tosses him about, but you might. The dead weight in his arms is shifted over his shoulder and he lets you lead him into the surprisingly large cottage. The coziness of the space is immediate and he waits while you clear the large table of dried herbs and vegetables from your garden. “Do you need me to bring water in?” Pero asks as he lays the body out.
You stare at your husband, unable to believe he’s dead, but you nod without looking at Pero. He makes his way out of the cottage and you walk over to the table, brushing your husband’s hair back. He looks so handsome, like he’s asleep, even when he’s covered in dirt. You start to gather some rags, preparing for the water that Pero brings in minutes later. You remain silent, working diligently to clean your husband up and Pero heads outside to dig the grave.
The shovel breaks through the dirt, making Pero’s back ache and his breathing gets shorter as the hole gets deeper. Grunting and sweating as he carves out the final resting place of the man who had saved his life. Giving up his future for him, holding his hand as he breathed his last breath after making Pero promise to marry you.
You slide the metal ring from your husband’s hand, kissing the back of it now that it’s clean, and you reach up to undo the chain around your neck, looping his ring so you’ll carry him with you forever. “I love you.” You murmur as Pero clears his throat from the threshold. He is sweaty and covered in speckles of dust and soil. “Are you ready?” He asks and you look back at your husband, hand shaking as you caress his cheek one last time. “Yes. I’m ready.”
He rewraps your husband in a clean blanket you had left out and brings the body out to the hole he had dug. Awkward as he gets him into his grave and has to halfway crawl out. Biting his tongue to curb the curses that would normally be flowing freely. It seems like it isn’t the time. “I am sorry, señora.” He murmurs quietly before stepping back.
You sniff, tears gathering in your eyes again as you touch the ring on your chain. “Thank you.” You murmur, “for bringing him home. For burying him.” You say and Pero looks at you, nodding. You say a prayer for your husband, Pero bowing his head in respect, and you let the tears flow. “You must be hungry. I will prepare food and a bath for you.” You say, stepping away from the grave, “you must be tired. You can rest.”
“I will cover the grave.” It would be foolish to turn down a meal, or a bath, so he doesn’t. Just nods at you and picks up the shovel again. After this, he needs to unsaddle the horses and make sure they are fed some grain after traveling for so long. Then he can rest and tell you what your husband wanted him to do.
You go through the motions, doing what you’d do for your husband when he returned home. A hot meal cooking on the stove while the hot water cools in the tub alongside oils and a razor. When Pero comes into the cottage, he’s surprised at the setup. “Dinner is ready when you are. Take your time. I am going to take a moment alone.” You say as you step through the small doorway to your bed, sinking down on it to muffle your cries into your pillow.
It seems so wrong to take the hospitality of a woman who just buried her husband, but Pero is tired and dirty. Slowly stripping off his leathers and the chainmail beneath it, his clothes are in need of a good scrubbing, but he sees that you have set out some clothes that must have been your husband’s. He sinks down into the hot water with a groan and leans back in the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Trying to ignore the sobs coming from the other room.
You sniff as you calm down, hearing the rustling of clothes as the man who returned your husband to you dresses in his clothes. You wipe your eyes and shuffle off the bed, making your way into the kitchen to find him looking clean and freshly shaven. “I hope you like stew. I have fresh bread that I baked this morning.” You explain and he nods, “I do, thank you señora.” You order for him to sit down and you serve him a large bowl of stew alongside a chunk of the loaf you baked. Your own serving is smaller, your stomach twisting with grief as you sit down at the table.
He doesn’t wait, he can’t when he smells the stew and feels the heat of the warm food. Ravenous in a way that man can be when he’s not had a good meal in a long time, Pero digs into the stew and groans at the rich and meaty meal. You are a good cook and your husband was a lucky bastard.
You watch him eat, unfazed by his manners as your husband would eat like that whenever he returned from his travels. It didn’t take long for him to remember your presence and later meals would be civilized. You allow Pero the pass as he inhales the food. Your bites are smaller and quite frankly a struggle as your grief twists inside you.
“It is good.” He tears a chunk of bread in half to dip into the juices, wanting every drop of the stew to be in his belly. “Otto used to complain about the food at camp, talk about your stews and roasts.” He shoves the bread in his mouth. “He was right to brag on you.”
You smile sadly, “he used to joke and say I cook better than his mother and he’s lucky she was dead because she’d kill him if he she heard him say that.” You chuckle and Pero snorts, smirking, “he was a smart man.” You bite your lip as you set your spoon down, “was he- did he die in battle?”
“No.” Pero shakes his head and glances back down at his now empty bowl. “Your husband stepped in front of an arrow meant for me.” He admits quietly, still not sure why the man had done it. Pero should have just been killed and it would have saved you the grief swimming in your eyes.
You frown, “he- he saved you? Why? Why would he do that?” You demand to know, aware that you’re being rude but you’re angry now that you know he sacrificed his life for someone.
Pero glances up at you and then frowns himself, looking almost angry. “I don’t know.” He admits. “Selfish bastard should have just let the arrow hit me.”
That’s not a good enough answer for you and you huff, shaking your head at the gruff mercenary. “I need you to tell me what happened. Why did my husband die for you?” You ask, stomach twisting with your grief and now anger.
He can’t tell you the truth. You would never believe him. “Another soldier was trying to kill me.” He confesses, knowing that he can at least tell you that. “He was drawing his bow and Otto stepped in front of me, hoping the bastard would not shoot.” Pero’s hands clenched into fists. “He did not care and shot him.” Pero looks up. “I killed the bastard for you. The man is dead.”
You nod slowly, absorbing his words, and you feel the tears sting in your eyes as you try to blink them away. “I don’t understand why he did that. He - he was a good man but to give up his life for you? Why?” You question out loud and Pero sighs, “I have been asking myself the same question since he died.” He confesses and you wipe your cheeks, “I am alone now. He - he is gone.” You say, almost trying to convince yourself of that fact.
Clearing his throat, Pero looks away for a moment before he swallows. “His-his last words were about you.” He tells you quietly. “He-he told me to take care of you. To- marry you.”
Your watery eyes widen in shock as you stare at the man sitting at your kitchen table. “Ma- marry you? Me? Marry - why would he say that?” You choke out, heart breaking at that reality that you’re a widow and your husband’s last request was for you to marry the man he died for. “I don’t - no. No. I cannot. I will not marry you.”
He nods, completely understanding that you would not want to marry the man who is the reason your late husband is gone. “I understand señora.” He murmurs quietly. “I have brought the coins from the men I have killed for you. And I will make sure you are provided for since it is my fault that Otto cannot.” He should walk away, but he can’t. Not after the man had died for him.
You sniff, hating that your tears are never ending but you know this is the grief and shock. “I am a widow. I do not own this cottage, my husband does and now that he is no longer here, the villagers will come for it. They will want to take it for another family.” You know how these things work. You are a woman, you cannot own anything. “Is that why he wished for you to marry me? To ensure I keep my home?” You ask and Pero nods, “sí, señora.” You look down at your hand, the simple ring on your finger a symbol of who you have lost. “I do not want to marry you. If we are to marry, I do not wish to share your bed. This is for us to honor my husband’s wish and to allow me to keep our home. Nothing more. Do you understand?”
He watches for you a long moment before he nods. “Sí.” He agrees, “I will not demand rights as a husband. If I have a need for a woman, I will take care of that while I sell my sword.” Otto had not partaken in the tavern wenches and whores like other men who had families at home. It had seemed odd, but now he knows what you are like, Pero can understand. A mere whore has none of the beauty you do, and he reminds himself that he will not truly have you, so it is not a break of his vow to God.
You nod, knowing that you cannot share your bed with him but he is the only man who can save your home and your body from the clutches of the village men. “We shall go see the priest in the morn.” You say and Pero nods in agreement. You look back at your meal, suddenly not hungry and you stand up to clean your bowl.
Pero stands as well and he bites his lip. This was a mistake, he should have just dumped the body at your door and left. Still, he doesn’t move towards his armor. “I will check the horses.” He grunts.
You watch him go and you allow yourself another moment to cry, grieving your husband and the life you had. You wash the bowls with your bucket of water, tears dropping down your cheeks as you ponder your new life married to the man for whom your husband died.
Outside, Pero is lost. He can take care of animals, he can chop wood and hunt. He would actually look forward to living in four walls and a solid roof through the winter if it weren’t for this. He doesn’t know how to be a husband, even if it is just for the protection of his name. He shoos a chicken away and sighs as he looks at the goat that is munching away on the grass around the small barn. “At least there are animals.” He huffs, making his way inside to check on the horses.
You finish cleaning up, preparing the cot for Pero to sleep on. You will not share a bed with the man who will become your husband. This is in name only. There will be no love, no faith, no connection in your marriage. You sit down by the fire and think about your husband, Otto, and you wonder why he chose this man to be your protector. Did he ask him to marry you as his dying wish? Was it guilt? Was it something else? You wish you had more answers.
After feeding and watering the animals, Pero starts to collect wood. Noticing that the stack next to the cottage is low, he sees the logs that have been felled and stacked to chop into manageable pieces. Tomorrow, he will start hunting and then chop wood after you get married.
You get ready for bed, dressed in your nightgown when Pero comes back into your cottage. He is wearing your husband's clothes and that makes tears gather in your eyes once again at the reminder of what you've lost. "I have prepared your bed." You inform him with a choke.
Pero looks at the cot made next to the hearth and then back at you. “Gracias, señora.” He bows his head slightly. “I will sleep well tonight. Thank you for preparing a bed for me.” He knows you could make him sleep out in the barn, so he doesn’t think a cot next to a banked fire is a bad place to be. “Should I bar the door?”
You nod, knowing you’re both safer in the cottage even if this man is a stranger to you. You watch him bar the door and you say to him when he turns towards you, “goodnight.” He nods at you, “buenas noches, señora.” You walk back into your room, sliding under the covers and you lean over to blow out the candle. Tomorrow, you’ll be marrying the man in the other room.
It takes a long time to fall asleep. Laying on a surprisingly comfortable cot, he listens to the fire crackle and the soft sound of your breathing from the other room. Unsure of what to do or say. He shouldn’t marry you, not when he’s still keeping the truth about your husband’s death from you.
The next morning, you dress and prepare breakfast while Pero sleeps on the cot. He must’ve travelled far. Otto would often sleep for days when he returned home. Sleep was a luxury men of the sword weren’t afforded. “Good morning.” You say to him when he sits up, rubbing his bare chest and your eyes widen for a second until you turn your back from his naked form.
“Mierda.” Pero hisses, reaching for his pants. Or, Otto’s pants. He had gotten hot and had stripped down in the middle of the night, relaxed by the barred door and the comfortable cot. He’s always hot. “Forgive me.” He grunts as he pulls them on and shoves his feet into his boots.
You keep your face turned away and you prepare the bread to bake over the fireplace. “It’s - it’s okay.” You promise and keep your back turned until you hear him moving around behind you. “Could you fetch some fresh water?” You ask, needing some water for the day, “and some wood? Once we have eaten breakfast, we can go find the priest.”
“Sí.” He throws the shirt on and grabs the buckets for water before removing the heavy wooden beam from the door. He decides that he will check the chickens for eggs and ask you if the goat is to be milked or not after he gets the water and wood.
He returns with the water, then the wood, then the eggs and milk. You’re surprised at his efficiency, similar to Otto’s but he would press a kiss to your lips with each delivery. You set the breakfast food on the table as he walks back in and you watch him toe off his boots. “Eat then we get married.” You order, knowing you need his name for protection.
“Sí, señora.” He moves over to the water bucket used for washing and cleans his hands. “I have coins to pay the priest, then we can get any supplies you need from the market.” He tells you.
You’re surprised at his consideration and you wonder why he’s doing this. Maybe he was attracted to the ready made life: a cottage and a wife to take care of it. Maybe it’s the coins. Maybe it’s the safety. You aren’t sure but you know Otto asked him for a reason to take care of you. You watch him sit down at the table, reaching for the cooked oats and you are sure he has calmed down the ravenous way he eats for you as he tries to demurely spoon up the oats. It makes you smile as you sit down opposite him.
Pero is starving but he needs to show that he has some manners at your table. He would normally just tip the bowl up and slurp it down. The cup of water at his wrist is quickly drunk down with some bread. “After the winter thaws, I will sell my sword and leave you in peace.” He tells you. “Like Otto had.”
You nod in agreement, knowing that this is best for both of you. You sigh and watch him finish his food, eating your own. Once you’re both finished eating, you go to wash the bowls but Pero beats you to it. “I am going to wash up and change. I will not be married in my morning clothes.”
“I have a change of clothes in my bags, but…” he shakes his head. “All of my clothes are rough, meant to be worn with armor.” He admits, gesturing to the clothes you had let him borrow. “Would it upset you for me to wear this?” He asks. “Or should I find clothes before we meet the priest?”
You tilt your head, “I have more clothes that were Otto’s. You can pick what you would like to wear.” You say, walking over to the chest, and you open it to reveal your late husband’s clothes. You open the chest next to that one that contains your clothes and you pull the dress you wore to marry Otto out of the chest.
You are practical despite grieving and he can appreciate that. Nodding, he feels odd about taking over your husband’s life, but he had promised the man he would take care of you. “Gracias.” He murmurs and moves over to pick out something to wear.
You are methodical as you get ready for your union to Pero, cleaning yourself up before you change into the dress. When you enter the main living area, he’s standing there and your breath catches at how handsome he is. The guilt immediately swarms you after the thought, the guilt of thinking of a man other than your husband.
Pero runs his hand over his face and wonders if he should trim again, but there is no use. This isn’t a true marriage. You are just taking his name to keep your house and protect you from men who would want to take advantage of you. His eyes widen when he sees you, finding you to be absolutely gorgeous.
“Shall we go?” You ask, unaware of his attraction to you as you internally reprimand yourself for your reaction to him. He clears his throat, “sí, señora.” You nod and you’re soon both walking to the village. The morning air is chilly, indicating that the leaves will soon turn and then snow will fall after that.
You are quiet while you walk, making Pero even more nervous. He has not spent much time with women who are not whores or tavern maids. Gentle women with kind eyes and soft words always shy away from him, scared by his dark looks and the scar that makes him look wicked. “Hunting should be good in these woods.” He grunts. “I will go as soon as we get done with the priest.” He craves fresh meat and it will be good to start storing up for winter.
You hum in agreement, “very well. You are free to do as you please, even as my husband.” You say and he turns to look at you, “we may not be husband and wife in the biblical sense, señora, but I will still obey my honor to you.” He says and you sigh, “whatever you wish. I have no expectations of you.”
He frowns at your words, although he should be pleased. He had never imagined getting married, too used to doing what he wished. Even after Garin had decided to go back to China for his general. “Sí.” He grunts. “That is good.”
The village is quiet this time of the morning since everyone has tended to their business already. A few people pass by, confusion on their faces as they see you walking alongside Pero. You ignore them, uncaring of what they think as you walk toward the church.
Pero’s scowl deepens naturally, uncomfortable around most and not liking the rest. He shifts closer to you, protective but he doesn’t touch you. He knows that word will spread of his reason for being here and he wants it known that you are very well protected.
You can see the apprehension on their faces and you realize that this is what Pero can do for you. He can protect you just by being seen with you. If he hadn’t mentioned your husband’s wish and left after leaving the body, you’d already be having knocks on your door from the village men. The church is quiet as you enter it, the priest hovering near the altar and he looks up at you, saying your husband’s last name. “My husband - Otto - is dead. This man returned his body to me. We have buried him. Now, I wish to marry this man.” You say, knowing the priest will be confused by this new development.
The priest looks to Pero, his gaze concerned as he glances between the two of you. “Did you kill Otto?” He demands, making Pero growl. He would grab the man if he weren’t of the church. “No padre.” Pero hisses. “Otto saved my life and his dying wish was for me to take care of his widow.”
“It’s true. He brought Otto back to me. He can protect me. I do not wish to marry one of the vile men of the village. They will want me for my lands. Pero will honor Otto’s wishes. We wish to be wed now.” You explain and the priest narrows his eyes at Pero in suspicion until he nods, “I would like to visit Otto’s grave. Pray for him but first, I will honor his wishes.”
Pero nods solemnly and looks towards you before he speaks. “Thank you padre.” He declines the offer of confession, lying to the priest that he had taken confession before coming to the village. In truth, it has been years since he has confessed his sins and a priest would never absolve him.
You are nervous, silently praying to God and Otto that this man will care for you. That he will not end up behaving like the men you're evading by marrying him. Your mind is wandering as the priest begins the ceremony, standing opposite Pero and you barely manage to pay attention enough to repeat the vows.
Pero has never been married before so he listens carefully to the priest’s words about duty and purpose. There won’t be children from this marriage since you are not sleeping together, but he will just claim that he has an injury from battle. The priest declares you man and wife and Pero picks up your hand and kisses it instead of kissing your lips. “My kisses for my wife will be private.” He growls.
The priest nods in respect, pleased that Pero seems to be protective and respectful of you. You’re a pillar of the community and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you now that Otto is gone. You smile sadly at Pero, knowing that you are no longer the wife of Otto, no longer his widow. You are the wife of Pero Tovar. “Let’s go feast. Father, would you care to join us?” You ask and he shakes his head, “no. Go ahead children and go with God’s blessing.” You nod, letting Pero escort you from the church as the market is opening up.
Reaching for his coin purse gives him an excuse to let go of your hand. Untying it from his belt, it’s heavy, and he hands it to you. “Buy whatever you need for this winter.” He grunts. “Save your coins from Otto, those are yours to keep.” He knows that everything you have is technically his, but he doesn’t feel that way.
You shake your head, “I do not need your coins.” You insist and try to hand the pouch back to him but he closes his hand over yours. “You may not need them but they are yours nonetheless.” It seems futile to argue so you nod, attaching the purse to your belt and you walk through the market, purchasing what you need and Pero obediently carries what he can while traders offer to deliver the heavier items to your cottage.
The purse is far lighter by the time you are ready to go back to the cottage, Pero carrying all the smaller packages. “Do I need to stay for the deliveries or will I be able to go hunt?” He asks, aware that you had made a point to introduce him as your husband to everyone you had purchased from today. The news will spread quickly through the village.
You tilt your head at his consideration, “you’ll be able to go hunt. I am capable of dealing with the traders.” You promise, “go and hunt. I know you need time to think. This has been a lot to process.” You say, fiddling with the two rings on the chain around your neck. Yours and Ottos. It felt wrong to continue to wear it for this marriage so your finger will remain bare.
His eyes drop down to the chain and he nods. “Sí.” He murmurs as he goes to change into the clothes he had been wearing earlier. “I will hopefully bring back a stag.”
You know he’s capable, he’s displayed that time and time again. “Very well. I’ll see you soon.” You say as you start to put away the things you’d purchased from the market that he’d carried back home. You keep your back turned as he changes, ignoring the way your body heats slightly. It’s been months since you shared a bed with your husband and the thought of being with Pero is inconceivable but you’re still a woman with needs.
Pero grabs his bow, he’s not quite the performer that Garin is but he is a damn good shot. He had routinely hunted for dinner when he was with the army so he could assure himself of something to eat. “I will be back.” He promises before walking out of the door and feeling like he’s doing something wrong.
You watch him go and finally, you have the cottage to yourself since you buried Otto. Tears stream down your cheeks as you feel like you’re betraying your late husband and you swallow harshly as you wipe the tears from your cheeks to focus on your tasks.
Pero comes back to the cottage hours later. He had taken his horse with him and he’s glad he had. The stag that is hanging over the back of the black stallion is massive. Easily enough meat to feed the two of you for the majority of the winter if the meat is smoked and packed away. He is holding two rabbits, and has set up several traps to check. The hide of the stag would make a nice blanket, but he wants furs for trade or clothes. The tree in the clearing will be perfect to hang the meat overnight to let it bleed out and to keep it safe from the scavengers.
Your eyes widen when you see Pero with the stag over the back of his stallion. It’s huge and you are shocked by his strength to take down a beast like that. You wipe your hands on your skirt and walk out to greet him with “are we feeding the entire village?” You ask and Pero snorts, “this is for us. We will smoke it. It will keep us fed until the snow melts.” You nod in agreement, your stomach twisting at the capability this man exudes. Otto was a good man but he’d never taken down as large an animal as that.
Pero pulls the animal off the back of the horse and slaps the stallion’s rump to get him to move over to the grass to munch. “You have rope?” He asks, pulling out his knife to kneel down and gut the stag so it won’t be spoiled.
You’re not disgusted by the blood and guts as they spill onto the ground and you nod, turning around to grab some rope that Otto had stored last hunting season. You come back out and hand it to Pero, watching him as he works methodically.
Pero ties the rope around the stag’s hind legs before tossing it over the lower heavy branch of the tree. Planting his feet, Pero groans and grunts as he uses his raw strength to hoist the heavy animal high into the air so the predators can’t get it. When he’s done, he ties the rope around the tree and looks at you breathlessly. “You know how to cook liver?” He asks.
Your eyes are wide, heart beating a little harder at the display of brute strength. “I, uh, I can. My mother - she used to - to cook all the insides.” You say and Pero nods, sweat on his brow and you inhale deeply, trying to ignore your attraction to him at this moment.
Pero nods. “I will wash them.” He loves fresh liver fried over a fire and is looking forward to the meal. You are a good cook, so it should be amazing. “Gracias.” He murmurs when he looks at you. “For the rope.”
Your eyes linger on him as you nod, heading back into the house to wait for him to bring you the liver to cook for your dinner. You’ve already started cooking lunch - the same stew from last night - and you call him in to eat.
Pero brings in all the organs, although he had thrown the intestines and stomach into the woods. That has never been a good meal, but the heart, lungs and kidneys make a decent stew. He also cleans and dresses the rabbits to be cooked on a spit. Bringing everything back inside when you call him for lunch.
You watch him set out the organs and you are already deciding how to cook all of them while you set the bread you baked this morning on the table. “Our first meal as husband and wife.” You declare but it’s not with joy but indifference.
“I know that you are not happy with me as your husband.” He moves over to the fire and adds some more wood. “I will try to be gone as often as possible to make things easier for you.”
You hum in agreement and thanks, knowing that this is for both your benefits. He gets a warm home during the winter, cooked food, and clean clothes, and you get protection and coins. It’s the best you can do in such a horrible situation and Pero is not forcing himself on you like the men in the village would do.
****
You watch Pero as he finishes the liver you cooked for dinner. The day has been long and tiring but you enjoy how much he loves your cooking. Groaning and trying not to shovel it in but some bites are better than others. When you both prepare for bed, you are relieved when he immediately settles on the cot in the main area, granting you privacy and purity in your marriage. “Goodnight.” You murmur as you walk into your bedroom, alone and a newly married widow.
Pero doesn’t mind the cot, doesn’t mind sleeping alone. He doesn’t feel married, even though he is. Otto must have known something he didn’t when he told Pero to marry you. Or he was just desperate to make sure you were cared for. “Mierda.” He grunts, shifting to take off the shirt. It is not how he ever expected to spend his wedding night. He’s not even drunk.
****
It’s been a few weeks since Pero arrived on your doorstep with your late husband shrouded over the back of his horse. You have settled into a routine, meals together before he handles the livestock and hunts to prepare for the upcoming winter. The air has turned chilly and you have become friendly with Pero, enjoying his company even if he’s often quiet. He’s a steady presence and you feel protected.
Pero shifts, skin hot and he tries to ignore the warning signs. He knows what will happen tonight, having been through it too many times before. He groans to himself as you bend over to take the bread out of the oven. It will be the first time he had this happen since marrying you. Despite not touching you in the weeks since saying your vows, he wants to, and that scares him.
You can’t say you’ve gotten to know more about Pero since he doesn’t speak much but you’ve gathered small tidbits of information. Like he’s originally from Spain and left his homeland when his mother died to sell his sword. His friend is named William and he went to China to be with the woman he loves. He is loyal and smart and you want to know more about the man who is now your husband. Yet he seems to close himself off and it hurts you. You don’t understand what you’ve done to keep his distance.
His eyes follow you, cock twitching in his breeches, Otto’s breeches and he reminds himself that you don’t want him. You wish for the man who is buried under the trees and he had moved a rock from the nearby stream to etch his name into it to mark his grave. He sees you out there some times, envious at the love you have for your fallen husband and the guilt of his death weighs heavily.
You sigh, watching him as he works on fixing the gate outside the cottage that has been stiff since before Otto left. You bite your lip as you look through the window at his back, muscles working under the material of his shirt. Your stomach twists with desire for your new husband until your hand touches the rings on your clavicle, the guilt hitting you again. You know you said you’d keep your distance and you plan to but he is tempting you every day, more and more.
Pero can feel you watching him. He often wonders what you are thinking. If you still blame him for Otto’s death. He tries not to get too close to you, knowing that it will make it harder to try to keep those thoughts from creeping in. If you would sound sweet under him in your bed. He’s heard you a few times, the soft gasps of self pleasure when he was supposed to be asleep. He can’t think of you that way. It’s dangerous. “There have been animal tracks around the barn.” He tells you over his shoulder, not pausing his work. I will sleep out there tonight to make sure they are safe.” It’s a good excuse, believable.
You frown, not liking the idea of him outside with the animals and in danger. You’ve already lost one husband. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should stay inside.” You say and he shakes his head, “I will be fine, esposa.” You know better than to argue with him now. He’s stubborn as a mule. “Very well.” You say, spinning on your heel to begin preparing dinner.
Pero sighs, aware that you are annoyed with him, but it’s for the best. The farther away he can keep you, the safer you will. He doesn’t know how he will react tonight now that you are married. He’s never been around a woman during this time before. He’s anxious and wants to make sure he doesn’t do something foolish.
You sigh when he doesn’t say much during dinner but he does eat a lot. More than he ever has which surprises you. You serve him more food, watching him shovel it into his mouth despite your request that he doesn’t eat like he’s surrounded by mercenaries. When you get ready for bed, he’s preparing to sleep outside and it worries you. It’s getting colder and you worry that whatever is out there is going to attack him instead of the animals. “Be careful.” You order after saying goodnight when he lingers by the front door. “I will. Bar the door just in case.” He orders and you swallow, nodding in agreement. “Goodnight, Pero.” You murmur and he tilts his head, “buenas noches, esposa.” You shut the door behind him, barring it, and you settle into bed with an uneasy feeling in your stomach.
The sun dipping below the horizon is probably the time that Pero feels it the most. The ache crawling beneath his skin and the heat rising in his body. He growls to himself as he glances back at the cottage, happy that there is a thick wooden bar that would prevent anything, including him, from getting inside. The windows are too small to crawl through. He glances at the horses, munching the oats and hay in their stalls as they don’t pay him any attention while the chickens squawk and the goat bleats at him. He had eaten enough that he should not be tempted by them tonight. Pero starts to strip his clothes off to wait for the first full moon since he had made this his home.
You wake up with a gasp, the sound of howling disturbing your sleep, and your heart pounds. You sigh, settling back in bed, knowing it’s just your imagination and not what you think it is. You close your eyes until another howl has you sitting up in bed. You shiver as the fire has dampened through the night and you’re worried about Pero. What if something has happened to him outside? Your heart pounds when you hear a wailing noise and you unlock the door, setting the bar down and you reach for the lantern you had burning next to your bed. You walk out into the night, the air chilly and the moon bright above. It’s full and almost makes it seem like daylight outside. You walk towards the barn, wanting to check on Pero and you hear a snort. Your heart thumps and you inhale shakily, worried about your husband. “P-Pero?” You whisper, walking around the barn and you hear a twig snap. “Pero?” You call out, a little louder. You find the blankets on the floor, his clothes next to them and you panic, spinning around and that’s when you’re face to face with a monster. Your breath catches and you gasp, “Otto?”
He had expected you to scream. To run or to even faint when he had stepped towards you and extended to his full monstrous height. Far taller than he ever was as a human, he transformed into a dark beast, fur as black as his hair when he was normal. Claws sharp and deadly, teeth like razors. The horses stamp in the stall, but they don’t scream in fear, used to his change. He huffs, surprised that you had called for your late husband, dropping down to all fours to show that he’s not as dangerous as you might think.
Your hand reaches for him, your heart pounding until you remember this isn’t your late husband. He’s dead. You gasp, falling back on your ass after you drop the lantern as you realize this isn’t a beast you know. The beast doesn’t move, his nose lowered towards you and your eyes widen when you glance over at the blankets and those eyes. You know those eyes. “Pe-Pero?” You ask, chest heaving in shock.
Pero growls quietly, shuffling to lay down. To show you that he means you no harm as he watches you. You are smart, and he would swear that you thought he was your husband but he knows that can’t be true. Otto didn’t become a monster at the full moon like Pero does. He was human when he threw himself in front of the arrow that had been meant to slay the beast he is.
You know he can hear your heart hammering in your chest as he lays before you. Those brown eyes are ones you’ve become familiar with and you have so many questions. “I didn’t know - Otto - did he know?” You ask, wondering if that’s why your husband protected him.
Pero whines slightly, his ears lowering down and he nods slightly. He can’t talk when he’s like this, it had taken him a long time to have any kind of self control, to be aware of what he was doing when he was like this. Still shocked that you aren’t grabbing a weapon to kill him.
You shift onto your knees, your hand slowly coming down to touch his head. He’s larger than Otto was, his back still towering over you even as he lays down. “It’s okay. It won’t be long until you’re human again.” You murmur, “Otto never took too long to change back.” You reveal, “and he didn’t hurt me. I know you won’t either.”
Pero’s eyes close and he lets out a growl. Someone would think that it’s a warning, but his head is pushing into your hand. Craving more, even as he is stunned by your words. Otto was a monster as well? How is that possible?
You chuckle at his nudge. Otto was always as needy during this time. “I didn’t find out until we were married. Kind of like us, huh?” You snort, “he - he confessed that he had been that way since he was a young man. He never knew why he could change but I - I did a lot of research. Spoke to…to witches, local sorcerers who hide in the brothels and tavern.” You confess, “they helped me and I- I discovered a way to help him change less. A potion, of sorts. He still had to change sometimes but it stopped him from changing every full moon.” You reveal as you scratch behind Pero’s ears.
Pero’s head shoots up and he stares at you. Dark eyes boring into yours as you reveal why Otto hadn’t been in this form that night. He tilts his head and for some reason that is funny to you. He’s never been around someone who hasn’t fled screaming or tried to kill him when he was in this form. It’s almost unsettling.
You are comforted by his presence, reminded of the nights you would sit at Otto’s side when you were first married after he revealed his secret to you. “Otto kept disappearing. I thought he was visiting the brothels so one night I followed him and he - I was terrified. I fainted when I saw him in his form and when I woke up, he was by my side. He explained what he was and how he’d never be able to hurt me. It helped us grow closer. I’d like it if we follow that since you’ve been keeping yourself away from me.”
Pero's eyes widen slightly and he rumbles slightly, not quite a growl but it’s confused and pleased all at the same time. Otto had been like him. You had loved him despite that, and you don’t mind him being a monster. Pero ducks his head and butts it against your side slightly, his only way to really communicate with you is through touch.
You smile, caressing his head and you decide to shift to lay down next to him. He whines a little and curls his body around yours, keeping you protected from the cold night air. You feel safe and a part of you is reminded of Otto in this moment. That’s why he asked Pero to marry you. Because he knew what he was. It all makes sense now. You’re not sure when you fall asleep but you’re soon waking up to the sound of birds, back in your bed. You pat the sheets, confused, until you hear rustling in the kitchen. You slide from your bed, making your way towards the noise and that’s when you see Pero. Human Pero. “Good morning.” You say softly, tilting your head towards him.
Pero turns to you, slightly wary of your reaction now that he isn’t ten times your size and bearing sharp teeth and razor claws. “Good morning, esposa.” He murmurs softly. “I have started the porridge.” He motions to the cauldron hanging over the fire. “I also hauled in some water for a bath.” He bites his lip. “I like to bathe after the full moon.” He doesn’t mention that sometimes it’s a necessity because of the blood if he’s eaten while in that form.
You nod in understanding, eyes trailing the expanse of his bare back as he leans over to stir the porridge in the cauldron. “That’s fine. I can give you some privacy.” You say and he nods in thanks. “So…how long have you been like this?”
Pero turns towards you. “For as long as I can remember.” He snorts. “I was attacked when I was young, I had just left to sell my sword after my mother died. Roaming through the forests to find a lord to kill for.” He gestures towards his face. “The beast did this and then I killed it.” He tells you. “Then next full moon I changed.”
You gasp at his story. Otto had been a grown man when he was bitten and transformed. You reach for Pero and caress his arm, “I will try and make my potion. I will need time to gather the ingredients but I have the recipe written down. It worked for Otto. It can work for you.” You promise, wanting to help him.
Pero frowns slightly. “What kind of potion can keep the beast at bay?” He asks. “You gave this to Otto? For when he was traveling with men?”
You nod, “it’s a mixture of several things I have to obtain from the witches. They do not want to be known so I have to be careful, take my time to get each one so no one catches on but I’ll be able to recreate it.”
He swallows harshly, imagining a time where he wouldn’t have to sneak away during the full moon. Where he didn’t have to kill to keep his secret. “You would do that for me?” He asks softly. “Why?”
You caress his shoulder, “you’re my husband and I want to help you. I saw how Otto struggled with this and I hated that I couldn’t help him until I found out how. I’m not a witch but it’s dangerous. If the villagers found out, I’d be accused.”
Pero clenches his jaw, knowing he would fight to the death to protect you. “Then you must not risk it.” He decides, shaking his head. “I have been the beast for more years than I was not, I can control what I do when I am changed.”
You shake your head, “I can handle it.” You promise, “I will be careful.” You reassure him with a soft smile, “I can help you. Let me help you, Pero.” You plead softly, looking at him with desperate eyes
He can’t deny you anything, not when you are so accepting of him as he is. Even if you do not view him as your true husband. “Sí, esposa.” He murmurs quietly, staring into your eyes. “I would never deny you anything you wish.” He admits.
You stare back at him, his dark eyes burning into yours and your stomach twists with guilt for a moment, thinking of Otto, until you remember that he wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to marry Pero. For your safety and protection, or for his…you know he was being selfless. You can’t help it. You surge forward to press your lips against Pero’s, your hands gripping the back of his neck to drag him closer.
He groans against your lips, almost pulling back until you drag him closer. Knowing that you want this, he can feel it in the way that your body presses shamelessly against his. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t question it, arms wrapping around you to drag you impossibly closer as his tongue pushes into your mouth.
You moan as his tongue caresses yours. He knows what he’s doing and you are no virgin. You press yourself against him, hands sliding down his chest, eager to touch more of him. His bare skin hot under your fingertips as he keeps you close until you feel his cock hardening in his breeches against your hip.
Pero pulls away, panting slightly as he looks at you. “Forgive me.” He swallows as he steps back, reminding himself that you had vowed to not sleep with him. He wants you, has wanted you, and he needs to pull away to keep this from going any farther.
You frown, wondering why he pulled back when you hope you made your intentions clear. You shake your head, “I know you married me out of obligation, of guilt, for Otto, but I - I will not forgive you as there’s nothing to forgive.” You say and turn your back so he doesn’t see the tears in your eyes at his rejection.
“Esposa…” Pero frowns in confusion. “You have told me that you would not share my bed.” He huffs. “While I am a monster, I am also a man. I cannot touch you but so much before I am pressing you for what you are not willing to give me. You are a beautiful woman and while I am a murderer, a thief and a liar, I am no rapist.”
You turn to look at him, your frown deepening. “Any man who is out in the wildness, who sells his sword, has to kill, and lie, and steal. It is part of your survival. If you did those things as a farmer…that’s a different story. You survived. Otto did the same thing and I still loved him. You cannot do anything I do not want. I want you, Pero. I want my husband in my bed.”
He is your husband, in name only. He reaches for you and drags you closer. “Do not toy with me.” He warns, “I have thought of being between your thighs too many times to be tempted and rejected.”
“I am many things but I am not a liar.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I want you. In my bed. Between my thighs. I am not an innocent woman. I know what is involved. I want you to fuck me.” You order, chin raised as you defiantly look at him.
Pero growls, his chest puffing out possessively even if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He takes that step closer to you and his hand reaches out to caress your cheek. “Esposa.” He rumbles out. “Remove your dress. I will tear it.”
You nod, hands steady as you reach for the ties of your dress, working each one open until the material pools at your feet. You stand there in front of him, bare and aching for his touch.
Pero watches, his dark eyes fixed on the skin you reveal. More beautiful than he deserves, he clenches his hands into fists before he reaches for you. “Hermosa.” He rasps out, hands hard with battle and survival trying to be gentle for you. He has learned more about being a good man in this month together than all his years of killing. “I am a rough man.” He admits. “Tell me what you want.”
You don’t believe that all of him is rough. You’ve seen it in the way he handles the animals, in the way he cares for your wellbeing. You’ve seen a softer side of the man who claims to be brutal. You reach for his hand, bringing it to your breast and he immediately cups the flesh. “I want you to touch me, fuck me, I want you to make me cry your name in pleasure.”
Pero squeezes your breast as he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours. Starved for physical touch and hungry for you since he had first arrived at your doorstep. He hadn’t realized how he craved you until he was given permission to have you. His cock hardens immediately in his breeches as he wraps his other arm around your waist to drag you closer as his tongue plunders your mouth.
You whimper into his mouth, tongue sliding against his, and your hands caress his chest until you’re gripping his shoulders. His touch is a little rough but you don’t mind as his hand slides down your stomach until he’s cupping your cunt. Curls brushing his fingers until he’s dragging them through your wet slit. “Oh fuck.” You pant against his lips, starved for affection and touch.
“It has been a long time since I’ve had a woman.” Pero confesses, pulling away and kissing along your throat. “I might not last long.” His fingers flick against your clit and he finds the entrance to your cunt and presses. “I want to make you scream.”
You moan at the way his fingers stretch you out, your body leaning into his as your nails dig slightly into his shoulders. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I just want you inside me. I want to feel you.” You murmur, sliding your hand down until you’re squeezing him through his beeches.
He groans, knowing it won’t take him long to be hard again after cumming, but he continues to pump his fingers into your cunt to stretch you out. “My cot or your bed?” He demands, wanting you to be comfortable where he fucks you. You might still cling to the memory of Otto in your bed and he doesn’t want to insult that memory.
“My bed. I want you in my bed.” You declare breathlessly, moaning at the way his fingers curl inside you. You haven’t been able to feel this full with your own digits.
He pulls his fingers out and smirks at you as he slides them into his mouth to taste your juices. “Show me to your bed, esposa.” He grows. “I want to feast on you.”
You whimper at the way he tastes you and you take his free hand to guide him to your bed. He’s never been in here. Never slept in here. Respecting you and your choices when most men wouldn’t. You turn when you’re in the room, leaning in to softly kiss him when working on untying his breeches.
Pero lets you work at his breeches, watching your fingers fumble in their eagerness. He enjoys seeing you eager for him, solidifying the words you had spoken. When the laces are loose, he pushes down the thin, soft leather. Letting his cock free to bounce as he kicks his legs out of the material.
You moan at the sight of him, he’s thick and pulsing in your hand when you wrap your fingers around him, the tips of your digits not touching. His answering groan has your cunt clenching around nothing. You desperately want him inside you but you love his face as you slowly pump him. “You’re gorgeous.” You murmur, looking down at his length in your grip.
He could spill into your hand right now. “God Almighty.” He curses, gritting his teeth. “Your hand-“ it feels so different from his own and he twitches violently. “I can keep going if I spill.” He manages to grunt out, knowing he will stay hard.
You don’t care. You just want to see him fall apart. You lean in to kiss his neck, “cum for me, husband. I want to see it. Want to watch you fall apart.” You order, eager to be good to him after he protected you, provided for you.
It’s like your permission was all he needed to fall over the edge. Groaning your name, his cock erupts in your hand, cum spurting over your knuckles and onto the floor as you pump him through his release.
You work him through it, surprised that he’s still hard, and you moan when he surges forward to press his lips to yours, your hand batted from his length. You whimper when he tosses you down onto the bed, pushing your legs open before his mouth surges forward to devour your cunt.
Pero had learned that women enjoy having their cunt eaten. The barmaids and wenches he slept with would be very accommodating to him once they learned he used his mouth. Now he applies all of that knowledge to make you moan as he slides his tongue through your folds to push it inside you.
You pant, shifting up the bed towards your pillows, sitting up on your elbows to watch him and he eagerly follows you, tongue never leaving your cunt. He sucks your clit into his mouth, making you cry out his name.
Pero grabs your thighs, holding them open, pinning them to the bed as if you might escape his grasp before he’s had his fill. The sounds of pleasure are far louder and sweeter than the muffled little gasps you give when you touch yourself. Making his cock throb as he grinds it into the furs.
“Pero!” You cry, jerking your hips up towards his mouth and he keeps you pinned so you can’t. You whimper, shifting your weight onto one elbow to run your fingers through his hair. “I’m so - oh - ohhhh.” You squeal as you fall apart, thighs shaking as he pushes you over the edge with just his tongue.’
He laps at your cunt, drinking down the juices that pour out of you. Groaning and growling in pleasure as your cries soften into small pants and moans. Finally pulling away and licking his lips as he raises up to his knees. “Still want my cock, esposa?”
You nod, a little frantic as you reach for him. You fall back onto the sheets as he towers over you and you grab his neck to pull him down to your lips. “I need you. Now.” You demand before your lips meet his.
Pero lets you taste yourself from his tongue as he takes his cock in hand. Guiding himself to your hot, wet core and pushing inside of you without hesitation. Snapping his hips forward in a greedy thrust that has you squealing and his own moan of pleasure is poured into your mouth.
You greedily swallow his moan, loving how he stretches you out. “Fuck.” You curse, lifting your legs higher so he pushes even deeper into you. “More.” You order, needing more of him, needing all of him. “Please, Pero. Fuck me.”
Pero growls out your name, pulling his hips back to do exactly that. Giving you what you want and apparently what both of you need as he starts to rock into you.
You cry out, head tilting back as he gives you what you’ve asked for. “That’s it, Pero. Take - take what you want. Fuck me. Fuck. Me.” You demand, walls fluttering around his cock as he continues to stretch you out. You rock your hips up to meet his, your nails digging into his shoulders as he hits something deep inside of you.
It’s wild and unrestrained but he can’t stop. Won’t stop until you are crying out in pleasure and soaking him with your juices. The bed creaks and groans under your combined weight but you just urge him on.
You let him take you how he wants, your hips rocking up to meet his. It’s messy and desperate and definitely nothing that could be misconstrued as ‘making love.’ This is sex through and through and you squeal, on the edge of an orgasm.
Pero hisses through his teeth, eyes flashing. “Soak me, esposa.” He growls, driving into you harder. He feels that you are so close. “Do it now.”
You don’t even recognize your own voice as he thrusts deep into you, pushing hard enough to release the coil inside you. You squeal, clamping down on his cock as his name sounds foreign to your ears but it’s you making the noise.
Pero moans your name, slowly rolling his hips to rock you through the pleasure as he watches your face. You’re gorgeous, unashamed of your pleasure and clinging to him as if he were amazing
You pant, coming back to yourself, and you practically melt into the bed. You caress Pero’s back, trying to catch your breathe while he continues thrusting into you slowly. “Want you to spill inside me. Please, husband. I want it.” You plead, rocking up to push his cock deeper on each thrust.
He shouldn’t. He knows he should pull out. Why is a bit hazy when you are begging him to stay buried inside you. Pero groans as he presses his lips to yours, snapping his hips forward half a dozen times before he’s painting your walls just like you wanted him too.
You whimper at the sensation, caressing his back as he rocks into you, working his seed deeper until it starts to push out. “Yesss.” You whine, loving it, and you pant as you relax beneath him.
When he's done, Pero shifts his weight to his elbows, not wanting to crush you. Burying his face into your neck and trying to catch his breath. "Mierda." He pants out.
You hum in agreement, caressing his back as he looms over you, his hot breath on your skin with each panted breath. Your hands skate along his back, slick with sweat and strong.
When he can, Pero moves off of you, spent and completely wrung out by the orgasms. He had been pent up for a long time, his hand no comparison to the way it had felt to be buried in your body. "Fuck."
You sigh, relaxing as you shift to curl around him. You caress his chest, “I want you to stay in my bed.” You say, leaning in to kiss over his heart. “I want you to be here every night.”
Pero wraps his arm around you, feeling slightly guilty since it should be Otto in your bed. “Only if you want it.” He murmurs quietly. “I respect your wishes for your bed and your body.”
You appreciate his consideration for how you feel and you nod, knowing that this could be considered being unfaithful to your late husband but he’s gone and Pero is here. You want to live your life with him by your side. “Tomorrow I’ll start to find the ingredients for the potion.” You promise, “I will help you.”
“Just be cautious, esposa.” He warns you. “I would hate to have to kill all the men in your village because they tried to burn you.”
You nod, “I know. I’ll be careful. I just - I want to help you.” You promise and lean in to softly kiss him, “I helped Otto. I can help you.” You promise and he hums, caressing your back.
****
“The full moon is soon.” You tell Pero, “I need one more ingredient. I am waiting to get it from the witch in the tavern. You’ll - I’m sorry but you’ll need to turn on this full moon.” You sigh, annoyed with yourself for thinking he wouldn’t have to turn again.
Pero shakes his head and shoots you an amused smirk. “I have spent many years as the monster.” He reminds you. “One more night will not be a problem.” He glances towards the door. “You will stay inside while I change?” He asks. “Or are you going to come outside like before?” He can’t be upset that you had discovered his secret because it had caused you to become closer than ever.
You nod, “I will come outside. I didn’t leave Otto. I will be by your side.” You promise, walking over to him to reach up and cup his cheeks. You bring his face towards yours to press your lips to his, “I trust you with my life.” You promise, caressing his cheeks as you I’ll back to look at him.
Pero would rather you stay inside, but he doesn’t argue. He respects your wishes too much and he’s learned you are a strong willed woman. He chuckles as he thinks about his friend’s warning that he would find a woman as stubborn as he is and fall in love. He has, even though he hasn’t admitted that.
You are glad he didn’t argue as you wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. You know you have to prepare for tonight. For his change. You know he will be worried for your safety but you know he wouldn’t hurt you. “Let me finish preparing for tonight. I need to make sure we are both warm enough since the nights are now long and cold.” You smile and pat his chest until you step away from him to start getting things ready.
He snorts and shakes his head. “I will chop wood for tonight and tomorrow.” Despite knowing you will go out to him, he wants you to keep the cottage warm. He watches you for a moment, still a little guilty about how he has gotten so lucky, before he goes outside to check the animals and chop fuel for the fire.
You prepare for the full moon, bathing after you prepare food for the beast and for yourself. Pero had hunted to have animals ready for when he turns so he’s not covered in blood when he finds you. “I will be fine.” You huff, reaching for Pero as the sun sets in the sky above you. “Don’t worry.” You say as you caress his chest, his shirt off so he doesn’t rip his clothes that you had made him.
Pero leans in to press his lips to yours, having enjoyed the intimacy of the past month, always hungry for your touch. “Esposa….” He pauses for a moment, the words stuck in his throat and he squeezes your hip. “I will see you later then.” He manages after a moment.
You nod, your heart fluttering at the look in his eyes and you watch him walk away into the woods. You sigh, wanting to help him more than anything but the last ingredient has been delayed. You walk back into the house, getting the final things ready for your sleep outside. You eat and close up the cottage, settling into the blankets on the cot Pero used to sleep on. The air is chilly but you have a fire burning nearby and enough blankets to keep you warm. You wanted to stay close to Pero this time and you aren’t scared but your ears perk up with every twig the snaps and rustle of the bushes.
Even if you have seen him in this form, Pero doesn’t want you to see him change. Doesn’t want you around him, in case. There’s a moment before he is completely aware, a moment where the beast could hurt you. So he had gone into the woods. Growling now as he smells you, drawn to the intoxicating scent of your body, your heat. He can sense the fire, but it doesn’t deter him. Watching for a moment as you search the darkness surrounding the fire for him before he steps forward.
You gasp as you sense his presence, waking up with wide eyes as you look at him. “It’s you.” You declare and push the blankets away as he approaches, eyes yellow and nostrils flaring as the fire allows you to see him.
Pero growls, nothing dangerous or in warning, but answering you. He steps closer, showing you all of him again. This time the fire crackles and reveals his entire monstrous form, differing from the darkness of the barn that first time. You don’t shrink back, don’t cower from him and he likes that. Moving to your side and looking down at you.
You watch him as he moves closer, your hand coming up to caress his fury cheek. “It’s okay. I trust you.” You promise, “I love you.” You confess while he’s in this form, wanting him to know you truly don’t fear him.
His eyes glitter and he ducks his head, opening his mouth and his tongue drags up your cheek. His snout is pointed and his mouth full of razor sharp teeth but he licks you and whines slightly, wishing he could tell you how he feels about you.
You sigh, caressing his chest as he licks you. “I know, Pero. I know, my love.” You murmur, tilting your head as he licks your neck and you whimper, liking the way it feels.
He doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at your skin with the large tongue that he possesses in this form. Shifting slightly closer and crowding you on the small cot you had dragged out into the clearing for tonight.
You gasp when his teeth grip your nightgown, ripping it so his tongue can caress more of your skin. You moan, arching your back into his mouth, and you whimper. “Pero.”
His tongue slides around your breasts, lapping at the hard peaks and growling in pleasure at the way you moan for him. Crouching over your body as you spread out for him, like you have so many times before when he was in his normal body.
You pant, “yes. Oh God. I never - with Otto. We - we never did this.” You confess, sliding your fingers through his fur as he laps at you and your cunt starts to get slick enough that you know he can smell it.
He almost pulls back when you admit that. Until he smells you. The sweet, musky scent of your arousal makes his ears prick up and his growl vibrates in his chest as his tongue moves lower. He’s never done this before either, but he will with you.
Your chest heaves as he licks lower until his shoulders are pushing your legs far apart. You have to lift them onto his fur covered shoulders. You squeal as his hot tongue slides between your folds, shocking you.
He’s ravenous at the first swipe of his tongue. The taste of you is instantly addictive and while he’s careful to keep his teeth away from your delicate skin, the large, rough tongue of his is dragging up and down your soaked slit.
You cry out, hips rocking into his tongue and the sensation is so foreign. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. His tongue is hot and wet as he laps at you, flicking your clit with each swipe in a way that has you writhing.
Pero growls into your flesh and starts to lick faster. The wet gulp of his tongue as he laps at you is loud and echoing in the woods but there is no one nearby. He would sense them, smell them. All he can smell is how you are about to cum.
Your cry echoes through the woods, birds flying from the trees as his name resonates back to you. His growl follows moments later and you pant, thighs shaking as your pleasure vibrates through you.
Pero slowly laps at your juices before he pulls away, watching you through yellow eyes as you catch your breath and lay there limply on the cot.
You run your fingers through his fur, eyes closed as you try to catch your breath and you wish you could hear his voice. Know what he’s thinking. You sigh and that’s when you feel his hard length against your calf. It’s huge compared to his impressive human length and your eyes open, “do you want to fuck me?” You ask breathlessly, feeling him grind against you.
He whines, but it sounds more like a growl. He would love nothing more than to fuck you. His animal needs are amplified while he’s changed and he rocks his monstrous hips forward slightly.
You chuckle, taking that as a yes, and you want him. You know this is unusual, you never did this with Otto, but you want to be connected to him. You rock your hips up, letting him know what you want. “I want you inside of me. Please, Pero. Fuck me.”
Growling, Pero pulls back, reaching for you and flipping you over and dragging your hips up. Exposing your ass to the cool night air as he covers your body with his own. Mounting you.
You squeal at the move. It’s so fast it takes your breath away. His cock pressing between your ass cheeks and you grind back against him. Your fists clenched as you kneel on all fours for him. “Please. Take me. Fuck me.” You plead, needing him to stretch you out and take what is his.
It’s not as easy to line up with your cunt as a monster that is so much larger than you are. He pokes his cock against your ass then your thigh, seeking out the wetness of your dripping hole as he rocks against you. Until he feels it catch and he growls as he starts to push inside you, barely keeping from just burying his cock in your body with a snap of his hips.
He’s so big. It’s hard to relax around him with how he stretches you out but you inhale deeply as he slowly sinks into you. “Oh fuck.” You choke, “you’re - it’s huge.”
Pero growls and his cock finally bottoms out inside your tight cunt. Making him throw his head back and howl loudly at the full moon as you squirm under him.
You try to catch your breath, watching him bare his teeth in the moonlight and you grip the cot tightly. “Pe-Pero.” You choke, “move.” You whimper, thighs clenching around him.
He looks down at you, the face of a monster completely feral as he starts to move. Growling and snorting as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward harshly.
You cry out, unable to do anything but lay beneath him as he fills you over and over again. “Fuck. You’re - you’re splitting me open.” You gasp, but it’s not in pain. Your body stretches to accommodate him and you reach back to grip his fur, pulling on it as he rocks into you.
Pero growls in agreement, feeling your body yielding to the harsh thrust of his cock. Feeling how wet you get every time he plunges deep. You like it, he can tell from the way you pull on his hair. Drawing him closer instead of pushing him away. Under the moonlight he fucks you, ravages you like the beast he is, feeling your walls tremble around him as he ruts into your body.
You are lost to the sensations, unable to rock back since his body is pressing into you and you are making a noise you’ve never made before. You cry out as he pushes you higher and higher until you fall apart beneath him. Your scream echoing in the woods, the moon high above you.
The wetness helps him fuck you harder and faster. His claws dig into the ground on either side of the cot as he hammers into you. Cock swelling and he’s burying himself deep as he throws his head back and howls at the moon again, painting your walls as he does.
You moan, savoring the feel of him filling you up, painting your walls with his thick seed as he stretches you beyond anything you’ve ever felt. “Pero.” You whimper, caressing his fur as he looms above you.
He looks down at you, unable to even imagine having this with anyone else and he can’t. You accept him as he is. You just let him fuck you as the beast. He licks your cheek after lowering his head and he slowly pulls his hips back.
You feel him move off of you, letting the cold air hit you until you cover yourself with the blankets. You are lost in the fact that you’ve just fucked the beast who lives inside the man you love. You sigh, stretching as he whimpers and rests his head on your stomach. “I’m so tired.” You whisper, closing your eyes.
Pero pushed closer, letting the warmth from his body keep you warmer than any fire he could build. Waiting until you are asleep before he lifts you and carries you into the cottage so you can be safe inside. He doesn’t leave, can’t leave you. Watching you sleep until the moon fades and he changes back into a man.
You blink, the sunlight coming into the cottage and you inhale deeply as you remember last night. You hear Pero before you see him. He’s snoring and you lean over to look at him. He’s on the floor and he is human again. You gasp and shake his shoulder, “Pero.”
He bolts upright, instantly on guard for any threat even though he is weaponless and completely naked. He had fallen asleep before he changed by and when he sees there is no one here but you, he relaxes. “It is morning.” He observes.
You nod, patting the bed to gesture for him to join you which he does. “I need to bathe.” He protests despite kneeling on the bed. “As do I. I am sticky between my thighs. Did you - was that enjoyable to you or no?” You ask softly, worried that he regrets bedding you while in his other form.
Pero reaches out and cups your cheek, “esposa, it was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done.” He growls out. “You trusted me, wanted me, as the beast.” He leans forward and presses his lips to yours eagerly.
You moan into his kiss, tangling your fingers in his now shorter hair. Your tongue sliding into his mouth with a whimper as he pushes you back into the mattress to hover over you. “I will always be by your side.” You promise, “always.”
Pero looks into your eyes, seeing the truth of it in your eyes. “You said something, last night, while I was the beast.” He smiles slightly as he caresses your cheek. “Te amo, mi esposa.” He murmurs softly. “I love you.”
You inhale sharply, unaware that he felt the same way. You surge forward to press your lips to his, caressing his cheeks as your heart pounds in your chest. “Te amo.” You repeat in his mother tongue, knowing that even if you cannot cure him with your potion, you’ll accept all of him.
Pero sighs softly and closes his eyes, unable to believe his luck. He has a home, a wife who accepts him, and now - loves him. He smiles and pulls back. “Come, I want you to soak in the hot water.” He murmurs. “You must be sore from taking me last night in my other form.
You nod, noticing how sore you feel when you shift and you know you wouldn’t change a thing.
****
You frown, staring out the kitchen window as you try to remember the last time you bled. You aren’t sure and you are trying to remember. When you realize how long ago it was, your eyes widen and you look down at your stomach. You bite your lip and wonder how far along you are.
Pero curses as he blows through the door again, the stack of wood outside replenished and he is lucky that he runs so hot otherwise he would be freezing. “The animals are watered and fed.” He grunts as he bars the door and hangs the heavy skin over it to keep from letting cold air in. “They should be good for a few days and the wood is ready to burn.” He turns to find you staring down at your stomach and he is immediately worried something is wrong. “Amor?”
You didn’t even hear Pero walk in and you sigh, looking up at him. “I- I think - I don’t remember the last time I bled and I think- Oh I think I’m with child.” You choke, worried about his reaction
Pero’s eyes widen as he looks from your uncertain face down to your stomach. “What- are you certain?” You shake your head and Pero swallows harshly. “Do you- what do the witches say about a creature breeding a human?” He asks. “Have they heard of such a thing?” He would not have you in danger by carrying a monster that could kill you,
You nod, nervous about it but you know you want his child regardless of what it could be. “They - they said some have carried a child. I asked them when Otto and I - well, we were never blessed. I never worried but this - this is our child and I don’t care if they are like you or not. I want it.”
“Amor….” Pero steps closer and cups your cheeks. “Is it safe?” He asks, knowing childbirth is anything but, but he also doesn’t want to lose you needlessly.
“As safe as any.” You say and you grip his shoulders, looking into his dark eyes. “I can take the potion. I am meeting the witch tonight. I can take it too. Maybe our child will be spared from the curse.” You say, leaning in to press your forehead against his chin.
He can tell you want this child, he can see how you yearn for it. He wraps his arms around you. “Then we will talk to the witch, see what she knows.” He murmurs softly. “A child.” He chuckles dryly. “I never imagined having a babe, esposa. I do not know how to care for one.” He admits. “But you will show me, no?”
“We will learn together, my love.” You promise, “and I will love you no matter what. No matter who you are and who our child is.” You vow, “I’m your wife.” You promise, softly kissing him again and you know that you’ll be fine. No matter what happens. You know that you’ll be together until the day you die. What you imagined with Otto, but he is gone and he gave you a second chance with Pero. Something you’ll always love him for.
"Who the hell has a bachelor party two days before Christmas?"
"Someone whose best man must be clueless. I'm surprised all those guys were even able to make it," you tell Addy, handing over the last of her drinks from your place behind the bar. There has to be at least thirty guys attending the bachelor party. "Do you need help carrying them up?"
She looks over her shoulder, knocking her drooping Santa hat out of her field of vision. The loft overlooking the bar where you work is where parties are always held and the staircase to get up there tends to get crowded.
"No, I think I'm good. Thanks, though. I'm sure I'll be back in ten minutes with more orders," Addy replies, rolling her eyes. She stoops down and lifts the tray of drinks to balance on her shoulder, then begins to weave her way through the crowd.
It's busy. Always is before a holiday. People who are usually not in town come back to visit their families and, once relatives turn in for the night, they try to make plans to catch up with old friends. Given your bar is the favorite amongst the locals, it tends to be one of the busiest nights of the year. You and the other girls you work with have found over the years that dressing up a little earns you more tips from patrons who are already feeling rather generous and in the holiday spirit. Tonight is no exception. Wearing a Santa hat, a tight black tshirt, and a short velvet red skirt with a thick white trim to match your hat has already earned you more money tonight than you made all of last weekend combined.
It's so loud and you're so busy fielding as many requests as you can that you don't even hear the crash of glass until Addy returns with a sheepish look and a completely soaked shirt.
"I should've taken you up on that offer to help," she says, looking down at her ruined clothes. "I fucking reek of beer, oh my god."
"Oh, no! Here, I brought an extra change of clothes," you say, leaning under the bar for your tote bag.
"No, no, I can't do that! It's freezing out, you need your jeans for later."
"I'd rather you take my jeans for the night than leave me to handle that party upstairs," you say, shoving the bag into her arms. She gives you a grateful smile and hurries away to clean up. With the help from another girl, you remake the dropped drinks and volunteer to take them up yourself.
"Excuse me!" you shout over the music, pushing people out of the way with your free hand so they don't accidentally bump into your tray. You take the stairs carefully, sidestepping one of the busboys who is cleaning up the broken glass, and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it to the top unscathed.
A quick scan of the group tells you the men seem to be a few years older than you. Most are probably married or settled down in some way. Those are usually the best kind of bachelor parties—they aren't too rowdy and they tip well.
It seems like they just wrapped up eating and now are milling around the room. Some are staring at some sporting event on the television and pointing out had it not been for that pesky knee injury, they could have gone pro. Others are laughing at the mostly empty table over some story from their glory days. But one man unfortunately noticed you before the rest and stumbled over with a sloppy smile and reddened cheeks.
"Are you our new waitress or did you just get hotter since you left?" he slurs. You resist the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust and when you bend to set the tray of drinks down on the table, you try to be conscientious of your short skirt.
"Just thought I'd help Addy while she cleans herself up," you say, gaze cast down and focused on the drinks. But the guy doesn't take the hint.
"Aw, that's a shame. But you can hang out with us, yeah?"
You shake your head and blindly begin passing out the beers.
"I'm tending bar downstairs, I gotta get back, but I promise you're in good hands."
Stale breath sweeps across your cheek and he says—not as quietly as he thought—"Think I like your hands better, sweetheart."
Your back and forth must have pulled the attention of others because a boisterous conversation happening across the table dies down. You're trying not to look up for fear your face will give away your disgust, but when you hear a familiar voice, your head snaps up.
"Ho, Ho, Ho-ly shit!"
When you see Tommy Miller with the group in front of the television wearing a half buttoned flannel and a tacky button pinned to it that says, "I'm getting married, buy me a drink!", you smile and straighten up.
"Tommy!" You toss your arms around him for a big hug and it takes about five more seconds before you realize it:
If Tommy is here for his bachelor party, then that means...
"Joel! Look who it is!" Tommy turns with a cheeky grin, one arm still slung loose around your waist, the other pointing to you like Joel didn't already see you when you walked up the stairs.
You take a deep breath and force yourself to find him amongst the now mostly quiet group. Downstairs the music is still playing, people are shouting and laughing, yet for a second it all fades away when you lock eyes with Joel.
He's hard to read. Always has been. But his expression looks taught and you're pretty sure he's angrily chewing on the inside of his cheek as those soft, dark brown eyes flicker between you and his brother.
You clear your throat and take a step away from Tommy.
"Hey," you nod to Joel, voice obviously void of the excitement you harbored just a moment ago.
He grunts and looks away, then back up to his brother.
"This is why you picked this place?" he asks. You bristle, wishing you weren't working so you could give him a piece of your mind, but instead focus on distributing the rest of the drinks.
Tommy laughs. "No, no, it's just a good spot, is all."
"Did you know she worked here?"
You scoff under your breath but Joel still hears it.
As much as you wish it didn't hurt to hear the iciness in his tone, it does. You do your best to brush it off and hurry back downstairs, but then an unexpected hero comes to your rescue.
"Hey... that's why you look so familiar." Their friend, the one who was clearly way too drunk to process what was going on, spoke up. He points lazily at you and you look up. He's slowly piecing it together, you can see it, then his eyes light up when he figures it out. "You're the one in the, in the wallet! In Joel's wallet! Asked him—hey, hey, Joel—" He turns to find Joel glaring at him from his chair, arms pulled tightly across his chest. "She's the one from your wallet, 'member? When I was askin' earlier—"
"Shut the fuck up, Charlie!" Joel shouts.
"Alright, Joel, enough. Don't ruin my night, okay?" Tommy scolds. You have to stifle a grin when Joel's neck flushes bright pink with embarrassment and you figure that's enough payback for his shitty comment, so you collect your now empty tray with renewed confidence and fix the Santa hat on your head.
"Well, it was great seeing you, Tommy. Congrats," you say, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. You can practically feel the daggers Joel is staring into your back and you smirk to yourself before heading towards the stairs, throwing your hips a little more than usual so that your Santa skirt sways as you walk away.
When you make it downstairs and back behind the safety of your bar, you finally exhale a loud, shaky breath. One of the other girls notices and gives you a look of concern.
"Everything alright?"
You nod and snatch up a shot glass. Pouring from the closest bottle, you toss it back with a wince before answering.
"Yeah," you say, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth. "Just saw my ex-husband upstairs. Merry fucking Christmas to me."
---
It was a long night but mercifully, busy enough to keep your mind from dwelling too long on Joel. And after tip out, you made enough to cover half your rent for the month. Awkward encounter aside, it was a good night, but you're bone tired and freezing your ass off as you shuffle to your car across the empty parking lot in just that stupid Santa skirt.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you whine once you're inside your car, teeth chattering and hands shaking. Once the engine starts, you blast the heat, but your car is old as dirt and you know better by now than to expect the thing to actually heat up in less than the fifteen minutes it takes to get home.
The roads are empty, like they usually are at this hour. It's usually calming but tonight your fingers grip the steering wheel as you desperately try to warm yourself up.
Taking the back roads is quicker, so you always go that way. Hardly anyone ever takes these streets, especially in the middle of the night, so when your headlights flicker dim for a moment followed by a loud sputter from your exhaust, you know you're absolutely fucked.
"No!" you scream when the engine dies. You're able to slow down and steer just off the road so you're safe, but you're freezing even more and now on the verge of tears.
Once you're safely in park, you pick up your phone and groan.
"No signal," you mutter, but you try anyway. After the third attempt you give up and let the tears flow. All you want to do is go home, get under your covers, and pray that look Joel gave you earlier doesn't haunt your dreams. Instead, you're going to freeze to death on the side of some country road wearing a tiny Santa skirt and matching hat.
After about ten minutes of feeling sorry for yourself, you stop crying but don't bother to wipe the dried tears from your face. You're already about to have the worst night ever, who cares if you have mascara streaked down your cheeks?
Just when you're thinking about using fast food napkins as a blanket, you spot headlights in your review mirror and you gasp.
"Oh, my god!" You're scrambling to unbuckle your seatbelt so you can flag them down, but it turns out you don't need to—the truck slows and parks behind you, already anticipating your cry for help.
"Oh, thank god," you mutter, watching with relief as the shadow of your savior steps out of the truck. You lean back in your seat with a sigh. "Yes, yes, yes, yes—"
But when the man's broad body blocks the bright headlights, revealing an all too familiar face, your joy vanishes.
"No, no, no, no."
Joel leans down with a friendly smile and lifts his hand to knock on your window, but when he sees you, he freezes. His face immediately falls into a scowl and with a defeated sound, you open your door.
"Just leave me here, I'd rather die," you say.
Joel scoffs and steps back. He tries to catch himself, but you saw the quick once over he gave you before angling his body towards the woods—and even though you've been cursing this skirt since you stepped out of the bar, you're a teensy bit grateful for it now.
"Fine by me."
"I'll wait for someone else."
"Yeah? Dressed like that?" Joel nods angrily towards your ridiculous get up. "Gonna freeze to death but be my guest."
Then he turns to head back to his truck, boots crunching loudly over the snowy ground. You shift your weight and anxiously chew your bottom lip before throwing your hands in the air.
"Wait!"
Joel stops but doesn't turn. You take a deep breath.
"Can you... can you help me?" You hear how pathetic you sound and can only imagine how pleased he must be to have the upper hand.
"Yeah? Why should I do that?" he calls over his shoulder. You think about it for all of two seconds.
"For old times sake?"
Joel huffs. His shoulders tense and he begins to walk away, then you try again.
"Joel, please! It's Christmas!"
He skids to a stop with his hand on the door of his truck. From here, you can see his jaw work as he thinks things over. You wrap your arms around yourself and bounce from foot to foot, legs practically made of ice at this point. Finally, he sighs and turns to you.
"Fine."
He moves to open the backseat of his cab and you crane your neck, trying to see what he's doing. He shuts the door and heads back to your car carrying a toolbox.
"Get in the truck."
You squeak happily, grab your purse from the front seat, and hurry past him to his truck. Warmth wraps around you like a hug when you open the door and you could cry you're so happy. Rubbing your arms and legs while hovering near the fans, you desperately try to bring life back to your limbs while Joel pops the hood of your car.
Ten minutes and some feeling in your fingers later, Joel returns.
"I'm gonna give you a jump but it takes some time to charge the battery," he says from the backseat. He's rifling around for something under the driver's seat and you nod.
"Thank you."
He grunts and slams the door shut, and you watch as he takes jumper cables over to your car. He does something you can't see before he returns and hops behind the wheel. You sit in silence as Joel moves his truck then turns around so your cars are facing one another, then he slides back out to attach the cables to his own truck. The hood is popped so you can't really see him, but you can see his hands—the way they move, twisting cables, examining other foreign looking objects under the hood... he does it so smoothly, like he's done this a hundred times. He barely has to think about it. He's always been one of those men who learns things very fast. He's smart, you used to tell him so all the time, but he didn't think so, no matter how many times you pointed out what a remarkable memory he had or how he just had an innate ability to understand how something—or someone—works.
Heat flares between your legs and you quickly shut it down by forcing your attention elsewhere, but your mind wanders against your will, back to simpler times when you were young and in love, breathlessly telling Joel how amazing he was when he was making you fall apart with his fingers or mouth or—
"Alright. Got 'bout twenty minutes."
Joel climbs into the cab and shuts the door with a shudder. You watch as his hands cup the fans on his dashboard, capturing the heat between his palms before bringing his curled fists up to his mouth to exhale, warming them up faster.
You shiver and look away, then his gaze is back on you.
"You coulda died out here wearin' that."
"I know."
There's a pause. Then—
"What the hell were you thinkin'?"
You sigh and lean back into the worn grey fabric seat. "It wasn't my first choice. Your waitress dropped drinks all over herself so I gave her the clothes I was gonna change into after work."
You stare out the window as a thick silence settles between you once again. Just when you think this is going to be the longest twenty minutes of your life, Joel says something that surprises you.
"M'sorry, 'bout earlier."
Your brows shoot up in shock and you look at him, but he's staring straight ahead, like what he's saying is causing him actual pain.
"Shouldn'tve been rude. Just took me by surprise, is all."
You're speechless. The last thing you expected from him was an apology, you're not prepared at all, but you know you need to say something because too much time is stretching on and Joel is starting to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
"It's okay," you finally say. His eyes dart to lock with yours and in that moment you swear you can see the man you fell in love with all those years ago, buried somewhere underneath all that gruff. The longer he stares at you the faster your heart races and you can't stop the shiver that rolls down your spine. Joel sees it and frowns.
"You're cold, here," he says, shrugging off his oversized brown coat. Before you can protest he has it wrapped around your shoulders, and when you inhale his warm, comforting scent, your eyelids flutter shut and you shamelessly bury your nose into the collar.
The corner of his mouth lifts but he turns his face away before you see it.
"So, uh... how long you been workin' there?" He's staring down at the speedometer like it holds some valuable information—anything to find a reason to avoid your eye.
"Three years," you tell him. "But I also substitute teach for Oakmont Elementary."
Joel hums. "I can see you doin' that. You'd be good at that."
You grin, trying to hide it behind his coat. "It's fun, I don't mind it."
"You thinkin' 'bout doin' it full time? Bein' a teacher?" When he looks at you now it's so soft and sweet that you temporarily forget all the pain you went through together.
"I'd have to go back to school, I don't know..."
Joel shrugs. "You could do it. Always were good in school."
Your cheeks warm under the compliment. "It'd be a lot of work. Going to class during the day, working at night. That's hard."
"Yeah, but when you stick your mind to somethin', you just do it. Never let anythin' stop you before."
He graces you with a shy smile for the first time all night and you have to look away or else you're afraid you might say something stupid.
Change the subject, you think.
"Did Tommy have fun tonight?"
"Oh, yeah," Joel says, leaning back in his seat with a light grin. "Just dropped him off, as a matter of fact. Shitfaced like you'd expect. Almost wandered into his neighbor's house."
"Ah, so that's why you're out so late."
"Promised him I wouldn't drink so I could get 'em home."
"Well, that's nice, considering the shit he pulled for your bachelor party."
It's a risky move bringing up anything related to your marriage, you knew that. But he just seems so relaxed and you're finally getting the warmth back in your toes and feeling much better than you were thirty minutes ago, so you go for it. And Joel pauses, taken off guard, but then he chuckles low and deep, the sound causing a familiar pull between your legs.
"My god," he murmurs, then rolls his head to the side to give you a look. "To this day I ain't ever hear a woman bring a man to his knees the way you did to me and him that night. Never saw you so mad."
"I warned you—no strippers."
"And I told you I didn't touch any of 'em."
You throw your head back and laugh, missing the way Joel's gaze lingers on the curve of your neck, the plushness of your lips, the smoothness of your skin.
"Bullshit, Joel Miller! You can tell me the truth, we're not married anymore."
When you find his eyes again, there's an energy that pulls between you and it suddenly feels like no time at all has passed.
"I ain't lyin'," he swears, palms up in the air. "The other guys did but I didn't. Scout's honor."
"Yeah, okay," you say, rolling your eyes, but you can't erase the smile he put there a moment ago.
"I didn't need another reason for your old man to hate me, I did what I was told," he says, hand over his heart. You giggle and shake your head.
"Oh, I don't think that would have mattered much. He never liked you."
Joel grins and lets his gaze drift as a comfortable silence settles in the cab.
"I heard he passed a few years back. M'sorry," he says softly, and you meet his eye once again. He looks genuinely sympathetic, despite everything your father did to tear you apart.
"Thanks."
"What was it?"
"Cancer," you tell him, then shrug one shoulder like it didn't mean anything when you both knew it did.
"Ah, shit," he sighs. "You livin' in that house?"
"Nah. Couldn't do it. I sold it," you say, staring down at your hands tangled in your lap. Joel makes a sound like he understands and he lets it go, lets the quiet envelope you once again like he knew you just needed a few minutes to think. He was always good at reading you, you never forgot that.
"I'm sorry, too," you tell him. You hear him twist his head to look at you but you keep your face angled down. "For the way he treated you. He was never good to you, Joel, and I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it's alright. No need to be sorry."
You sniffle and finally raise your chin with glassy eyes. "It's not alright. He said some horrible things to you—"
"He was just scared for his little girl," Joel says, extending a hand across the seat to rest carefully on your knee. "Didn't like some guy six years older than her sniffin' around, had you sneakin' out and shit... hell, lookin' back, I don't blame 'em."
"Well, I do. I blame him," you mumble. Then, to your dismay, one lone tear streaks down your cheek when you add, "Am I horrible? For not forgiving him for what he did to us?"
Joel's eyes widened and his hand instantly lifts from your knee to cup your face. "No," he breathes with a light shake of his head, "No, you ain't horrible. Don't think that."
His thumb brushes over your cheek and you close your eyes.
Well, there's no going back now, you figure. Might as well go all in.
"Why didn't you fight for me, Joel?" you whisper, lower lip trembling. Your eyes slowly open and two more tears fall. "Why didn't you—"
"'Cause I couldn't come between you 'n your family," he says urgently, his own eyes darting back and forth across your face like it was of the utmost importance you understood. "He was gonna disown you. Said he'd never speak to you again unless we got a divorce. And I couldn't be the reason that happened, honey, I just couldn't—"
"But you were my family," you whimper. "I only wanted you."
"I wanted you, too," he says back, voice strained like he's holding back tears. "Thought I was doin' the right thing by lettin' you go. I was young and dumb and scared, I just wanted you to be happy."
"Well, I wasn't," you confess, and one of your hands comes up to curl around his, still pressed gently against your cheek. His hands are big and a little rough, just like you remember, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch. "I cried for years over you, Joel," you whisper, "Every time I'd hear someone mention your name or I'd see a sign or truck for your business I'd get so fucking angry. Do you know why?"
You force your eyes back open and through the unshed tears, you see him shake his head.
"I hated the idea of you out there, living your life, meeting new people, meeting new girls and forgetting all about me when I could hardly get out of bed most days."
"You meant everythin' to me," he says, jaw tight as he leans closer across the seat. "Still do."
A sob lodges in your throat, but you swallow it down and force out the question that's been on your mind for years.
"Then why are you always so fucking cold to me whenever I see you? Like tonight?"
"'Cause seein' you reminds me of the biggest mistake I ever made, and I fuckin' hate myself for lettin' you go."
The confession falls from his mouth like it had been waiting there for years to be said. No hesitation whatsoever. Just raw emotion packed behind years of regret. You don't know what to do with it, what to say. You just stare at one another, searching each other's eyes like you could find the answers to your problems right there until it dawns on you at the same time—that maybe you never really had any problems at all, aside from meeting a little too young and moving a little too fast.
But nothing is holding you back anymore. You're not freshly out of high school marrying a guy who was struggling to start a construction business with his baby brother. You both have five years of wisdom now, and even after all that time, those feelings you have for Joel still burn hot under your skin.
And that has to mean something.
"Joel?" you whisper, and his brows pitch up ever so slightly in response. His shoulders still like he's holding his breath, waiting for you to say it. So you do.
"Kiss me."
A breathless sound slips past your lips when his mouth presses firmly over your own, but just as quickly as you feel him, he pulls back. His eyes find yours and he searches, like he's looking for an answer to a question he's too scared to ask. You gaze back at him with tear soaked cheeks and a trembling lip, hoping he sees what you feel. Then his throat bobs and his shoulders sag like a weight has been lifted and his mouth finds yours once again.
Desperation fills the cab of his truck. Your mouth falls open and his tongue slides smoothly against yours, never missing a beat. His fingertips dig into your cheek and you pull him forward by his flannel, searching for more. The sharp brush of his beard rubs into an upward motion against your lips and you know he's smiling at your eagerness.
"C'mere," he mumbles before both his hands find your waist and he leans back, hauling you over the seat and into his lap without breaking the kiss. He pushes his coat past your shoulders and tosses it behind him, giving himself better access to your body.
It's all happening so fast that when his hands skate slowly down your sides to curve and cup your ass under your skirt, you jump like a frayed wire. Every nerve ending is alight, as if your body has been waiting all these years to be brought back to life by his touch.
"Easy," he chuckles in between kisses, "it's just me. Just me, baby."
It nearly destroys you. Joel—your first and probably only real love is right here, back in your arms. You kiss him harder and he groans, needy tongues swirling together like you may run out of air.
"Joel—" you gasp, but he cuts you off.
"Christ, I missed you." His mouth sloppily sears over yours with a groan before separating again. "Missed you so much. Then I finally see you and..." His gaze flicks down but you're too busy trailing a path of wet kisses down his neck. "And you're wearin' this slutty little thing. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout it... c'mere." His chin drops to seek out your mouth and you let him, moaning softly when your lips reconnect. He kisses like a madman, you always loved that about him. Every kiss feels like it's important, like he needs to show you how he feels because there are no words in existance that do it justice.
"You should see what I wear to work on Valentine's Day," you giggle when he gives you a second to breathe.
"Can't wait."
Then he quiets you with another deep kiss.
Can't wait. Can't wait. Two simple words that hold so much meaning. Two words that assure you whatever happens tonight won't be a one time thing. It sets your heart on fire and you whine into his mouth when his hands dig into the curve of your hips, pulling you down harder into his lap.
Joel leans back with a filthy grin so he can watch you drag your hips back and forth, over his cock straining against his zipper.
"Shit. Christmas came early," he mumbles in a daze as he continues to watch you move.
"That better be the only thing that comes early," you tease before clutching his face in your hands for another lust soaked kiss. And even though there's no real rush, your hands move hastily anyway. They slip between your bodies as your tongue dips into his mouth and he groans when your palm presses over his aching cock. His own slide back under your skirt to wrap around your underwear and he tugs, growing frustrated with the thin piece of fabric.
"Take these off," he demands roughly.
"There's no room," you say, biting at his scruffy chin. "Your steering wheel is digging into my ass."
With one harsh, loud tear, your underwear fall loose. You gasp and open your heavy eyes to watch him pull the black shreds from between your legs, then he tosses it somewhere behind his seat.
"Joel! I already hardly have any clothes as it is!" you exclaim, but he shushes you with a quick kiss before his mouth drops to your throat.
"Don't worry. I'll warm you up," he grins before his hands make their way up your skirt once more. He moans against your neck as his palms glide over your soft skin. Desperation claws at your throat when his fingers glide through your folds, dragging your arousal up to circle your clit. You curse his name and press your body tightly against his chest.
"Please, Joel, please," you beg as you rub the outside of his jeans. His jaw falls open and his head rolls back against the seat before he pulls his hand from between your legs. You whimper at the loss, but then his fingers slip into his mouth with a rough noise and you fall silent, watching him greedily taste you with heavy lidded eyes.
You feel dizzy, short of breath and aching with need when your fingers find his zipper. Pulling it down while he works on the button of his jeans, you moan a little when his cock is finally freed, all thick and heavy between you.
"Sit on it, baby," he pants while watching you lift onto your knees. He pushes up your skirt so he can see you notch the thick head of his cock at your opening and he feels drunk, his brain a cloudy, needy mess at the sight he's dreamt about for years.
Every day that passed without you, the memory of how you felt faded against his will. But having you on his lap now, your scent invading his senses as you slowly sink down on his cock, all those memories come flooding back: your warmth, the tightness of your pussy, the fucking noises you make from your pretty mouth... it's enough to bring him to tears.
One falls and you see it. You're holding your breath, still impaling yourself on his cock and reveling in the stretch, but you still cup his cheek and wipe the tear away. The sweet gesture just makes another one fall and when your hips finally grow flush with his lap, he releases a strained, choked sob, unable to look away from the depth of your gaze.
"Fuck, I missed you," you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.
"I know, baby, I know," he murmurs, blinking away the tears and wrapping his arms around your waist. The tip of your hat gently taps his cheek and he grins when you lift it off your head just to drop it on top of his messy curls.
"There you go," you say with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. "Now you've got the Christmas spirit."
"Already got what I asked for, anyway," he chuckles before the palm of his hand cracks lightly across your ass. You yelp and giggle, falling forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck.
"And here I thought you had a permanent place on the naughty list." You begin to move with more purpose, moaning softly against his collarbone as the tip of his cock catches just right inside you.
"You oughta talk," he scolds with a small smile. It's equal parts frustrating and relieving to have this with him again. Had you just talked things out instead of snapping at each other every time you crossed paths, you would have saved so much time, and yet you can't be mad because you're too grateful to have him at all.
It's so easy to fall back into the familiar rhythm. Just like muscle memory, you both remember what the other likes. Without being asked, you tug your black shirt up and over your head so he can bury his face in your breasts as you ride him. His hands grip and pull you, helping you move and deepen the angle until your thighs start to shake. When his lips suction over your nipple, you arch your back with a sweet moan. His tongue is so warm and wet against your skin so you chase it, bouncing on him a little faster and he rewards you by switching to the other one.
"Yeah, baby, just like that," he pants, warm breath fanning across your wet skin. "Oh, fuck—ju-just like that."
You're stuck staring down at him, at the way the shadows stretch across his face, at the softness around his eyes, at the way he struggles to breathe. A sound catches in your throat and his dark eyes find yours before your mouths crash together in a hungry kiss.
"So good," you whisper against his lips. "So, so good."
He groans and lifts his hips, snapping them up into yours, driving himself deeper. You gasp and one hand reaches out to scramble for leverage, but your fingers just slide down the foggy window next to you. The Santa hat askew on his head falls off somewhere behind him but you're both too soaked with desire to notice.
Your legs shake as you work to keep up with his pace but your whole body is shuddering in his lap and for once, it's not due to the cold. He's slamming into you, pushing mercilessly against a sweet spot hidden away deep inside, and it's tearing you down.
"Oh god, Joel," you cry through clenched teeth, then your head tips back and your eyes squeeze shut and his mouth is on your throat, then your jaw, then your face—quick, urgent kisses that desperately try to make up for lost time.
Joel feels your muscles tighten and he grips you harder. He groans into your skin and fucks up into you, moaning about how good you feel and how tight you are and how he wishes he could have gotten his mouth on you, if only for a few minutes.
"But next time, I'm gonna eat this pussy til you're screamin', hear me?" He's grinding into you, forcing you to take him as deep as you can and stealing all the air from your lungs. "Never gonna let you go after this. Not gonna—shit—not gonna fuck this up again, okay?"
Tears slide down your cheeks and you nod before you gasp sharply and your body spasms with relief on top of him. He groans around the squeeze of your cunt and fucks you faster.
"M'sorry," he whispers over and over. But you're in a love drunk haze, you can barely hear him. Your body slumps forward to rest against his shoulder and a moment later, he comes with a rough curse in your ear. You sigh, pressing your cheek against him as he floods your pussy. He's holding you close to his chest and filling you up until he has nothing left to give and his body sags into the seat.
Your lips seek out the sweaty skin of his throat and you leave little kisses there while he catches his breath.
"Can you come over for Christmas Eve?" he asks suddenly, and you giggle before straightening your spine and leaning back. His eyes are deep and warm and he's giving you that sexy smirk you remember all too well. Your heart flips and it feels like you're falling in love with him all over again.
"Are you sure?"
He nods. "'Course I'm sure. So long as you're ready, 'cause Tommy's gonna give us a lot of shit."
You laugh and his face softens at the sound.
"Okay. I think I can stop by."
Joel smiles and looks down at your skirt fanning over his lap, hiding where you're still connected.
"Can you wear this?"
You smack his shoulder and he laughs. It's so lighthearted that you can't remember any of the heartbreak. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair and he gazes up at you sweetly as his laughter dies down, both of you staring at one another with matching smiles.
"Battery's probably good by now," he finally murmurs, still looking at you with stars in his eyes and a goofy smile on his face.
"Oh, shit, I forgot," you say, glancing over your shoulder at the steamy windshield. Joel fishes around to find your discarded shirt and hands it to you before helping you off his lap. You both groan, muscles aching, then you swing your leg back over to the passenger side. When you slip your shirt back on, you squeeze your thighs together, cheeks burning when you catch his sticky release dripping down your leg.
"You good?" he asks. He's already done his jeans back up and his hand is on the door. He's got his coat back on, ready to finish fixing your car, and your chest aches for him.
Typical Joel. So good at taking care of you.
"Come here," you whisper, then the corner of his mouth lifts before he releases the door handle and he stretches across the cab to press his lips softly against your own.
"Merry Christmas, Joel," you say, kissing the tip of his nose.
He smiles warmly before coming in for one more kiss.
Warnings: Breakups, Harry is upset, ridiculous ideas, spur of the moment trips, saving face, pretending to be someone else, heartbreak/healing, company, intimate moments, growing affection, sex, oral sex (female receiving) , vaginal sex, one night thing, lying to parents, audacious behavior, skimpy clothes, insults, heartache
Comments: Personal shopper for Harry Castillo, you are asked to go to Iceland with him when Lucy breaks up with him. Only to later be asked to pretend to be Lucy for a weekend in the Hamptons.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Harry Castillo MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.
When Harry Castillo’s name flashes up on your phone, your heart sinks. You had just delivered a massive order for the private equities mogul. He, like a lot of New York elite, found that it was easier to have a personal shopper find what he needed for him. You have chosen everything in the man’s wardrobe for the last three years and he’s never returned anything you’ve picked out. This trip was out of the normal sphere for him though. A trip to Iceland, and you wonder if you had fucked up bad enough to leave him scrambling. Especially considering you had bought an engagement ring based on his specifications. He’s supposed to be flying out today. “Hello?” You hum, slightly breathless and you know that Harry should be boarding a plane right now.
Harry is relieved you answered and says your name to display that fact. “I - shit. I don’t really know why I called you. It’s, uh, it’s - I wanted to talk to someone and since you got the ring for me - Lucy and I broke up.” He rushes out, frantic and unlike the cool and collected man you’ve known for years. “Oh Harry. I’m so sorry.” You sigh, knowing that this Lucy girl is clearly stupid if she broke up with one of the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan. “She didn’t love me and I guess I didn’t love her but why - was I not enough? I mean, the gifts…I need to return them. And the ring. Can you help me do that?”
You can tell that he is struggling to handle the rejection, something that he’s probably never had to deal with much. He is gorgeous and generous, most barely acknowledge the work their personal shoppers put into crafting their clients' wardrobes, but Harry always seems to know the time and effort you expend. “Of course.” You murmur, wondering if the return can be done discreetly, perhaps you will just tell the jeweler you messed up. “What about your trip?” Harry snorts and sighs. “That’s off.” You frown. “What? No, you should go. Don’t cancel it. It would be good for you to get away. Relax. Forget about her while you recharge and come back to New York a new man.”
Harry sighs, knowing it would be embarrassing to go to Iceland after his assistant told the hotel that this was a trip to get engaged. It’s romantic and he knows he’d only work if he went there alone. Still, he knows that being in New York, he’d also be wallowing. Suddenly, an idea pops into his head and he blurts it out before he can think about it. “Unless you come with me?” He asks, a little desperate to not be alone after the break up.
“Me?” You almost yelp, pulling away to look at the phone stupidly for a moment. “You want me to…go to Iceland with you?” You ask, making sure you heard him correctly. “It’s paid for.” Harry tries selling it to you. “All inclusive.” He doesn’t have to convince you. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure there’s hundreds of gorgeous women that would kill to go with you. You want me to be there?”
Harry snorts, “I’ve known you for seven years. Yes you’re my personal shopper but I’d like to think we are friends. Please, I just - I don’t want to go alone and I think I need a break away from the questions and everything I’ll get from people if I stay. I just want to get away with a friend. You won’t judge me. You understand.” He reasons, knowing that he doesn’t really have any close friends that he’d want to spill his guts to. “It’s paid for. I just want company. Someone there so I don’t look pathetic in this resort.”
“How long do I have to pack?” Harry will have to change the name on the ticket, but you’re sure he can get that done quick enough. “Flight leaves in two hours.” Your eyes widen, quickly thinking about what you can throw into your suitcase. “Oh god, yes, I mean, I will.” You huff, jumping out of bed. “What airport?”
“JFK. First class so don’t worry about eating or anything.” He says, knowing the food will be good. “We are gonna need a bottle of champagne at least.” He smiles, stomach twisting with happiness at you coming with him. He trusts you implicitly - tasks you with some of the most delicate details of his life - and he is happy he won’t be alone. “I’ll pick you up in 45 minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.” You promise, knowing that you will have to hurry. The idea of spending time with Harry alone makes your stomach twist. He’s handsome and you’ve always thought he was attractive, but he’s out of your league. You work for him. “Oh shit oh shit.” You hiss to yourself after you hang up. “Five minute shower!” You rush towards your bathroom in your tiny apartment as you strip off.
Harry knows where you live, well, his assistant does, so his driver pulls up outside your place and heads to your door to collect you. Harry waits in the car for you, smiling when you slide into the Maybach beside him. You look flustered but beautiful. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Iceland.” You admit, opening your purse to triple check that your passport is in there. You would hate to get there and embarrass yourself. “You don’t need to thank me.” You reassure yourself and look up at him with a soft smile. “How are you holding up?”
He sighs, looking down at his hands, “was kind of hoping to be getting engaged this week but it’s - it’s for the best. I didn’t love Lucy. I don’t think I’m even capable of it.” He confesses, “does that make me a heartless monster?” He asks softly, knowing you’ll be truthful. You always are, especially when he picks his own clothes.
“No.” You don’t think that he’s not capable of love. You see that he cares for his brother, his mother and father. It’s in the way he talks about them. “I think you have a different way of looking at relationships.” You admit. “Some might think it’s calculated, but I think you do it that way so you don’t get hurt.”
Harry raises his eyebrows slightly as he turns to look at you. It’s like you see right through him. “I, uh, yeah. Well, didn’t really work because I ended up getting hurt anyway.” He snorts, shaking his head a little before he looks out the tinted window. “But nothing some hot springs and champagne can’t fix.” He says, turning back to look at you with a small smile.
“I don’t mind the idea of that.” You admit, tilting your head and imagining this man in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks drinking champagne with you while you relax in the natural beauty of Iceland. “I still don’t know why you asked me, but….” You reach out and squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
He looks down at your hand, so delicate and unlike his, “of course.” He turns his hand to lace his fingers through yours. “Thank you for coming on such late notice. I know it’s not easy for you to drop your clients for a week.”
“I didn’t have a lot going on.” You downplay it of course, but they are honestly projects that could wait. “No one else had anything pressing.” You bite your lip. “Although I need to return your payment for the ring.”
He huffs, “we can deal with that when we get home.” He says and shakes his head, “Jesus. I really - I didn’t think this is how this trip would go.” He confesses, letting go of your hand to rub his face.
“I’m sorry.” You hate reminding him of the fact that the woman he was going to propose to dumped him. “We’ll get drunk and forget our own names.” You joke. “Massages and facials.”
He chuckles, knowing he made the right choice to take you with him. You’ve always been so sunny and he knows you’ll keep his dark thoughts at bay. “Iceland. Here we come.” He says with a wink but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Getting to the airport and through security is a whirlwind of luggage and checking tickets. You are quickly escorted to the first class lounge to await boarding and Harry is checking his phone while you go over and make him a drink. It’s just a basic screwdriver, but the man deserves to unwind a little after the morning he’s had.
He looks up in surprise when you approach him with a mixed drink and his eyebrows raise, “come on. You need it.” You roll your eyes playfully and he inhales shakily, nodding his head and he gratefully accepts the drink. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He takes a deep sip. “You got a drink?”
You nod, holding up your own cup. “I did.” You promise, coming to sit down beside him. The jeans you had shopped for fit him perfectly. You like that he had let you choose some more fitted pants. You keep trying to convince him that the early 90’s style of wider legs are out.
He smiles at you, watching you discreetly look around the first class lounge. He knows you haven’t flown like this before and he’s happy he chose you to come along. He’s excited to see your face when you’re on the plane in your own suite.
“So.” You take a sip of your drink as you desperately hope you fit in. You had chosen stylish, yet comfortable clothes to fly in. Appropriate for the temperatures in Iceland when you land. “What’s our itinerary for the trip?” You ask, smirking when he looks startled by the question. “Oh come on, you plan everything, I know you planned every day of the trip.”
Harry chuckles, feeling a little called out, “I had my travel agent book it. She had some notes from me but we should be kept busy. There’s quite a few tours. I, uh, couldn’t cancel it last minute but I booked a glass igloo for a night to see the Northern Lights. That’s when I was going to do it. You know, propose.” He confesses, taking another sip of his drink.
“Wow.” You are impressed. “That sounds extremely romantic.” You know you would melt if someone cared half as much as Harry did, even if he hadn’t loved Lucy. “And here I haven’t had a date in six months.” You snort, shaking your head.
Harry licks his lips and sets the drink down, “men are crazy…or blind…or both.” He huffs, “you’re a beautiful woman. You’re smart, got a good job. Hell, most men would be lucky to even be sitting next to you.” Harry is being honest. He’s always thought you were beautiful. “You were even nice to me when I had to buy shorter pants.” He smirks, tilting his head at you.
You roll your eyes and shake your head. “You seriously didn’t have to have that done.” You, of course, knew about the surgery right away. He had wanted soft, comfortable recovery clothes and after he was healed he had needed a completely new wardrobe pants-wise. “You’re still just as handsome as you were back then.”
He flusters a little, ducking his head to look at his drink, “all because of your styling. I swear before you I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I’d buy the same shirt in five colors and think that was fashion.” He chuckles, lifting his eyes to look at you until he clears his throat, “I thought the surgery would help me find a wife. Guess that backfired, huh?”
“You don’t want a woman who doesn’t love you for exactly who you are.” You reach over and touch his hand. “You would have eventually resented the relationship. Now you can find a wife you want to build a life with, not just give a life.”
He stares at you for a moment, feeling like you see inside him at something he hadn’t even figured out yet. “I sometimes think that’s all I’m good for. All of this. I don’t really know what else I can give. I work. All the time. If my wife didn’t work, she’d be sitting at home with a cold dinner waiting for me to finish a conference call with an investor in Singapore.”
You shrug. “So you find a woman who doesn’t mind late nights or reheating food.” You snort, having seen his amazing kitchen. You would kill to have that space in your own tiny apartment. “But more importantly find a woman you want to come home to.”
He nods, knowing that you're right. For a moment, in his mind, he imagines your pretty smile greeted him when he walked into his kitchen. "Now boarding Flight F1G12 Icelandair to Reykjavík." You hear over the tannoy but a man approaches you and Harry. "Mr. Castillo. Please, follow me to your seats." He says, reaching for your carry on.
You are sooooo unused to someone carrying your bag for you, but you quickly stand and set down your drink like Harry does so you can follow him onto the plane.
Harry is excited to see your reaction to the seats. They aren't Emirates first class but it's decent and he wants you to enjoy this trip since you're coming with him at the last minute. You are shocked at the leg room and Harry lets you have the window, while the man puts your bags in the overhead storage. "Have a wonderful flight." He smiles and Harry settles into the seat just as the flight attendant brings over a glass of champagne for you both.
“To a trip away.” You offer, giving Harry a sweet smile. “I know this will be good for you and you deserve nothing but the best.” He seems surprised as you tap your glass against his and take a sip. “God, I can’t believe this.” You admit with a slight giggle. “I’ve watched videos about the pods but it’s even better than I imagined.” You stroke the smooth leather and sigh as you look around. “Do you need to work during the flight?” You ask curiously, knowing he is a workaholic.
He nods, “I cleared my schedule for this but you know how it goes. I couldn’t get Peter to take over everyone so I’ll be answering some emails. I need to figure out some ROIs for a client.” He explains, “but you are on vacation so eat, drink, watch a movie.”
“I have some of my own work I can do.” You assure him, taking another sip of your drink. “So don’t worry about me.” He seems to hesitate but then he pulls out his laptop and you smile before you do the same.
Harry types away, focused on his work until the meal comes around. He tucks the laptop away, focusing his attention back on you. “You watched a movie?” He asks, eyes flicking down to the headphones on your table.
You had kept it on as background noise while you worked, but it was actually a boring movie, so you had abandoned it to just work in peace beside him. “Yeah.” You smile as he picks up his glass of flat champagne and drains the rest of it. “Got some work done too.” You add. “I was behind on paperwork.”
Harry hums, picking up the glass of wine, “that’s good. Hopefully now we can enjoy the rest of the flight.” He smiles, taking a sip of the Merlot he was served with his meal. “Thank you for coming with me.” He says again, wanting you to know how appreciative he is.
“It is entirely my pleasure.” You promise him. “I’m just happy you look as good in that cashmere as I thought you would.” You can’t believe it, but Harry flusters slightly, smoothing down the front of his sweater.
You both settle into your seats, him asking you questions about upcoming events like Thanksgiving and the holidays. “I have no clue what to get my mom. I think you know her better than me sometimes.” He thinks back to all the times his mom has cooed over whatever you’ve bought on his behalf for Christmas or her birthday.
You laugh and shake your head. “No, I just have kept track of what I’ve bought for her over the past few years and base it off the things that you’ve told me.” You admit. You open your phone and pull up Harry’s file. “I am just weird.” You turn to show him.
Harry eyes the file, impressed at your organization and the keen eye you have when finding things for him. Everything from clothes to shoes, to presents and even the flowers he bought for Lucy. “You are incredible.” He says with sincerity, “you save my ass more times than I can count when it comes to shopping. You know I’m hopeless.”
“You are.” You chuckle, finding it honestly adorable. “But you don’t have to worry, I’ll make sure you always look as good as you should.” You promise him with a playful wink. “I love dressing you. And picking out gifts for you to give.”
Harry grins, winking at you as you pick up your wine glass. “To shopping disasters.” He teases and you clink your glass against his. His eyes trace your features and he sees how beautiful you are in that moment. The ache of Lucy recedes…that is until you arrive in Iceland and the driver who is waiting holds a sign with his and Lucy’s name on it.
“Harry and Lucy?” He asks, smiling broadly as you approach. Harry sighs and opens his mouth, but you just grab his hand and beam at the driver. “Yep.” You blurt out. “That’s us.” You don’t mind someone believing you are Lucy this trip to help Harry save face. You squeeze his hand and smile at the man walking beside you. “I’m so excited to be here with him.”
He sighs in relief, squeezing your hand back as the man takes your cases and guides you to the car that’s waiting. He didn’t really think this through. All the signs of Lucy that would remain in the trip. Still, you took it in stride and he is so grateful to you for not making it a big deal. Once you’re in the car, Harry lifts your hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it, a simple thank you whispered into your skin and you nod, eyes fluttering slightly until the driver pulls away from the airport to begin the drive to your hotel.
On the drive, you know you have to make the driver chuckle up front. Playing tourist and wide eyed at all the scenery. Phone in hand as you snap photo after photo. “Oh Harry, this is beautiful.” You gush, beaming at him as if you really were Lucy and he was bringing you here because he wanted to see you smile.
Harry smiles, watching you as you admire the scenery, and Harry hasn’t been here before so he’s enjoying looking out the window himself. It’s beautiful here but his eyes keep finding you as you ooo and awe and gasp at the beautiful landscape. “Here we are.” The driver declares as you arrive at the hotel. Only the best for Harry, and the hotel staff are soon checking you in as you almost sprain your neck looking around the lobby.
“Harry….” You can’t believe the effort that Harry had put into this trip. Even if he had organized it through a travel agent, he had obviously wanted to give Lucy the best. You should feel guilty about being here, but you are thrilled to be able to experience this. “This is so….” You turn to him and give him a hug. “You are amazing and she is an idiot.” You whisper softly.
He smiles, stomach twisting at your words, and he isn’t sure if that’s right. After all, Lucy clearly didn’t think he was amazing since she broke up with him to go back to her broke ex. “I’m glad someone got to appreciate it.” He says, breathing you in until you pull back from him.
“Let’s get settled and then we can decide if we are going to sightsee or get drunk.” You tease, looping your arm through his and pulling him towards the elevators.
He feels the sadness at his relationship ending being pushed aside as you offer him an infectious smile and soon enough, he's opening the door to the suite, excited to see your reaction.
“Oh my god.” The view is stunning, looking out over the hills and mountains of the country, you couldn’t tell that there was any sort of life or city nearby. All you can see from those windows is the natural beauty of the land. “This is incredible.”
He smiles, enjoying your awe and excitement and he can’t help but place his hand on your back as you look out the window. He turns his head to look at the bedroom. One bed. King sized. Covered in rose petals with champagne nearby in a bucket. “Oh shit. I forgot about that. I told them it was a romantic trip.” He sighs at the reminder that he’s single and not proposing.
You turn and you can see how the beautiful display would melt any woman’s heart and you remind yourself that Lucy is an idiot. “That’s okay.” You walk towards the bed and pluck the bottle out of the bucket and waggle it playfully. “We will drink this and decide who gets what side of the bed.” You tease. “I’m partial to the right side. I tend to snore if I’m on the left.”
Harry is grateful that you seem to take it in stride and don’t get taken back by the romantic notes of the trip. It reminds him that you’re an amazing person and he’s grateful you agreed to come with him. If he’d come alone, he’d just wallow in the room and wonder why even leg lengthening surgery can’t help him find a wife. “I’m good with the left.” He nods, knowing that he will struggle to sleep anyway. “It really is beautiful here.” He murmurs, reaching to take the bottle from you so he can work on opening it.
“Yes it is.” You can see that he is doubting himself and so you grin and wink at him. “If for some reason you need the room all to yourself, like you find some Icelandic hottie to wine and dine, I’ll sleep in the closet.” You joke, relieved when you hear him laugh. Harry is a good man. He’s kind and that generous and that is rare amongst the New York elite. He’s genuine. Maybe that was why he had such a problem finding love.
He snorts, “I doubt I’ll be looking for anyone on this trip. I need to figure out how to tell my mom that I’m not getting engaged when all she does is ask when I’m getting married. It’s even worse now that Peter has Charlotte.” He sighs as he pours two glasses of champagne, placing the bottle back in the bucket of ice. He steps closer, handing you a glass and he looks out at the scenery, “thanks for coming with me.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me.” You promise, taking the glass and smiling at him softly as he looks out the windows. “You will figure out how to tell her. And just remind her that you are looking to get married once, not just getting married quickly.”
Harry nods, grateful for you but he knows you’re sick of hearing him say thank you. So instead, he’s going to show it. He takes a sip of champagne and turns to look at you again, “and why are you single? You’re gorgeous, smart, have a good job. Maybe Adore could help you out. Find you a good man.”
You snort, shaking your head. “No, I don’t want that.” You couldn’t afford them, even if you do make good money. You are saving to buy your own apartment and that would eat into that savings. “I want to meet someone naturally.” You admit, although it sounds silly to a man who wants to be set up with his match. “Even if you match on paper, you could meet and there’s no spark, no…” you consider it. “Heat.” You decide. “I want to see a man’s eyes when he sets up a date or I ask him out.”
Harry hums, knowing that deep down he’d want the same things but he has to be practical. His job is mainly old rich men wanting to invest to become even richer. He’s not meeting the love of his life dealing with private equities. “I guess me and Lucy didn’t have much of a spark. I tried to create one. Did everything I could to make her happy. You know, you bought the presents, and I took her to expensive places but it wasn’t enough.”
“Then it just wasn’t right.” You remind him. “You need a woman who can be happy spending time on her own, plus wants to spend time with you. Someone who does things for you as well.” You tilt your head. “The entire time you were dating, did she ever do anything for you?”
Harry frowns, sipping his champagne as he thinks, until he shakes his head. "No. I, uh, I organized pretty much all of it. Well, my assistant did. She took me to a play...her ex's play." He rolls his eyes, "it was shit. He really should move on from acting." He snorts, "then I took the cast for drinks and paid. Jesus, I really tried to make it work."
You nod, expecting that. “Lucy didn’t know what she had.” You tell him. “I know that I’m not a matchmaker, but there are plenty of women who would thank their lucky stars for a man who planned anything.” You tell him. “Even if it’s through your assistant. You shouldn’t settle for someone who didn’t care.”
"We both deserve the best." He decides and you nod, clinking your glass against his. "Absolutely. Now, let's enjoy an awesome vacation and help you get over whatshername." You tease and Harry chuckle, excited to see what happens next with you by his side.
****
“Oh god.” You groan slightly, feeling like you shouldn’t have had that last drink with dessert, but you couldn’t help yourself. “I don’t know when I’ve ever eaten a better meal.” You wait for Harry to open the door and the two of you stumble into the suite after dinner. The hour is a little earlier than you might be used to, but with the time change, you both felt like it was a good idea to go to bed early. Especially since Harry had such a rough night the night before. “What about you?”
Harry groans, rubbing his stomach, “it was incredible.” You shared a good conversation and a bottle of wine that Harry picked out. You made him laugh with stories of personal shopping gone wrong and he told you about some of his clients. Dinner made him forget about Lucy and he loved every second of it. “Now I’m ready for bed.” He grunts, flopping down onto the bed.
It’s funny to see him relax. It’s always good to see the humanization, the man behind the exterior. “Well, we should probably get ready.” You set down your purse and move over to your luggage to open your case. “Do you want to use the bathroom first, or should I?”
“No. No. You go first. I don’t think I can move right now.” He confesses with a chuckle, closing his eyes as the jet lag seeps into his bones. He listens to you as you shuffle through your suitcase until you are closing the bathroom door.
You didn’t bring anything sexy to sleep in, but you didn’t expect to share a bed with Harry on this trip. You should have asked about the sleeping arrangements, but now you will just have to deal with it. It’s not like you aren’t two adults, you can handle this. You wash your face and brush your teeth after changing into your sleep shorts and tank top. Taking a deep breath before you open the bathroom door.
Harry is almost asleep when the door opens and he opens his eyes as you approach the bed. His throat goes dry at the sight of you in short sleep shorts and a tank top that shows him the outline of your breasts. He grunts, shifting to sit up. “I’ll, uh, get changed.” He shuffles off the bed and makes his way over to his case to grab his things.
You set up your phone charger and put away your clothes before you climb into bed. Checking your messages and emails as you listen to the water run. The rose petals had been cleared off the bed and the bucket of melted ice taken away. The staff is efficient and discreet, perfect for a romantic retreat, but this isn’t that kind of trip anymore. You just hope you can help Harry heal.
Harry showers, brushes his teeth, and pulls on his pajama pants. His fingers hover over the shirt until he nods, pulling it on. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. He sighs, rubbing his fingers over his cheek and he exits the bathroom, ready to get a good night's sleep after the traveling. He makes his way over to the other side, watching you as you set your phone down. "Lights out?" He asks after he slides under the covers. You nod and he leans over to turn off the lamp. "Goodnight, sweetheart." He murmurs, shuffling to rest his head on his pillow.
“Goodnight Harry.” You whisper the words as you listen to him shift slightly. Smelling the toothpaste and the woodsy scent of his deodorant. He always smells so good. You should know, you picked out the deodorant he’s wearing right now. Harry drifts off to sleep quickly but you stay awake longer. Listening to the soft sounds of his gentle snores until you are drifting off as well.
Harry grunts in his sleep, the sun starting to rise, and he shifts closer. His arm is wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your neck as he presses himself against your ass. He is completely unconscious and enjoying a deeper sleep than anything he's had lately.
You are warm and comfortable, having the best nights sleep you’ve had in forever. Shifting slightly and then feeling someone move. Harry. Both of you had drifted towards the middle of the bed during the night and you were wrapped up in his arms. You know it was just a habit from sleep and he would be embarrassed if he woke up so you slowly try to creep out of his embrace.
Harry wakes up with a grunt, the bed a little cold and he lifts his head, remembering where he is and wondering where you are. "Morning sleepyhead. I ordered coffee and breakfast." You greet him from the sofa across the suite and he blinks heavily. "Coffee?" He rasps and you nod. He groans, shifting to sit up and he runs his fingers through his hair. "I'll pour you a cup while you use the bathroom." You say and he nods, shuffling off the bed.
He is delightfully disheveled in the mornings, making you cover a giggle with your hand when he scratches his ass as he disappears into the bathroom. He’s still sleepy and it’s adorable. Even if you have been thinking about how he had felt pressed against your ass. His cock had been hard and you know it’s a natural reaction, but it’s been a lot longer for you since you’ve had sex. Still, you push that aside to get up and pour him a cup of coffee that had arrived first thing this morning.
Harry pees, brushes his teeth, and washes his face. He feels a little more awake and he groans a little, realizing you saw how grumpy he is in the mornings. He runs his fingers through his messy hair and he eventually makes his way out of the bathroom. “Thanks.” He groans as he sips on the coffee you handed him as soon as he sits down next to you. “Did I snore?” He asks, “because Lucy used to complain that I snore.”
Yes, he does snore. “It’s a quiet, soft thing.” You promise. It hadn’t woken you up or bothered you. You take a sip of your coffee and reach over to pat his knee. “Do you want to order breakfast to the room or go down?”
Harry sets his coffee down, “let’s go down. Then I booked for us to have a spa day. Couples massage. Not that - it will just be in the same room. Figured we could use it after traveling. Spa session is booked for after we go into the lagoon and relax a little. No sight seeing today. Just relaxation.”
“Oh you are absolutely perfect.” It’s the perfect way to overcome the time change and to set the pace for a relaxing week. “I’ve just got to shower really quickly and get dressed.” You take your last sip of your coffee. “Since we are doing spa things, I won't bother doing my hair or makeup.”
Harry hums, thinking you look gorgeous with or without makeup, and he watches you make your way into the bathroom. Grabbing his phone, he checks his emails and deals with the urgent things so he can enjoy his day.
You shower quickly, never being long in your morning routine. Especially if you’re not washing your hair. You do take the time to make sure you are shaved and put on a cute bikini under your dress. Securing your hair and putting on moisturizer and lip gloss is about as complicated as you get before you are coming out of the bathroom.
Harry looks up from his phone when you walk and he bites his tongue, noticing how gorgeous you are, and he knows you likely wouldn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want you to think he brought you on this trip to get laid in his efforts to get over Lucy. He genuinely wants you here. “I’ll be quick.” He says as he stands up, “I’ve got those trunks you picked out for me.” He smiles as he makes his way over to his suitcase.
Rarely do you get to see some of the more fun aspects of Harry’s wardrobe on him, so you are excited. You had picked them out thinking about how they would show off his tapered waist from broad shoulders. Again, you think this Lucy woman was a fool to give Harry up, but it’s better to break things off if you know it’s not right.
Harry showers, shaves, and gets changed into the trunks. He’s eager to relax today. Peter is working and he’s ready to enjoy his vacation even if it hasn’t gone the way he planned. He comes back out, dressed, and grabs his things, “you hungry? Let’s go get breakfast.”
The shirt you chose is a perfect match to the trunks and he pairs it with a pair of Hey Dudes he had first been wary of, but discovered he liked. “You look great.” You tease. “Someone knows how to dress you, Castillo.”
He smirks, “she’s a genius. Makes my old bones look good.” He winks and you huff, rolling your eyes. “You’re not old.” He snorts and opens the door to the hotel room. “I’m not young either. Plus…I got titanium legs.” He teases, “I’m basically collecting social security.”
You laugh and shake your head. “You aren’t even fifty yet.” You remind him. “And, honestly? You are getting better looking as you get older.” You tell him. “Settling into your skin as they say.”
He chuckles, reaching for your hand to squeeze it, “whatever you say, sweetheart.” He has never believed in getting Botox or anything even if he did get the lengthening surgery. To each their own but he is trying to age gracefully. Some of the men he works with have had a lot done and they seem to have lost their essence. You’re soon sitting down at breakfast, looking across the lagoon, and Harry happily sips another cup of coffee.
“It’s beautiful and they have done a good job to incorporate the spa amenities to look natural.” You compliment. “Even if your assistant booked it, you picked a lovely resort.” You praise. “This is amazing.”
He hums in agreement, “it is. I’m glad she picked this place. It’s beautiful.” He glances around as the waiter sets your breakfast foods on the table. “I have to say I am ready for a massage.”
“You could probably use one more than anyone.” You admit. “You work so much and barely take time for yourself.” You know he’s proud of his work ethic, but he needs to take care of himself. “You should find a masseuse to come to your office. Pamper yourself some.”
Harry hums, setting his coffee cup down, “I don’t know. I mean, I feel like even finding time to date is difficult. Everything has to be on my calendar otherwise I don’t even know it exists.” He confesses, “but I’ll try. I really should try to take a little more time to myself that isn’t the gym. I’m sure you need one too. Running around the city all the time.”
You give a small laugh. “I have no idea what a date would feel like, it’s been so long.” You confess and Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe that.” He huffs and you tilt your head. “It’s been at least nine or ten months.”
Harry frowns, “seriously? Are the men of New York blind or something? Or just plain stupid? I’m glad you agreed to come on this trip. It’s like - I’m basically apologizing for my sex.” He snorts, tapping his fingers on the table cloth.
You laugh and reach over to pat his hand. “You are sweet, you don’t have to apologize.” You promise. Harry has always been so good to you. Even though you know you aren’t his type, you’ve always had a little bit of a crush on him.
He smiles, turning his hand over to squeeze yours, and he lets go after a moment so he can resume eating his breakfast. Once you're done eating breakfast, you are both escorted to the spa. "Welcome, Mr & Mrs Castillo." The woman says, bowing her head and Harry doesn't correct her, knowing it would just complicate things.
You reach over and caress his back gently as you follow her into the spa as she explains the functions and amenities in each area. “This is my first massage.” You admit, excited. “Except for those back rubs.” The attendant giggles knowingly and nods. “You will enjoy this one just as much, in a very different way.” She assures you, eyeing Harry with a small smirk as if she knows that he has to be good in bed.
Harry flusters a little at the look on the woman’s face and he follows you and her to the room where two beds are surrounded by candles. “There are two robes on the bed. Please strip off and we will be back in ten minutes.” She says pointedly as if she has walked in on couples who took more than ten minutes. Harry nods and she backs out of the room, “she’s definitely walked in on something in the past.”
You giggle and nod. “Definitely.” You bite your lip and turn around. “I won’t look if you don’t.” You promise, even though you know you want to look. “Although good for whoever takes longer than ten minutes.” You snort as you start to kick off your shoes and unzip your dress. “I have horrible luck with men.” You admit. “If it’s more than five, I’m impressed.”
Harry reaches for the collar of his shirt but pauses to look at you incredulously. “More than - Jesus Christ. Honey, that’s - you have not been fucked properly.” He shakes his head, unable to stop the disbelief because yeah, he’s not a sex god but damn if he doesn’t make sure his woman is satisfied in bed. It definitely takes more than five minutes to make a woman orgasm. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes widening at the expanse of your back exposed to his eyes and he swallows harshly.
“Maybe it’s just that it’s too good for them to handle.” You joke. “My girlfriend called my pussy the soul snatcher when one date came so quickly that he just straight up grabbed his clothes and left without a word.” You are laughing now, and while the conversation isn’t exactly appropriate, you don’t feel any embarrassment talking about sexual topics with Harry. Hopefully he will feel better that he’s not like some men.
Harry is in complete disbelief, jaw dropped, “fucking hell. That’s - I’ve never - shit. You need to get fucked until you are shaking and the bed is wet.” He says without thinking about it because he’s always been a giver. He loves sex and wishes he had more time to enjoy it but he doesn’t do casual dating.
“Don’t I know it.” You snort, clenching at the way he says that. It’s wrong to think about being in bed with Harry, but you are sleeping next to him. Too bad you won’t be able to use your toy that is discreetly tucked into a bag that anyone would think is a travel curling iron or something similar. You unclip your top and fold it up before reaching for your robe. Slipping it on and then reaching under to pull down your bikini bottoms. “It made for a good girls night story.” You admit as you turn around right as Harry pulls down his trunks. Your eyes widen and you realize that his ass is just as cute as you imagined it to be.
He tries to calm down the semi that appeared after imagining being the one to make you shake and wet the sheets and he keeps his back turned as he pulls on his robe. “I bet.” He says, “I can only imagine their reactions.” He chuckles, squeezing his eyes as he thinks about anything but you naked beneath him.
“So now you know why I haven’t dated in forever.” You snort, tying the sash. “It’s much easier to not deal with it.” You move over to the small couch that is over to the side of the two tables.
He grunts, sitting down on the couch beside you and he looks at you. Fuck, he suddenly wants to tear that robe off of you and show you how you should be fucked. "Hello hello, are we decent?" A voice calls through the door and Harry clears his throat, "we are."
The masseuses glance between you and you lean into Harry’s side. “I’m so looking forward to this.” You tell them. “I’m hoping Harry relaxes so much he falls asleep on the table.”
She grins, "now that we can arrange. Your husband will be ready for love making later." She giggles and Harry blushes, cheeks reddening at her words as her coworker comes in to begin your treatment.
They have you disrobe and climb on the table. You make yourself not look over at Harry until you are both situated on the massage tables and covered with a sheet. “Already feeling relaxed.” You joke as you look over at him.
Harry smiles back at you, watching you as you get comfortable. He’s grateful that you are here and he decides to let himself relax and enjoy this time he has without working. He sighs when the music plays and hot oil is poured over his back. He groans, closing his eyes as he lets his mind go blank.
You are in the same state of bliss, cracking open your eyes to watch Harry as the first groan breaks his lips. He’s gorgeous, starting to relax under the obvious skill of his masseuse. The soft music and the gentle scent of the oils creates a sense of calm and suspended time and space. Nothing exists but the tables, the hands touching you. It’s perfect.
Harry drifts away, lost in the sensation of his tense muscles being worked out. He’s been stressed, especially when he thought he was proposing to Lucy. He wanted everything to be perfect and then it wasn’t.
You think Harry actually falls asleep. You smile to yourself as you watch the faint furrows of his brow relax and his lips part slightly. Going limp on the table and he gives in to the complete bliss of the massage. “He needs this.” You whisper softly.
Harry doesn’t know how long he lays there until he’s almost asleep and he’s ordered to shift onto his back. He follows the orders and he groans when the masseuse begins to work on his arms. “You’re so tense, Mr. Castillo.” His masseuse comments and the lady working on you giggles, “maybe your wife could massage you more often to help you relax.”
You have been turned onto your back as well, the sheet draped over your breasts. “I could, sweetheart.” You offer smoothly, thinking that it’s funny these women believe you are married to Harry. “Anytime you want.”
Harry chuckles softly at the way you play along, “I’ll never turn you down. As long as you let me return the favor.” He says with a smirk as he keeps his eyes closed. “You know what that leads to, baby.” He adds, enjoying the banter and flirtation.
You hum, hating that your body reacts so viscerally to his low, raspy tone. Seductive and alluring and you know the masseuses completely believe your little ruse. You are acting like a couple that is very comfortable and still enamored. “Baby, that’s what I want it to lead to.” You promise and giggle when the ladies do.
Harry smirks, taking a deep breath a moment later to control himself. He doesn’t want to start to get hard and embarrass himself. Especially when this is all a ruse. It’s not real even if he is starting to want it to be.
The two of you fall quiet again, both enjoying the massages and far too soon, the ladies are placing warm cloths over your eyes and leaving the room to let you rest. You sigh softly, feeling completely relaxed and you want to thank Harry, but right now you can’t even speak.
Harry doesn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. The soft music playing, body practically melted into the massage table. He could almost fall asleep. He is so thankful at this moment that he didn’t cancel and he asked you to come with him.
It feels like forever, but it’s honestly probably only been about ten minutes when the technicians return. They softly greet you and slowly start to turn up the lights to a setting where you can see without hurting your eyes. “I think I might have to find a spa in New York.” You groan. “I need that at least once a week.”
Harry chuckles, "there are memberships at my gym for massages. Maybe we can sign up." He offers and you hum, knowing that you aren't that connected to share a gym membership with massages. "Next is a facial." The techs announce and Harry has never had one but he's open to it.
You can’t help but sigh softly, happy with how you are being pampered. “Oh you will love it, Harry.” You coo. “It will make you feel refreshed.” You could make a crude joke. But you just grin to yourself as you both look over at each other.
Harry must admit he enjoys the facial, feeling refreshed as the techs escort you to the lagoon. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you like. We have champagne and some snacks for you." She says and holds her hands out for your robe.
You come off the table, slipping into your robe. With the ladies here, you don’t worry about giving Harry a glimpse of your ass, even though you have seen his. He is busy with his own robe. “Thank you so much.” You smile gratefully as you tie the robe and turn towards the man these women think is your husband. “That was amazing. I feel like a new woman.”
Harry hums in agreement, feeling more relaxed than he has in months, maybe years. The only thing that would make it better would be an orgasm but he’d never ask that of you. “Let’s go check out the lagoon.” He says, adjusting his robe.
“We better put our swimsuits back on.” You hadn’t gotten fully dressed, just slipped into your robe. “Oh, yeah.” Harry chuckles. “It would be a shock for anyone else out there.” You snort. “We could just claim we thought it was a nudist resort.” You joke as you pick up your clothes and slide your bottoms on under your robe. “Or maybe just topless.”
Harry chuckles, "well, it's definitely European." He says as he pulls on his trunks, trying to ignore the way his cock twitches at the idea of you topless while you enjoy the lagoon.
You laugh as you pull your arms out of the top of your robe, back turned to Harry and quickly put your top back on. The dress will just stay off, knowing that you are going to be in water. “Is it bad that I just want to sip a cocktail and pray the water is hot?”
Harry shakes his head, "definitely not bad. Exactly what I need too." He smirks and looks over at you, trying not to look at you while you get changed. He leaves his shirt off, sliding into his shoes with the robe untied and hanging from him.
“Damn Castillo.” You whistle when you turn around, honestly taken with how good he looks right now. “You look completely relaxed.” You compliment as you reach out and take his shirt from him to hold with your dress. “Let’s go find out what kind of drinks we can have while we are lounging.”
Harry nods, following you and the techs to the private area of the lagoon for guests and he inhales sharply at the sight. It’s beautiful. “Wow.” He murmurs and you echo it as the techs leave and the waiters take over, getting you a menu.
“Damn.” You love how the rock is carved out of the mountains to create the lagoon. It’s perfect and you can barely look at the menu while watching the water steam up. “I think we are in paradise.” You tell him breathlessly.
Harry agrees, nodding as he watches you, “it’s perfect.” He murmurs, “let’s enjoy every second of it.” He says and you nod, “drinks first then I want a snack.” You smile and he shifts to sit down on the chairs that are here for you. Almost like a private cabana.
“Oh yes.” You agree. “Drinks first. Oh, they have a local recommendation.” You point to the drink menu. “I think we should try that.”
Harry nods, having to do whatever you want and he sighs, “you order whatever you desire, this is a vacation and I want you to enjoy every last minute of it.” He is insistent on that.
“This is your vacation too.” You remind him with a soft smile, leaning over and putting your hand on his thigh. He tenses slightly, eyes flickering down to where your hand is covering and you frown. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” You’ve never seen the scars on Harry, but you can’t imagine they are pretty.
He shakes his head, “not anymore. It was hell at first. Pain like I’ve never known.” He admits, wincing slightly from the thought of it, “but it’s - I managed it and now, well, I thought I’d be able to get any woman I want but apparently that’s not the case.”
“What made her seem like your perfect match?” You ask curiously, wanting to know how this woman could possibly be so wonderful and not be completely in love with Harry.
Biting his lip, Harry takes a moment, “she wasn’t. She was practical. I could - I could imagine her being in my home, running it, making sure it was kept up to standard. I could imagine her being a good asset for business meetings and dinners. I never - it didn’t really hit me until after it ended that I was thinking of her as an acquisition and not a lover.”
“So you want someone who can throw a dinner party and have a conversation.” It’s not horrible, it’s a matter of priority for Harry. “Someone who will look good and be good for your image.”
Harry frowns when you put it that way, “well, that was before.” You look over at him, “before…?” He sighs, “before I realized that I want more than that. Lucy wanted more than that, and so do I.”
“That’s good.” You nod in agreement. “Things can look good on a hanger and then fit you horribly.” You grin. “Remember those dad jeans that were all the rage? They made you look twenty pounds heavier than you are and did nothing to flatter that butt of yours.”
Harry snorts, “yeah. I’m glad you help me pick my clothes. I’d be hopeless otherwise.” He shakes his head as your drinks are delivered. “To good clothes.” He toasts and you giggle, clinking your drink against his.
Soon enough, you are in the lagoon, excited to discover it is in fact hot water and you lay back to float. Mindless to absolutely everything but how good this feels. “Oh god, I think this might be better than sex.”
Harry groans in agreement, the water is hot and after the massage, he feels like he’s melted right into the lagoon. “I feel boneless.” He moans, “and I’ve got metal legs.” He teases after a moment.
“Yeah, I know.” You hum. “Gonna start calling you the Bionic Man.” You tease back, making him laugh. “Or maybe Mr. Fantastic.” You think about Reed Richards and how he stretches. You lift your head and smirk at him. “Stretchy.”
He chuckles, “I wish I was stretchy. I can’t do yoga for shit.” He takes a sip of his drink, “more used to directing positions than putting myself in them.” He confesses without thinking about it.
Your mind immediately goes towards something filthy and start to giggle. “You're bossy in bed too?” You tease, winking at him when he snorts. “That tracks.”
He shrugs one shoulder, “I can’t help it. I like to be in control.” He confesses, “in all aspects of my life. I get anxious if anything happens without my approval.” He knows he probably needs therapy but it’s served him well so far.
“So you also need a woman who is more on the submissive side in bed.” You lift a brow. “Are we talking normal dynamics or more of a Christian Grey vibe?” It’s incredibly personal, but you think you’ve gone beyond your normal relationship with this trip. “Because if it’s a red room, I’m hurt you don’t have me shop for toys.”
He snorts, “normal dynamics. I’m not into - into that.” He confesses, “I just like being in control. Making a woman shake in pleasure before I get my own.” He sighs, “I’m asking for a lot, aren’t I?” He asks, knowing he’s asking for more than most are able to give.
You snort. “Fuck no.” You twist, standing up and looking him in the eyes. “A smart, successful, sexy man who wants to give his partner the world and wants her to be a pillow princess?” You shake your head. “Baby, woman should be begging to crawl into your bed. Into your heart. You need a woman who understands exactly what kind of man she has and loves you for who you are.”
Harry’s stomach twists at you calling him baby and he shifts in the water, “maybe one day I’ll find her.” He says despite his eyes lingering on you. He wonders what you’d be like in bed, his cock twitching at the thought of making you moan his name, but he pushes that thought aside, not wanting to make this uncomfortable.
“I know you will.” You shoot him a small wink, a little jealous of whoever manages to land Harry. He’s a good man and it seems like he wants to be wanted. Wants to give a life to the woman he loves. “For now, I’ll enjoy people thinking I’m Mrs. Castillo.”
He smiles, glancing across the lagoon to the other swimmers and he wonders what it would be like to have you in his life as more than just his friend and personal shopper.
****
“That food was incredible.” He groans, rubbing his stomach. You’re a few days into the trip and Harry has been having a great time. You’ve been sightseeing, eating good food, and he hasn’t found any awkward silences with you. You’re comfortable and funny, and you are so damn smart.
“Yes it was.” You sigh, feeling like you are going to bust. “I need to watch it, might not fit into my clothes for the trip home.” You joke. “And I have to shop for myself.” Harry chuckles and you watch as he glances around the restaurant. “Do you want to go for a walk, or go back to the room?” You offer, not particularly choosy on which happens. “I’m up for anything.”
Harry taps his fingers on the table, “let’s go for a walk. We need to get ready for tomorrow though, for going to the igloo.” He couldn’t change the booking and honestly, he wants to take you to see the northern lights. Even if the proposal is by the wayside, he wants to go and enjoy it with you.
“Is it sad that I am so looking forward to that?” You ask as you stand up and put your napkin down. You are wearing a cute dress, even if you aren’t here on a romantic vacation with Harry, it’s important to look nice. Especially when he looks so handsome.
He grins, “I am too.” He holds his arm out towards you, wanting to show you he can be a gentleman. “I don’t - I’m trying not to think about why I booked it and just look forward to what it is.”
“We will lay under the stars and fall in love with the sky.” You hum as you wrap your hand around his arm. “And until you believe it, I will remind you about the bullet you just dodged.”
Harry nods, “fair enough, sweetheart.” He hopes he can forget about Lucy. Move on from the rejection but the way you’re looking at him may be exactly what he needs.
You don’t want to admit to yourself how good the little pet names sound to you. If you wanted to, you could slip into the fantasy of Harry falling for you. You know that he’s nowhere near ready for dating, and you are a friend. “It’s so beautiful here.” You stroll outside, taking advantage of the natural beauty. “But I think that I would miss New York too much to move.”
He hums in agreement, his bicep flexing under your touch unconsciously, and he admires the beautiful surroundings before turning his gaze to you. You’re beautiful and it makes his stomach twist but he doesn’t want to ruin this friendship between you. No, he will keep it friendly, even if he will be sharing an igloo with you this time tomorrow.
****
“So we are sleeping here tonight?” You ask, even though you know that you need to pack a bag. It will be cold, but there’s a fur blanket on the bed and you were encouraged to snuggle together. The suggestion had been given to you with a grin and a wink. You hadn’t mentioned that you aren’t together, just giggling quietly and leaning into Harry’s side.
“Yeah. They will deliver dinner in an hour then it will be dark in two hours.” He says, glad he didn’t skip this because he does want to see the northern lights. Sleeping next to you in the same bed has been a little torturous after watching you prance around in bikinis and pretty dresses during this trip. Now he will be sharing a cold igloo with you.
“Perfect.” You give him a small smile. “We will watch nature’s view and tick something off my bucket list.” You’ve always been dreaming of seeing this and now you will be able to. “Thank you for bringing me.” You hum softly. “Really, Harry. This has been magical.”
Harry nods, reaching out to squeeze your hand, “I’m glad we did this. I do wish they had got my message about the proposal being off.” He sighs, glancing around at the flowers and champagne on display.
“It’s okay.” You promise, reaching out and squeezing his arm. “We have drank our weight in champagne. What’s one more bottle?” They have brought you bottles every single night and you’ve been impressed by how they are accommodating.
He looks at you and then back at the sky, “maybe a few more bottles.” He confesses, “then maybe I’ll be able to forget the rejection. I think that’s the worst part. The rejection. I thought - after the surgery that I wouldn’t get heartbroken and I- I didn’t think I’d be rejected. I solved the problem - being short - and it still wasn’t enough.” He shakes his head, “I still wasn’t enough.” He confesses, lost as he looks out of the igloo.
Your heart aches and you hate that he feels so rejected. Reaching out, you cup his cheeks and turn his face towards you. “You are enough.” You promise him seriously, staring into those soulful brown eyes and hoping that he believes you. “You are more than enough. I promise. You are….you’re amazing Harry.”
Harry stares at you as you cup his cheek. Your words making his heart clench and he sees the sincerity in your eyes. The way you look at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. It’s intoxicating and he can’t help it, he surges forward to press his lips to yours.
You gasp and Harry takes advantage of that. Swallowing down your moan as his tongue slides into your mouth to taste you. You shouldn’t do this, but you don’t want to pull away. You can’t, not the way your stomach is twisting and your arms immediately come around his shoulders as you press your body against his.
The way you press against him has his cock twitching in his pants while he devours your mouth. It’s a little messy and desperate but he needs to feel desired. As pathetic as that will sound to himself tomorrow, right now, he can’t help but need your touch. His hands slide down to your ass, pulling you even closer until he pulls back to press kisses to your jaw. “I want you. Tell me - tell me what you want.”
You whimper at the desperation in his tone, in his touch. Closing your eyes, your hands slide over broad shoulders and down to his sweater. “You.” You promise breathlessly. “I want you, Harry.” The desire is overriding your common sense and you want him to forget about everything but you.
He groans, cock hardening even more in his pants, and he bites down your neck as his hands reach for the hem of your shirt. He needs to see you. If he’s truly honest, he has imagined you naked before. He’s always found you attractive and you have snuck into his thoughts while he masturbated in the past. He wants to see if his fantasies matched reality. When you pull back so he can tug your shirt over your head, he groans at the sight of your tits covered with delicate lace. “La Perla?” He asks and you snort, “Target.” He grins and leans down to press kisses to your chest, his hand on your waist until he’s biting down on your nipple through the lace.
You think it’s cute that he thought you would wear that expensive lingerie but you can’t afford that. You gasp when the sting of his teeth registers and you reach down to run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck.” You moan. “More baby. Feels so good.”
His hands slide up your back until he’s unclasping your bra, the soft skin beneath his hands has his heart pounding and he drags the straps down your arms to expose your tits to his hungry gaze. “Shit. Fucking gorgeous.” He groans as he surges forward again, biting down on your nipple without the barrier of lace.
You’re completely boneless when his wet mouth wraps around your nipple. Whining his name as you try to participate. Stroking his chest and sliding a hand down to press the heel of your palm against his hard cock. He’s thick, you can feel that through the dark khaki pants he is wearing. Groaning again. “Fuck baby. Knew you were thick.” You praise.
He groans when you palm him through his pants, cock twitching under your touch, and he desperately wants to see more of you. He pulls back from your nipple with a pop, his hands sliding down to your pants. His movements are slow, giving you time to tell him no if you don’t want this to go any further.
You lean back, letting go of him to pop the button open on your pants. “I want to see what you’ve got, Castillo.” You challenge with a grin. “You said I should be shaking in pleasure, so make me.”
He grins back, knowing that he can make that happen. "Oh don't worry baby, you'll be shaking for me." He promises, pushing your pants down and he groans at the mismatched cotton panties. So simple and you're not trying to impress anyone which makes them completely authentic. He shifts to kneel down, helping you step out of your pants, and he grabs your ass to drag you closer so he can press his nose into your covered pussy, wanting to smell you.
You would feel a little self conscious if it wasn’t for the groan that Harry lets out. Obviously approving of your scent as he presses closer. You look down at him, completely amazed to see this man on his knees in front of you. You bite your lip, wanting to beg him to strip down too, but it’s obvious that he is in charge. “Baby….”
He hums, hooking his fingers in your panties, loving your whine, and he helps you step out of them. "So fucking pretty." He murmurs, dragging his gaze along your form. You whimper at the intensity and he runs his hand along your calf up to your thigh, lifting it onto his shoulder so he can lean forward and bury his nose back between your folds, nudging your clit.
He doesn’t lay you down. He doesn’t get comfortable. He just dives in. You gasp when his nose presses against your clit and his tongue slowly slides around your entrance. As if he is sampling you before he feast. “Oh fuck.” Your knee would buckle, but your leg on his shoulder is helping to support you. “You don’t have to…” Harry growls into your folds and pulls away for just a second. “I want to.” He declares, killing any kind of protest from you.
He is ravenous for you, been curious for days about what you'd sound like with his tongue buried inside you. Harry laps at your clit, groaning at the way your fingers tangle in his hair as you struggle for balance. His hand squeezes your ass and keeps you upright while his tongue pushes back and into your leaking hole.
“Oh fuck, Harry.” The igloo might be cold, but you are on fire right now. Not even caring that goose flesh is rising and your nipples are hard as you can feel your body shiver. It’s not shivering because of the cold but because of how good his tongue feels inside you.
Harry loves how you react to his tongue, sliding it deep and his nose presses against your clit. Your chest heaves and he groans, sliding his free hand up to squeeze your breast as he slides his tongue back to flick over your clit.
“Oh fuck baby.” You whine, eyes rolling back as your hips rock forward. Encouraging him to give you more. “You are so good, I- I can’t believe you are eating my pussy.” You moan breathlessly, looking down into his dark eyes again.
He loves how you look at him like he’s the only man in the world, totally enamored by your expression. He desperately wants to see it change as you cum for him. He groans into your folds, shaking his head side to side to devour you as he sucks on your clit, tugging it between his pursed lips.
You don’t know how long he holds you there. Kneeling in front of you as if worshiping your body but you are the one praying. Curses and praises fall easily, heart pounding as he works you closer and closer to completely shattering under the softening light of the fading day.
You pant and he knows you’re getting closer. He sucks harder, pinching your nipple with one hand and his hand on your ass slides along so he’s pressing his fingers between your cheeks. His index finger presses against your puckered hole, wanting to feel all of you in his grip when you fall apart for him.
Your surprise is what throws you over the edge. Body reacting and shaking as you cry out his name loud enough to echo around the icy room that you are in. Heat floods your entire system as you grab his head for support, knee shaking and body convulsing as the waves of pleasure crash over you.
Harry groans as you cum for him, shaking so hard as you lean over him and his fingers dig into your side to keep you upright while he works you through it. He laps at your cunt, tasting your orgasm from your folds and he loves it.
He doesn’t stop until you need him too, pulling back and licking his lips and he slowly sets your shaky leg down to steady you. “Oh fuck.” You moan softly, trying to catch your breath. “I- I want to touch you.” You beg, needing to give him pleasure too.
He looks up at you, seeing the way your chest heaves, and he nods, “sure baby.” He shifts to stand up, grabbing your waist to drag you against him and you grab the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. You don’t seem to mind the taste of yourself in his mouth and he loves that.
Your fingers fumble for his pants, immediately unbuttoning them and starting to tug down the zipper. You feel amazing and you want to give him the same sensations. Eager to touch and taste him. Wanting to see the wrecked look on his face that you know he saw on yours. Wanting him to believe that he is desired.
The eagerness in your touch has him groaning especially when you squeeze his cock through his briefs. “Shit, sweetheart.” He pants, leaning in to kiss your jaw as you pull his cock free of his briefs.
You hum, squeezing him and pumping him gently before you pull away to sink down to your knees. Your clothes are on the floor, a barrier for you against the cold but you don’t even care about that. You groan when you see his beautiful cock, hard and starting to leak. “Fuck baby, you have such a pretty cock.” You coo, leaning in to lap at the tip while you look up at him.
He thought you were going to jerk him off so to see you on your knees for him has him twitching violently in your mouth. “Fuck. Oh shit. You look pretty with it in your mouth.” He says, caressing your cheek, “so fucking pretty.”
He tastes exquisite, just like you knew he would. Musky, a little salty, the body wash he uses making you drip from how wet you get. You watch to make this good for him, so fucking good. Reaching up, you hold his hips as you start to press him deeper into your throat, swallowing around the thick length and moaning around him when he twitches.
Harry can’t look away, he can’t even blink as he watches you suck his cock. It’s intoxicating and he swears he could barely breathe but his chest heaves when he pushes down your throat. “Oh my - Jesus Christ.” His eyes flutter but don’t close, wanting to commit this to memory.
You love it. Your hands slide under his shirt, begging for him to take it off so you have more access to him. Touching him and coming back to hold his hips as your head starts to bob. Pulling off his cock and then taking him deep again. Breathing through your nose and feeling your eyes water as you look up at him.
He hates even looking away enough to pull his shirt over his head but he does, tossing the cashmere across the room and he groans when you pull off his cock with a gasp, spit dripping from your mouth. “Jesus Christ. You’re - fuck. Get on the bed. I don’t want to cum like this. Not this time.”
Harry’s control is slipping and you love it. Scrambling to your feet and rushing towards the fur covered bed. Laying down and spreading your legs wide. “I’m clean.” You promise, knowing that you don’t have to worry about him. “And I’ve got birth control covered.”
“I used protection with Lucy. Every time.” He says, knowing you won’t want to hear the name of another woman right now but he wants to reassure you. He would never put you at risk. You nod, “I trust you.” He shifts to kneel on the bed, and he trusts you, knowing you wouldn’t risk either of you. “Shit.” He murmurs, running his hand along your thigh as he shuffles closer until he’s rubbing the head of his cock against your clit.
Your eyes flutter, enjoying the heat and pressure of his cock as he starts to position himself. His eyes are dark, focusing on you with an intensity that makes you shiver. “Harry.” You beg softly. “Don’t tease.”
He chuckles at your whine, loving how desperate you are for him, and he nods, “I got you baby.” He promises and he starts to push into you with a groan of your name. You’re so wet and tight, like fucking velvet, and he pants at how you throw your head back as you take him.
He’s so fucking thick. Your pussy is stretching to take him, making you moan as he fills you. “Fuck, fuck.” You hiss, legs wrapping around him and your heels pressing into his ass. Encouraging him to sink deeper. “Feel so good baby, so fucking perfect inside me.” You whimper, turning your head to kiss along his jaw.
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to bust when you’re so goddamn tight. Pulsing around him like you’re trying to push him over the edge too early. He presses against your cervix and turns your head so he can press his lips to yours. His tongue sliding into your mouth to devour you while he regains control for a moment.
You give him complete control. Giving into the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck while he holds still inside you. Obviously needing a moment. You don’t mind, loving how thoroughly he kisses as he presses deep inside your body.
Harry groans, pecking your lips, and his mouth hovers over yours as he starts to rock his hips. He’s eager for you, twitching as your walls flutter around his cock while he starts a slow pace inside your body.
Every thrust is designed to drive you crazy. You just know it. Moaning as he moves inside you. Whimpering every time his hips rock forward and he fills you again. “Harry.” You breathe into him. “So good. You’re so good.”
He loves how you seem so fucking lost when he pushes deep and he isn’t in a rush. He wants you to cum at least once like this for him. His hand slides along your thigh, lifting it higher so he can sink deeper, trying to find the angle that makes you cry out.
You love how he isn’t rushing. He’s taking his time as he completely ruins you on his cock. When he shifts his hips to the right, you cry out, walls clenching down around him. “Right there?” He grunts cockily, smirking as he repeats the thrust to pull another moan out of you. “Yeah, that’s the spot.” Your eyes roll back. “Yes! Yes it is.” You pant.
He is entranced by the way you writhe beneath him but he keeps the same angle and pace, watching your chest heave and he ducks his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, biting down and he grins around your flesh when he feels you clench around him.
“Oh shit!” You gasp, arching up into his mouth. You love the way he touches you, the pure control he exercises. He is determined to completely wreck you. “Baby, more, I need more.” You pant.
He obeys, rocking into you a little harder and faster, groaning your name as he shifts so he can snake his hand between you, wanting to rub your clit.
Harry is a giver. You moan again, shifting to let him do what he wants with you. “Oh fuck baby.” You groan, clenching down around him again. “Goddamn I knew you would be good in bed, but not this good.”
He chuckles at the compliment, chest heaving in desire and pride, and he leans in to kiss your neck, “wanna make you feel good. Don’t want you to forget how I make you feel.” He confesses, rubbing your clit a little faster. He needs you to cum like this for him. He nods, "cum for me. Wanna feel it. Wanna hear it. I know you can do it, baby. Cum for me, sweetheart." He demands, keeping the pace of his cock and fingers the same.
He is urging you on, your body already primed to cum after already coming apart for him. So it only takes a half dozen more swipes of his finger, six deep thrusts of his cock, before you are crying out his name. “Haaaaaarrrrrryyyyy!” You scream, shaking underneath him and soaking him in a hot wave of your juices.
He works you through it, your pussy squelching and he loves it. "Fuck, baby. That's it. Jesus, look at you. Taking me so well, squeezing my cock." He pants, looking down at his shiny length pumping in and out of you. He pulls out of you, wanting you to cum again. "On your stomach." He demands, chest heaving.
This Harry is unrestrained. His jaw is tight and his nostrils are flared, looking completely dominant. It’s sexy and you couldn’t imagine not wanting more of this, this man completely. “Fuck.” You whimper, flipping over and pushing to your knees. Shaking your ass at him playfully as you look over your shoulder. “Getting cold, Castillo.” You tease. “Come warm me up.”
He smirks, smacking your ass until he pushes on your back, forcing you on your stomach. He straddles your thighs, shifting closer until he can push his cock back into your weeping cunt. “You’re such a brat.” He growls, pushing back into you in one thrust and he gathers your wrists, keeping you pinned to the bed.
“Oh fuck!” You squeal, back arching but his body weight pins you down. Your eyes roll back and you let out a moan when he starts to fuck you, the pace much faster and rougher now. “Yes, I’m- I’m your brat.” You pant out, pushing back against his thrusts, wanting more.
He loves hearing you say that. His thrusts become impossibly harder and faster as he controls you with his body weight. You can’t move, or you can do is moan and every moan of his name has his cock twitching. He needs you to cum one more time for him and then he will fill you up.
Harry is pounding into you, every thrust shredding up against something incredible inside you. Wishing you could see his face as he fucks you. See his face. “Fu-fuuuuuuck.” You moan, panting through your whimpers of his name. “So-s-so good.”
He groans into your neck when he presses his entire weight onto your body, his lips pressing onto your neck and shoulders as you take everything he gives you. “That’s it. Good girl. Take. It.” He grunts with each thrust.
You love the feel of him on top of you. The weight, the heaviness of him. One more thrust has you spasming around him again. Unable to believe that you are cumming for the third time. “Harry!” You cry out his name so loud that you swear your voice cracks, but you don’t care. Too busy watching the stars burst behind your eyes.
Harry groans, thrusting into you to work you through your orgasm but it’s hard with how tight you’re squeezing him. He growls, fingers digging into your ass as he shifts to his knees to get deeper and within a few thrusts, he’s burying himself deep to fill you up with his hot cum.
You melt into the bed, whining because it feels so good to have him fill you up. Completely blissed out and listening to the sexy sounds of him riding out his orgasm behind you. You hate that he shifted, that you don’t have his weight pressing you down, but he’s grinding into you as if trying to pump every drop of his cum into you. “Fuck.”
He pants, forehead sweaty and chest heaving as he looms over you while you are melted into the sheets. “Fuck. So good.” He murmurs, bending down to kiss along your spine. “So fucking good for me.”
Your walls are still fluttering and you giggle quietly. “Had no choice.” You joke. “Fuck, you just- holy shit.” You breathe out. “I guess you have a lot more self control than other men.” It’s probably the best sex of your life and you decide to tell him that.
“Not always.” He confesses against your skin, “but I like to think I can outlast most men.” He chuckles softly, “and I’m too addicted to hearing and feeling a woman cum around me. More than the orgasm I have.” He confesses, “something about it.” He sighs and clicks his tongue while his softening cock twitches inside you.
“You’re amazing.” You promise him, twisting your head to look at him. “Fucking amazing.” You hear a sharp tap at the door and hum. “I think that’s our dinner.”
He hums, carefully pulling out of you and he reaches for his briefs to pull them on along with his pants. “Go to the bathroom. I’ll let them set up.” He says as he pulls on his shirt. You nod, shuffling off the crumpled bed to rush on shaky legs to the bathroom. Harry opens the door, a blush on his cheeks from the smell of sex and the messy bed. It’s obvious what happened here.
The staff, to their credit, are completely professional. Setting up the prearranged dinner with another bottle of champagne and arranging the cloched dishes elegantly on the small table. “Enjoy the rest of your evening sir.”
Harry nods, watching them leave the igloo and he sighs, looking back at the door. You are incredible, sexy, beautiful…smart. He just isn’t sure if he wants to get involved in anything serious after Lucy dumped him. He needs some time to figure out what he wants. He doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with you.
You clean up quickly and slip into the robe that is hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “Is the coast clear?” You joke when you come out and see the table arranged with dinner. “Perfect.” You grin. “Best thing after amazing sex is sleep or food.”
Harry nods, looking over at you as he pours a glass of champagne, and he offers you a small smile. “Come on sweetheart, you need to eat after that.” He orders, handing you the glass of champagne.
“Yes I do.” You agree although you see the pinch around Harry’s eyes. There’s something on his mind and you wonder if you’ve done something wrong or if he’s just being reminded about the breakup with the dinner being delivered. “You need to eat too.” You remind him with a smirk. “You did most of the work.”
Harry smiles, glad that you aren’t making this weird after he just fucked your brains out. It’s true what they say, “to get over someone you need to get under someone” because Lucy is the furthest thing from his mind right now. He sits down and you both start to eat.
The food is wonderful and you push your plate away when you can’t eat any more. “That was delicious.” You groan. “The food here is just amazing. Hell, everything has been amazing.” Tomorrow you go back to reality and you will have to throw yourself back into work and life but it has been a beautiful, relaxing time. “I hope I can keep my eyes open long enough to see the lights.” You joke.
Harry sets his knife and fork down and leans back in his chair to look at you, “don’t worry I will wake you up if you fall asleep. I really am excited to see the lights.” He confesses, his back aching a little from how hard he fucked you. “We need to be up early to head back to the airport.” He reminds you, “I tried to get a later flight when they booked this but I need to be back in New York for a meeting the next day.”
“That’s not a problem.” You promise. “I’ve got to get back to work. There is an event in the Hamptons this coming weekend that I have to source outfits for.” You explain as you pick up your champagne again. “Plus I need to make sure Fred isn’t dead.” Harry frowns. “Fred?” He asks and you grin. “My fern. Fred the fern. The only kind of pet I can keep alive.” You joke.
He chuckles, “I haven’t even got a Fred. I’m always out for work or traveling. Having a pet…or a fern would be impossible.” He sighs and reaches for the bottle of champagne to pour you another glass. “The Hamptons? My mom keeps telling me we need a family vacation but I can’t take the time and Peter has Charlotte now. They are trying for a baby.” He says, a little bitter that his younger brother seems to have his life together and Harry didn’t even get to propose.
“That’s good for them.” You comment. “I’ve never thought about kids in more than an abstract concept.” You admit. “Never had a man I honestly considered being a father.” You shrug. “But maybe one day, how about you? Want kids? Like kids?” You ask, curious about his own feelings on having offspring.
He sighs, looking down at his hands, “I want kids. I like kids but I - I would need the right partner. I want to dedicate more time to a family but I’m so busy with work. I’d need the right partner in life to have kids. We can hire a nanny, hire a cook, and have staff but being a good person and a mother? You can’t buy that. I want to find the right person for me to have children with, not just a person. Does that make sense?” He knows he’s rambled a little bit but he thought Lucy would be a good life partner.
“It makes perfect sense.” You reach out under the table and touch his knee. “It’s a big task, raising kids. You need someone who’s going to help you raise a kid you can release into the world and be proud of.” You think he would make an amazing father, but it might be a little too much to mention right after having sex. He might think you are hinting at something you aren’t. “So someone that could have a more flexible schedule when you have kids is more what you are looking for. Someone who could nurture.”
He nods, “I have to be practical. I want to be the best father I could be but I also need to provide. I need a partner who can nurture and not just want to be a socialite who uses her kids as an accessory.” He briefly imagines you in his life for a moment. You’re so sweet and kind. He imagines you’d be an incredible mother. “Still, that isn’t happening anytime soon…I gotta give myself some time after breaking up with Lucy before I jump into anything else.”
You smile and nod. “That’s exactly what you need. Time to process. Even if you didn’t love Lucy, you need to move on from that relationship.” You aren’t offended that he’s not jumping to be with you, you didn’t expect it. You’re here to be a friend and you just happened to sleep together. Nothing more. “I would say don’t try to jump into anything for at least a month or six weeks.”
He nods, glad you understand and don’t think he’s jumping into a relationship with you. You seem to understand him and he appreciates that more than you know. “Lucy suggested I go to Adore. Ask them to matchmake me.” He snorts at the idea. It worked for Peter but Peter is used to giving up control…Harry isn’t. “Thank you for being here. For everything. I really appreciate it.”
“I seem to recall that it’s been my pleasure.” You tease. “Multiple times.” That makes him chuckle and you smile before you drain the last sip of your champagne. “If you go to Adore to be set up, just-“ you pause. “Don’t work with Lucy.” You advise him. “You don’t want to complicate things even more.”
Harry nods in agreement, knowing he cannot do anything with Lucy. He needs to move on and she will go back to John. He thought that would happen when he saw the look on her face while she told him she didn’t love him. She loves John. Even if he can’t give her 1% of what Harry’s offering.
After dinner, you change into some pajamas, knowing that the sex might just be a one time thing that won’t be repeated. You climb into the bed and look up at the huge glass that makes up the roof. “Now we wait.” You joke, looking over at where Harry is checking his phone.
Harry hums, opening his arm for you to snuggle into his side which you do. Your hand caresses his chest and he smiles, content to live in this moment despite what awaits him in New York. You are almost asleep when Harry nudges you, “look.” He murmurs, jostling you softly. “Look up.”
You hum sleepily, almost protesting but your eyes flutter open as you look up. Instantly awake when you see the gorgeous swirl of colors and lights hovering in the sky in the window above. “Oh my god.” You whisper, your hand on his chest as you take it in. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” You whisper, completely in awe.
Harry is in awe of this moment. The lights above, you in his arms, and his heart lurches in response but he pushes that aside. You don’t want a man who has no idea what he’s doing. It’s not fair to you, even if this trip has made him realize that Lucy was not the one for him. He caresses your back, “it’s gorgeous.” He murmurs in agreement.
You want to thank him for bringing you here. Finally able to tear your eyes away, you twist your head to look up at Harry. “Thank you.” You murmur softly, leaning up and pressing your lips to his. “I am never going to forget this.”
Harry returns the kiss, nudging your nose against his. "Me neither. I am glad you came with me. Thank you." He pecks your lips again and settles back into the pillow, caressing your back as he watches the lights dance in the sky.
You settle back into his arms again and sigh as you watch the lights in the sky. Content to just absorb the moment until you are drifting off to sleep in his arms to dream about impossible ideas.
****
Harry's car pulls up outside your apartment and he opens the door to help you out while your driver gets your luggage. The journey home was a little bittersweet for Harry, reminded that he should've been engaged on this trip back but he is happy you came with him. He had an incredible time and he admits he's been a little distant since he woke up. He isn't ready to be back in the city, answering questions about what happened with him and Lucy. "Thank you for coming." He says again, looking down your street until his gaze drifts back to you.
“Thank you for taking me.” You smile at him as you reach out to take his hand. You rub the back of his hand gently. “I’ll take care of the ring for you today.” You promise, squeezing his hand slightly in support. “Don’t worry about a thing. Let me know if there is anything else you need from me.” You hadn’t talked about the sex when you woke up or on the flight home. You might never talk about it. You’re fine with that as long as he doesn’t feel like he needs to push you away. “Whatever you need.”
"Thank you, honey." He leans in to kiss your cheek. He lingers for a second, "I'll see you soon." He murmurs, pulling back when the driver returns after putting your luggage at your door. "Bye, Harry." You smile and he nods, watching you make your way into your apartment building and he sighs, getting back into his car.
****
Groaning, you drop onto your couch and sigh. Exhausted after a long day, you had hit the ground running and hadn’t even stopped for lunch. You’re hungry and tired, needing a glass of wine and a bath. But you’ve gotten one of your clients completely taken care of for the Hamptons. Your phone rings and you huff out a sigh before you pick it up, frowning when you see Harry’s name. “Mr. Castillo.” You had decided to be a little more professional the next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t been expecting to so soon. “What can I do for you?”
Harry sighs, rubbing his cheek, “I need you again.” He blurts out and your stomach twists, “what?” You think he wants to fuck you again and he huffs, “my mother. Shit, I love her but she called and she - I thought - did you return the ring yet?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair.
Harry seems to be rambling, not making any sense whatsoever. You frown, thinking he will be upset with you for not returning it yet. “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t get a chance to return it but I will first thing in the morning.”
Harry is relieved that you haven’t returned it yet. “Don’t.” He blurts out and you frown, “don’t?” He nods and sighs, “my mother wants the family to go to the Hamptons this weekend and I- she said for me to bring Lucy. I didn’t have it in me to tell her I didn’t propose and we broke up. I need - shit. Feel free to say no but I need you to pretend to be Lucy for the weekend.”
You are shocked silent for a few moments. Eyes wide and you are frozen until you hear him. “Hello?” He says your name. “Are you there? Did you hang up on me?” You shake your head. “I’m- I’m here. You want me to be Lucy for the weekend?” You stammer out and Harry sighs. “I know it’s crazy, I just- she wants this so badly and I have such a hard time saying no to her.” It makes you soften slightly, this man being soft for his mother. Not wanting to break her heart. “I- I guess I could.” You tell him after a moment. “But are you sure this is a good idea?”
“I, uh, I don’t know but I- I need to talk to Peter, because of course, he and Charlotte know Lucy but I just need to - I don’t know. Maybe you can pretend and then do something to make us ‘break up’ and garner my mom’s sympathy. She will likely be mad at me for breaking up with another woman. She’s desperate for me to get married and I just can’t see the disappointment on her face when I tell her Lucy and I broke up.”
“Oh Harry.” You sigh softly. “I’ll make your mother hate me.” You promise. “She will be so happy you dodge a bullet.” You know that it’s crazy, but you know you can’t leave him twisting right now. “When are we leaving?”
Harry sighs in relief, “I owe you that damn ring as a thanks.” He chuckles nervously, “I know it’s late notice but we are leaving on Thursday. I’ll have my driver take us out to their house. I just want - I need to not be a failure.” He murmurs, “I can’t handle it from her. Not again.”
There’s some family dynamics at play and you can understand that. “Don’t worry.” You promise. “I’ve got to get my clients cleared for the weekend, but I’ll be ready by no later than eight. Does that work?”
Harry can’t even express how grateful he is. “Thank you, honey. I can’t - Jesus. I owe you some Cartier.” He chuckles, “or Hermes. You can pick out a Birkin.” He promises and he inhales deeply, “I’ll pick you up then. Thank you.”
You snort and hum softly. “I don’t want your money or for you to buy me anything, Harry.” You promise, smiling through the phone. “I’ll be ready. And we will get through this together, okay?”
He smiles against the phone at your words, “together.” He echoes, knowing you could’ve easily slapped him for sleeping with you and not talking about it after. He is grateful you’re still his friend and he is relieved that he doesn’t have to tell his mother just yet that he’s a failure at love and relationships.
At 8pm on Thursday, you are waiting on the sidewalk with a bag as the sleek car Harry owns pulls up the curb. You had worked your ass off to make sure that you were ready and all your work was done, but you had pulled it off. Your bag was packed with stylish clothes that will work for any occasion to put a mother off a potential daughter-in-law and the box with the ring is in your hand. You had felt weird about putting it on before now.
Harry opens the door before his driver who gets out to grab your luggage, “do you hate me for making you go on another trip so soon?” He asks, reaching to pull you in for a hug and presses a kiss to your cheek.
You laugh quietly and try to suppress the way the butterflies flutter in your stomach. Harry isn’t trying to get you back into bed. He probably hasn’t even thought about it since that night. “No.” You shrug. “Never been to the Hamptons before.”
He hums, “I wish you were going under different circumstances. My mom tends to have quite an itinerary.” He snorts and guides you over to the door, opening it so you can slide into the backseat. “Honey, you look gorgeous.” He compliments you. It’s the perfect outfit for meeting his mom. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I’m gonna have to call you Lucy in front of them. Peter and Charlotte too. I told them what I’m doing. They think I’m crazy but I just - I need to not see that look in my mom’s eyes.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not ideal, but this is a favor for Harry. “I-I felt weird just putting this on.” You admit, opening the box. “Are you sure that you’re okay with me wearing this?” You ask softly. “I have a moissanite ring that I could wear.” You offer, pulling out the ring that you wear sometimes. It’s not nearly as costly and it sparkles beautifully.
He scoffs, “my mother would immediately know. She would be on my ass for not getting you a real ring. Here, let me.” He takes the box from your hand, gently taking out the ring, and he reaches for your hand after tossing the box aside. “Only the best for the future Mrs. Castillo.” He teases and slides the ring onto your left hand.
You try not to let your heart race, watching him as he puts the ring on your finger. You’re lying to yourself about how your view of him has changed, but it can’t go anywhere. It never can, so you just giggle quietly. “Obviously.” The weight is heavy, the ring gorgeous and you know that it’s something you would proudly wear if it was real. “It’s perfect. It should be, because I picked it out.”
Harry looks at your hand as it displays the ring you picked out. It’s gorgeous and his stomach twists at the sight. He caresses the back of your hand, lifting it to press a kiss to it and offers you a smile, “you have exquisite taste.” He compliments you as the city passes by at a reasonable pace since the rush hour is over.
His manners are perfect and you feel like this man could seduce anyone. You smile as you look down at the ring. “Of course I do.” You tease. “I picked you, didn’t I?” It's the wrong thing to say, and you immediately wince.
Harry chuckles, pleased that you are acting so nonchalant about this. It's a big ask - he's asking you to pretend to be someone else - and you are doing that for him. He owes you.
You relax when he doesn’t get that sad look in his eyes and you reach for his hand. “Tell me what you’ve told your mother about Lucy.” You encourage, wanting to be on the same page. Holding his hand because it’s important to be casually intimate with each other. More than you have been, you’re supposed to be engaged to him.
He sighs, “not a lot. Thankfully. I told her I met Lucy at the wedding, that she works for Adore. She has great style and - I, uh, I guess that’s it.” He confesses with a sigh. “We don’t really talk much if it isn’t about work.” He confesses, “but she knows that Lucy has an ex called John.”
“John.” You wrinkle your nose slightly. “Is it bad to admit that I’ve always hated that name?” You ask with a huff. “Something about it bothers me and I don’t know what it is.” It’s better that he hadn’t told his mother a lot, it makes it easier for you this weekend.
He chuckles, “the guy wants to be an actor. I had to sit through one of his plays. I almost wanted to pull the fire alarm and put everyone out of their misery.” He snorts, “so yeah…I’m not a fan of Johns either.”
You hum and lean into his side, squeezing his hand gently. “I like the name Harry better.” Even if you are supposed to end things with Harry this weekend as ‘Lucy’, you still try to make him feel good. He murmurs something but you don’t quite catch it. “Do we have anything planned for tonight?” You ask
Harry nods, “my mom will want to have dinner together. Tomorrow will be brunch and then going to the beach. They have a private beach.” He reveals, “and then the Castillo party. She invites pretty much the entire area to the house to celebrate the summer.” He says with an affectionate roll of his eyes.
“That sounds like a nice weekend.” You admit, thankful that you had packed appropriately. The dress you had packed sounded like it would work for what would essentially be a garden party. “I love the beach.”
Harry hums, "me too. I never get to enjoy it. I usually spend most of my time on calls in my room." He snorts, "my mom wants us to be one hundred percent present but it's hard when work never quits." He confesses, "and I used it as a distraction."
“Well, we will have to be present to make sure that your mother knows how unsuitable ‘Lucy’ is for you.” You remind him, squeezing his hand again. “And I don’t mind if you work some. Maybe we can go ‘fight’ when you need to take care of something.”
Harry smirks, liking the way you think, "damn smart." He compliments you and looks down at your hand in his, the ring sparkling and his heart lurches once again but he's definitely not thinking of Lucy despite this scheme. "Hamptons here we come." He murmurs, looking out the window to hide his turbulent thoughts.
You let the conversation lull, not disturbed by the silence. Eventually, Harry pulls his hand away and you don’t resist, pulling out your phone to start working through some emails and changing your instant reply. You are not going to be working this weekend so you can dedicate your time to this farce.
The city fades away and soon, you're arriving at the Castillo estate. It's beautiful, even as the night creeps in, and Harry squeezes your hand, "thank you for doing this. You have no idea what it means."
“Of course.” Harry doesn’t rely on people, not for things like this. He’s a very contained person in his private life. So it’s honestly flattering that he would even ask you to help him, although you don’t understand why he wouldn’t just tell his mother the truth. “Anything you need. That’s what friends are for.”
He offers you a smile as you pull up outside the house and the car comes to a stop. He sighs after he inhales deeply. “Let’s do this.” He nods and takes your hand to help you out after he shuffles out of the car once the door is open. He sighs as he looks at the house and the front door opens with the butler and his mom rushes out to greet him. “Harry, sweetheart! You’re here!” She almost squeals and pulls him into her arms despite their height difference.
His mother is a smaller statured woman, her dark hair streaked with grey and you are fascinated that she hasn’t colored it. Using the symbolism of age works in her favor. It’s obvious that she loves her son and you smile politely as you wait for him to introduce you.
Her hands cup his cheeks, looking at him, until her gaze turns to you and Harry clears his throat, gently lowering her hands to reach for yours. “Mama. This is my fiancé. This is - this is Lucy.” He lies, hating how the name sounds coming from his mouth.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You let go of Harry to lean in and pull his mother in for a hug. Wondering if she might baulk at the over affectionate greeting. She makes a sound but you just decide to gush. “Harry has told me so much about you. Mostly good, I promise. You know how it is.”
She falters for a second but she laughs, returning the hug. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Harry hasn’t told us anything other than you matched Peter and Charlotte.” She says with a smile at the mention of her married son. “Come in. We have cocktails ready and you can let me inspect the ring my son bought for you. See if it passes my inspection.”
“Drinks are needed after this week.” You laugh as you take Harry’s hand and let him guide you into the house behind his mother. It’s large, open and you have to admire whomever decorated the space. “Work has been busy after coming back from Iceland.”
“Oh yes. You just tell me how he proposed. I want all the details.” She insists and Harry sighs, “mama. Let her at least have a drink before you get the details.” He pleads and you chuckle, squeezing his hand as he guides you into the parlour where his mom has drinks already made by the staff.
It’s obvious as meddlesome as he might think she is, his mother wants him to be settled down and happy. Her eyes are shining expectantly as you settle onto the couch next to Harry and take a sip of the martini offered to you. “Okay the proposal.” You wiggle slightly in your seat and sigh. “The last night there, we stayed in glass roof igloo, so we could sleep under the northern lights.” You pat his knee fondly. “His assistant did a marvelous job arranging everything. So when we were looking up at the show, he hands me this ring and asks if I would marry him.” You sigh softly. “Of course I couldn’t say no. I mean, how could I? He’s perfect.”
Harry smiles and his mom frowns, “you didn’t plan it yourself, Harry?” She asks and Harry looks at you and then his mom. “I mean, I booked with a travel agent and I didn’t know - I wanted it to be perfect.”
Her frown deepens and it’s the perfect time to say something crass. “He’s just so busy.” You protest, like you completely agree with Harry’s plan to have it planned out by someone else. You laugh. “Besides, he’s so rich, it doesn’t matter who planned the proposal, does it?” You toss Harry a saccharine smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. “He’s a perfect ten on paper.”
His mom raises her eyebrows until Harry clears his throat, squeezing your hand, and he offers his mom a smile, "she knows what she wants." He smirks and his mom nods slowly, not impressed by the look on your face. "I, uh, I suppose it's all different nowadays." She says, trying to backpedal.
“Not really.” You hum, taking another sip of your drink. “Everyone has things they are willing to put up with.” You tell her. “Different qualifiers that line up with your own goals and ambitions. Sometimes it’s sex, sometimes it’s money.” You laugh quietly. “It’s really nice when it’s both.”
His mom tilts her head, “what about love?” She asks softly, wanting her son to have love more than anything else. She doesn’t care about social status or money. She wants him to be happy.
“Of course love.” Despite your best effort to seem shallow, your eyes show that you mean that. You squeeze Harry’s hand and smile at him. “Love is important.” You tell him that, although you are speaking to his mother. “Love should be easy. And it is.”
His mom nods in agreement, “exactly. Very important. If you don’t have love, what else is there in a relationship?” She asks and you smirk, “well, sex.” She snorts, “oh honey, that gets boring after a while. You gotta be able to talk. Sex is ten percent. What about the other ninety?”
“Mama.” Harry groans, dropping his head into his hand. “Shopping.” You answer with a shrug of your shoulders. She doesn’t know that shopping is your literal job, so it makes you sound like you are a good digger. “Harry, honey, these martinis are delicious.” You hum, leaning and kissing his cheek. “Would you get me another one?”
Harry nods, shifting to stand up and he takes the empty glass from your hand. His mom watches him and her eyes drift back over to you. She’s concerned that you aren’t what she wants for her son but then again, she just wants him to be happy. If you make him happy, then that’s all she can ask for. “So Lucy, I should thank you for finding Charlotte. She’s perfect for Peter. What made you think they’re a good match?”
You freeze for a second before you smile, leaning back slightly. “Her smile.” You have never met Charlotte, so you have no clue about her smile. “Her interests align with Peter’s.” You add. “Sometimes you just get a feeling about a potential couple.”
His mom nods, “and you felt that way about Harry when you met him at the wedding?” She asks, curious and eager to hear about what you saw in Harry when you first met him.
You have to remember that Lucy met Harry very recently. Where you have known him for years, only recently getting closer with this entire debacle. Harry is across the room, so you lean forward, nodding. “The first time I saw him, I thought he was beautiful.” You admit, looking down at the ring on your finger. “Smart, charismatic, funny in a dry humor kind of way.” You chew on your bottom lip. “But thank God he has a personal shopper.” You chuckle. “He can’t style himself at all.”
His mom giggles, “oh I know. Some of the things he’d wear and I’d tell him he needs to get a personal shopper. Gave him the number a year ago of this girl who styled my friend and she’s done wonders. He has great style now. She’s a miracle worker. Probably picked out that ring.” She points at the diamond, “he has her pick out all my presents and I need to thank her. He’s gotten me some beautiful gifts.”
Your eyes widen slightly, thankful that his mom didn’t recognize you. “Well, I’m sure she did.” You fluster and look down at the ring again. “Harry just doesn’t want to let anyone down.” You murmur softly. “For a man who can command a room, he is surprisingly a people pleaser.”
She hums, “he’s always been that way. Couldn’t stand to see me or his dad disappointed. Speaking of, where is that husband of mine?” She huffs, “let me go find him.” She says and glides out of the room while Harry hands you the martini glass. “How’s it going?” He asks, curious to see what his mom thinks so far
“I think I’ve started putting her off slightly.” You admit, shrugging and grinning. “I don’t think any momma wants her son to marry a gold digger.” You tell him, reaching out and patting his leg.
He snorts, “yeah. I didn’t get to discuss the prenup my mother arranged with Lucy. She had them drafted years ago for me and Peter. If anyone is digging for gold, I’m not the guy. I’ll give everything to my relationship but she wants to protect us.”
“It’s smart.” You nod. “You’re a wealthy man, you know that some women would just want to take you to the cleaners.” You take another sip of your drink. “You should have a prenup.”
He sighs and sips his drink, “I know. I just hope that when I find the right woman, she doesn’t argue it. I want to be fair and look after her while protecting myself. Shit happens.” He murmurs, looking down at the drink in his hand. “Anyway, Peter and Charlotte will be here soon and then we are having dinner.” He says, nervous for his brother and sister-in-law to see you. He called to tell them the plan which they thought was ridiculous but reluctantly agreed to go along with.
“Do you want to show me the room where I’m staying?” You ask. “We can kill some time and you can check your email without your mom being upset about you working.” The staff had disappeared with your luggage and you assume it’s been set in some guest bedroom.
Harry nods, “we are staying together. I’m sure you’re sick of sharing a bed with me though.” He chuckles and his mind drifts back to that night in the igloo, the way you looked underneath him.
“You aren’t a bad bed fellow.” You chuckle, remembering how you would wake up curled into his arms. It happened nearly every morning and you slipped away before he could wake up. “I think she might think it is strange if I ask for another room.”
He nods in agreement, “yeah. That won’t work. Come on, let’s go check out the room.” He sets his glass down and reaches for your hand, guiding you through the house and up the stairs to the room he occupies if he comes to stay here for a rare weekend.
“The house is beautiful.” You murmur, finding the room to be luxurious comfort without being overly ostentatious. Your bags are already in the room, open and your dresses are hung in the walk in closet. The bedroom even has an attached bathroom so you don’t have to leave the room to get showered to change.
Harry hums, watching you as you caress a dress that’s hanging up in the closet. “My mom spent years looking for the right place here. Refused to settle and she heard from a friend of a friend about this one before it went on the market and she insisted her and my dad get this house.” He explains, “it’s her favorite place.”
“If the beach is just as gorgeous as the house, I can understand why.” Harry snorts and you lift a brow. “Don’t like the sand, Castillo?” You ask, amused by the idea that he wouldn’t like something that wasn’t productive. “I love sunbathing.”
Harry’s cock twitches at the thought of you sitting out in the sun, his mind drifting back to when you wore the bikini during your spa day. Fuck, you were gorgeous. He sighs, “I’m not a beach guy. It’s - it’s not a good use of my time. My mama? She loves the beach. Said it reminds her of where she grew up in Spain.”
“Well, how about you just stay close to me.” You suggest with a grin. “Pretend you have to keep me lotioned up and when she’s not looking, you can check your phone.”
He chuckles, “but make sure you demand it.” He reminds you and you snort, “of course. Gotta make sure she hates ‘Lucy’ by the end of the weekend.” He smiles, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He murmurs and you wink, “hopefully you won’t have to find out.” The intercom buzzes and a voice comes through the system, “dinner is ready in ten minutes.”
“Let me change.” You smirk slightly and move to your bag. “I brought something completely inappropriate to wear for your first dinner with your future in-laws.”
He raises his eyebrows and nods, “go ahead. I’ll freshen up out here. I’m just going to change my shirt.” He says, shrugging off his suit jacket which is far too damn hot for this weather, even if it is chillier in the evenings.
The dress you brought is skin tight, way too short and the cleavage plunges down. It would be perfect for a club but not a dining room. Since Harry has seen you nude anyway, you don’t bother going into the bathroom. Simply changing in the bedroom in front of him.
His eyes focus on his own suitcase until they lift and his jaw drops. “Holy shit.” He mutters, his cock hardening in his pants at the risky outfit and fuck, he knows his mom will hate it but all he wants to do is strip you down. He bites his lip and watches you spin around, “perfect, right? She will hate it.” You giggle at your devious plan and all Harry can do is nod, his throat dry.
You know that it will cause some whispers, maybe even a sharp comment, but the entire point of this charade is to make his mother happy when he announces that his engagement to Lucy is off. “Let’s go to dinner.” You reach for his hand. “And fuck, that linen suit looks amazing on you. You should let me buy you more of them. Even if you don’t like relaxing at the beach.”
He grins at your compliment, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it, “you can pick out whatever you want for me, honey. You have my card details. I need lighter options for the summer.” He squeezes your hand to guide you downstairs and to the dining room where his dad, mom, Peter and Charlotte are just about to sit down.
“Sorry we’re late.” You can see the older man who looks so much like Harry and Peter’s, his jaw drops, eyes widened as he looks you up and down. Harry’s mother doesn’t like it, that’s obvious from the way she purses her lips. “We were busy.” You giggle, knowing everyone will think we're having sex.
Harry clears his throat, hating the way his mom is looking at you when you are not this way. He made you dress and act this way. Peter and Charlotte sit down opposite you and Charlotte asks you how you’ve been. You actually helped her with some of the wedding tasks so she knows who you really are.
“Fantastic.” You like Charlotte, although you kind of got the feeling that she was in love with the idea of being in love rather than wanting to be with Peter because of the way she felt about him. Although it seems like they have grown closer since you last saw her. Maybe marriage and the honeymoon was just what they needed. “I found this pair of vintage Armani heels the other day, they are just perfect for-“ you realize you can’t talk about buying anything for anyone else, even though you had picked them up for Leslie, her best friend and the maid of honor in Charlotte’s wedding. “Work.” You finish, smiling slightly. “But that’s between trying to find perfect matches for others just like I did for you.”
Harry and Peter exchange a look and finally his dad speaks, “we must thank you for matching Charlotte with Peter. We thought he’d never settle down. We are glad Harry is following in his footsteps.” He says, eyes drifting down to the ring on your finger.
“He was persistent.” You tell him. “I wanted him as a client, but he wouldn’t settle for anything but me, so….” You reach for his hand and smile. “He makes it impossible to resist him.”
Harry brings your hand up to kiss the back of it and his mom smiles, “well, I’m glad he did. Oh engaged! Tell me about the proposal. Harry didn’t give me the details.” She insists as your food is placed in front of you.
You smile, knowing that you could be vulgar, but that would reflect poorly on Harry. “He was so romantic.” You hum. “While we were watching the lights, he told me that he wanted to take me on more adventures. Wanted to experience life more, take time to enjoy the little things. Start a family.” You bite your lip and your eyes soften as you imagine the fake proposal.
Harry leans in to kiss your cheek, brought back to the memory of you curled around him under the northern lights. It was gorgeous. You were gorgeous. His mom smiles, happy at the look on your face and she knows her son did a good job. “The ring is just gorgeous.” She admires the diamond. Charlotte hums, “Harry had his personal shopper pick it out. She’s got great taste.”
“Yes she does.” You agree, smiling as you look down at the ring. It’s beautiful and you wish that you would own something like this one day. “But Harry had final approval. I can’t expect him to waste time on things like that.”
His mom hums, knowing her son is nothing but practical and she appreciates that you seem to know that about him. Most women would want him to spend days picking out a ring. Harry doesn’t have that kind of time. “So tomorrow we are spending the day on the beach.” His mom says after you’ve all finished eating, “so get a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh that sounds amazing.” You promise. “I need to soak up some sun.” You wink at Harry. The dinner has been uncomfortable at times, but you think that it’s gone well in achieving your goals. His parents are a little wary of you. “Is it a topless beach?”
Harry nearly chokes on his Cabernet and Charlotte can’t help but giggle. His mom’s eyes widen, “certainly not.” Her husband tilts his head, “I mean…technically. Since it’s a private beach.” He muses and Peter looks at Harry with raised eyebrows. Harry hates that his cock twitches at the thought of you laid out in the sun with your tits on display. He can almost taste your skin on his tongue.
“Well, even if it is a private beach….” His mother huffs, making you aware that she does not approve. “Don’t go topless.” You supply, making it sound boring and you sigh. “I understand.”
Peter chuckles and Charlotte nudges him under the table and gives him a look to say “behave.” Harry rubs your shoulder after putting his arm on the back of your chair, “it’s okay, baby.” He murmurs and you pout a little to liven up your act. “I think we are going to bed. Long day today.” Peter announces after Charlotte slides her hand along his thigh and Harry nods, “us too.” He says, squeezing your shoulder. “Very well. See you all for breakfast tomorrow.” His mom orders and within minutes, the elder Mr. & Mrs. Castillo are left alone.
“Miguel…..” Harry’s mother frowns as she looks towards the entryway to the dining room where you and Harry have disappeared to go up to your room. “I don’t know if this was wise. Harry jumping into dating this Lucy woman.” She admits, knowing that she has pressured him to settle down and find someone, but that is because she wants him to be happy and maybe give her grandchildren before she passes on.
“Carmen, he’s a grown man. He will do what he wants to do. You wanted him to settle down. She seems nice. She’s beautiful. Maybe a little raucous but Harry could use some excitement. He’s always been so focused on his success. Who cares if his wife is a little less classy and more fun?” He shrugs, walking over to take her hand, “let him be.”
She doesn’t say anything else, knowing that he won’t believe her. She has always been suspicious about the women in her sons’ lives. No one has been good enough for her babies and that has bitten her in the ass. She’s just now gotten Peter married and now Harry is apparently settling down. “I love you.” She sighs softly, knowing that she had been lucky in love. She just wants the same for Harry.
Miguel kisses her softly, hoping his son has found a happiness like he found with Carmen. He nudges his nose against hers and pulls her close. “Everything will be fine, mi amor.” He promises and rubs her back.
****
Harry stares out of the window, the sun rising as he stands there, shirtless, and he glances back at you as you lay in his bed. You’re beautiful, the sunlight is golden on your face, and his heart flutters at the diamond glistening on your hand. He’s reminded of that night with you in the igloo and that’s why he couldn’t sleep. That night keeps flashing in his mind.
You hum softly, pulled from sleep naturally as the sunlight starts to fill the room. Shifting and opening your eyes as you spot Harry standing at the window, looking down on the beach. “The view good?” You ask sleepily as you come up on your elbow. “My view is.”
He smirks as he looks over his shoulder at you after he turns back towards the sunrise. “It’s beautiful inside and outside.” He says and turns to you, walking over to the bed to take a seat on the edge. “Good morning.” He murmurs, reaching out to caress your cheek.
He looks so soft, so kissable. His hair is disheveled and he looks rumpled, something you rarely see. Just in these private moments and you feel special that you get to see them. “Should I wear my bikini to breakfast?” You ask with a grin, leaning into his touch. “Or should I wait to shock her until later?”
He chuckles, lowering his hand from your cheek, “maybe later. Don’t need her having a heart attack over the bagels and smoked salmon.” He pinches your chin playfully, “you wanna shower first or shall I?”
You bite your lip, wanting to offer to shower together but this weekend isn’t about sex. It’s not about those stupid feelings that you’ve got for him. “You go first.” You encourage. “You’ll take less time.”
He nods, leaning in to kiss the top of your head until he pushes off the bed to make his way into the bathroom. His heart is thumping and he hates how he wonders if you would’ve joined him if he asked. While he’s under the spray of the water, he realizes he hadn’t thought about Lucy once.
While Harry is showering, you pull out a modest dress to wear down to breakfast. It’s one of your favorites and you feel like you need to cover up a little since your bikini will be under it. You also pull out a pair of trunks you had bought for Harry. Another pair that you thought would be perfect for him.
Harry brushes his teeth and shaves to touch up his facial hair and he realizes he left his trunks in the room. He opens the door to the bathroom and strides over to his suitcase, unaware of the way your jaw has dropped at the sight of him, droplets still rolling down the muscles of his back.
God, he’s fucking gorgeous. You drool for a moment until you realize he’s looking for trunks. “I bought you a new pair.” You manage to choke out, picking them up and waving them when he turns around.
He turns his body towards you, smiling as your fingers brush when he takes the trunks. “Thanks, honey.” He winks and makes his way back into the bathroom to change. He loves everything you pick out for him. You really understand his style and challenge him a little to try new things. He comes back out to grab a linen shirt, “bathroom is all yours.”
“Thanks.” You smile. “Go on down to breakfast and complain that I take so long to get ready. I’m going to wear a very proper dress over my bikini so I don’t give mummy a conniption.” You joke, grabbing the strings and a dress.
Harry chuckles and nods, grabbing his phone, “take your time. She will hate it.” He grins wickedly and then his eyes drift to the strings in your hand. That’s a bikini? Looks like fucking dental floss. His jaw twitches when his smile falls and he decides to duck out of the room before he does something stupid like ask you to wear that and nothing else all day in this room.
You listen to him, taking your time and making sure that everyone has started eating breakfast while you shower and shave. Making sure that your makeup is light and yet alluring, and brushing your teeth. Twenty minutes have passed before you are making your way down to the dining room.
Harry sighs, checking his watch, “she should be down any minute.” He says as his family sip their coffee and pick at their food to not be impolite. When you finally appear, Peter mutters, “thank God, I’m starving.” Carmen offers you a small but stiff smile, “good morning.” Harry stands to pull out the chair for you. Breakfast has been served on the patio overlooking the water.
“Oh this looks delicious.” You compliment as you look down. “I am sorry for being so late. Harry knows I take forever to get ready.” You give a small laugh. “Have to look good for him. That’s the most important thing.” God it sounds so shallow and you would never say it normally. You flash a smile up to him as he sits back down.
Harry rubs your shoulder when you’re sitting down and you reach for the croissant. Carmen hums, “I had the bagels brought in from the city this morning.” She says, almost like it’s insulting that you didn’t reach for a bagel, and you shrug, “I prefer croissants.” Carmen looks at Miguel who rubs her thigh under the table and Harry clears his throat, “I had an email from Doctor Jenson who wants to invest in-” Harry says to Peter but Carmen stops him, “Harry. No business talk this weekend. It can wait until Monday.” She orders and Harry sighs, “yes, mama.”
You eat your eggs, wishing you had a bagel since you actually love them, but you are committed to the bit. “That’s okay.” You promise him with a sultry smile. “You will forget about work when we are laying in the sun and you are rubbing me down with sunscreen.” You tease. “You always like touching me. Makes you forget about everything else.”
Harry's cock twitches in his trunks at the thought but the way his mother reacts with a slight wrinkle of her nose has him nodding, "honey...not in front of my mother." He reprimands you softly by leaning in and you take the opportunity to kiss him. He barely has time to react when your tongue slides into his mouth, making him suppress his moan as his mother looks on in horror, his dad averting his eyes while Peter chuckles at the faux display of affection.
You can feel the surprise, the restraint in his body as he leans into your kiss. He wants more, you can tell. His lips chase yours when you pull back, and you reach up to caress his cheek gently. “I love you.” You murmur softly, making his mother sigh softly as she presses her napkin to her mouth.
Harry knows his mother is torn. She wants him to settle down and also she’s worried that you won’t be good enough for her eldest son. He kisses your cheek and you settle back into your seat to finish breakfast. Soon enough, everyone is gathered on the beach, cabanas and loungers set up. Drinks ready with snacks and you are certain this is better than any all inclusive you’ve been to.
Harry sighs as he sits down next to you. The dress has been swapped for a cover up. Glasses on your eyes but you pull them down to look him up and down. “You look good enough to eat, baby.” You tease.
Harry flusters a little and you reach for the hem of your coverup to pull it over your head and Harry swears he goes into cardiac arrest. Bikini…it’s more like fucking dental floss and his cock immediately hardens and he has to cross his legs to conceal his arousal.
You chuckle quietly when you see Harry’s reaction to your bathing suit. It’s more revealing than anything you would really wear, but it’s perfect for today. “Baby, would you rub me down?” You ask, bending over to dig your sunscreen out of your bag.
“Uh, yeah, in a second.” He answers and Peter chuckles from the next lounger over. Charlotte slaps him with her magazine and Carmen drops her jaw at the skimpy bikini. Miguel averts his eyes and Harry takes the bottle you hand him. He inhales deeply, adjusting himself as he stands up.
You huff. “Don’t sound so eager to help.” You snark, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You know that this is the perfect time to start being annoyed at Harry so you can end up blowing up at him and ending the engagement. “God, you never want to help me.”
Harry knows what you’re doing but he hates it. He hates seeing the way you roll your eyes at him. He huffs, playing along, “because you always need help. I swear you can’t do anything by yourself.”
“Me? That’s rich, isn’t it?” You hiss. “The man who can’t pick out an outfit without a personal shopper. Or a pair of socks. Complaint about me not doing anything by myself.” You squeal when he starts to rub the cream on your body. “You’re supposed to warm it up!”
Harry growls as he harshly rubs in the cream, “I’m busy working. I wish I could sit around all day having coffee and playing matchmaker like it’s so damn hard.” He argues back, feeling like he’s getting out his true thoughts about Lucy if he’s honest with himself.
You huff dramatically and pull away from him. “Is that what you think?” You demand. “You think I don’t work? That I’m just playing at matching people?” You grab the sunscreen from him. “I don’t need your help, anymore.” You hiss. “Why don’t you go make some money since that’s all you’re good at doing?”
Harry shakes his head, tossing the bottle onto the sand, and he sits back down on his lounger. Your words do sting a little. Words he’s heard from past lovers that felt he didn’t dedicate enough time to them since he was constantly working. “Whatever. Just remember that my work paid that ring on your damn finger.”
You can sense Carmen frowning at you, but you ignore everyone as you sit down in your lounger and pull out your phone. You send Harry a quick text. “You’re doing great. I think that they are seeing that the relationship isn’t perfect. Soon they will be begging you to not marry Lucy.”
He texts back, “I hate it though.” He doesn’t like fighting with you. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He puts his phone down and reaches for his beer, taking a sip as he looks out at the ocean while you pretend to pout.
You hate it too, but he asked you to help him out of this situation. You really love spending time with Harry and you understand how difficult and consuming his job can be. You spend a couple of minutes sending emails and answering requests as you are ‘pouting’ until he sighs. “What’s wrong?”
He huffs, “I don’t want us to fight. Come here, baby.” He orders, patting his lap. His parents are talking quietly while Peter and Charlotte pretend to read their magazine and book. You huff but straddle him, his hands immediately finding your waist. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”
“You aren’t an asshole.” Those words are whispered quiet enough so no one but him can hear before you raise your voice slightly. “You should be sorry.” You huff, still pouting prettily. “I am the best thing that will ever happen to you, Castillo.” Your fingers run through his hair gently. “Don’t you forget it.”
He grunts when you tug on his hair slightly and his cock twitches in his trunks. Shit, he likes that. He caresses your hips, “I know. I know, baby.” He says and his mom looks over at you, shaking her head slightly.
You lean forward, shamelessly pressing your lips to his, tongue sliding into his mouth easily. Putting on a display that would be brazen to his mother. Harry doesn’t mind from the way his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you forward for a moment before he is breaking the kiss.
He pants, knowing you can feel him pressing into you and you smirk, caressing his cheek. He nudges his nose against yours and you shift off of him, settling back onto your lounger and his mom leans in to his dad who says quietly, “leave it, Carmen.”
You smirk to yourself, eyes closed behind your glasses for a moment as you lean back against the lounger. Harry still wants you, even though you know it can’t happen it’s nice to know that he still can be turned on by you. You can feel his mother glaring at you, and you just stick your tits up higher to get more vitamin D from the sun.
****
You laid in the sun for a while until his mom declared it’s time to get ready for dinner. “It’s in a couple of hours but I suppose you’ll be sufficiently ready by that time.” She says to you to make a point and Peter bites his lip to smother his smirk while Charlotte ducks her head. Both of them know this act is crazy but they won’t give up the gig just yet. Both of them are too amused by what’s going on.
“It depends on how long Harry takes.” You smile at his mother and roll your eyes. “He’s got this issue with sharing a shower. I don’t understand it.” You are completely making it up, but it sounds plausible.
“Maybe because you distract me.” Harry says, wrapping his arm around your waist and you chuckle, “oh yeah. I guess that’s why. I’d take twice as long to get ready if we showered together. He likes to take his time unless he’s ready worked up.” Harry chuckles and his mom frowns a little, not particularly wanting those details about her son. Soon you’re back in the room and Harry feels like he can breathe a little.
“I’m not going to dress slutty tonight.” You promise him with a soft smile. “I don’t want to give your mother a heart attack again.” You had limited outfits you had brought and you don’t feel like you need to tonight when you had worn that skimpy bikini earlier. “That sound good?”
Harry frowns, “isn’t everything you wear a little slutty?” He asks, knowing that everything you’ve got in your case is a little revealing. You’d packed for a purpose and he knows that nothing will be what his mother considers conservative.
That stings for some reason. His comments about how beautiful you looked every night of the trip to Iceland now in doubt as he arches his brow doubtfully at you. You press your lips together and just grunt as you pull out a dress that isn’t quite as high cut as the one last night but your entire back will be on display. You can’t wear underwear or a bra with it. “That’s me.” You quip tightly. “A little slutty.”
He frowns at your reaction as you stride off into the bathroom and he sighs, deciding to grab a shower in one of the spare guest bathrooms so you can take your time. He needs some air. Being around you has him questioning everything, especially what happened with Lucy. He’s barely thought about her since you agreed to go to Iceland with him and that makes him anxious. Why have you gotten under his skin like this?
You take your time. Irritated that you are irritated at Harry. This is what he bought you here for and you are acting like he’s being an asshole to you, not ‘Lucy’. Still, your stomach twists when you think about the soft apology he had given you, his hands on your hips and his eyes boring into yours. It had felt real for a moment. Shaving and lotioning your body before you start putting on your makeup. Reminding yourself that you are here to make them happy he doesn’t marry Lucy.
Harry is soon dressed and makes his way back to the bedroom, making sure he knocks and when you call out for him to come in, he sneaks back inside. His eyes widen when he sees you, your back exposed as you stand in front of the mirror to put your earrings in. You look incredible and he wants to step over to kiss your shoulder.
“Ready on time.” You huff, although it’s not as sharp as it might have been before your shower. Lines are getting blurred and you have to remember why you are here. “Good.” Harry nods and straightens up, pulling himself taller like he normally does when he’s feeling a little unsure of himself. “Then let’s go face your mother.” You turn from the mirror and brace yourself. You feel like tonight will be the night and you are dreading it.
Harry nods, opening the bedroom door for you and he watches you as you stride past him. He sighs softly and follows you until you are both in the reception room, eager to get your hands on a drink. "There you are and on time, how wonderful!" Carmen grins and her eyes land on your outfit. It's not as bad as last night's dress but it's still too revealing for her taste.
“I thought it would be rude to be late all day.” You admit, liking Carmen and wishing that you didn’t have to make her hate you. “And it helps that I’m starving.” You laugh slightly as you take the drink offered and sit down on one of the many sofas in the room.
Carmen hums, “that’s a beautiful dress.” She says, “not exactly dinner appropriate but beautiful nonetheless.” She offers you a backhanded compliment, wanting to be nice to her son’s fiance but it’s hard when she’s not what her son deserves.
Your smile is brittle and you know that the point is for her not to like you but it stings. “Apparently you and your son are more alike than just in business.” You comment, taking a sip of your wine. Too bad the night is putting a bad taste in your mouth since this is a lovely Chardonnay. “Harry thinks I dress like a slut.”
Harry scoffs, playing along, “well if it barks like a dog…” He trails off and you turn to look at him with hurt on your face. Damn you are really acting the hell out of this. Harry feels sick treating you like this and he wants to stop. You narrow your eyes at him, “you’re a bastard.” He shakes his head, “and you’re a bitch.” He hates the way your face falls and Peter takes a step forward. “Harry. That’s damn far. This whole thing has gone too damn far. Apologize to her. Apologize to-” He says your name. Your actual name.
You freeze for a moment, the silence hanging in the air until Carmen repeats your name. The hurt of realizing that Harry doesn’t respect you at all is still making your chest ache. Stomach twisting as you blurt out. “Harry’s been lying this entire weekend.” You leap to your feet and the wine glass nearly breaks as you set it down on the side table. “Excuse me.” You need to leave. Now. You can’t stay here a second longer when you are about to cry.
Harry’s jaw is on the floor and his mother frowns in confusion, “what is she talking about?” She says the name Peter mentioned, “who is that? Her name is Lucy. What the hell? Explain, Haroldo Castillo. Now.” She orders and Harry watches you stride from the room. Charlotte follows you, leaving the family to hear what Harry has to say. “What is going on, mijo?” Miguel asks and Harry swallows harshly, “she’s not Lucy. Lucy and I broke up before I went to Iceland.” He says your name, “she’s my personal shopper. Not my fiance. I just - I couldn’t see the disappointment on your face, mama.”
“I am disappointed now.” Carmen frowns and shakes her head, looking at Peter with just as much disappointment. “You hired that woman, to what? Does this personal shopper always act this way?” She demands and Peter snorts. “No.” He promises. “She’s sweet and kind. Probably why she agreed to go along with this stupid idea.” Peter looks over at his brother. “You have been pressuring Harry to settle down since Charlotte and I got engaged, mama.” He tells her. “You would have blamed him for it if he told you that Lucy broke up with him.”
Miguel understands but doesn’t agree with what Harry has done. His wife has been on the back of both her sons, wanting grandchildren before she’s too old to enjoy them, and he’s warned her of pushing her children away. “Carmen, mi amor, you would have been disappointed.” He says and Harry nods in agreement, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Carmen stares at her son, “you have disappointed me. Treating a woman like you have. I might not have agreed with her wardrobe choices but I never degraded her.” She says and Harry lowers his eyes to the floor.
“She doesn’t dress like that really.” Harry murmurs softly, feeling incredibly guilty as you rush up the stairs with tears blurring your eyes. You hear your name being called behind you. “Wait!” You stop and turn, halfway up the steps to find Charlotte chasing after you. “I - I have to go.” You beg her to understand, knowing that you will sound insane if you try to explain why. “Please.”
“Don’t go. Harry can explain everything. We know you aren’t like this. He’s just - he’s a man and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. I see the way you two look at each other. It was - he never looked at Lucy that way. You’re different and it’s clear that you’re both just dancing around the fact that you love each other. Don’t go. Just - just give him a chance to repair this.” She pleads, knowing you and Harry have something beyond business.
“I can’t.” You shake your head. “This is-“ You’re shaken that she’s just clocked that you’re in love with Harry. You barely recognized that reality because you’ve been fighting it. You want to believe her, but you know that she’s wrong. “I’m not what he wants.” You smile at her, grateful that she’s being so kind. “Thank you for being a good sister-in-law to him.”
Charlotte sighs, knowing she won’t be able to convince you. “Come on, I’ll help you pack and we will get you back to the city.” She promises, taking your hand to guide you upstairs to the bedroom you’ve been sharing with Harry who is currently downstairs still talking to his parents. “I don’t know what to do. I just - this was so stupid and it never - I thought it would be easy and you’d be relieved when you heard I’d broken up with her - Lucy - and then I didn’t expect to feel like this. I don't know what to do, mama. Tell me what to do.” He orders and Carmen steps forward to cup her son’s cheeks. “Do you love her? The real her?” She asks and Harry takes a moment to process until he slowly nods in her grip. “Then go talk to her.” She orders and Harry makes his way upstairs, feeling like he’s going out of his mind. He says your name as he opens the door and his eyes widen when he sees the room is empty of your things. He sees Charlotte walk down the hall and he looks at her from the doorway of the room. “Where is she?” He asks and she sighs, “she left, Harry. She’s gone back to the city. I had our driver drop her off at the station.” Harry spins on his heel and rushes downstairs to his parents who are pacing in the living room. “She’s gone. She left and I - what do I do?” He chokes, heart clenching in pain and terror. Carmen steps forward, “you go after her. Quick. Before she leaves town. Go get her, mijo. You love her. Go tell her.” Harry nods, chest heaving. “Take my car.” Miguel insists, “keys are inside.” He orders and Harry runs off to the garage.
The train is about a half hour out. Giving you plenty of time to wallow is misery as you hold onto your bag. You had changed, something much more comfortable than the dress you had worn downstairs. Simple pants and a blouse. Your makeup has been washed off, the tears had made your mascara run and it was just better to have a clean face. You swallow harshly as you check your phone and then look down the line, hoping the train comes early so you can get back to the city. You need to get this ring off your finger and you have managed to leave the box in Harry’s room at his mother’s house.
Harry speeds to the station, his heart pounding, and he pulls up outside, throwing the car in park and leaping out. “Sir, you can’t leave that there-” The security guard says and Harry tosses him the key, “then move it.” The security guard watches him go with a shake of his head, “I ain’t no damn valet.” Harry’s chest heaves as he rushes inside, searching the platform for you until his eyes land on you sitting on a bench. He calls your name, running over to you. “Why did you leave?” He demands.
Your eyes widen, shocked to see him at the station and you shake your head. “Harry- I- I can’t-“ you hate that you feel your eyes start filling with tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t- I can’t do this.” You put your hands up when he steps closer. “This is- it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. It’s crazy to pretend like you wouldn’t be amazing and I’m sorry that Lucy broke up with you, I am.”
Harry shakes his head, “it’s my fault. I asked you to do this and I - I have treated you - I’ve been unforgivable. I’ve been an asshole. I tried to play along but I struggled and then I went too far. I’m so sorry. Let me drive you back to the city.” He pleads, “if you want to leave.
“No, no, it’s me.” You shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know this is just a favor for you, but we- I stopped seeing you as just a friend.” You swallow harshly. “I made the foolish mistake of falling in love with you. And you aren’t ready for anything and even if you were, you wouldn’t want a relationship with me.”
Harry stares at you in shock. He never imagined you'd feel like that. He thought you were trying to be a good friend. His silence must be too long because you choke on embarrassment and he shakes his head, "what are you talking about? You're - of course I want a relationship with you. I imagined it from the moment we got on the plane to Iceland. That night in the igloo hasn't stopped playing in my damned mind. I - I stopped thinking about Lucy the first day in Iceland. All I can think about is you and in some way, this - pretending to be engaged to you for my parents was my way of hanging onto you for a little longer. I want a relationship with you. I want that ring on your finger to actually mean something. You were my friend and without me even knowing it, you've become the woman I want to be with. I love you, honey. I love you. Please, don't go back to the city. Come back with me. Let me tell my parents who you really are. Let me show them the woman I'm in love with."
“Harry….” You want that so badly, wanting to be with him. He loves you. That is almost impossible to believe but he is looking at you like you are his world. “Your parents hate me. I made them hate me, or Lucy, but it’s my face they know.”
He shakes his head, "they don't hate you. They hate the way you acted but I explained that you aren't like that. That you were pretending. They understand. They want me to be happy. Please, don't go back to the city." He pleads, kneeling down on one knee in front of you, "stay with me. Let me show you how much I love you."
“Harry.” You cover your mouth, aware that Harry does not do overly dramatic gestures. He had told you about the conversation about fighting in public and you know this is just as equally embarrassing to him. So for him to kneel down to beg in public is a gesture you never imagined from him. You grab his shoulders and kneel down with him. “I love you.” You promise him. “You are the best, kindest man I have ever known.” You smile. “I don’t care if you work all the time, or if you need me to dress you. I love you just as you are. I’ll stay.” You reach up and cup his cheek. “I’ll stay baby.”
He grins, relieved that you’re staying, and he finally realizes what Lucy was talking about. Right now, he doesn’t give a shit what people think, and he surges forward to press his lips to yours, his hands grabbing your waist to pull you closer as you both kneel on the dirty floor of the train station.
You can’t help but giggle against his lips, relieved that he feels the same way and a little overwhelmed by the idea. Your arms wind around his neck and you sigh softly as he pecks your lips again and again. “I love you.”
He nudges his nose against yours, “let’s go back to the house. I need to introduce my parents to you. The real you.” He says and you nod. He takes your hand to help you stand up, grabbing your suitcase with his free hand just as the train rolls in and he looks at you. “You can go if you want? Both of us. I’ll go back to the city with you if you don’t want to see them.”
“No.” You squeeze his hand gently. “I need to apologize to your mother.” You admit. “I have been rude and even though that was the point, I hated it.”
He nods, guiding you outside to find the security guard standing by his car, glancing around. “Hey man. The police are coming to take this away. You can’t just leave your damn car outside.” He says and Harry sighs, “it was an emergency. This woman was about to leave and I needed to tell her something important. Listen, I am leaving now. Can we just go?” He asks and the security guard sighs, “what was the important thing?” Harry squeezes your hand, “that I’m in love with her.” He says and the security guard huffs, “shit. My lady would love this story and if I end it with ‘the dude got arrested’ she will bitch at me. Go. Go. Before I change my mind.” He orders, tossing the keys at Harry who takes them and you grin, “thank you.” The security guard nods and watches as Harry puts your case in the trunk, opens the door for you and within moments, he’s pulling away from the curb. “Love me some love.” The guard mutters with a fond smile.
“Are you sure I will be welcomed back?” You ask, unsure of how you will be received this time. Harry reaches for your hand, bringing it up to kiss the back of it. “My mother told me to come get you.” He promises. “To admit how I felt and not let you slip away.”
He drives back to the house, pulling up, and he cuts the engine once he’s parked. “You ready?” He asks and you nod. He helps you out of the car, leaving the case to the butler, and he escorts you inside to find his parents pacing in the living room. “You’re back.” His mom announces with relief and Harry nods, “mama, papa. I’d like to introduce the woman I love.” He says your name, “she was my personal shopper and a dear friend. Now, she’s my future.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Castillo.” You step forward and duck your head slightly. “I have to apologize for the way I acted before, please try not to judge me too harshly. I was-“ you glance over at Harry. “Trying to make sure you were relieved when he told you that he wasn’t marrying me.” You tilt your head. “Or rather, Lucy.” You sigh. “You are both very nice people and I’m sorry for lying to you.”
Carmen nods, “Harry explained to us what he was doing. Even if it was a ridiculous idea. I want my son to settle down but I want even more for him to be happy. Whoever that is with. Or not with. I just - I got caught up and I’m sorry for how I treated you. You’re a beautiful woman and I can see now that Harry loves you. Can we start over?”
You smile, grateful. “I would love that.” You promise, reaching out and taking her hand. “And I promise I don’t dress like that normally.” You add, making Miguel laugh as Carmen pulls you in for a hug.
Carmen smiles when you pull away and she tilts her head, “I can’t wait to see your true style. If the way you’ve improved Harry’s clothing is anything to go by, I’ll be hiring you to help me with my next wardrobe.” She says and you nod, “absolutely.” Harry leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand on your waist.
You lean into his side and smile as you sigh happily. “Although I’m going to make Harry pick out the ring this time.” You tease, lifting a brow at him playfully. “You can’t expect me to pick out my own ring, can you?” Honestly you don’t care if you keep this one, it’s beautiful and it’s not like it was ever worn by Lucy. You are just teasing him to see him huff.
"You can keep that to wear for general use. I am going to buy you your engagement ring." He promises, never wanting you to have a ring picked for another woman, even if you did pick it. Your taste is different to Lucy's. You deserve your own ring.
“Harry…” instead of him huffing, you are huffing, “this is an expensive ring.” You remind him, making him snort. “I can afford it, sweetheart.” He reminds you, but you bite your lip. “We can still return it.”
He shrugs, “if you want. If not, it’s yours to keep. But it won’t be your engagement ring.” He promises and his mom is beaming at this progress. “It’s late. You too go get some sleep and tomorrow, I look forward to getting to know the real you.” Carmen says as Miguel reaches for her hand. “Goodnight mama, papa.” Harry nods at his parents and you bid them goodnight before he guides you to the stairs, his stomach twisting with the emotions that are flowing through him.
You come back to the familiar room and you bite your lip, remembering how upset you had been when you left. “Sorry for leaving.” You murmur softly when Harry closes the door behind him. “I just thought it was best.”
He shakes his head, reaching for your waist to drag you closer to him. "It's okay. I understand. I was an asshole and I didn't see what was right in front of my face. You are - I was hung up on Lucy for all of 12 hours in Iceland until you showed me that I wasn't happy with her. You make me happy. I fell in love with you during that trip and I should've - I was a coward. I didn't want to get rejected again. I love you. I didn't even know what that felt like until you were gone and I realized that I was going to lose you. I'm so glad you're here and I don't want to let you go again."
“I love you too.” You promise. “I fell in love with you on the trip too. I just didn’t think you would ever love me, so I didn’t let myself believe that you would want something with me.”
Harry caresses your waist and nudges his nose against yours. “Let me - let me show you, baby.” He murmurs, needing to feel you again. You nod, tilting your head to press your lips to his and he groans. His hands slide lower to squeeze your ass and he deepens the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth.
You’ve only had one night in bed with him. At least one night of sex and you desperately want to touch him again. Letting him take over the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck as he starts to guide you towards the bed. “Thinking about the bikini, aren’t you?” You tease as he starts to kiss down your neck after breaking away from your lips.
Harry smirks against your skin, “thinking about all of you.” He reveals, “you look gorgeous in everything and nothing. I need to feel you again, show you how I feel. You’re so fucking gorgeous, honey. I love every inch of you.” He says as he hooks his fingers in the straps of your dress, pulling them down your arms to expose your lace bra.
You hum, smoking to yourself as you feel his cock starting to twitch against your stomach hard already. “I love you too.” Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt and you start to undo them. “Want to feel you inside me again.”
“You will. First I want to make you fall apart for me. Loved seeing it. Loved tasting it and feeling it.” He says as he reaches for the clasp of your bra, dragging it down to expose your tits and he groans. He interrupts you unbuttoning his shirt so he can duck down to wrap his lips around your nipple.
“Oh fuck!” You gasp when he suckles, body shuddering in pleasure from the heat and pressure of his lips. “Baby, you are so good.” You praise as your eyes slip closed. “Thought about that night so many times since then.” Which is crazy since it hasn’t even been a full week until today.
He groans, his fingers digging into your ass as you arch your chest into his mouth. One hand slides along the seam of your dress until he manages to find the zipper. He pinches it between his thick fingers and pulls it down until the dress pools at your feet.
It’s amazing how quickly he’s managed to undress you. Standing in his arms in your panties and the heels you had been wearing are quickly kicked off, making your height several inches shorter than before.
Harry groans, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he ducks until he’s lifting you up and carrying you over to the bed. When you’re laying on it, his hands slide along your legs until he’s hooking his fingers in your panties. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”
“You’re just saying that because I love you,” you tease, reaching out and caressing his arm. “You are gorgeous. I’m the luckiest woman alive.”
He shakes his head, “it’s because it’s true.” He promises and tosses your panties over his shoulder. He inhales deeply as he pushes your thighs apart, wanting to see more of you and he groans when your slick folds are presented to him. “Fuck.” He mutters, shifting onto his belly so he can lean down and flatten his tongue through your folds.
You whine his name, legs falling open even more as you completely relax and let him do what he wants with you. Harry likes to eat pussy, that is obvious and you aren’t someone to stop him from doing what he loves. Especially when he is so good at it. “God, baby,” you coo. “You’ve been thinking about this haven’t you? Thinking about eating my pussy?”
He twitches in his pants at your words, lifting up for a moment from your cunt to nod, “yes. Fuck, could literally taste you on my lips when I thought about it.” He confesses and dives back in, flicking his tongue over your clit while his hands grip your hips.
“Fuck.” You arch up, pushing your hips down until he stops you from moving. Grunting into your folds and watching as you curl your fingers into the sheets. “God, I wanted to fuck you on that beach today.” You confess breathlessly. “Just ride you right there.”
He chuckles, sliding one hand down until he’s caressing your folds, “everyone would’ve had a heart attack but shit, I wanted you to ride me too. That bikini nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.” He smirks and leans in to suck on your clit while pushing a thick digit into your dripping wet pussy.
Your fingers slide through his hair and you moan softly. Happy to let him do whatever he wants to you as long as this doesn’t stop. “You are always so sexy.” You moan. “Doesn’t matter what you are wearing.”
He hums around your clit, loving to hear that, and he slowly pumps his finger in and out until he adds a second one. Pushing both into your pussy, he loves how you moan his name. Grinding into the bed is his only relief but he refuses to do anything until you’ve fallen apart for him like this.
It’s so unfair that he won't let you suck his cock while he eats you out. “One day I’m going to suck you off while you eat my pussy.” You moan. “You’ve got to let me. You taste so good baby.”
He nods, pulling off your clit for a moment, “we have plenty of days ahead of us. Right now, I want to worship you. Apologize for what I’ve done.” He explains and flicks his tongue over your clit while curling his fingers a little deeper.
You don’t think he’s been horrible, but you aren’t going to argue with him. Too busy feeling the way that his fingers curl into the perfect spot and press into something wonderful. “Oh Harry.” You whimper. “Fuck, you are so good at this.” You moan. “This is your job, from now on. Retire and just spend all day eating me out.”
He chuckles into your wet flesh, enjoying how much you are lost in the sensations he’s giving you. He works his fingers a little faster into that spot that makes you whimper. “I could. Don’t need to keep working.” He confesses, “could spend all day. Eating. Your. Cunt.” He says between sucks on your clit.
You whine, legs tensing around his shoulders. “Fuck baby, keep going, I’m so close.” You feel your body starting to shake. Taken apart from the way his fingers curl and his tongue devastates you. “Harry.” You whimper right before a scream rips out of you.
You clamp down on his fingers so tightly that his cock violently throbs against his belly while you convulse, a cry escaping your lips whine you tug on his hair. Fuck, you’re perfect. He swears he nearly cums from the way you squeeze his fingers and he works you through it.
He doesn’t stop until your walls are quaking and your thighs are shaking around his body. “Oh god, oh god.” You pant, eyes closed as you try to catch your breath. “Harry, I need you to fuck me.” You beg.
He groans, pulling back from your pussy with your slick shining on his chin and he nods, shifting to kneel between your legs. He shrugs off his shirt and you lean forward to work the buttons of his pants open. “Fuck. You’re - baby.” He groans when you manage to free his cock to wrap your fingers around it. You moan and he bats your hand away so he can shift off the bed to shove his pants down so he’s naked.
“God, baby, you are so sexy.” You love how proud his cock juts out, hard and already leaking from how turned on he is. “I want you to fuck me.” You remind him, “show me how much you love me. How much you want me to be yours.”
“I will.” He promises, shuffling closer, and he grips his cock. Pumping himself as he positions himself between your thighs. His dark eyes meet yours as he falls to his elbow and notches himself at your entrance. “I love you.” He murmurs as he pushes into you slowly.
“Ohhhhh I love you.” You moan softly, reaching up and caressing his cheek as he fills you. “I love you, Harry.” You promise again, leaning up to press your lips to his. He feels incredible, so thick and perfect inside you.
He slides his tongue into your mouth, taking a moment to savor the feel of you squeezing him. It takes his breath away and he gasps when he pulls away from your mouth. Harry pulls his hips back slowly, pressing his lips to your neck as he pushes back into you at a pace that seems almost lazy but his thrust is steady.
“Fuck.” You love that he’s not in a hurry. He rocks into you like he has all night. The truth is, he does. No one is going to interrupt you and there are no doubts this time. There is just the feeling of completely belonging as he fills you again and again.
“You’re so perfect, baby. Should’ve seen you before Lucy. Before everything.” He confesses, “you’re so beautiful.” He doesn’t rush his thrusts even if his back hurts a little but he wants to enjoy every second of this night with you. The first time he makes love to you.
You caress and stroke his sides and his back. Wanting to participate as much as possible. Your legs wrap around him, not wanting him to pull too far back. “This is what I want, you are what I want.” You vow. “Just you baby.”
He hums, knowing that means more to him than any amount of money he could have. Harry slides his hands under you, needing you closer, and he ducks his head until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth.
“Fuck.” You pant out the curse and squeeze your legs around him more. “You are so good, baby.” You moan his name and close your eyes. “You’re so deep inside me.”
He grunts, wanting you to cum for him again so he shifts one hand from behind your back so he can snake it between you. Your answering whimper when his thumb presses against your clit. He bites down on your puckered nipple, swirling his tongue around it until he switches to the other side. Your cry has him smiling against your skin while his thumb continues to rub circles on your clit. He needs you to cum for him before he explodes. You’re too hot and tight around him.
“Baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” You pant, breathless and feeling the way that your body is tensing up. “Want you to cum with me.” You beg, turning your head and nipping at his pulse with your teeth before kissing along his throat. “Cum, Harry, cum with meeeeee!” You squeal the last word as your orgasm crashes through you and your nails dig into his back.
He pants as you clamp down on his cock. So fucking tight it makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. He releases your nipple with a pop and shifts back to look at you as you fall apart. He grunts, pushing deep into you with a growl and he twitches violently as he starts to paint your walls with his hot seed. “Fuck. Oh fuck.” He chokes, eyes sliding shut with pleasure.
You manage to open your eyes, wanting to see how he looks when he falls apart over you. He’s beautiful and you moan in pleasure when you feel the heat of his release filling you. “I love you.” You pant, reaching up to stroke his cheek as he rides out his orgasm.
He hums, caressing your side as he tries to not squash you underneath his body. Harry inhales deeply, chest vibrating, and he rolls so you are laying on his chest. His cock is softening against your thigh, slipped out from the roll, and he caresses your back. “I love you too.”
You sigh softly and your fingers trail across his chest. “We will figure everything out, but I want you to know that if you need more time, I’ll wait.” You promise. “I know that it’s been a lot of change for you in a short time and you don’t like a lot of change.”
He hums, “I thought I’d need more time, but honestly? I just realized that I didn’t see what’s been in front of me the entire time. I don’t want to rush but I know what I want and I’m tired of waiting. This is more than I’ve ever felt. I’ve never felt like this before.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead.
You twist your head to smile up at him sleepily. “Love doesn’t seem so difficult now, does it?” You ask, teasing but you feel the same way. It’s so easy with Harry, sliding into place like he’s always belonged with you.
He chuckles, remembering what he always used to say. “Not with the right person. It’s easier than breathing.” He confesses, shifting off the bed so he can clean you up before you pass out.
You protest softly at him moving, watching as he walks into the bathroom and you hear the faucet run. “Oh, you are perfect.” You coo when he comes back with a washcloth to wipe his cum off of you.
He chuckles, gently wiping you off, “just cleaning the mess I made.” He winks, throwing the washcloth in the sink and he grabs a glass of water for you. “Here, drink this.” He orders, handing you the glass.
“Yes sir.” You wink playfully at him and take a sip. “Someone is bossy after sex.” You hum after you’ve drunk half the glass. “Why is that?”
He smirks, shifting to lean back against the headboard as you sip the water. “I like being in control in all aspects of my life.” He admits, “and I like looking after you. That’s going to be my life from now on.”
“Your life from now on.” You like the sound of that honestly. “And in return, I will look after you.” You promise with a small grin. Harry might have thought he was heartbroken when Lucy broke up with him, but it turned out to be the best thing that could have happened for the both of you.
****
Harry bites his lip as he looks at the options. He is a little clueless but he knows what you’d like. He had gone in with no particular budget in mind and is eying the rings based on what he wants to see on your finger. He inspects several rings until the jeweller rings another tray. Harry did consider a custom piece but he wanted to see his options first. When his eyes land on the ring, he just knows. “That one. That’s the one.” He insists and the jeweller nods with a knowing smile. ****
“Will you marry me?” Harry asks, kneeling in front of you with the ring pinched between his fingers after his speech of how he promises to love you for the rest of his life.
“Harry.” You know that this was coming, you both have been working towards this moment but you still gasp as you look down at him. He’s picked out a gorgeous ring, the speech beautiful and you love that he proposed to you in your living room. The one that you now share with him since you’ve moved in. “Yes!” You squeal, falling to your knees and kissing him eagerly.
He grins against your lips, excited to spend the rest of his life with you and loving you has been as easy as breathing. He kisses you deeply, cupping your cheek until he pulls back, wanting to see the ring on your finger. “I hope I picked the right one.” He confesses his fear as he slides it onto your left hand.
“It’s perfect.” You promise, looking down at the new ring that rests on your finger and you sigh softly. “Perfect.”
He is so relieved and happy, kissing the back of your hand, and he pulls you close. You end up tangled in bed and you have your hand in the air to admire your ring. “You know you’re gonna have to help my mom pick out an outfit for the wedding events.” He teases, knowing you’ve transformed his mom’s closet.
“Oh I know.” You giggle happily and lean in to kiss his lips. “I have the perfect dress in mind already.” You smile as you lean back. “You are the love of my life and I’m so happy to spend the rest of mine with you.”
Harry grins, unable to fathom how his life changed so much in a year but he can’t imagine it being any different. You’re going to be his wife, his family loves you, and being in love is so easy. “I can’t wait to see it. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” He promises, “I just want you to be happy.” You caress his cheek, “you make me happy, Harry.” You promise and he turns his head to kiss your palm, “you make me happy too, sweetheart.” Your answering smile makes his heart pound and he is so thankful for you. “So honeymoon in Iceland?” You tease and he chuckles, “wherever you want, baby.”
I've noticed something strange in the last few days regarding the Pedro pascal community of fans and some folks have been very weird with their words and behavior in regards to what they see about or think they see regarding his personal romantic life which is precisely why he doesn't share that part of himself with anyone.
So, now I see a shift where some of ya'll don't like what you see in a pic or what you think you see, you have taken him off the pedastal you placed him on.
I have seen comments like:
"Oh well i think he's changed since materialists."
" He seems more full of himself." "
"He's more arrogant and attention seeking."
" He seems like he's trying too hard."
"He's changed. he's not the same."
But what's really happening in the Parasocial relationship you've developed with him and this perfect image you have of him in your mind has shifted because you feel his behavior doesn't match up with who you think he is. And so because of that, to deal with the distress you're experiencing, you have to find reasons why he isn't that great lately anyway. He's fake...or he's changed....or he's arrogant now etc.
But the reality is...we see Pedro in media. We see Glimpses of him. We don't see the whole person. He has shared intimate details of some of his personal life with us but at the end of the day, we will never really see everything.
Listen, I love Pedro. I have followed his career since his big break. I really started following him during Narcos and to me, he is the same. Albeit more reserved with the stardom he has garnered.
I am a clinical social worker. A therapist by trade and I also read energy pretty well. Pedro, for the most part, is pretty unproblematic. I am not saying he can be free from criticism. But, the things I have been seeing to me, is just a reaction to him challenging who you think he is.
Energetically, Pedro is shy. He is genuine. Authentic. Kind. Funny. Sad. Humble. And he has confidence issues. NO, i do not know him personally, but this is what I have gleamed of him in media.
I'm rambling at this point, but i felt compelled to say something. I think Pedro does deserve some grace and respect. I think it's important to know the fan relationship you have with a celebrity needs boundaries and you don't have to devalue the person when they are doing something that doesn't appear harmful to you directly or other people.
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