#loslentesdepedrito's writing

[loslentesdepedrito]

Paleta

Din gif by: @themandaloriansource My Masterlist

Pairing: Virgin!Din Djarin x f!reader (Both Din and reader speak Spanish, and translations are provided.)

Word count: 11.2k+

Summary: You and Din accept a job to extract a flower from a planet neither of you has been to before. The instructions seem easy enough, but they do warn to be careful with the flower's pollen because of its unknown effects. Inspired by the song Paleta by Wisin & Yandel ft. Daddy Yankee.

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: canon divergent, can be considered dubious consent due to sex pollen, Din is a virgin in all aspects, and reader is not, poor Din being horny since the beginning, slight angst, happy ending, reader is shorter than Din and is carried by him in one scene, mami kink?, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), some nipple play, multiple orgasms, creampie, facial, slight cum eating, shy Din then confident Din. To my knowledge, the Star Wars Universe doesn't have a purple planet, so I borrowed the Purple Dimension from Marvel Comics.

A/N: If you haven't had the chance yet, I beg you to check out the artwork by @immarocketman. This specific Din is exactly what I had envisioned for one of the scenes here. Their talent is remarkable, and I plan to explore more of their blog soon. Also, I mentioned that I was considering leaving and promised to provide an answer, but truth be told, I still haven't decided 😅. More on that in the end notes. For now, just sit back and enjoy the story!

In the passenger chair behind you, Din's voice, agitated and piercing, breaks the silence of the ship's quiet hum. "Can you stop sucking on that thing?" His patience has finally reached its limit, worn down by the seemingly endless hours of watching you indulge in that infuriatingly purple lollipop. He's been forced to watch, and his frustration grows with each smacking pop you make.

Seated in the pilot's chair, you remain unfazed. The tone of Din's voice doesn't intimidate you; if anything, it amuses you. With a nonchalant pop, you remove the candy from your mouth, emitting a deliberate sound that only seems to fuel Din's annoyance.

"No," you reply plainly, still refusing to meet his gaze. You slide the sweet back between your lips and continue navigating the ship.

In the aftermath of a recent encounter with a Rancor that left Din nursing an injury on his left side, he reluctantly handed over the piloting duties to you as you traveled to a planet named the Purple Dimension – the location for your next assignment. Clutched tightly in Din's hand was a holopuck, its contents holding crucial information regarding the upcoming bounty hunt.

As the ship coursed through space, Din's growing frustration took its toll on the holopuck. The round object seemed on the verge of shattering under the pressure of his grip. The puck contained a holographic image of the bounty—an exotic flower—its value measured in credits, along with instructions. The explicit instructions attached required the flower to be carefully extracted and returned unharmed, without its pollen, as it was thought that its pollen could contain a substance that might trigger an unknown reaction.

The substantial payoff stemmed from the fact that a botanist sought to study the flower beyond its native habitat, resorting to placing a bounty to facilitate this unconventional research, as the botanist was unable to travel to the planet where the flower exclusively thrived. The job was one of the most unusual ones you've had, but the reward led to you and Din accepting the job.

Your fingers, warmed by the prolonged contact with the ship's controls, grasp the handles. Four fingers curl around the black handles, while your thumbs press firmly on the top. Your focus stays fixed on the pitch-black expanse ahead, where the distant stars provide the only source of light. Absentmindedly, the lollipop remains in your mouth, licked without the need for your hands.

Abruptly, Din interjects, "It's going to give you cavities," he declares, his tone laden with frustration that transcends the mere mention of cavities—his concern sounding more like a personal grievance.

With casualness, you reply, not quite understanding the intensity of his objection, "I brush my teeth thrice a day."

Din persists, his annoyance evident. "It's going to leave your teeth stained."

Unbothered, you respond, "This one never does," as you continue to indulge in the sweet.

Din, seemingly pulling thoughts out of thin air, desperately tries to dissuade you from sucking that godforsaken candy. "Don’t you hate grape-flavored stuff?" he questions, grasping at any argument to put an end to the incessant sucking of the lollipop.

“It’s very berry-flavored. It tastes delicious; I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it,” you calmly assert, savoring the flavor while Din, in a moment of quiet frustration, squeezes the puck once more to stifle a groan at the words ‘It tastes delicious, I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it.'

“Just stop freaking sucking the lollipop!” Din suddenly roars, his composure slipping away.

“Who pissed on your breakfast today? Lower your voice, would you? The kid is sleeping,” you retort sharply, whipping your head behind to find Din’s metal helmet tipped back against the red cushion of his chair.

He grumbles.

“Why does my candy bother you?” you ask, shifting your attention back to the path ahead.

“Let’s switch,” Din says, getting up with a slight grit in his teeth that you don’t quite catch.

“You’re hurt,” you remind him, part stating the obvious and part expressing genuine concern.

“I'm better,” he insists, placing his hand right next to you on the control panel.

You gulp and, without uttering a word, rise from your seat, seamlessly swapping places with him. The front of the ship isn’t the most spacious, and when you and Din brush up against each other, a subtle electricity passes between you, and he feels himself crumble at the touch. If it weren’t for his entire body being covered in beskar, you would easily see the physical effect you have on him.

“It’s distracting,” Din mutters, attempting to mask and ignore his feelings once he's settled back into the pilot’s chair.

“Oh, just focus on the mission, tin man,” you roll your eyes at him.

Din sighs out in frustration, and his voice modulator emits a gruff tone. “For the thousandth time, my armor isn’t made out of tin-”

“It’s made from beskar,” you interject, mimicking him with a sly grin as you repeat the exact words.

He doesn’t appreciate your tone, and he turns to give you a hard look through his helmet’s T-visor. All Din can focus on, however, is the way your lips wrap around the round hard candy. It’s shiny, and he can hear the sucking and stickiness echoing in his helmet. He's been twitching and growing in his pants, desperately trying to wield away his arousal without resorting to adjusting himself or deep breaths. Fucking miss my codpiece, he thinks.

With an audible pop, you remove the lollipop from your mouth and extend it to Din. “Do you want some of my candy?”

“No,” he replies curtly.

“Then stop staring!” you retort, emphasizing the word 'staring'. “You’re so tense, Maker, you need to get laid.”

At your words, Din's hands jerk, and the ship plummets.

"Din!" you scream, your stomach churning as your heart lodges itself in your throat. The velocity of descent sends a surge of fear through your veins. One hand instinctively shoots out to grip the ship’s side, desperately seeking something to brace against, while the other clutches the child, keeping him from sliding off his seat.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Din mutters, skillfully lifting the ship back to its original height after the sudden drop.

As your heartbeat gradually regulates, you steal a glance at Grogu, finding him still peacefully asleep. You sense you hit a delicate spot with Din, prompting you to let go of the teasing for now.

Wanting to shift the conversation, you say, “I wonder why no one else took the job. It’s great pay for what seems like a relatively easy missio- I mean job.” The planet you're headed to isn't popular; people don’t say why, but not many choose to visit.

“You get the money and don’t question shit,” Din says even though he has the same question.

Choosing not to press further, you turn your attention to the window. Up ahead, there's a thin, straight brown light, expanding seemingly from the horizon and stretching into what appears to be an eternity.

“We’re going to pass through the barrier now,” Din announces. The brown light grows more pronounced as the ship steadily approaches.

You tighten your seatbelt, securing yourself further, and place a protective hand on Grogu. Din steers the spaceship forward, and the moment the ship makes contact with the barrier, it propels forward at a rapid speed.

The sensation makes your head a bit fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you're mesmerized by the surreal sights. Before you, four massive planets come into view. Oddly, they all appear to be precisely the same size. Each possesses a unique hue: Red, Purple, Green, and Yellow, standing in perfect alignment against the vast backdrop of the black vacuum of space.

Din goes straight for the purple planet, and as you draw closer, you're granted a more detailed view. The Purple Dimension, unlike its counterparts, lacks a ring. Indentations mark its surface, and as you approach, bodies of water and stunning mountain ranges become visible. Din tilts the ship, guiding it into the planet's atmosphere. The moment the ship breaches the surface, sheer awe envelops you. The bodies of water below cast an ethereal glow with bioluminescence, and the entire landscape bathes in an even color due to the indigo-tinted sky.

While you try to absorb the beauty of your surroundings in the darkness, the ship lands on a plain, sending purple dirt flying with the impact.

Din flicks off some switches, and you unbuckle your seat belt. “What do we do with Grogu?” you ask, standing up.

“We take him.”

“Are you sure? I can go and retrieve the flower, and you stay here with the kid,” you suggest.

“No. We’ll all go,” he declares, leaving no room for argument.

“Okay then. You’ve got the tracking fob, right?”

He hums in confirmation and retrieves the holopuck, activating it to reveal a holograph. A large flower materializes, towering at least 8 inches minus its stem. Eight petals surround a prominent style, with smaller styles adorning the central one. The holograph lacks vivid color, displaying only muted hues of blue that make it a challenge to discern the flower's true colors from the image alone.

“The target is on the water,” Din informs, and as if on cue, the child wakes up. You both cast a quick glance at the child, who begins to coo and blink up at both of you. It's a familiar routine for Grogu; he knows when you both have jobs and patiently waits for one of you to leave so he can follow.

“It was explicitly stated that the flower needed to have its roots, so…,” you bend down to retrieve an item you purchased. Unbeknownst to you, Din's gaze lingers, tracing the contours of your form as you unfold a blanket from what seems to be a ceramic container. He tries to maintain composure, but he can't help the involuntary hitch in his breath, his eyes irresistibly drawn to you. You finally stand back up, and with a smile, you unveil a flower pot.

“La compré para plantar la flor por si acaso (I bought this to plant the flower just in case),” you say, the sincerity in your voice softening the edges of your teasing banter. The idea of the flower handing in the flower lifeless after your efforts is not an option.

Din, his gaze lingering on you, manages to tilt his head slightly and inquire, “¿Cuánto te costó?” (How much did it cost you?)"

“No mucho (not a lot),” you brush him off casually, heading towards the exit with the flowerpot cradled in your arms. There's no need to call for the little boy; he immediately follows you in his floating pram.

“Esta niña (this girl),” Din grumbles, hands on his waist, shaking his head. He gives himself a silent pep talk, repeating that he can't entertain certain thoughts about you. Wishing for just five minutes—hell, two minutes—to work himself and spill over his fist, so he could stop the relentless thoughts. The thoughts that have replayed in his mind throughout the entire journey persist, and he knows they'll linger, continuing to haunt him.

After a few deep breaths, Din speed walks to the exit, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the ship. He finds you and Grogu outside, with you carrying a bag over your shoulders, facing the water.

You're absorbed in the breathtaking sight, and it reinforces why you love your job as a bounty hunter. Yes, you deal with tracking down criminals, and yes, your renowned career is undeniably dangerous. But sights like this one make you believe it's worth it, plus traveling with Din and the baby is an added bonus. Grogu is an adorable kid, and Din is… Din.

You hear the Razor Crest's door closing and quickly capture a mental picture of the landscape. The ship lands on a purplish mountain range, not tall enough to obscure the view of the river below, yet sufficiently elevated. The sky, a dark shade of purple, accentuates the breathtaking brilliance of the stars. All the purple stretches out for miles, and even the majority of the forestation is painted in indigo hues. You turn your head by 90 degrees and are met with plum-colored plains stretching as far as the eye can see. Back to where the ship landed, there appears to be a beach, the sand's natural hue indeterminable against the sky's purple tint. However, the water is unmistakably translucent, a purplish-blue adorned with white sparkles, bioluminescent in nature. A few feet from the shore, a large forest comes into view, and hints of green seem to intermingle within the purple foliage. It's a strange sight, seeing such distinct biomes coexisting within a close distance, a landscape unlike any you've seen before.

“C’mon,” Din says, taking the lead. You and the child follow, catching up to his long strides. The ground beneath you feels somewhat familiar, similar to your home planet, yet you know better than to let your guard down. There's always a chance of something lurking, ready to trip you up, as you've learned the hard way before.

Silence envelops your trio until you reach the edge of the mountain. Grogu heads in a straight line, beginning a slow descent.

“Wait,” Din orders, making the first move to ensure the steps are secure before stretching out his gloved hand. You hesitate for a moment, apprehensive about making a fool of yourself at the slightest contact. Eventually, you wrap your fingers around Din’s hand, shivering at the unexpected warmth beneath his glove's black palm, contrasting with the cold yellow exterior. Din guides you as you land on the flat part of the mountain, offering a mix of instructions in a steady rhythm. “One foot in front of the other, watch your step, cuidado (careful),” he advises. This pattern continues as Din takes the lead, guiding your descent until you reach the base, where Grogu patiently waits.

Once you reach the sandy shore, you follow Din, who has the tracking fob out. He heads to the left, where many boulders create a makeshift wall. From the mountain's top, you had noticed the forest in that direction, just a few steps beyond the boulders and near the deeper part of the water. As you follow Din, you feel the temperature rising, and gradually, a wave of heat washes over you. The sun's intensity beats down, and warmth starts to cling uncomfortably to your skin.

Amidst the heat, a realization strikes you: you have something in your bag that could melt." Quickly unzipping the black bag, you retrieve a chocolate bar, its usual vibrant red wrapper transformed into a different hue by the planet's purple coloring. The word 'Tronky' is written in its original white letters, standing out against the altered shiny plastic. The wrapper displays an image of the candy, resembling a tree trunk with a few hazelnuts and a single leaf. The candy itself is thin, requiring only a few bites to finish.

Din, on high alert, hears a crinkle and turns to look behind. He's met with the sight of you biting into the wafer chocolate bar. As the hazelnut spread hits your tongue, you moan in delight. Din's boot gets stuck between a rock on the sand, and his body lurches forward. Before he can plummet to the ground, he manages to hold himself up with a large boulder. The wind blows his cape as he straightens up. Knowing better than to ask if he's okay, you pretend you didn't see and walk next to him, just in case he trips again. The crunch of the wafer blends in with the soothing sounds of waves crashing on the shore.

“Que rico (So good),” you mumble to yourself, throwing your head back.

Against his will, Din looks at you, captivated by all your features illuminated against the purple light. He plays with his cape, determined to focus on the tracking device to avoid crushing it. Din tries to ignore the sounds you think you’re hiding, silently praying you'll finish that chocolate bar soon. As the forest comes into view, he turns to tell you where to go. However, what he sees nearly has him stumbling again. You’ve finished the bar, and melted chocolate sits on your bottom lip.

“You’ve umm…” Din points at his own lips over his mask.

Confusion clouds your expression, and you stand there, looking bewildered. He points back at his helmet, “your…” he trails off. Still not understanding, you remain puzzled, and he puts the tracker in his pocket before stepping forward.

“Tienes chocolate en tu labio (you have chocolate on your lip),” he says in a low voice, placing one hand behind your head while using the other to touch your lips. You feel the soft and grainy texture of the leather against your skin, and you gasp, parting your lips. Din wipes off the chocolate in one smooth flick of his wrist. In that moment, he's thankful for his training, as it's the only reason he manages to slowly withdraw his hands, fighting the urge to put his finger inside your mouth.

Your brain short circuits, and you're only capable of whispering, “gracias (thank you.)"

Din nods his head and continues walking toward the forest. As you approach, you notice at the edge there's a large flower.

“Hey, is that what we’re looking for?” you say excitedly, pointing to the glowing flower that stands out.

Both of you pick up the pace and eventually reach it. There's no need to delve into the forest since the plant is a good two feet away from the trees, near the shoreline.

“Magellanica sinensis,” Din says, identifying the flower.

“Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. “Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. It's an exact replica of what's on the holopuck. In person, the eight big petals' exterior is a deep shade of purple. When you look closely, the inside of the flower displays a lighter color—you guess it's pink. As you observe, specs on the petals of different sizes become apparent, and you can't help but admire the dark veins running through the petals, resembling ink spilled and delicately bleeding through the vibrant hues of purple. You also notice seven stamens with equally spaced, fluffy anthers forming a circle. Similar to a hibiscus flower, this plant has one tall pistil. You inhale deeply as the pleasant aroma that makes you think of apples hits your nose when you lean closer. The water surrounding the plant captivates you as well. You feel an undeniable impulse to step into the water, but Din's voice pulls you away from that tempting idea.

“You brought the tools?”

“Yes,” you affirm, scrambling to take them out of your bag. Kneeling on the lilac-purple sand, you retrieve the gardening tools: a shovel, a large hand rake, and gloves. As they lay before you, you glance up at Din, finding him looking down at you, illuminated by the soft purple glow. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so beautiful.

Little do you know, Din is thinking the same thing about you. There you are on your knees, looking up at him, and he can't help but imagine you in that same position in a different scenario. It's what he thought about last night in his room, tugging and tugging at himself, spilling on his sheets. Every time he succumbs to such desires, a pit of guilt and shame envelops him—just like now, snapping him back to reality.

“Please gather soil in the pot, and I'll remove the plant from the ground,” Din instructs, an unusual 'please' slipping from his lips. You nod, and he hands you the rake while he takes the shovel. Not bothering to get up, you crawl a little to the right, away from the flower, and start scooping soil onto the orange pot, careful not to disturb any loose leaves. As you work, a good layer of soil forms on the ceramic, creating a small pile ready for Din once he puts the flower inside.

He asks for the recipient, and you swiftly hand it to him. Watching attentively, you see him gently add the glowing plant to the flowerpot. The roots are surprisingly long, and you're thankful you opted for an extra-large pot. Your intuition about the flower's size was right—it's almost the size of your head, and the roots add even more height.

“Pásame la tierra,” Din requests, looking at the plant and realizing it needs more soil to cover the roots. You comply, handing him more soil while he reminds you to keep your distance since the obvious powder over the petals still needs to be cleaned.

“It’s getting too dark; I’ll take it back, and you take the child to his room. I'll clean the flower before we depart,” Din decides, prioritizing your safety and the kid's.

You collect the tools, put them back in your bag, and finally get up.

“You and the kid go first,” he insists, leaving no room for argument.

After walking back past the boulders and climbing the mountain, you take Grogu to his room, tucking him into bed. A smile creeps onto your face as you recall shopping with Din and his stress about finding the best mattress. You lost count of how many vendors assumed you and Din were parents to the same child, making references to you as his wife. Din was glad he never took off his mask in front of others, as he got flustered every time someone made that assumption.

With the baby quickly asleep, you quietly make your way back down to see what's taking Din so long.

You're walking down the dock when you hear Din cuss.

“Are you okay?” you ask, alarmed at the possibility that he might have hurt himself while carrying the heavy pot.

“Yeah, I just hurt my side, and it’s still tender,” Din grits through his teeth, aware that he can't hide the truth from you; you'd see right through any lie.

“Come here,” you beckon, but it’s you who walks to him. You guide him to sit on a bench and position yourself between his knees. Din avoids meeting your gaze, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sensing his discomfort, you ask, “Do you think it’s bruised?” You notice that before you arrived, he had peeled off a small part of his body stocking over his side.

You catch a glimpse of his exposed skin, only the second time you've seen it—the first being when he took off his gloves while you were injured and bleeding out two months ago.

“Can I touch you?” you whisper.

Din can't handle the question, especially with the way you're looking up at him. His arm jerks over the bench. He feels the flower pot and, through his cloudy and hazy mind, briefly remembers he placed the flower there. But it's too late; he accidentally knocks it over, and it plummets onto the ship’s floor.

The pot shatters, and you're both engulfed in a cloud of yellow dust. Shocked, you gasp and inadvertently inhale the powder. Violent coughs rack your body, and you close your eyes to shield them from the unknown substance. The powder doesn’t relent; it keeps engulfing you, and your throat constricts. Uncomfortable sensations intensify and your senses heighten. The thumping of your heartbeat becomes almost deafening, and you scramble to get up.

Din, shielded by his suit, doesn’t feel the same effects, but he sees your struggle and panics. All of his instincts are screaming to do something and in a desperate move, he takes off his helmet with an audible hiss. The powder rushes toward his nostrils, and he can't prevent inhaling it. Quickly, he lifts it off his head and rushes to place it over yours. You feel a cold metal sensation over your head, and your vision darkens. Confused, you raise your hands to your head, realizing Din's helmet is now covering you. The powder is less potent with the beskar helmet, but since you lack the full armor, some dust still infiltrates your system. Amidst the odd sensations and confusion, one emotion surges to the forefront: desire.

Knowing Din's helmet is over your head, you suddenly realize his face is exposed. Though tempted to open your eyes, you resist, knowing his creed means everything to him. You actively fight against yourself to keep your eyes shut.

Now, it's Din who is the most exposed. He holds his breath to avoid inhaling the substance, but he quickly discovers that not breathing only intensifies the burning sensation in his throat, forcing him to open up his breathing—what the powder wants.

Din can't endure it any longer. He takes you by the hand and pulls you urgently, all his instincts urging him to claim you as his own. As he guides you to his room to escape the relentless pollen, he can feel himself growing harder with each step.

The slightest friction from his suit elicits a sigh of relief. You hear him, and it causes the dampness between your thighs to intensify. Both of you, eyes still closed, manage to reach Din’s room.

He pushes you inside and closes the door. For a fleeting moment, he questions whether keeping you in the same confined space as him was a mistake. Then, he hears your sweet voice.

“Din, it hurts,” you say, on the verge of tears.

“What hurts, cyar'ika?” he questions, feeling a pain of his own. He recognizes the ache he's experiencing—a longing that hurts, the pain of not being able to reach you, entwine his body with yours. He wonders if the powder is affecting his virgin ass differently.

“I-” The words catch in your throat, and with eyes shut, you sit down on Din’s mattress. It's so soft, and the scent of him surrounds you. With trembling hands, you lift the helmet off your head. “I just… I feel like my body hurts,” you reply vaguely.

“Where?” He rasps, eyes flying open as he sees you lying down and squirming on his bed. His resolve crumbles, and he has to physically restrain himself against the wall to resist walking toward you.

“Uhh,” you breathe, the sound morphing into a moan. “Between my thighs,” you admit, unable to lie. Your entire focus is consumed by the desperate need to touch yourself, to feel Din's touch.

“Din,” you whine, and the plea only makes him clench his fists, fighting the urge to go to you. “You should leave.”

“Can’t leave you alone,” Din chokes out, his gaze fixed on you as you start unbuttoning your pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat, your hand finding its way down to your core. Despite any potential embarrassment, the overwhelming sensation induced by the pollen outweighs everything. With Din in the room, you can't resist the burning desire.

As your hand slides underneath the soft fabric of your panties, instant relief washes over you. Rubbing circles over your clit, you thrash on Din’s bed, succumbing to the frenzy of desire that the pollen has ignited.

Din can’t bring himself to close his eyes. A little voice demands him to keep his eyes open and to touch you. He hears your whines, and he feels his body temperature rise. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he bites the leather, tasting its texture briefly. He doesn’t dwell on it too long; he rips his head away, and the glove dangles between his teeth. Frantically, he repeats this for the other hand. Now, his hands and head are bare. Din's gaze is on you again, and he sees that now you’ve got your entire hand between your thighs. A strangled noise escapes his throat, and you keep moaning, causing sweat to bead on Din’s forehead without any physical exertion.

With your eyes still closed, you don’t know what Din is doing. Following your instincts, you have your entire hand between your thighs, your index and middle fingers delving deep, while your thumb works on your pearl. Wet squelching sounds, along with your moans, fill the room.

“So wet,” you mutter unconsciously. It’s true; you have so much slick that it’s dripped onto your underwear, feeling uncomfortably wet.

“‘M so-oh!-sorry.” Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as the relentless effect of the substance refuses to subside. Frustration mounts with each attempt, as you’ve tried every flicker on your pearled nub that would usually get you to your climax at this point, but nothing.

You huff and slide your free hand underneath your black shirt. When your hand makes contact with the bare skin, goosebumps erupt across your body. The scalding warmth of your hand travels to your right breast, and as your fingertips hit the smooth fabric of your plain black bra, you bend the cup to reach your nipple. It's pebbled and sensitive to the touch. You hiss but find some pleasure when you roll it between your thumb and index digits.

“Din, I’m so sorry. I can’t stop,” you confess, apology evident in your tone as you work both hands in a feverish attempt to reach your peak. Feeling it build and build, it doesn’t come. Mortified by the silence you think, I’ve made him uncomfortable; he’s going to hate me and kick me o-

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he pants, and amidst the haze of desire, you hear the distinct clatter of metal hitting the floor.

“Din? ¿Qué estás haciendo? (What are you doing?)” you ask, not panicked by the idea of him being naked, but rather concerned that the drug might be compelling him into actions he doesn't want to take. You can say with full confidence that you’ve certainly entertained fantasies involving Din, though not this exact scenario, but the thought of him touching himself has fueled countless fantasies that ended in a mess on your bedsheets while you stifled your own cries with your hand.

Your curiosity battles with respect for his privacy; you so badly want to open your eyes and see him, but you know he's never allowed you to see him before. You won't risk making things worse by breaching that boundary.

“Din?” you ask again.

“Uhh,” comes his broken moan. “Cyar'ika- ahh,” he pants, “p-perdóname, perdóname (forgive me, forgive me),” he utters apologies, and your heightened hearing sharpens. The wet sounds of skin against skin reach your ears, and your heart rate spikes as you realize what he's doing – fisting his dick between his hands.

When the realization crosses your mind, you sit up suddenly. Din takes in your disheveled state – hair tousled, chest heaving, pants unbuttoned and unzipped. He's scared that he might have crossed a line and spooked you. But in your mind, it's quite the opposite. You feel the need to go to your own room; if you stay with Din, you'll break.

“I should go to my quarters,” you say, attempting to get leave. However, you take two steps and stumble.

“No, please. I… I need you,” Din pleads. He's terrified of what this situation means for him, yet he can't bear the thought of you leaving.

“Din, I don’t know what I’ll do if I stay,” you confess. Conversations about your sexual lives have remained nonexistent, as any attempt to bring up the topic with Din has been met with him tensing up.

“Tell me if you want me to take you to my bed. If not, I’ll leave, I promise,” Din says sincerely.

Your mind spins at the thought of finally being with Din, but then, logistical concerns invade your thoughts. You bring your palms over your eyes, ready to shield them just in case you open them involuntarily.

“You don’t have your helmet,” you point out.

“I want you to see me,” he says, and you hear him walking over to you. He gently touches your hands, slowly prying them away. You can feel the heat radiating from both of you, your bodies near boiling. Even though your eyelids are closed, you sense a soft blue light hitting your eyes.

“Mírame (Look at me),” Din whispers.

"Din, your creed… it means everything to you," you murmur with your eyes shut, your concern and care evident in your voice, not wanting him to sacrifice a fundamental part of himself.

He lifts his gaze, and in the soft glow of the room’s blue lights, his eyes speak volumes. "It’s not my creed that means everything to me. It’s you.” He's more than just a Mandalorian at that moment; he’s a man longing to share a part of himself with someone who understands—someone who means more to him than any set of rules or traditions ever could. He’s a man eager to bare every fiber of his being in a way he has never done before to the woman who holds the key to his heart.

"Din," you whisper, your voice carrying a subtle tremor of emotion. The weight of his admission washes over you like a gentle wave, a profound realization of the depth of his feelings. Your heart skips a beat, and a cascade of butterflies takes flight in your stomach as you grasp the tenderness of his words. As it dawns on you that he's opening up, willing to share this intimate part of himself that he's guarded so fiercely, it feels like he has unlocked a door to a chamber of his heart that few have entered. You find yourself standing on the threshold, touched by the privilege of being allowed in.

Your eyes flutter open, and a rush of emotions floods your heart as you see him for the first time. He's older than you, his black hair carrying beads of sweat on his temples. His eyes, a captivating shade of brown, reflect your own gaze back at you. You're drawn to the aquiline nose that gives his face character, and you have a fleeting desire to trace its pattern with your finger. His lips, the lower one slightly plusher, hold a subtle pout, and above them, a well-groomed mustache adds a touch of rugged charm. Stubble decorates his strong jaw, and you notice patches of bare skin, hinting at his inability to grow a full beard – a delightful detail you can't wait to tease him about later.

As you take in the sight before you, Din notices your expression but struggles to decipher it. Your parted lips and tear-filled eyes stir a fear within him, a nagging doubt that he's made a grave mistake. She hates what she sees. This was a mistake. I never should have told her-

"You're so beautiful, Din," the words flow from your lips in a breathy whisper as you tenderly caress his face. His rugged features soften under your touch, but in the midst of this beautiful moment, an involuntary twitch stirs within him.

In the corner of your eye, you catch the movement and let your gaze fall to his lower half. A gasp passes through your lips as you take in the full extent of him. Din, however, misinterprets your reaction, and he finds himself entangled in self-deprecating thoughts. Insecurity gnaws at him as he wonders, Maybe she's seen better. Am I not big enough?

A sudden impulse takes over, and before you realize it, you find yourself on your knees, looking up at Din with blown pupils. The groan that escapes from deep within his lungs is a mix of surprise, desire, and fulfillment. His mind races with the realization that his once-confined dirty dreams are now becoming a reality. A fleeting question crosses his mind: Should I tell her?

"Can I?" you ask, your eyes fixated on his erection, your mouth watering. "Can I touch you?" You clarify.

"Yes, please," he responds, his heavy-lidded eyes looking down at you intently.

Taking a moment to admire Din, you notice the trimmed patch of dark hair leading to his belly button. His thickness is accentuated by veins running along, but your focus zeroes in on a prominent blue vein down the middle, forking at the end. He's cut, and whether it's the blue light or the effect of the powder, you notice a purple hue at the tip, where he's leaking pre-cum. From above you, Din pleads for you to do something.

You oblige, and you take him into your hands, smearing the liquid down to his base. There's an abundance, allowing you to thoroughly coat him. At your touch, Din's head falls backward, and his thighs tremble under the intensity of having another person’s hand on him for the first time.

"Uhn," he breathes out at the sensation of your warm hands enveloping him in a tight grip. Your fingers struggle to wrap fully around his thick length, Oh, he doesn’t fit in my hand, you realize. Adjusting quickly, you bring your left hand to join, both hands working together as they move up and down, utilizing his pre-cum as natural lubrication. Mindful not to cause any discomfort, you bring your mouth closer, preparing to add saliva to further coat him.

"Umm… I've never done this before," Din confesses in a tone you almost miss.

His words cause you to pause, confusion evident on your face as you squirm on your knees. The yellow dust in your bloodstream seems to intensify your need for him by a million.

"Handjob?"

Din appears panicky, realizing he admitted to something he wasn't sure how you would react to. There's no taking the words back, and he opts for honesty. "Everything," he confesses, looking away from you.

It takes a while for you to process his admission. "Oh!” He's a virgin?

Din exhales, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I just killed the mood, didn’t I?"

"No, no, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Really, I'm just shocked. It’s just, it’s you. You’re so beautiful. I mean, I was, um, attracted to you when I met you. I wouldn’t have guessed.” Your voice turns into a hushed whisper. "Although things make sense now.” You tap on his side to make him look down at you. "I’m sorry for assuming," you say, fully honest and apologetic, and then get up.

He looks at you with eyes filled with shame and embarrassment.

"Come here," you say with a reassuring smile and slowly guide him backward until the back of his legs are touching the bed. You raise your hands, place them on his shoulders, and gently press down. Now with Din seated, you kneel once more.

Your eyes can’t help but be pulled to his glistening dick. "Do you want this? Are you sure it's not just the powder? Because I feel it too," you pause, exhaling as the ache in your cunt intensifies. "But I need you to want this with me. It's okay if you don't. We can do other stuff until the effects wear off."

"I do, I do want you," Din nods desperately.

You can sense the sincerity in his words, and the mutual need between you two becomes increasingly difficult to resist. Knowing you can't delay both of your desires any longer, you lower your head slightly and purse your lips. Once you feel a decent stream of saliva accumulate in your mouth, you spit on Din's cock.

"Uh, fuck," he moans in a pained voice. The sight of you spitting on him triggers primal feelings within him, desires he never realized he had until this moment. Now that he's seen it, he knows he wants you to repeat it, as long as you're willing. The urge to tell you to do it again is strong, but when he sees you opening your mouth and guiding his cock into it, coherent thoughts are replaced with pure gibberish.

His head breaches your lips, and the immediate warmth that surrounds his length is otherworldly. "Oh, oh," Din chants, the sensation feeling entirely foreign but undeniably pleasurable as your tongue dances along his sensitive tip.

Sitting back on your knees, you take a moment to admire the man before you. Din throws his head back in pleasure, but as soon as he realizes he can't see you, he quickly brings it forward to look down at you. Despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on you, they occasionally flutter close. Each time they do, he pries them open, forcing them back open, but against his will, they shut again.

He must feel overwhelmed, you think. You want to take it slow, build up to it, but the drug-like substance won't allow for such restraint.

Din opens and closes his mouth, clearly wanting to speak. "You can say it," you encourage him, though your words come out muffled. You peer at him through your eyelashes, continuing to suck.

"It- ah… feels good. You make me feel good."

"Oh, Din, good boy," you praise in your head, his words causing everything in you to flutter, making you more determined to bring him even more pleasure. To reward him, you take a deep breath through your nose, attempting to relax your throat. Once you feel sufficiently relaxed, your hands find Din's hips, careful not to press on the red-blue bruise on his left side. Gripping him firmly with both hands, you rise on your knees, sitting taller, and push your mouth against him in one swift motion.

Din jolts, sitting down abruptly, and “Nngh,” a strangled growl escapes him at the sudden sensation of having his entire dick shoved down your throat. His breathing intensifies, unsure of what to do with his hands. He resorts to gripping his sheets, and sweat begins to dampen his hair, falling onto his forehead.

Maintaining him in the depths of your throat for a few moments, you try your best to stifle any urge to gag. As you begin to pull away, Din lets out incoherent mumbles.

Your fingertips ghost over his injury, then press gently, eliciting a broken groan. "Does your side hurt?" you ask, retreating your fingers.

Din felt a surge of desire when you pressed on his bruise. Though he's embarrassed to admit yet another thing, considering how you tried to hold back for him, he decides to be honest with you. "A little, but… I like it.”

“Oh?” you say, surprised. “Well, we'll explore that next time,” you tell him, quite excited to discover more about what makes him reel.

You remove your hand from his left side and bring it to his shaft. Your fingers sprawl across the thickness, and Din feels them move over his veins. The sensitivity makes him pant out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

With his dick pointing up, you bring your head to the level of his pecs and envelop his tip with your lips. “Oh, fuck, ohh,” he grunts, then loses control of his hands, and his elbows give out. Stumbling backward, his back hits the mattress.

“Din!” you gasp in concern, but your words come out incoherent since you still have him in your mouth. Before you can rise on your legs and lean over to check if he’s okay, he sits back up, his stomach moving. Observing the way the slight roundness of his stomach jumps, you find it attractive and groan into him.

“Ah,” he says, mouth dropping and eyes fluttering.

You relish the effect you have on him, bobbing your head over the tip repeatedly. Instead of going further, you focus on licking his slit every once in a while, savoring the pre-cum that's leaking onto your fist.

While he's a mess above you, Din is captivated by the color and shape of your lips. Her lips… over me… it’s, uh, so good.

Desiring some friction, you rock your hips, though it's to no avail. You whine into him, the vibrations causing Din to groan. Shit, shit, shit, he pants in his head as the heat in his stomach snaps.

Feeling him pulse in your mouth, and judging by his sounds, you know he’s about to cum. Your slick sticks to the inside of your pants at the thought of swallowing his load. Din frantically tries to warn you to get off, “Cum! I’m- ahh,” you don’t let up; you just increase your pace. In the blink of an eye, hot, salty liquid explodes in your mouth. You try to take as much as you can, but you can’t swallow everything fast enough. Gulp after gulp, there’s more, and it spills from your lips onto your right hand that’s wrapped around his base, even landing on the dark patch of hair on his pubic area.

“Oh, fuck,” Din moans, drawing out the K, his hips unconsciously raising ever so lightly, rocking more of him into your mouth.

Once his high subsides, you remove yourself from him and rise from your knees to touch his face, looking to the side. “Din,” you call, and since he doesn’t move his head, you shift to the side of the bed to be face-to-face with him. Your heart breaks when you see his coffee eyes brimming with tears.

“Baby,” you say softly, and it prompts Din's tears to fall. “Why are you crying?” you question gently.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “dank farrik, I’m so pathetic,” Din shakes his head.

“You’re not pathetic, Din,” you assure him.

He inhales sharply. “It’s just that this is the first time… the first time I’ve, um, orgasmed from the hands of another person. For so long, I could never do anything because I was taught it was wrong. I even felt guilty the first time I touched myself, and I just can’t help but feel like I’ve committed some big transgression.”

For a moment, you're stumped. You want to comfort him but are unsure if you'll make things worse while he’s vulnerable.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” you decide to say. You sit next to him, mindful not to touch him. “I hate that you feel like that. Because what we did shouldn’t make you feel bad. We’re two consenting adults—well, as much as we can think straight because of that weird pollen,” you say, and Din laughs, making you smile. You continue, “Single adults. You shouldn’t feel guilty, Din; it’s natural. We can stop if you want. I won’t think any less of you, I promise,” you bring a hand to your chest and make an X over your heart.

"I still want to continue," he says, reaching for your hand. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but everyone has always instilled this belief in me. It feels good hearing from someone else that I shouldn’t feel guilty."

"Okay, baby," you tell him. "What do you want to do next?" You want to make sure the ball is in his court and that you’re not guided by the drug in your system.

"Well, I’m still hard," he says, and you look down to see that, indeed, it's true.

"Oh, wow. I’d take that as a compliment, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of the flower.”

"I want to do something for you now," Din says, rising to his feet and pushing you to lay down on the soft mattress. You instinctively part your legs, and he's the one on his knees now, playing with the unbuttoned button. "May I?" he asks in the sweetest voice.

You lift your hips, and Din hooks his fingers on the waistband of your pants. He begins to slide them down quite fast, leaving you in your panties. Maker, I can see through her underwear, Din mutters in his head, melting at the sight.

"Your thighs, they’re all wet," he comments out loud.

You giggle and cross your hands at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. "That’s all ‘cause of you, baby," you say in a sultry voice as you unhook your bra and throw it behind you.

Din loses his train of thought when he sees your exposed chest. He stares, mouth agape.

“They’re so…pretty,” he says, mesmerized and blushing. Suddenly, he begins to paw at your panties, rips them off you, and hooks your legs over his shoulders with ease.

You gasp in shock, and it turns to a whine when Din dips his head between your parted thighs, licking an experimental stripe from your tight hole up to your clit. “Ah! D-Din!” you sit up a bit and tangle your hands in his black curls. He groans into you, driven by pure instinct and fragments of recollection from what he had heard when he was working by himself. Attempting to recall bits he had gathered here and there from conversations in bars.

He laps at your juices, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive points, closing his eyes, fully enjoying the taste, moaning out so lovingly almost as though he was the one receiving pleasure. Shit, Din growled in his mind, she tastes so good. You were a moaning mess above him. He was a little sloppy, but his eagerness and hot tongue more than made up for it.

“Mmm…You’re doing great. Just here,” you say and tell him how to touch your clit. After a few words of guidance, Din has it wrapped around his lips.

“Ohhh!” you yelp and rut your hips against his mouth as he sucks your bundle of nerves. His eyes shut in sheer pleasure, the sultry sounds of your moans fueling his desire. You are surprisingly close, and your entire body is covered with a sheer layer of sweat. Your arms and abdomen tire, and you lay down. You raise your head a little, just enough to see Din use his tongue against your pearled nub and bring one hand from your hip to your thighs. You watch in excitement as he lets go of your right leg over his shoulder and flips his wrist on his ventral side. Very gently, he takes his index and middle finger and presses them against your entrance.

"Is this okay?" he rasps, pushing more of his fingers into your slick warmth.

You nod your head fervently, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you open. “Mm… I love your fingers," you gasp. "So good- they feel so good."

Din thrusts his fingers deeper, feeling your warm, wet walls clench around him already, feeling you sucking him in further.

"You're getting wetter," he observes, his voice a low growl, not expecting a response.

"Th-that's ‘cus you're," you pause to huff, "making me feel so much pleasur- ah!" you scream when he presses against your sweet spot and you continue to tell him he's doing a good job. "You can try opening and closing your fingers," you suggest.

He scissors his fingers and unexpectedly wraps his lips around your sensitive bud, sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your entire body.

You moan and writhe, lost in the pleasure he’s providing. "Your mouth, Din! Oh, Maker- fuck!" The words tumble from your lips, a symphony of desire, as your body quivers with impending release. "Din!" His name escapes your lips in a sharp, forced breath as you shatter into blissful climax.

In the depths of his mind, Din revels in the satisfaction of making you cum. The only twinge of regret is that he couldn't witness the ecstasy on your face, still occupied with his fingers buried inside you, working with his tongue on your swollen bud. He’s panting and you tell him to come up. Unaware of your plea, he continues his fervent attention, his fingers and tongue working together. You tug at his hair, urging him to rise. When he lets up, he slowly withdraws his digits and relishes the gasp you elicit.

Face to face with you, like a sculptor admiring his masterpiece, he adores the way your hair sticks to your forehead, and your expression is drenched in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Kiss," you command, pulling him closer, lips hungry for him.

He complies, and the moment his lips meet yours, it feels like a burst of lightning goes off in his head. His heart leaps wildly in his chest, and inside your stomach, a flurry of butterflies suddenly and furiously takes flight. A low groan escapes him when your tongues meet.

The air seems to dissipate in his lungs, and reluctantly, he tears his mouth away. Panting, his forehead touches yours as he confesses, "I've never tasted myself before."

"Do you like it?"

"From your lips? Yes," he admits, a shy tone lingering in his voice.

You've decided you like making him blush, so you lean in and whisper into his ear, "Maybe you'll like it even more when you're licking it from my pussy."

A low groan escapes Din, and he pushes you back into the mattress. Catching your mouth, the first kiss you shared had been softer and hesitant, but this one is all-consuming. He pours every pent-up feeling he's harbored for you into the searing kiss. You feel his hard length pressing against your hip, prompting you to break the kiss and spread your legs as far as you can with Din hovering above you.

"Are you ready, baby?" you ask Din, running your fingers along the contours of his face.

Not trusting his words, he nods, his eyes filled with a hunger matching yours.

“We should stay in this position so you can control the movement," you suggest, still feeling the lingering effects of the flower, though now slightly subdued after Din made you cum.

“Are we okay to um…” Din hesitates, not knowing how to initiate the conversation about protection.

“I’ve got an implant, oh, and you can come inside if you want.”

Din looks down at you, a near-helpless expression on his face. You wrap one leg around his waist, and he grips himself in his hand. His breathing hitches as he guides himself to your entrance. You notice some hesitance in his eyes, so you lift your head to kiss his nose and whisper that it's okay.

Din presses his tip inside you and lowers his entire body to yours, careful not to crush you. His mouth seeks yours to muffle the noises he's sure will escape his lips any second now. Ohh, Maker. How does she f-feel this good? Din asks himself, unable to believe that such pleasure exists. Of course, I can only find it in her, he concludes.

Meanwhile, you feel your body temperature rising. He's unbelievably girthy, and you feel all of his veins and ridges as your body molds to his. Din presses his knees on the mattress and thrusts more of himself into you. Your breath is stolen from your lungs when your body works overtime to open up. Din felt you tense and muttered apologies after apologies, but you reassured him that you were okay; it was just taking you a while to fully take him. He stilled and slowly withdrew himself as much as he could. Your body was not letting him go, and he was only giving you less than half of his cock to open you up. When you begged him for more, he complied, and he pushed more of himself faster this time. You spread your legs wider, and when he bottomed out, "Ah! Uhn…Di-Din!" you cried, and your eyes shut closed, overwhelmed.

“Hah– fuck,” Din spat out, hips suddenly stuttering, feeling your soft, velvety walls tightening. No, no, not yet, Din scolds himself. He grits his teeth and stops moving to get himself to calm down.

When he stops pounding you, you close your legs around him, making you tighter.

"B-baby, don't do that," Din chokes.

You open your eyes and see that he's looking at you intently, so you spread your legs apart once more. When they touch the mattress, Din pulls out, leaving just his head in, and quickly thrusts himself back into your pussy.

In response, you squeal and claw at his back. That seems to give him more motivation, and he continues to brutally take you. The room is filled with the sounds of wet squelching noises, moans, grunts, you calling out his name, him calling out yours, and skin slapping skin as his balls repeatedly hit against your cunt.

With the ferocity he's taking you, he sees your breasts bouncing, and he can't resist lowering his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. His hot tongue is flickering over your pearled bud, and you tell him, "Bite- uhn- bite it gently and… and then run your tongue against it.

Din follows your command eagerly. As he ruts his hips against yours with unrestrained fervor, his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your nipple, biting gently before his tongue dances over the aroused bud. The initial pain transforms into a pleasurable sensation, prompting you to wrap both legs around his hips, meeting his wild thrusts. As the crown of his head brushes against the deepest part of you, you can't help but wail.

"Oh!" you moan, feeling your body shudder as the tension in your stomach reaches its peak. Clinging to Din, in a matter of seconds, waves of pleasure cascade through you, and a steady stream of liquid pours out, covering both your thighs, his abdomen, and the bedsheets. Simultaneously, Din cries out your name, his hips losing their rhythm as he feels you clenching around him like a vice. You feel him pulsing, and immediately after, he spills. Rope after rope, he fills you up with his warm seed. His body collapses on top of yours, and for a moment, his vision blacks out. His hands rest next to your head, and he moves his head to mumble incoherent nonsense directly into your ear.

Both of you catch your breath, and you soothingly run your hand up and down Din's back. He responds with tender kisses on your forehead before raising his head.

"Thank you," he pants, his breath still ragged, and quickly adds, "Was that okay for you?"

You laugh lightly. "You made me squirt."

"Oh," he blushes, "It's probably due to the flower."

"Maybe… I mean, it's never happened with someone else and certainly not this much by myself.”

Your mind is still hazy, and you don't hear his response. "I wish you'd cum on my face," you say, not mindful of your words. Then you feel him twitch inside you. You gasp and ask him, "Din, are you still hard?"

He doesn't reply; he just looks down sheepishly at where you and him are connected.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips. "Can we try something?"

He brings his gaze back up and nods. You untangle your legs from him and bring your arms to slowly push him off you.

He gets the message and slowly pulls out of you, causing both of you to groan at the loss. Once he's no longer inside you, you sit up and ask him to get off the bed. Without an explanation, he's confused but does what you ask.

You scoot up to the edge of the bed and then get on all fours in front of him. "I want you to fuck my face."

Din's mouth parts into an 'o' as you take his hardened length into your hand, guiding him between your lips. When you taste yourself on him, you moan, and so does he. He feels heavy against your tongue, and the sounds coming from him are heavenly.

You pull back to tell him, "If you don't like something, let me know." Then, you begin to take him deeper until you reach the thickest part of him.

"You-" he begins but stays quiet. Does he want to say something? you question in your head but go back to moving your head at a steady rhythm. Very lightly, you scrape your teeth carefully to avoid biting him or drawing blood. At the sensation, Din bucks his hips forward, and he whines. Again, he sounds like he wants to talk but decides against it. You want to hear whatever he needs, so reluctantly, you pull back but keep stroking him in your hand.

"¿Por qué no me quieres decir lo que quieres? (Why don't you tell me what you want to say?)" you ask, looking at him through your lashes.

"I-" he groans when you use your thumb to circle the slit at his tip, "'M not good at the dirty talk."

"Say whatever comes to mind. You won't scare me off," you promise, and then envelop him in your mouth once more. To get him more comfortable with showing him you can handle him being rough, you take one of his hands that are awkwardly at his side and bring it to the back of your head. His large hand sprawls like he's holding a small ball, and experimentally he moves your head closer to him, making you move further on his length. He hears you struggle and is about to remove his hand in fear, but you raise your hand to hold his in place. You relax your throat and slightly move your head further, then let your hand drop. Din understands and begins to guide you to take him deeper. Feeling your hot mouth wrapped around him was causing him to spew curse after curse, still not confident enough to say what he so desperately wanted. Take her, Din. Rómpele el cerebro con maldad. She wants you to be rough with her. But if you don't want her, another man would certainly happily take her off your hands and make good use of her mou- and just like that a switch flipped in Din.

"Is this what you want, Cyar'ika?" he asks and then in one go, presses your face into his pelvic area. Thankfully, your throat had already been opened up by the time you silently asked, more like begged, for him to fuck your face so it wasn't too painful to take him down your lower throat suddenly.

"Mhm," you whine, and you do everything you can to stimulate a nod.

"Good, baby," he answers, and in an animalistic pace, he thrusts his hips over and over. Your eyes water, but you love it. You love the way he looks blissed out, with his eyebrows lifting every time his cockhead touches the back of your throat. You love the way he’s letting go, and you love that you’re the first person to see him like this, and if you play your cards right, the only one.

This time when your nose hits his dark patch of hair, you take an arm to still his movements. Once your hand cups around his waist, you inhale his smell—it's musky and somewhat sweet. The scent intensifies your desire for his cum, so you drop your hand and resume your ministrations.

“Fuck!” he grunts in surprise when you massage one of his balls with your fingers. "Good girl."

He didn't give you any indication he didn't like it, but still, you look up at him and see him already peering down at you. “Shit, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth," he praises, fueling your moans. The vibrations reverberate through him, and he opens his mouth to tell you, “Your mouth feels fucking fantastic. This is why I was jealous of your stupid candy."

"What?" you muffle into him.

"When you had that bright purple lollipop in your mouth. You-ah-you kept on sucking it, making all of those noises and saying how good it tasted. I kept thinking about having your mouth on me, and it was driving me crazy.”

You giggle, thinking about the ridiculous idea that he was jealous of some sugary treat.

"¿Crees que es chistoso? (Do you think it’s funny?)“ He doesn't take your laughter lightly and harshly snaps his hips against your face. His lips curl into a snarl, and wet sounds along with Din's grunts echo throughout the room. Amidst his brutal pace, his hazy mind thinks, Is she okay? Quickly, he opens his eyes to see if he didn't take it too far, only to see one of your hands in between your thighs, fingers working deep inside of you. It only encourages him to keep slamming his cock, driven by the pleasure coursing through his veins and seeing your oh-so-pretty lips molding him perfectly.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close-“ he warns, releasing the grip he has on your head. You scramble to detach yourself from Din, causing a long string of saliva to form once you pull off him. Your jaw is a bit sore to continue sucking him off, so you resort to taking his base into your hand and angling his dick with his tip pointing upwards. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for your next move.

Instead of your lips wrapping around his dick, they lower to his sack. You suck his left ball, and your hand fondles the other one.

"Fuck, yes," he moans, his eyes fluttering shut. You love that he’s gotten more vocal; it makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. When you alternate your actions, it causes him to whimper out your name in a broken moan. You feel him pulse, and since you don’t want it to be over yet, you kneel in front of him and trail your lips upwards, licking the veins on the underside of his dick. His cockhead is leaking again, and you can’t help but run your tongue there, collecting the liquid that has dripped lower, almost to your fist.

“Chúpale ahí, mami, así, así (Suck it in there, mami, like that, like that),” Din whines, and his words cause you to whine too. You want his cum now, you decide, and one last time, you wrap your lips around his purple tip and run a hand down to his base to play with his balls. You feel him pulse, his stomach tenses, his thighs shake, and “a- uhn!” You close your eyes and stick your tongue out. His hot seed comes out in ropes. It paints your breasts in white iridescent cream, and it hits just below your eye. With your mouth open, some of his cum lands on your tongue. He’s panting and letting out strings of your name along with curses. Once you’re sure you’ve milked him for every last drop, you let your grip off and swallow his spend. Mmm, he tastes salty and like apples, you muse. When you open your eyes, Din’s just finished composing himself. His lashes flutter open, and when he sees you peering up at him, he gives you a smile brighter than the hottest sun.

“Ven aqui (come here),” he beckons, and you rise to his height, throwing your arms around him. He meets your lips for a kiss and quickly scoops you up to carry you. With you in his arms, he walks to his bathroom with the intention of taking a shower. You separate your lips from him to talk.

“So, the mami thing,” you start, and he buts in with a groan. “Escucha pues (listen to me),” you scold.

He playfully rolls his eyes. “I’m all ears,” but then his expression changes. “Wait, did you not like that? I’m so sor-“ You cover his mouth and kiss his nose.

“You’ve really gotta let me finish my sentences, baby,” you say, playing with his sweaty curls around the nape of his neck. “I loved it. I was just wondering if papi was on the table for you.”

“Woman,” he exhales like he’s in pain. “Let’s shower and then go a few more times.” He feels himself grow again and quickly opens the bathroom door.

You grin at his response. “Did you know that shower sex is a thing?”

Extended A/N: In my previous post, I mentioned that this story might be the last one I share before leaving this website. I haven't had the time to finalize my decision yet. I appreciate those who reached out – thank you 🩷. To give you some context, I considered leaving due to some negative interactions I received. I often portray my characters as Spanish speakers, and unfortunately, that has led to some unfavorable responses. However, as I mentioned earlier, I haven't made a final decision yet. Anyhow, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day 🫶🏽!

#Din Djarin x female reader #Virgin!Din Djarin #Din Djarin x reader #Din Djarin smut #sex pollen #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite DAVE YORK Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 1

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Desperation - @theywhowriteandknowthings

Dollhouse, Broken Sleep & Wonderful Tonight Featuring Frankie Morales - @psychedelic-ink

Bound For Carnage Series - @psychedelic-ink

Scotch & Cherry - @ghostfanwriter Tutor!Reader

I Can Barely Breathe, True North & Anchor - @yespolkadotkitty

My Girl Featuring Frankie Morales, Your Taste I Crave, Sharpshooter, Kinktober 22 Lactation & After Hours - @foli-vora

Just A Piece - @palioom

The Cabin In The Woods Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3 - @xdaddysprincessxx Dark!Dead Dove

Dave York Masterlist - @absurdthirst So many good ones on there!

Isn't She A Doll? - @proxima-writes

Three Days - @massivedreamer CartelBossF!Reader

Revenge, Stupid Little Heart & Drabble 1 - @toomanystoriessolittletime

Amarum & A Healing Touch - @juletheghoul

Red & Unholy Series - @alwaysdjarin

Summer Schooled Series Featuring Joel Miller, You Say Hate But I Think You Mean The Other Thing Series & Dave Masterlist - @boliv-jenta

My Best Friend's Dad Series & Dave York Masterlist - @whiskeynwriting

The Senator's Daughter Series - @detectivecarisi-1 Bodyguard!Dave

The Secrets We Keep - @wildemaven

The Violence Of You, Dark!Dave Ropes, Reckless, Pitch Black Series Blind!OFC, Stay With Me, Intimidation Tactics Series Featuring Marcus Pike & Special Virgin!Reader - @whataperfectwasteoftime

A Valentine's In Reverse - @littlebirdsbookshelf

1k Smut Sensation Thigh Riding - @thetriumphantpanda

Antagonists - @getitoutofmymindwrites

Thirteen Days Series - @josephquinnswhore

Two For One - @suzdin Featuring Max Phillips

Drown In Your Wrath & Fury & You Made Me A Villain - @movievillainess721

Appreciation Series F!Nanny Reader, The Storm, Religious Corruption Series Virgin!Reader, Silent, This Is Me Trying Series Surgeon!Dave, & A Little Taste - @pedropascalsx

The Good, The Bad & The Naughty, Attending Mr York Series, One Week With Dave York Series, & Cherry Kisses - @popcornforone

Precious Possessions Series - @exquisiteserotonin

Emptiness - @deadhumourist SoftDom!Dave

Desires & Complications Series - @ezrasbirdie Featuring Marcus Pike

Notes On Tutoring Series - @honestly-shite Music College AU

Assistance - @adancedivasmom

Mine - @theewokingdead F!NannyReader

Needs & Wants - @thefloorisbalaclava

Interrogation - @secretwriterpp Dark/Violence Featuring Frankie Morales

Yours, Rulebreaker, Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) & Temptation - @wheresarizona

Eres Mia Series - @loslentesdepedrito Featuring Marcus Pike

Kinktober Day 4 Breath Play - @moralesispunk

Satisfy Me - @whiskeyncoke-redux

Desired Punishment Series Dark!Dave & Office Rendezvous - @coastielaceispunk

Burnt Honey - @pedrito-friskito

Risk - @katareyoudrilling

Larks & Katydids - @kiwisbell AO3 Link

Daddy Dave Masterlist - @pintsizemama

Volatile - @javier-pena

Dave Request - @radiowallet

Façade - @furious-rogue-stuff

Killer Writing Series - @wardenparker

#pedro pascal characters #dave york #fic recs #dave york x f!reader #dave york the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 #dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character universe #dave york x you #dave york x female reader

[loslentesdepedrito]

Feliz Navidad

Javi gif by: Ggyussance My Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking Latina f!reader (No race, skin color, or nationality mentioned. I tried my best to include small parts of each Spanish-speaking Latin American country.)

Word count: 11.3k+

Summary: At every family reunion, the relentless interrogation about your love life becomes a tiring ritual. Fed up with the relentless questions and awkward setups, you turn to Javi, your best friend, and ask him to be your date for the upcoming family Christmas party. He suggests that you take it a step further by pretending to be a couple. Can the two of you play pretend, especially when, in reality, you both harbor secret feelings for each other?

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: slight angst, happy ending, fake dating, friends to lovers, jealous and possessive Javi, reader and Javi are in their 20s, not canon, just a smidge of idiots in love, reader wears a dress, lingerie, makeup, and is shorter than Javi, alcohol consumption, Javi being cheesy with your family, unprotected piv, cowgirl, use of a sex toy, oral (female receiving) reader likes to pull Javi's hair, creampie, slight cum eating, Javi loving his cum inside you.

A/N: I’m on vacation and meant to upload this on the 24th, but didn’t have time to add the translations. Sorry for the delay, tarde pero seguro. Enjoy! 

"Come on, Javi," you plead again, watching him chew thoughtfully. There's a sense of urgency in your voice as you desperately hope he’ll agree to be your date for your family’s Christmas gathering. "Please, I'm practically begging you. I'll get down on my hands and knees if I have to." This finally grabs his attention. Caught off guard while swallowing, he hears your words and can't help but let his imagination run wild. The image of you begging, not just for any favor, but for him – for his cock, fills his mind. With a sudden intensity, he forces the last bite of the torta cubana down his throat, triggering a fit of coughing.

Reacting quickly, you reach for the glass of iced water on the table, extending it toward him without a word. He accepts the offering from your outstretched hand, bringing the cool glass to his lips. In a fluid motion, Javi tilts his head back, the cup cradled by his fingers.

Your attention zeroes in on the man before you: The plushness of his lower lip curves around the rim of the glass; as he takes a sip, droplets of water cascade down, catching the afternoon sun and creating a glistening effect.

Mesmerized, you trace the path of those droplets, leading you to the delicate contours of his pink lips. Descending further with your gaze, you focus on his neck, where the rhythmic bobbing of his Adam's apple accompanies each sip. Involuntarily, you shift in your seat, a futile attempt to dispel the growing sensation stirring between your thighs.

Breaking the spell, he speaks, his voice rough as he clears his throat, "Okay, I'll be your date."

A wave of relief washes over you, and gratitude spills forth, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're so perfect. My family will love you."

A quizzical expression lingers on Javi's face as he asks, "Why don't you get a real date?" Despite knowing you could have your pick of anyone, there's genuine happiness in his eyes—an unspoken relief that you won't be taking another man to meet your family.

You sigh and offer an explanation, “I haven't met anyone, and it's pretty weird to introduce some stranger to your entire family on the first date. "Ya te dije (I already told you), my family keeps pestering me about getting a boyfriend. It's the same thing every Christmas, '¿nena y el novio? (baby girl and the boyfriend?)’ 'Mami, quiero que conozcas al sobrino de la vecina de mi comadre. (Mami, I want you to meet my friend’s neighbor's nephew.)’ '¿Mija, ya tienes novio? ('Mija, do you already have a boyfriend?)’ I love them, and they mean well, but I can't take any more of it. Hopefully, when I show up and say that we're just getting to know each other, it will shut them up until New Year's. But by then, I'll tell them we work better as friends, and they'll pity me, so I'll be off the hook for maybe two years."

A knowing look crosses Javi's face as he probes, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that Caleb will be there?"

You groan at the mention of your ex-boyfriend's name. "A little bit," you mumble, slumping in your chair as thoughts of him flood your mind. "He's probably going to bring some girl, and if I show up alone," you pause, giving Javi a sweet smile, "without my best friend, my family will find out I had a boyfriend and I kept it from them."

You didn't mean to keep your relationship with Caleb hidden. You just didn't want to tell your family you had a boyfriend, in case the relationship failed—and guess what, it did. Two months into your relationship, you found out he was still talking to his ex, and you dumped him before shit got worse. Fortunately, your decision to keep your family in the dark spared you from telling them about Caleb, so you didn't have to share the news about the breakup, which, unfortunately for you, meant you had to see him at parties since his parents were friends with your uncle.

"Why don't we tell them we're in a relationship? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend," Javi suggests, attempting to sound confident, though inwardly, he's praying you won't freak out and shoot down the idea.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard and unsure of how to respond. Javier panics at your silence and rushes to add, "I mean, they already know who I am, and we know everything about each other. It would be more believable."

Chewing on your lip, you contemplate what he's proposed. It would be convincing, you think.

“Are there any embarrassing moments that your family will bring up that I should be aware of, my beautiful girlfriend?” Javi teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

In response, you roll up a napkin, forming a makeshift ball, and throw it at him, the projectile hitting him directly on the forehead. Javi grumbles good-naturedly, a blend of irritation and laughter, and you purposely ignore the flutter in your heart. "No, you’ll never hear those."

“Okay fine,” Javi huffs, a mock pout on his face. “What’s the story then?”

"Story? For what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Javi looks at you as if you're not making the slightest bit of sense. “The story we’ll tell your family. You know they'll ask us so many questions.”

He's right. Your family will undoubtedly bombard you both with questions, seeing as they only know him as your friend and not the guy you've been secretly harboring feelings for.

"I mean, in movies, they always seem to have background stor-" Javi abruptly stops, hoping you don't make the connection about the kind of movies he's referring to.

But, of course, you catch it. “¿Aww, te gustan los romcoms, Javi? (Aww, do you like romcoms, Javi?)”

"¡No!" He blurts out, his face turning a shade of red that extends from his face to the tips of his ears. "We've just- we need to establish a timeline."

Watching him stumble through the sentence, you decide to spare him further embarrassment. "Mmm... we can say we've been dating for a month. It's enough that they won't scold me for not telling them about the relationship earlier, right?"

"We can say I asked you out right after Thanksgiving, so that gives us a little over a month since Thanksgiving was on the 22nd."

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good. And are you okay with staying over at my aunt's house since we'll be drinking? Or do you want to drive back to your apartment after we say our goodbyes?"

"Wait, your aunt with the big-ass house is hosting Christmas for your family this year?" He asks, sitting straighter in his chair. Javi's excitement is palpable as you nod. "Yeah, I'm staying over," he declares.

“Trae dos mudas de ropa (bring two changes of clothes)," you instruct him.

“¿Pjs y algo para la recalentada? (Pjs and something for the afterparty?)” Javi guesses but needs confirmation, not wanting to make a fool of himself. In fact, he's determined to make a good impression on your family.

"Mhm," you hum in agreement and then ask him about his previous plans. "You said you weren't going to spend Christmas with your family. Are you sure?"

"My dad's going to Monterrey, and I didn't get my passport renewed, and it's too late now. It's fine; I like spending time with your family." I like spending time with you.

"You just want to get fed," you tease.

"How'd you know," he goes along with your teasing tone.

“Ya te conozco (I already know you),” you tell him, and Javi feels butterflies in his stomach.

Your phone vibrates on top of the white and blue plaid tablecloth. You pick it up and see a notification that your Christmas dress is ready for pickup. "Oh shit, I've gotta go pick up my dress." You scramble to get up and collect your trash.

Javi gently grabs your wrist and tells you, “Ve. Te tiro tu basura. (Go. I'll throw your trash away.)"

Your breath hitches at his touch, and you thank him. You drop your Coke can and take a few steps until you reach him. "You're the best. I love you." You lower yourself a bit to give him a kiss on the cheek. His heart races, and he's scared you'll see him turn beet red, so he stands up and envelops you in a hug. He's hit with your smell, and a groan nearly falls from his lips.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8," he says in a shaky voice, whispering into your ear. Grateful for the long-sleeve shirt you decided to wear that morning, your skin breaks into goosebumps around his body. "That's still early, you know?" you object into his chest.

Feeling the lower half of his body respond to having you so close, he pulls away, not wanting to scare you or make you uncomfortable. “¿Entonces a las ocho y media? (So at eight-thirty?)” he asks, now standing a couple of steps away from you.

"See you then," you nod. Glancing at your watch, you realize you really have to get going.

"What color will your dress be?" he asks before you leave.

"Red," you smile, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

Javi gulps; red is his favorite color. He wonders if he'll be able to handle seeing you in it while pretending to be your boyfriend.

"Bye, te veo mañana (see you tomorrow),” you say goodbye one last time.

"Bye," he waves and watches you walk off. As soon as you're out of his view, he's left standing there, hands on his face, and he groans into his palms. Yeah, he doesn't know how he'll get through tomorrow night pretending he's in love with you because he is in love with you but can't show it.

Just as you apply the last coat of lipstick in your foyer mirror, you hear a knock on your door. Palms slightly damp, you start second-guessing taking Javi to your family party. You hear him say your name through the locked door and quickly tell him you're coming. With a slightly trembling hand, you turn the doorknob, your heart thudding in your chest at the sight of Javi. He's wearing a black leather jacket over a red cable-knit sweater, and God, he smells amazing—tones of sage, wood, and maybe some bergamot. All you know is that you want to push him against the door and put your mouth all over him—mouth, neck, chest, cock—you don't have a preference.

While you're busy ogling him, Javi is staring at you with his jaw near the floor. You're in a burgundy dress with black flowers all over, accentuating your beautiful figure. He makes a mistake when his gaze moves up, landing on your lips. Javi has to bite his tongue to suppress a groan at the sight of your luscious red-stained lips. They look so plush and enticing, and he twitches in his pants.

"Hi, Jav," you greet him in your sweet voice, making him look into your eyes.

The way your eyes sparkle, almost makes him lose his composure and profess his feelings for you. "¿Estas lista? (Are you ready?)" He says instead. 

"I just need to get my gifts," you point to the large gift bag you have set on the floor of your foyer. You only have two gifts in the much too large bag because your family does Secret Santa since it would be rather expensive to get each member of your family a gift. When you bend down to grab your things, Javi gets a perfect view of your round ass. He can't tear his eyes from you until he feels himself growing in his pants. He exhales trying to will his hard-on to go away. On his fifth breathing exercise, you turn around and tell him you're ready to go. Ever the gentleman, he signals for you to step out of your home first. 

"I just need to get my gifts," you point to the large gift bag set on the floor of your foyer. You only have two gifts in the much too large bag because your family does Secret Santa, as it would be rather expensive to get each member of your family a gift. When you bend down to gather your things, Javi gets a perfect view of your round ass. He can't tear his eyes away until he feels himself growing in his pants. He exhales, trying to will his hard-on to go away. On his fifth breathing exercise, you turn around and tell him you're ready to go. Ever the gentleman, he signals for you to step out of your home first.

As you brush past him, he's hit with the aroma of your perfume, and the sweetheart line of your dress offers a perfect view of your cleavage. He has to close his eyes to focus on anything else. After you lock up, he leads you to his car, takes the bag from you, and uses his free hand to help you down the steps. He opens the passenger door, puts your bag in the back seat, and goes to his seat to start the truck. You watch as he reverses, placing a hand behind your seat's headrest. His single hand moves the steering wheel, and you have to physically stop a whine from slipping past your mouth by biting your lip. You feel the wetness accumulate between your thighs, and you don't know how you'll get through the night.

The car ride over was hell on earth for both of you. Javi had to resist the urge to reach over and place his hand on your perfect thighs and move it further up. And you had to watch as Javi handled the gear stick with his big hands and thick fingers. You're both relieved to make it to your aunt's house. Javi insists on opening the door for you, and when he helps you get out of his truck, he gives you his hand to guide you. Next thing you know, he's taking the items from the back seat. Javi swings a backpack filled with his stuff, including clothes, and the bag where you have your gifts. You take it from him without him noticing, and he takes out a chocoflan.

You hear the house door open, and people beckon you over. Javi closes the door and takes your hand in his. He leads you up to the entrance, and you hear gasps and mutters coming from your family.

“¡Ay, mi sobrinita! (Oh, my little niece!)" one of your uncles yells as you're inches away from the door.

“¡Tío!” you exclaim, happy to see him. Before you can say anything else, he gives you a bear hug. You slowly push off to turn to Javi, who is still holding your hand. “Tío, this is Javier, my boyfriend." Your uncle's eyes widen a little, but it's quickly replaced with joy.

“Javi, él es mi tío Nicolás, es el tío de mi papá (Javi, this is my uncle, Nicolás, he's my dad's uncle)," you explain to your boyfriend for the night.

Javi gently untangles your laced hands and extends his hand to your uncle. “Buenas noches. ¿Cómo está? (Good evening! How are you?)"

“Hola, Chavalo. Bien gracias (Hey, kid. Fine, thanks)," your uncle replies and shakes Javi's hand. "And you?"

Their handshake ends and Javi pulls you into his side. "Me alegra. Estoy muy bien ya que estoy con ella (I'm glad to hear that. I'm very well now that I'm with her),” Javi tells your uncle, giving him a dashing smile while he gives you a lovey-dovey look.

You don't know who is happier at Javi's response—your uncle or you. "Oh, here, I brought dessert," Javier hands your uncle Nicolás the custard dessert with a chocolate cake base.

“Come in, come in,” the older man ushers you inside the house.

“Miren quien llegó (Look who arrived),” your uncle's voice rumbles throughout the house. Footsteps make their way to you three, and your family's faces light up. Voices overlap, greeting you, but they seem confused over the man beside you.

“¡Hola!” you smile. "This is Javi, he's my boyfriend," you introduce, rubbing his arm.

Javi doesn't get a word in because your cousin slaps his back and says, “¡Habla, pe causa!” Javi smiles and tells him good evening.

Once your cousin goes away, you whisper to Javi, "That was César, and he said, 'What's up, man.'"

"I knew that," Javi lies, running his tongue over his cheek.

“¡Como que ya tienes novio! (What do you mean you have a boyfriend!)" a familiar voice screeches from the living room.

You cringe as you hear your mom's angry voice and your dad telling her to calm down. Fuck, I forgot I have to tell my parents about Javi, you think.

When your parents see Javi, they physically relax. "Javi!" She gasps. “¿Él es tu novio? (He's your boyfriend?)” Your mom asks.

“Él es mi novio,” you confirm. Javi's heart leaps because somehow in Spanish, you calling him your boyfriend sounds a million times better.

"¡Ay, qué alegría! (Oh, what joy!)" She says and clasps her hands. For a long time, she's asked you if you two are anything more than friends, and she's always disappointed when you say no.

"I'm happy for you, mija," your dad tells you, hugging you.

"Thank you, Dad," you say relieved at their quick acceptance of Javi.

"Tu mamá está muy feliz (Your mom is very happy). It's just that you told your aunt first, and she was blindsided," your dad fills you in, and you hear your name being called. You whip your head to the kitchen and see your aunt coming to you with her arms extended.

“Titi Yalissa," you muffle into her curly hair. Your aunt jumps up and down with you in her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much," she says and lets go of you once she remembers what you told her. "Where's your boyfriend?"

You grab Javi's hand and bring him closer to your aunt. "Javi, this is my aunt Yalissa."

“Titi, this is the guy I told you about. His name is Javier."

"Es un placer conocer al hombre que tiene a mi niña tan feliz (It's a pleasure to meet the man who has my little girl so happy)."

Javier smiles at your aunt's happiness and decides to comment on her house and thank her for the invitation. "It's my pleasure. Tiene una casa hermosa (you have a beautiful house)," he pauses to look over at you, “como su sobrina (like your niece). Thank you for inviting me." Your heart thuds in your chest at Javi's words.

Everyone around you coos and awws, and you feel your ears burn.

"Let me show you your rooms, so you can set your things."

You and Javi follow your aunt up the stairs and into the hallway. She comments on how good you two look together and how it's adorable that you're matching. Her observation catches you off guard, and you look at both of your outfits. Oh my God! Is that why he asked me what color my dress was? Did he want to match? While you're lost in thought, you miss Javi's charming words about how perfect you look.

"Javi, this will be your room," your aunt points at a room on the left side. She says your name and then points at the room at the end of the hall, "Your room is still untouched, and you have your clothes there if you need anything."

Someone calls her from the kitchen, and she apologizes, telling you to come downstairs when you're ready for some food.

When Javier hears her descend the stairs, he asks you, "We're not sharing a room?"

"No. She's kinda against pre-marital sex."

Javi shoots you a look that says he knows you haven't made a vow of chastity.

"Okay, she doesn't know that," you say.

Javi sets his backpack in his room, and you make your way to the small dining room.

"Nena (babygirl), how are you?”

“Tía Mercedes!” you scream once another one of your aunts comes into view.

“Every day you get more and more beautiful!” she says to you. “Oh, and where is that boyfriend of yours? Tu tío Beto me dijo que vos ya tenés uno (Your uncle Beto told me you already have one.)”

For what feels like the hundredth time, you introduce Javi. Your aunt gushes over him and is scandalized when she hears he hasn’t eaten yet.

“No puedo creer que no les han dado nada de comer (I can't believe they haven't given you anything to eat). Come here.” She leads you to where the food is laid out, and to say it’s a lot is an understatement.

"Okay, so we’ve got croquetas, empanadas, ceviche, tamales, pasteles, chuchitos, pan con pollo, carne asada, hallacas, chimichurri, tostones, hornado de chancho, pavo al horno, chipa, pan dulce, y no se qué más." Your aunt lists off the myriad of food, whether it’s side dishes or main courses.

“And to drink, there’s coquito, champurrado, atol, ponche, arroz con leche, café con queso, chocolate caliente. If you want something else, you can ask Beto. It’s probably in the kitchen.”

You and Javi grab whatever you crave and add it to your plate before heading to the larger dining room. Everything had been going well until you saw your ex. Javi noticed you tense up, and he followed your line of sight, landing on your ex-boyfriend, Caleb. With food and drinks in his hands, Javi couldn’t physically comfort you. A soft whisper from him, a simple “Hey,” was enough to unfreeze you, and you both walked to your seats, strategically far away from Caleb and his girlfriend.

Dinner went by smoothly. Your family was eager to learn about the new man in your life, and you explained that before becoming your boyfriend, he had been your best friend and someone you trusted with your life. One of your little cousins was curious about how he asked you to be his girlfriend. To your surprise, Javi spun an elaborate story about taking you stargazing and making it official under the night sky. He described the story with such vivid detail that it brought tears to your eyes, and your family found it incredibly heartwarming. Little did they know, part of those tears were tinged with sorrow, knowing that after this night, the charade of this "relationship" would come to an end. The other part of you felt pure love for Javi, appreciating the effort he was putting into making your family believe in your fake romance.

After clearing the plates and sharing the story, Javi couldn’t help but notice Caleb shooting daggers his way. Frankly, he didn’t care about Caleb's feelings, but when he saw him staring at you, Javi couldn’t suppress the desire to leap across the table and strangle him. Thankfully, one of your cousins interrupted and announced that a game of lotería would be played outside if anyone wanted to join.

You take your cup of ponche, and Javi grabs his cup of atol as you both make your way to the backyard, where a table is already set up for the game. Soon, the table of 25 is full, and some have to wait for the next round. With beans in hand, you eagerly listen for the first card to be called.

“Ahí les va la primera tarjeta (Here comes the first card),” Uriel, your favorite cousin's husband, warns. He shuffles the cards in the deck and flips the first one over.

“La Sirena (the siren).”

You squeal and instantly put your bean on top of the square where a siren is underwater. You hear groans from the people who didn’t have the siren on their cards. Javi, not having much luck, simply watched you with the biggest smile, reveling in your excitement over the lead.

Uriel flips the next card and announces, “La Luna (the moon).”

This time, neither you nor Javi has luck. Displeased, you watch as Caleb places a bean on his card.

“¡El soldado! (The soldier!)”

You look at your card—nothing. You look at Javi’s card—still nothing. A feeling of being watched makes your head turn to Caleb, and he’s smirking at Javi because he got another bean on his table. “Not good at lotería,” Caleb tuts, “is there something you’re actually good at?” he says condescendingly. 

You have half a mind to tell him all the ways Javi is perfect, even throwing in a few lies about your fake intimate life, but Javi rests his right hand on your thigh, and just like that, all your hatred bubbles away.

“Before I call the next one, does anyone have all three characters?” Whoops and cheers come from a few uncles, cousins, and family friends. “Okay, does anyone have a line nearly filled?” Uriel asks another question, and this time is met with silence.

“Bueno (Oh well),” he moves on and pulls from the deck, “La maceta (flowerpot).” You wish you had one of those to throw at Caleb’s head. Your wish is answered when someone yells, “¡Aguas!” You and Javi instantly duck, and much to your dismay (not), Caleb doesn’t, and the flying rag hits him right between his eyes. He groans in pain and starts to pick a fight with Marta, one of your cousins. Marta's fiancé stands up for your cousin, “Sos un hijo de remil putas. He told you to watch out. It's your fault you didn't listen." Everyone agrees with Flavia, and they tell Caleb he should've ducked. Your ex finally shuts up, and your family urges Uriel to draw the next card.

“El cotorro (the parrot)." Javi moves quickly and places the bean he's had in his hand for a while. You're so happy for him; that you nearly spill your drink onto the table.

A few more cards are drawn, and you haven't made as much progress, but Javi, on the other hand, has his card nearly full of beans. He needs four consecutive beans in a straight line, but he's missing two beans to win.

“La mano (The hand)." 

“Concha-tu-madre,” an uncle seethes in frustration as he doesn't have the hand on his card, but you know who does—Javi. 

“Ya me agüitaron (Ya’ll bummed me out). I'm going to put on music," your cousin, Darío, says, abandoning the game and hooking up his phone to the speaker. 

“El árbol (the tree.)” You sigh in disappointment as the last character Javi needs isn't called.

Music and various curse words fill the air, including but not limited to coño, jueputa, mamaguevo, japiro. 

"We have four potential winners," Uriel announces, "Y ahora... el gorrito (and now... the little hat)." 

“Mierda,” Javi's voice falls into a whisper because he doesn't have that card. By this point, he's memorized the entirety of his table, and when the hat was called, he knew it wouldn't be on his card.

You look around the table and see that Javi is among three people who need one more bean to win. 

"Let's see," Uriel says as he shuffles the cards. “El valiente (the brave man)” is yelled, and before you can react, Javi screams, "Lotería!" 

Everyone whips their head to your 'boyfriend,' and Uriel rushes to check Javi's card. You're filled with joy and practically bouncing in your seat. 

"We have a winner!" Uriel whoops, patting Javi's shoulder. 

"Beso, beso, beso (kiss, kiss, kiss)" your family chants, wanting you to celebrate with your boyfriend. Your breathing labors, and you don't know how to get out of it. Luckily, you get called to the kitchen, and Javi looks relieved. Your heart drops. He didn't want to kiss me. You excuse yourself and hurriedly make your way to the kitchen.

Javi's left in his seat trying to regulate his heartbeat. He didn't want to kiss you. Not because he didn't want to. God, he wanted to taste your lips, but he's scared that if he kisses you, he'll never stop.

In the kitchen, you scoop food into Tupperware for you and Javi, when you hear a man say, "You said he was just a friend,” the voice accuses. 

"Caleb," you spit with venom.

"You're with him now?" he asks hands in his pant pockets.

"I am. And I'm very happy with Javi," you say simply, adding rice to your blue Tupperware container.

"Come on, we were so good together. Don't you remember? We could be great again. Don't you want that?"

"No is the answer to every single thing you just said."

"What's so special about him? You didn't want to tell your family about us, but you bring him around?" Your ex is furious. When he saw you walk in with that dress and with Javi, hands intertwined and looking up at him like he was the best prize, he nearly lost it.

You turn around with your back to the entrance of the second dining room and point the spatula at your ex. "What isn't special about Javi is the better question. He's sweet, kind, determined, funny, and everything you're not. That's not all I love about him though; he makes me feel loved and heard, and he's my best friend. Javi is everyone's dream."

Caleb scoffs, and his only defense is, "What kind of name is Javi?"

You feel a possessive hand on your stomach, and it moves you back towards the owner's body. No, no, I can take care of this myself, you think, and then his cologne hits your nose, and you feel the warmth of his body, and your mantra of standing up by yourself evaporates.

"What kind of name is Caleb? Why don't you go back to your ex and leave my girlfriend alone?" Javier says, voice deeper than usual, making the rat of your ex retreat with his tail between his legs.

"Want me to kick his ass?" Javi questions.

"Nah, I have a feeling it'll ruin the holiday spirit. Thank you for that though."

You realize he could've heard your conversation with Caleb and ask, "How much of that did you hear?"

"When he made fun of my name, which is fantastic, by the way," he responds.

"Javi is a fantastic name," you assure him, "Javi," you say his name, testing it like it's the first time saying his name.

Javi nearly facepalms himself because hearing his name falling from your lips is making him harden again. Not to mention how you defended him to your ex. He's never heard kinder words about himself until you. Lately, Javi has felt like a failure. He failed to get into the DEA academy, and it was terrifying to think he would feel like that for the rest of his life. But when he's in your presence, everything else just melts away.

"How was my family while I left you unsupervised?" You ask, resting your head on his chest.

"Great. One of your cousins talked about the fact that the Christmas celebration was a pagan holiday and another about companies making a fortune based on Christmas. Your uncle, Ramon, I think started talking about los terrenos y le quitaron la corona (inherited land and they took away his corona beer.)”

"Oh god," you sound horrified, "I'm sorry about my family."

Javi slides his hands up and down your arms, "you have nothing to be sorry for. Mi familia también es así o peor (my family is like that or worse)." He knows he shouldn't say the words but can't help himself, "Our kids will have the biggest family."

Your mouth drops in surprise, and your mind flashes with images of you having a family with Javi, and your heart feels like it can explode.

"Your cousin was behind you," Javi says, looking past you.

A wave of disappointment washes over you. "Oh."

Javi lied. He didn't say that to convince your family about your relationship; he said it because he meant it.

The clock strikes 12 AM, beginning the 25th of December, and you all have to give out hugs to every single person at the party. Thankfully, it won't be awkward since Caleb and his plus-one left an hour ago. You get hugs from your entire family, and they each tell you how much they love you and how proud they are of you. When you reach Javi, you go for a side hug, but he pulls your face into his chest, and you exchange ‘feliz navidads.’ His smell is so comforting you want to stay there forever. You don’t pull away until someone announces it’s time to open gifts.

You take out the large wrapped box inside the bag you brought and give the gift to your little cousin, Gio. You bought him plenty of Hot Wheels and a racetrack that will take up a significant amount of space in his living room. Gio leaps into your arms and tells you you’re the ‘bestest cousin in the world.’ Your older cousin tells you she’ll give you her gift before going upstairs to the balcony to see the fireworks.

When Sandra leaves, Javi calls your attention. "Amor ven," the nickname falls easily from his beautiful lips; it makes you swoon. He pats the seat next to him, and in a few seconds, you’re next to him.

“I got you something,” Javi says nervously reaching into his pants pocket. He retrieves a square box and hands it to you gently like he’s scared you’ll move your hand and drop it.

You take the box fully into your hand. You lift the top, and your eyes begin to water. You scold yourself internally that this shouldn’t make you cry, but the beautiful necklace makes it impossible not to. It’s not because it’s a pretty necklace but you’re tearing up because of the letter attached to the gold chain – a J for Javier.

Javi misconstrues your tears for hatred. “I can exchange it for something else,” he’s quick to spit out."

“I love it, Javi,” you promise, words dripping with sincerity. “¿Me lo pones? (Can you put it on me?)” you ask him, getting ready for him to clasp the necklace.

His fingertips make contact with your nape, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You briefly wonder if that will happen every time you make the slightest contact tonight. Javi adjusts the necklace and clasps it, ensuring he doesn’t accidentally get some of your skin, which he was afraid he’d do because his hands were developing a thin layer of sweat.

“Done,” he tells you breathlessly, and you turn around to show him.

He feels ridiculous that seeing his initial on your chest makes him go crazy. Yes, part of him feels beyond happy that you liked your gift. When he was shopping, trying to find you a gift, he stumbled upon a jewelry store, and he knew he had to get it for you. He didn’t buy it to ‘brand you’. Javi genuinely wanted you to carry a part of him, just like he always carries you everywhere he goes.

You hear the first fireworks go off, and Javi says, “Ya es hora para los cuetes (it’s time for the fireworks).” He helps you get up, and everyone makes their way up the mahogany stairway. You meet Sandra on the 2nd floor, and she gives you a white and red striped metallic-wrapped box. That childhood excitement of opening presents is still there. You feel giddy and tug at the taped ends to rip the paper. Once you’re able to see a sliver of the actual gift, you hold it to your chest.

“Sandra! You did not just gift me a sex toy!” You whisper-yell, the shock and embarrassment evident in your tone.

Sandra was known for being direct; she was your older cousin but more of a big sister. She had been a reliable source of guidance, especially when it came to your body, relationships, and intimacy. In fact, you had learned more from her than from your mandatory sixth-grade sex Ed class. You'd often sought her advice, grateful for her non-judgmental attitude. Sandra was always there to help, whether it was explaining innuendos or first-period crises. You remember when you got your first period, you ran to her after your mom called her for moral support. So, in a way, you shouldn't have been surprised by the gift when you complained to her about your trusty wand giving up on you.

“I recall getting a phone call telling me one of your favorites was no longer working. But with that boyfriend of yours, I don’t think you’ll be needing this, so I can take it back,” she smirks, enjoying making you flustered and sputtering on your words.

“A gift is a gift. You can’t take it back,” you argue, hugging it further into your chest. With the night you’ve had, you’re 100% certain the toy will have its grand premiere.

“Ooo using it with your man tonight to spice things up, I like that.”

You turn around and see Javi standing there with his hands by his side. His pretty lips are parted in an ‘o,’ and you can’t believe he just saw your cousin gifting you a sex toy for Christmas.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Sandra gives you a peck on the cheek and slips past you to go to the stairs and up another floor.

“Woah. That’s certainly a gift,” Javi states.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. Here you are hugging a fucking sex toy in the middle of the hallway with the man you love staring at the gift.

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you say robotically and make a run for your room. Oh my god, oh my god, he did not just see that. With the box still in your arms, hoping you don’t run into anyone, you open the door to your room just enough to slip inside and shut the door. Your heart is beating erratically, and you consider staying in your room for the rest of the night, but you know they’ll be calling for you soon. You finally unlock your arms and take the gift into your hands. There’s still wrapping paper covering the gift, so you take it off and take in the toy for the first time. You mistook the handle for a dildo. It wasn’t a plastic dick you thought you received; it was a clit stimulator. Color? Red.

After you placed your new gift on top of your bed and covered it with a sweater, you found the courage to face Javi. You opened your door and found Javi with his fist raised as if he was a second away from knocking.

“Let’s go,” you croak, hoping he won’t ever bring up what happened a few minutes ago.

Javi wordlessly agrees, and you both walk to the stairs in silence to go to the balcony. As you approach the final stairs, you hear more fireworks go off, but their timing isn’t consecutive, so you know the big event is yet to come. Once you’re outside, near the entrance, there’s a table with drinks that range from alcohol to traditional beverages to a mix. You take a Corona, and Javi picks up a glass of coquito. The balcony is packed, but it's big enough that you don’t feel like packed sardines. Music is blasting on the speakers; some of your family is off dancing, and some men are huddled around talking about work, while your younger cousins are playing with their new toys in a corner. You still haven’t talked to Javi, and it’s slowly killing him. He didn’t mean to embarrass you by walking in on Sandra giving you your gift, but when he overheard the term 'sex toy,' it was as if an invisible force nailed him to the floor. Javi racks his brain for how to start a conversation with you. He knows the firework show will commence any minute now, and he won’t be able to get a word in.

"You look beautiful," he blurts out before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Okay, not what he wanted to start off with, but it’s definitely not a lie.

“Thank you,” you say sheepishly as the fireworks start going off one after another.

“I mean, you look beautiful every day,” Javi says in the midst of a chrysanthemum exploding in the sky.

"What?" you reply, struggling to make out his words over the resounding explosions.

Once the sounds die down, your aunt Odilia passes by, catching sight of you and Javi standing closer, facing each other. “¿Como están los enamorados? (How are the lovebirds?),” she says with adoration before moving on. Her statement prompts a few head turns from your family, who go on to comment about how cute you look with your boyfriend.

"I said," Javi begins, lowering himself to your ear, "You look beautiful. You always do, but tonight..." He stands up straight, locking eyes with you. Javi delicately strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Es como si me hubieras puesto bajo tu hechizo (It’s like you’ve put me under your spell),” he confesses softly, his voice filled with adoration.

You find yourself unable to conjure a reply. Your entire focus is consumed by him—the way he smiles, the dimple on full display, the stray curls tousled from dancing, and the warmth of his fingers against your cheek. His nails graze your skin ever so slightly, leaving you questioning if it's a figment of your imagination. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, wondering what it would be like to feel his nails embedded into your hips as he guides you in rhythmic movement. Taking a deep breath to regain composure, you inhale his scent, causing your head to spin. In the midst of your reverie, Javi's voice pulls you back.

"Your family is expecting a kiss. May I?" he asks, breaking the spell.

"What?" you respond, dumbfounded. While you heard him, the question leaves you in disbelief.

“¿Te puedo besar?” he repeats, his heart seemingly pounding out of his chest, laying his intentions bare.

As you nod and rasp out a breathless "yes,", Javi cups your cheeks with a gentle urgency, bringing his lips to yours in a passionate collision. It feels like heaven with his mouth molding seamlessly with yours. His taste is a delightful concoction of coconut, Don Q rum, cinnamon, and condensed milk—remnants of the coquito he had earlier. In the intoxicating embrace, you clutch his shirt, pulling him closer, savoring every fleeting second because it could be the first and last kiss you'll ever share.

Opening your mouth wider, you send a silent invitation, and he responds, his tongue tangling with yours, the passionate sounds blending harmoniously with the distant fireworks. Amid the explosive bursts in the night sky, the sounds of your fervent kiss are almost lost, and worked up and lost in the moment, you can't help but whimper into his mouth. When the sound of your own desire reaches Javi's ear, he knows he should pull away before the intensity escalates. Reluctantly, Javi breaks the kiss, mindful of the familial audience surrounding you. Both your chests rise and fall in tandem, the shared breathlessness lingering in the air. The post-kiss silence is punctuated by the distant echoes of the ongoing fireworks.

Separated but still entwined in the magic of the moment, you catch your breath. You admire the way Javi's brown eyes reflect the vibrant colors bursting in the sky. Javi gazes back into your eyes, marveling at the way they brighten with each explosion in the sky. It's a parallel to his own feelings as if miniature fireworks detonate in his heart whenever he looks at you. His earlier realization holds true; having kissed you, he never wants to stop.

"Okay, well, I'm going to bed," you say, gesturing toward the door, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“Buenas noches,” he replies, a tinge of sadness coloring his voice.

You steal one last glance at him and urge yourself to get to your room before you throw your friendship down the drain for another kiss. So that’s what you do; you open the door, whisper one last goodbye, and shut the door. Javi closes his eyes, scolding himself for making things awkward. As he goes to his room, he focuses on thinking about what to do to fix your friendship. One thing he knows is that he can’t lose you.

Inside your room, you press against the wooden door. You have no idea how you’ll get through tomorrow, much less through the rest of your life. our eyes wander around, taking in the familiar walls of the room. You’ve had your own room at your aunt's house since you were a little girl, and there are some things that have remained the same. There's a shelf against a wall that contains a few of your stuffed animals from your childhood. You took down your posters from when you were a teen but kept the same paint color of dark red because you knew you couldn’t have your room all black. 

Realizing you still wear Javi's jacket, you gently remove it, placing it on your bed. You hate that it looks like it belongs in your room. You sigh and go to your bathroom to get ready to toss and turn in your bed.

In the midst of removing your makeup, having already brushed your teeth, a soft knock interrupts the quiet solitude of your room. Confused, you quickly dry your face and rush to open the door, wondering who it could be. It’s Javi. He's outside your door, his hair a mess like he ran his hands through it repeatedly.

"Can I come in?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

"Javi! They'll kill me if they see you in my room," you whisper.

"Please, cariño?" 

His tone is filled with a vulnerability that softens your resolve. You take a quick glance down the hallway and find it deserted, so you quickly pull him into your room and shut the door quietly. As you assess him, clad in grey sweats and a black long-sleeve compression shirt, a rush of desire floods your body. Thoughts of peeling off his clothes and kissing him all over stir a wetness between your legs, leaving you certain your underwear is ruined after spending the day with Javi. 

"I'm sorry," he interrupts your dirty thoughts, and confusion crosses your face.

Sorry? Why is he sorry?

He sees the confusion written all over your face and continues, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

What?

“If I knew it would make you uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have done it. Your friendship means the world to me. I’m sorry I ruined it. Cariño, what do I need to do to make us go back to normal? I’ll do anything,” Javi pleads with you.

You shake your head furiously. “No, Javi, you didn’t ruin anything. It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise.

He breathes out a sigh of relief after you tell him he didn’t mess up the best thing that’s happened to him. “Why did you shut down after… after we kissed?”

“I don’t know, Jav,” you shrug, looking away. You feel your eyes sting at the tone of his voice. He sounds hurt. You've hurt the person you love, and you want to take him into your arms and apologize.

“Please don’t do that,” he implores, reaching for your hand. “Dime (tell me).”

A wave of apprehension washes over you; confessing your feelings is a leap into the unknown. You worry about the potential shift in dynamics, but you sense that Javi believes your withdrawal stems from him. “If I tell you, and you don’t like what I say, promise me we’ll forget this conversation,” you request, your lip caught between your teeth.

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” 

“Promise me, Jav,” you repeat, aware of the simplicity but needing that ounce of reassurance.

He nods solemnly. “Te lo prometo (I promise you).”

“Javi, I like you. So much,” your voice falls to a whisper. The ball is now in his court, freeing you from the weight of what-ifs.

Javi's reaction is priceless. The tension that once knitted his eyebrows together dissipates, giving way to a radiant smile that stretches from ear to ear. Leaning in, he cradles your chin in his hand and kisses you, a taste of mint lingering on his lips. This time, the kiss is tender, and gentle—a dance of shared feelings that leaves him dizzy and his stomach aflutter. As he withdraws, his forehead presses against yours.

“I like you too. For a long time now,” he confesses, the words clear and resolute.

“Really?” you ask incredulously, feeling like you're walking on air. This moment, a culmination of countless fantasies, was the very last scenario you expected to become reality.

“Yeah,” he affirms with a nod. The truth lingers on the tip of his tongue. “De hecho, te amo (In fact, I love you).”

“I love you too,” you reply with a smile, your hands slowly tracing up his chest. One hand passes his broad shoulders and reaches his nape. A gentle brush of your hands against his skin sends a surge of warmth through him. Your fingers run through his hair, eliciting a low groan from Javi, and you yearn to hear more.

“Javi, te necesito (Javi, I need you),” you murmur with half-lidded eyes.

He doesn't want to risk embarrassing himself with words, so he gently takes your hand off his hair and guides you towards your bed.

Walking with playful curiosity, he asks, "Am I the first guy you've sneaked into your room?"

"Mmm... I plead the fifth," you decide to answer coyly.

He narrows his eyes, "That's a yes then."

"¿Si te pones celoso, porque me preguntas? (If you get jealous, why would you ask me?)" you question him playfully as you hit the bed.

Javi's jaw ticks, and he says, "I'll make you forget about them."

His tone stirs a needy feeling in you, and you reply, " Sigue de perico, y no vamos hacer todo lo que quiero (Keep talking, and we won't be able to do everything I want)."

Tugging down on his shirt, you give him the signal. He promptly takes it off, treating you to your very own private show.

"Oh my god," you groan appreciatively when you see him shirtless—tan skin, toned stomach, and freckles on display. The grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, showcasing the V line and a dark patch of hair.

Javi revels in the effect he has on you. ”Turn around," he commands with dark eyes.

You instantly comply, spinning around so he can reach your zipper. Instead of tearing your dress off, he hugs you from behind.

“I don’t know if I told you before, but I really love this dress,” Javi says, running his hands over the velvet material. “Do you know how many times you made me hard tonight?” He confesses to having excused himself to the restroom multiple times to handle his hard-on discreetly.

"Javi," you whine impatiently, the revelation only intensifying the sticky mess between your thighs.

He pulls your zipper down, but you turn around, reaching your shoulders to slip the dress off, letting it pool on the hardwood floor.

"Dios mío (My God)," he exhales with a shaky breath.

"¿Te gusta? (Do you like it?)" you ask, referring to your lingerie that matches your dress. You're wearing a burgundy thong and a matching bra with lace material, revealing pebbled nipples. His fingers twitch, and he pulls you by the waist.

"Me encanta (I love it)," Javi whispers in your ear. His voice makes you slump against him as he unclasps your bra. “Why did you wear this?” he asks, his kisses trailing down your bare shoulder, devoid of judgment or ill will, just curiosity.

"You know what they say, 'to hope for the best, plan for the best.'"

"I don't think that's how it goes, baby," Javi chuckles into your shoulder and then presses his lips on your neck.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, savoring his kisses.

"Thank you for the outfit, my beautiful girl," he says, instructing you to get on the bed. As you settle on the mattress, you watch as Javi begins to remove his pants.

You watch in awe as his swollen cock presses against his stomach, and an undeniable desire to have it in your mouth engulfs you. Can a dick be pretty? God, his is so beautiful, you think to yourself. Javi gracefully crawls onto the bed, his hand reaching for your unclothed breasts.

“Mmm… so beautiful,” he hums, popping one of your tits into his mouth.

“Oh!” you exclaim, a mix of shock and pleasure coursing through you. Your arms extend onto the bed, and in the throes of passion, you accidentally hit something. The noise prompts Javi to lift his mouth from you and remove the blue sweater that conceals whatever your hands came in contact with. To his surprise, he discovers the present your cousin gifted you earlier.

“Clit and nipple stimulator,” he reads off the box.

Embarrassment washes over you, even though he just had your nipple in his mouth. Before you can say anything, Javi tears the box open and retrieves the toy. He presses the 'on' button, and it comes to life with a soft hum.

“Mi color favorito,” he says with a smirk.

Your brain struggles to form a coherent sentence. Javi sets the suction toy beside you and resumes attending to your nipples with his mouth. Lost in the sensation, your head falls back onto the bed. Suddenly, you feel a vibration around your other nipple. Lifting your head, you see Javi using the red wand on your right nipple.

“Oh God, Javi, I need you inside me,” you moan.

His response is muffled by your soft breasts. Gripping his hair, you lift him off you with a bit of force.

“I need to taste your pussy first,” he says with blown-out eyes.

“No,” you protest, craving him desperately.

It's not what he wanted to hear. “Please?” he insists. “I know I’ll cum embarrassingly fast, and I need to give you something before that happens.”

No. I want you now, you beautiful man. “Just a little bit,” you compromise. Normally, you'd eagerly jump at the prospect of him expressing a desire to eat your pussy, but you're so unbelievably turned on.

He toys with the band of your thong, and you lift your hips to let him remove it. Soon, they're in his hands, tossed aside on the floor. Laid bare for him, you're naked except for your jewelry. The gold 'J' nestles between your breasts, the left one still wet from his saliva, while your pussy glistens with slick accumulated throughout the night.

“Eres tan hermosa. Nunca he visto nada como tú y nada se compara (You're so beautiful. I've never seen anything like you, and nothing compares),” he confesses sincerely. Seeing you laid out before him, looking at him like he hangs the stars, leaves him breathless. He kneels on the floor, gently pulling your legs to be on either side of his face. Javi wastes no time as he begins to lick your cunt.

You gasp, placing one leg on his shoulder for added support. Responding to your silent request, Javi lifts your other leg onto his opposite shoulder.

“Ahh!” you cry out when his mouth presses closer onto your pussy, and he begins to devour you. His tongue explores, collecting all of your wetness into his mouth. Fuck, she tastes so good. I've been waiting to have her in my mouth for so long.

“So sweet, baby girl,” he murmurs between your thighs, causing vibrations that intensify the pleasure. You're already sweating and out of breath, unable to believe how quickly his mouth is bringing you to the edge.

He momentarily stops licking your folds and wraps his lips around your pearl. Your legs jerk, and you can't help but scream out his name. Javi quickly shushes you, urging you to be quiet, though his own noises betray the arousal he feels. He promises himself that once he can take you to his place, he'll never ask you to quiet down.

Opening your eyes, you're captivated by a sinful sight. Javi's intense and piercing gaze meets yours, the obsidian of his eyes seamlessly bleeding into the rich brown of his irises. Simultaneously, his tongue delves into your entrance, a sensation so electrifying that you can no longer endure the sweet torture.

“You’ve made me wetter, Javi, please fuck me.”

“No,” he objects.

“Javi por favor. Mañana podemos hacer de todo, pero te necesito ahora mismo (Javi, please. Tomorrow we can do everything, but I need you now.)”

He chides, “terca (stubborn girl),” but relents, releasing your legs. Taking matters into your own hands, quite literally, you guide him onto your bed, pushing him to lie back as you straddle him.

He believes he's died and gone to heaven, with you on top of him—a dream come true. “Condom?” he rasps out.

“I’m clean and on Nexplanon,” you nod toward your arm. “Are you okay with that?”

Feeling his cock pulse at the thought of being with you without a barrier, Javi nods vigorously and says, “Me matas bebita (you kill me, baby girl).”

His words draw a smile from you as you reach behind, feeling the velvety skin of his arousal in your hand. With deliberate slowness, you stroke him up and down.

“Uhh… fuck!” Javi groans, tossing his head back onto your pillow. The raw, guttural sounds escaping him become music to your ears, encouraging you to keep stroking him. Precome coats your hand, and you use it to slickly spread the moisture over him as makeshift lube. Javi continues panting, and you decide it's enough.

Rising on your knees, you guide him to your entrance. His head breaches you, and an involuntary whine escapes your lips.

“Oh,” you gasp, squirming on his lap. 

“Mmm!” Javi’s jaw drops, unable to believe that you're creating such intensity with just his tip inside

You ride him to open up, moving yourself on his head. “God, Javi!” your body burns as you straddle him. 

“Told you…” he pauses, gritting his teeth. “I should've s-tretched you.” 

You shake your head. “I can take you. I just- uh! I just need some time.” Javi is big and thick, prolonging the process, but you'd rather struggle than have him prep you.

As you keep bouncing on his tip, Javi thrusts up into you, causing both of you to moan. He places both hands, previously gripping your sheets, on either side of your waist, helping him fit more of his cock inside you. You rock back, feeling yourself open up, and you lower yourself down.

Your mouth hangs open, and you wail as the thickest part of him is embraced by your walls. Javi groans heavily and embeds his nails on your waist. You moan at the small ripple of pain and work yourself to sink down some more.

“I-I thought- ah! que me querías calladita, (that you wanted me to quiet down) and look at you…uhh louder than me.”

“You feel s-oh!” Javi can’t finish his response because you fully sit on his cock. Your hips are flush with his, and he swears he can cum this instant. 

“Hold on,” he tells you, breathing heavily, eyelids closed, and stilling you.

Once he feels he’s regained some composure, he lifts you off him. You slowly start to rock back and forth, chewing your lip to keep from screaming out. 

“Does it feel good?” Javi asks, eyes open once more.

You meet his dark eyes and moan, “Mhm, s-so good… Oh! Javi," you whine, "So big… you’re so big.”

He pulsates inside you, a low groan escaping his lips. "You can't say that," he mutters, shaking his head, not to express disagreement but to calm himself. Not yet, not yet, he chants. 

“Why not? It’s true.” You argue, throwing your head back at the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep going. Then I won’t earn first place for the best sex this room’s ever seen,” he laughs lightly to mask his mortification because he knows he’ll be cumming soon.

"You're so much better than anyone else,” you assure him, seeing through the self-deprecating comment he made.

He lights up at your praise. "Yeah?”

"Yes! You make me so full,” you sigh, bouncing on him a little faster. Your hand movement transitions from his hips to both hands sprawled on his abdomen. Pressing your body closer to him at an angle, both of you shake with pleasure. You keep rocking against him, and all he can do is watch. Javi takes in the way your breasts bounce and the way your necklace shines. Overcome with desire and possessiveness, he sits up suddenly, making you whine when you feel his sweaty and hot body against yours.

Javi seeks your mouth, and you eagerly comply. Your mouths crash, and it's all tongue and teeth. He's moving you slowly against him, but it's still a delicious sensation, and you can't help but moan into his mouth. The air in your lungs is slowly decreasing, so you pull away, and your head falls onto his shoulder. With your mouth away from him, he's able to wrap his arms around you and rock up, up, up with intensity. His pace ignites something within you, and you bite his wet tan skin to muffle your cries. Javi feels you tighten on him, and he pants out, “How are you so perfect? No entiendo (I don’t understand.)”

You can't answer him; you just bounce on him, feeling the telltale sensation of your lower stomach nearing the finish line.

“Amor,” he groans. The word sounds like sweet honey coming from Javi's lips, and it makes you gasp. Javi catches on and asks you, “¿Te gusta cuando te digo así? (Do you like it when I call you like that?)”

“Sí,” you confirm. He adjusts the angle of your legs, causing the wind to knock out of you, and the only words you're capable of saying are, “Amor, amor, amor…” This is the first time you've ever called Javi ‘amor’, and it does something to him. He knows he’s got a minute max before he blows his load.

Frantically, he takes one hand off your body and scrambles to find something on the bed. Lost in ecstasy, you don't notice, but then you feel a vibration on your pearled nub, and you jump from surprise. In an instant, you look down and see Javi has the red toy and is using it against your clit. Your eyes begin to water as you reel in the feeling of the man you love inside you and the delicious sucking of the toy.

You don't warn him; you don't even process the thought yourself, but you begin to shake on top of Javi. You feel every nerve in your body— all seven trillion of them—explode. You come in silence with your mouth into a perfect ‘o’. 

Javi doesn’t let up his ministrations; he keeps thrusting his hips upwards and using the red wand, prolonging your high. “That’s it, amor, you look so pretty cumming for me,” he whispers full of adoration. “Good girl, good girl,” he chants as he works you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

Javi bites his lower lip, determined to make this moment last longer; he never wants it to end. Once your vocal cords start functioning again, you cup his face with one hand and, with desperation, you tell him, "Ven, amor, relléname (Come, my love, cum in me).”

Javi feels like fireworks are going off in his body. He keens at your words filled with love and desire for him; he has no choice but to obey. The dam in his abdomen breaks, and “Ahh!” he groans, voice broken and raspy, letting go of the toy. You feel his hips stutter as they lose their steady rhythm, and he pulsates and spasms, the warmth of his seed fills you as he climaxes in ropes. Your body is overworked and sensitive, but you keep bouncing on him to milk every drop. You can't look away from him. His eyelids are heavy, his mouth is parted and panting as he moans and growls hoarsely, his neck is extended showing all the veins, and his skin is flushed in a beautiful red hue. Javi repeats your name over and over as his high washes over him. You caress his nape and run your fingers through his hair as he comes down from it. His spend and yours drip out of you and onto Javi.

"Holy fuck, that was amazing," Javi laughs, and you feel the rumble in his chest.

"Yeah?" you ask coyly.

“Best of my life," he sighs and rolls you over so you're underneath him.

You laugh and crane your neck to give him a peck on the corner of his mouth. God, that sound, Javi thinks. "I love you," he says, knowing he'll never stop telling you those three words.

"I love you," you echo. "Come on, let's sleep," you tell him.

"I've got to clean you up first," he says, climbing off and pulling out of you. You whine at the loss and miss him inside of you already.

His expression looks pained as he looks between your parted thighs, seeing his seed seeping out of your puffy cunt. Javi fights with himself as he debates leaving you with his cum inside. His index and middle fingers are taken by you and guided to your opening.

"Push it all inside," you command, knowing he doesn't really want to wipe it away.

"But your bed and—"

“Me vale (I don’t care)," you interrupt. Javi has always been concerned about how his actions affect you, and you find it sweet. However, you want this. You know he won’t give in to his desires if he thinks you don’t want this. So, you have to convince him you do. “Please,” and just like that, he’s collecting the creamy liquid around your labia and pressing it back inside you. 

You're oversensitive, but you melt at the feeling of his thick and long fingers inside you. Gripping onto his bicep, you savor the sensation as he makes sure most of the sticky substance goes back inside you. Whatever remnants are on his fingers, he sucks them and closes his eyes at the taste. You stare up at him and swear you could go another round if he didn’t fuck the energy out of you. 

“Should I go back to my room?” Javi asks. He doesn’t want to, but maybe you’d rather sleep alone.

“Please stay,” you tell him, gripping his arm tighter.

He nods. “Okay, baby, I’ll stay.” You sit up on your bed and undo your covers. Javi walks across the room to turn off the light, and when he comes back, you’re underneath your quilt. He climbs in next to you and extends his left arm so you can snuggle to his side. 

“Buenas noches, amor,” he whispers.

“Good night, amor. I can’t wait to wake up next to you,” you tell Javi before you drift to sleep.

In the silence, he admires your features and says, “I can’t wait to make you my wife and wake up next to you for the rest of our lives. Feliz Navidad, mi vida”

Extended A/N: I wrote this when Frankie didn’t exist yet; I promise I just don’t write for Javi! 

The last chapter of IYW should be out next week if I’m able to recolor the gifs I need. Thank you for reading!

#javi peña x female reader #Javi peña x latina reader #javier peña x female reader #javi peña smut #javier peña smut #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #narcos fanfiction #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javi peña x f!reader #javi peña #pedro pascal characters #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[loslentesdepedrito]

A Restless Night

Bottom left gif by: fourdev, top right gif by: @a7estrellas

My Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: You have issues with sensory processing, making it difficult for you to fall asleep. After a restless night of tossing and turning, Joel awakens, determined to do everything in his power to help you sleep.

A/N: I wrote this based on my own experiences with SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) as someone who has ASD. I refrained from labeling it as x ASD!reader because not everyone who struggles with SPD is autistic/autism, and not everyone who is autistic/has autism has SPD. Also, just a gentle reminder that every individual's experience with ASD varies significantly. If you’ve met one person with ASD, you’ve met ONE person with ASD. Enjoy!

Rating: 18+ Suggestive. Nothing explicit, but this is an 18+ page. Warnings: No Outbreak, hurt/comfort, slight angst, suggestive stuff, insomnia, food consumption, taking an Antihistamine pill.

In the eerie and suffocating stillness of the night, the angry crimson glow of the alarm clock projects the harsh reality onto the walls. The room, cloaked in darkness punctuated only by the faintest glow of the alarm clock, offers no solace. Silently, the digital clock announces the unyielding passage of time: 2:04 AM. With your eyes repeatedly drawn to the clock, you become a silent observer of your own restless fight for sleep.

Minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last. In vain hope, you closed your eyes, waiting for the elusive embrace of sleep. Frustration mounted, and your whispered mantra of "just go to sleep" echoed in the void, its efficacy long worn thin. At this point, the words are obsolete—they hold no meaning for you or your brain.

Your sheets, supposed sanctuary, became your tormentor. The sheets cradle your form, and your fingertips discern every thread, every imperfection in the fabric. Lying on them felt like lying on a box of sand. Even clothed parts weren’t exempt from the torture, as the sheets, like sandpaper against your skin, induced insufferable itchiness. The fabric, an abrasive paper, scratched against your tender skin, leaving trails of discomfort in its wake. Your nails dug into flesh, offering brief respite. The noise it made made you cringe, but you couldn't stop scratching.

Another hell was your hair. Endless adjustments led to desperation, and you gathered it into a makeshift crown atop your head, a futile attempt to detach it from your body. The sheets then morphed into a layer of microscopic needles, punctuating your flesh, and it could almost leave a trail of welts.

The silent plea for rest fell on deaf pillows. Experimenting with positions in the hope of finding the right combination, you lay facing the ceiling, then Joel, then turning away from him—the dance of insomnia continued. After each position, you stayed still, closed your eyes... and nothing. All movements amplified your discomfort, especially the rustling of the loathed sheets, adding to your torment.

An unseen army of ants seemed to crawl across you, their presence beneath your skin. The sensory assault intensified, feeling like the ants invaded your hair, their microscopic footsteps on your pillow resonating in your ears.  

As your nails dig into your scalp, a brief moment of panic washes over you, fearing that actual animals might be crawling on you. However, a deep breath and rational thinking help you dispel the irrational fear. Reassuring yourself, you repeat, You’re just making things up, it’s okay, you’re okay.

Just for reassurance, you pass your fingernails through your neck where you feel the phantom animals. When you look at your hand, it’s empty. A sigh of relief escapes you. Closing your eyes for what feels like the millionth time, the sheets below you rustle. "I can’t take it any longer," you mutter to yourself just above a whisper. Just as you're about to jump out of bed, you feel your husband stir beside you. 

He wakes up in somewhat of a panic, his big hand reaching out to feel for you. You find comfort in his touch, and it gives you something else to focus on. In the dark room, Joel looks around, reassured by the presence he feels beneath his touch. Knowing the room is clear, he turns his face to look at you.

“Shit. I’m sorry I woke you up. Go back to sleep, baby,” you murmur, breaking the silence.

Concern etches Joel's face as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

"Nada. Duermeté (nothing. go to sleep)," you downplay.

"Nah uh. What’s wrong?" he persists, turning to his right to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. The soft glow reveals the exhaustion on your face.

His eyes linger on your tired face and he swiftly moves closer.

“I can’t sleep,” you confess, the vulnerability in your admission apparent in the dimly lit room.

“Do you want me to hold you?” 

"No thanks. I don’t think that’ll help right now," you say sincerely, a subtle shake in your voice.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Joel asks, unable to simply stand by while you suffer.

"I don't know, I just can’t sleep," you admit, your voice breaking. 

Your husband's heart aches at the strain in your voice and the glistening of tears in your eyes. "What do you think will help?" Joel asks gently, willing to do absolutely anything. 

You shrug, a gesture of helplessness. "The sheets. They just feel rough on my skin. It’s itchy. I keep scratching, but nothing helps." 

Joel's gaze softens with empathy as he registers the genuine distress in your words. With a gentle touch, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The warmth of his calloused skin against yours brings you a sense of peace.

"'M sorry. I fell asleep and didn't even think about it. I was waitin' for you to get home-"

You gently interrupt, your voice laced with understanding. "Joel, sweetheart, this isn't your fault. I was excited to go to bed next to you; I forgot about the sheets too."

Fully sitting up on the bed now, you position yourself on your knees, facing your husband. Cupping his face in your hands, you assure him, "Don't feel bad. You work hard. I know you wanted to wait for me, but you passed out 'cus you're tired."

Joel responds by nuzzling his face into your hands. "I'm supposed to comfort you, you know?" he chuckles lightly, his hazel eyes radiating love.

Smirking playfully, you respond, "And how are you going to comfort me?"

Joel starts to shift, but upon feeling the sheets, his hands freeze, remembering the issue. As he thinks about what's different about the sheets tonight, Joel's expression shifts, realization dawning. "Fuck. Our usual sheets are still air drying. We can go check on them, but they're probably still damp, sweetheart."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," you say with a sheepish grin, feeling a flush of warmth spreading across your skin. The sheets had been rendered wet and soaked from the intimate activities of the previous night. Given their delicate nature and high-end price point, the sheets couldn't be tossed into the dryer, so you had to buy emergency sheets from the nearest store.  

A playful glint dances in Joel's eyes as a satisfied smile graces his lips. "My back still hurts. Thank you for that, honey." 

"Oh, please, I did most of the work. You've gotten lazy on me, Miller," you tease, your words infused with playfulness.

"Lazy?" he exclaims. "You squir-"

You swiftly cover his mouth, your whisper-yell barely audible, "Joel! The kids will hear you." Your words are hushed, ensuring they stay just above a whisper.

Joel rolls his eyes, his voice returning to normal as he lowers his tone. "You squirted all over the bed!" he playfully exclaims. "I'll show you lazy," he scoffs. In a swift motion, Joel gently rolls you over, a shared laugh escaping both of you. As he lowers himself, eliminating any remaining space between your bodies. You expect the warmth of his lips, but just as the closeness intensifies, he lifts himself away, leaving the bed.

Before you have a chance to berate him, Joel places one hand on his waist, the other on his beard, rubbing his stubble. A furrow forms on his brow as he puts his tongue to the right side, creating a bump on his cheek. "Maybe we can do something about the sheets. Would you like a different one, or perhaps I can find something to soothe your skin? I should have laid something different underneath you." 

The spare sheets you had kept for such situations ended up damaged during the move to your new house—the one you and Joel had designed together. Amidst the chaotic process of relocating, your attention was divided between ensuring the safety of Sarah’s books and your youngest daughter's beloved stuffed animals. In a moment of distraction, you accidentally dropped the extended sheet onto the floor. When you hastily pulled it up, the fabric caught onto the door, resulting in an unfortunate tear right down the middle.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal because they were your backup sheets, and you were certain that getting a new backup pair would suffice, given your primary sheets were still intact. However, the problem became apparent when you forgot to place the order, and with your main sheets damp, you found yourself without an immediate solution.

"You're helping now; that's all that matters," you tell Joel, getting up from the bed.

He gives you a smile and then asks, "Are the sheets the only problem or the blanket too?"

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you pause, settling on the edge of the bed. "Just the sheets," you affirm with a small exhale.

"I’ll find something to put underneath you," Joel assures.

"I’ll go to the restroom. See if that helps," you say, walking over to him.

Before you can make it to the restroom, your stomach rumbles audibly. "Great, and now I'm hungry," you groan, a hint of frustration in your tone.

"Ya comiste? (Did you eat already?)" 

You nod. “I had some of the mosaic jello the girls made after I came home from work."

“My love, that’s not enough to fill your stomach," Joel responds softly.

"I know; I was tired and just wanted to sleep."

"Oh, sweetheart, come here," he beckons, closing the distance between you.

Joel envelops you in a comforting embrace, his touch proving to be a solace without causing any discomfort. When you lie still, a wave of overwhelming sensations tends to surge, particularly due to the absence of distraction. The stillness becomes a canvas, intensifying your heightened sensitivity. It's worth noting that in your day-to-day life, your clothes can also be bothersome, primarily because of your aversion to certain fabrics.

"Go to the bathroom, and I promise to make everything better, okay?"

"Okay," you reply, and Joel seals the agreement with a tender kiss on the top of your head. With that, you make your way to the en suite bathroom.

Exiting the bathroom, your eyes are drawn to the bed. Joel has carefully laid down a thin cream-colored sheet – the salvageable portion of your once-intact backup sheet. At the foot of the bed sits a small foldable table over the ottoman.

Joel enters through the bedroom door, shirtless, balancing a plate of food and a cup. The darkness obscures the details of what he has on hand.

"I made Camarones a la diabla (Deviled Shrimp)," he announces, placing the plate atop the table. "And a cup of horchata," he adds, the room now enveloped in the rich aroma of the dish.

You wordlessly thank him, and with the fork from the plate, you scoop up a spoonful of the sauce and pair it with a mound of fluffy white rice. The flavors dance on your tongue, prompting an involuntary "mmm" of appreciation. "Oh my God," you exclaim with delight, savoring the delicious food. "It tastes so good!" 

He patiently waits for the audible gulp, a signal that you've swallowed the mouthful, before teasingly saying, "That's what you said last night."

"Shut up," you playfully elbow him, a laugh escaping your lips. "Me destie mucho (you gave me too much), I don't think I can finish it," you tell him. He chuckles and reaches into his sweatpants' pockets, fishing out a fork. "That's what I was hoping you'd say." 

Reaching into the other pocket, he retrieves a foil package. "Oh, and I got you some Benadryl."

You smile at him, accepting the package. With delicate fingers, you peel back the foil, taking out a single pink pill. Without hesitation, you swallow it down with a sip of the horchata. 

As you both continue to enjoy the dish, Joel finishes his portion first. He rises from the ottoman and heads to the nightstand, prompting your curiosity as he opens the bottom drawer. Your gaze follows him as he retrieves your body brush and a bottle you've never seen before.

Returning to you, Joel asks with a knowing look, "Up for the brush, love? You know it helps with the itchiness." Agreeing, you nod, and he gently guides you to the bed. You lie down, and the softness of the sheets beneath you finally soothes you.

His strokes with the dry brush are methodical and gentle, the bristles gliding effortlessly over every inch of your extremities. With each pass, a deep exhale escapes, and you feel tension dissipating as if melting away, allowing your body to succumb to a state of complete relaxation, and the itchiness gives way to a calming sensation.

"Thank you, Joel. It really does make a difference."

Once he's done with the brush, Joel presents the bottle he got from the drawer. "I know you don’t always like lotion, but I bought something I saw online a few days ago. Would you be willing to give it a try? People say it doesn’t leave that filmy sensation," he explains, his eyes reflecting a hopeful sincerity.

"Does it have a smell?"

"It's supposed to be odorless," Joel replies with a hint of pride in his voice. He had done extensive research, well aware of your aversion to the lingering sensation of lotions. The avoidance of body lotions is a common thing for you, and he had made it his mission to find a solution that aligns with your preferences.

"I want to try it." 

"If you don't like it, we'll wash it right off," Joel reassures, deftly opening the lotion bottle and squirting a small amount into the palm of his hand. He then proceeds to apply the cream to your left hand just above your wrist. The initial coldness prompts a sigh of relief from you. Joel lifts his hand off your skin, allowing the lotion to settle. As you open your eyes, there's a pleasant surprise—it feels good. "Wait, it's actually good. It doesn't feel sticky on my skin," you say with genuine amazement.

"Really?" Joel responds, his excitement evident.

"Yeah," you laugh. "Thank you, honey," you add, your gratitude almost bringing tears to your eyes at the thoughtfulness of your husband.

"No tears, okay?" he insists.

You nod, and he pulls you up, giving you a sweet kiss. You melt into his lips, and just as the kiss starts to deepen, he pulls away, helping you stand up. 

"Let's go brush our teeth," Joel suggests. You both head back into the bathroom and after finishing there, Joel takes the plate and cup into the kitchen. As you wait for him to return to the room, you neatly put away the brush and lotion, deciding to store them in your restroom. When you return to the room, Joel is already back, seated on the ottoman, engrossed in his phone.

"What are you doing?" you ask, walking over to him. 

"Just ordered some stuff," he replies.

Climbing onto the bed, you rest your head on his shoulder, peeking at his phone with curiosity. 

"Three more sheets?" you ask, shocked.

"We need to be ready, sweetie," Joel says, turning his head to look back at you.

"Joel, that's a lot of money," you express your concern.

"What do you say all the time?" he asks, unbothered by the cost.

"Mas vale prevenir que lamentar," you say begrudgingly, knowing that Joel is right. 

"Exactly, better safe than sorry, and what else?" 

"Uno nunca sabe, (One never knows)" you mumble grumpily.

"Mhm! They'll be here in three days," he informs you, turning his phone off and climbing onto the bed.

"Joel! Expedited shipping?" you exclaim, now on your knees.

"What did we just talk about? Only the best for my wife," he says, adjusting the quilt to prepare for sleep.

"Okay, fine. But you better not spoil me too much."

He chuckles warmly. "Of course, I will, my love. Ready to go to bed?"

With a playful eye roll, you nod. "Yes, but I think it’ll help if I sleep upside down." 

"Head on the foot of the bed?" Joel asks.

"Yes," you reply, loving that he knows you so well.

Joel puts your pillows on the end of the bed. "Come on," he says, resting his head on the pillow and opening his arms for you.

You eagerly get into bed and lie there, smiling.

"Thank you," you say.

"No need to thank me. You know I'd do anything for you," Joel assures.

"I know, baby. I love you," you tell Joel with a yawn.

"I love you," he replies, and you finally drift off to sleep peacefully.

Extended note: Joel finally gets a happy ending! I don't usually write HEAs for him, but this piece is one of my favorites that I've written about him. I had trouble falling asleep yesterday, and I remembered I had written this, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment and reblog if you'd like!

@pedrostories

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #Hurt/comfort #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #no y/n #pedro pascal character #hurt no comfort #tw: pills #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Bottom left gif by: @binary--sun , bottom right gif by: @interstellarflare

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter One

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Three

Word count: 5.1k+

Chapter summary: Nine years later, unexpectedly, Jack hears from you. 

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles.

Warnings: Angst, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, mentions of cheating, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone for the overwhelming support on Chapter One! I didn't have much time to work on the graphic for this chapter, so it took me a while to upload it. I have ADHD, and it's currently unmedicated, so that's also a factor. I find that I work best when the house is quiet, but with children around, getting them to sleep can be quite hard, haha! Again, I wrote this years ago, so I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post. So, thank you for your understanding, and I hope you enjoy the story!

As Jack's footsteps carry him back to his apartment from the Kingsmen agency, his mind is consumed by the weight of his day's work. An hour before he intended to go home, he found himself inexplicably overwhelmed by a sudden urge to rush to his apartment. It wasn't a foreboding feeling, but rather a strong sense that something good was on awaiting him. If anyone happened to catch a glimpse of Jack's somewhat clumsy dash out of his office, barely avoiding a slip on the freshly mopped floor- no one commented.

Now, in the lobby, with each step closer to his sanctuary, a glimmer of anticipation flickers within him, a faint hope that there might be a respite from the pain that has plagued his heart for years.

Reaching his mailbox, he pauses, his hand steady as he retrieves the day's mail. Among the advertisements, his eyes catch sight of a familiar return address adorned with the emblem of the firm that handled the painful dissolution of his marriage. The sight sends a jolt through his veins, instantly sharpening his senses. He feels a surge of joy and curiosity that threatens to overpower his cool demeanor. This, this is what I’ve been waiting for, he thinks.

With the letter clutched tightly in his hand, Jack climbs the staircase, his heavy and rushed footsteps echoing through the empty building stairway. As he reaches the sixth floor, he pauses for a moment, catching his breath and steadying his racing heart. Fuckin’ hell, I’m really starting to get old. 

His apartment building's signature aroma, a mix of aged wood and Reed Diffusers, drifts through the air and the illuminated corridor, offering a soothing moment. With renewed determination, he strides towards his apartment, the key ready in his trembling hand, eager to discover the message held within the white envelope.

Taking the letter inside, he fumbles to close the door behind him, his focus solely on the contents of the envelope. It feels like an eternity as he tears it open, the sound of the paper ripping echoing through the room. Throwing away the torn envelope, his hat, his phone, and his keys on the coffee with disregard, his gaze locks onto the words that lay before him, ink etched upon the pristine white surface.

With each sentence, the gravity of the situation becomes clearer, the weight of the words pressing against his chest. His heart beats faster, his breath growing shallow. The letter, written in a professional tone, contains the invitation he had never anticipated but always hoped for. She wants to meet me. The delicacy and urgency of the matter are subtly emphasized, practically begging Jack to meet you.

Jack's eyes scan the lines, his mind working swiftly to decipher the unspoken pleas hidden within the formal language. He can almost hear your voice, strained and vulnerable, begging for a chance to talk. 

The letter extends an offer of legal representation, a reminder that the cold machinery of the law can mediate their meeting. But Jack's resolve is unwavering. He wants this to be personal, as personal as it can get. I can finally clear everything up with her. Tell her what I never said. The opportunity to talk face to face with you without the barrier of attorneys fills him with a mixture of hope and anxiety, like a tightly wound spring ready to unfurl.

A surge of emotions floods his being, the years of longing and unanswered questions vying for attention. He clings to the flickering flame of possibility, for within this letter lies the chance to reclaim what was lost, to confront the lingering ghosts of his past, and maybe, just maybe, you could love him once more. Throughout the past nine years, when Jack basically pushed you out of his life, he lived in constant regret. He promised himself if he ever got a second chance with you, he would take it and do everything in his power to ensure you never felt the same pain as you did during your marriage.

Jack can't help but feel a glimmer of optimism as he sets the letter down. The future is uncertain, but the mere fact that you have chosen to reach out stirs hope deep within him. It's a fragile hope, like a flickering flame in the darkness, but it burns nonetheless.

As the weight of the letter lingers in Jack's hands, his gaze drifts toward his phone. Resting on the table beside the torn envelope lay a familiar device—Jack's unchanged phone, a device that held precious moments. He had never upgraded it because it carried countless memories. It was the very phone into which you had entered your number when you first met. It was the same phone that had kept him up on calls until the sun peeked over the horizon, the same phone that had exchanged texts with you at all hours of the day. It was the very phone where you introduced him to the world of sexting, etching those intimate moments into his memory. Jack found himself continually revisiting these cherished memories, and he never changed his phone number. Perhaps, in the recesses of his hopeful heart, he believed you might someday reach out. Even though the years following the divorce had passed without your contact, he couldn't bring himself to give up hope.

He reaches out for his phone and picks it up, his fingers gliding over the familiar touchscreen. With a deep breath, he dials the number to the firm, his heart pounding in sync with each number pressed. 

The sound of the dial tone echoes in his ear, and before the receptionist has a chance to utter a greeting, Jack's voice resonates with urgency, cutting through the silence, "Good evenin’. This is Jack Daniels. I'm callin' for Mr. Raul Santos."

The receptionist, taken aback by his directness, responds with a polite tone, "Good evening, sir. Please hold while I transfer you." The hold music fills the air, a symphony of anticipation mingled with the echo of distant voices. Jack's mind races; moments feel like hours while he rehearses over and over what he will say.

Finally, the ringing ceases and is replaced by a voice on the other end. It's Raul, the person who holds the power to give Jack his biggest wish. Jack wastes no time, the words escaping his lips before doubt can creep in, "Raul, it's Jack. When can I meet with her?" His voice carries a blend of longing and urgency.

"Jack, can you meet tomorrow at St. Andrew's Hospital at 10 AM?" The words hang in the air, filled with anticipation, as Jack's breath catches in his throat.

Why the hospital? Jack's mind questions. Summoning his resolve, Jack finds his voice and responds, "I'll be there."

"Perfect," Raul replies, his voice a lifeline in the abyss of uncertainty. "We'll be waiting for you on the tenth floor of the East Tower. When you sign in on the first floor, tell them you're meeting Dr. Navarro." Jack nods to himself, memorizing all the instructions as if his life depends on it. 

Jack's emotions simmer beneath the surface as the call comes to an end, a torrent of hope, nervousness, and a glint of renewed longing. The image of St. Andrew's Hospital burns in his mind, a symbol of new beginnings and the coming together of their separate lives.

With apprehension and excitement, Jack sets the phone down, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Tomorrow assures a reunion, a chance for Jack to apologize for all of the suffering he has caused you. It is a moment he has dreamed of, yearned for, an opportunity to correct all his errors.

As he gazes into the distance, the fading daylight casting long shadows across his tired face, Jack finds solace in the glimmer of hope that glows in his heart. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, but at this moment, he dares to believe that the fragments of their broken bond may find a way to heal.

Despite his initial doubts, sleep had managed to find its way to Jack, offering him a few hours of rest. When he wakes, a surge of excitement courses through his veins, fueled by the knowledge that he will soon be reunited with you. The morning light filters through the window, casting gentle rays of warmth upon his face; as he rises with a renewed sense of purpose.

Determined to make a good impression, Jack steps into the shower, the hot water cascading over his body, washing away the traces of sleep and leaving him feeling refreshed. He carefully removes the stubble with each stroke of the razor against his skin, his fingertips tracing the sharp contours of his tanned face, ensuring a clean and polished look. The mustache, once untamed, is now meticulously trimmed, framing his pink lips.

Moving to his closet, Jack sifts through his collection of clothes; a rain of fabric and colors fall on his full-sized bed. He changes in and out of various combinations, looking for the perfect outfit. His fingers glide over the texture of his dress shirts, searching for the best one. Jack eventually settles on a deep blue dress shirt, a charcoal gray blazer, tailored pants that hug his frame just right, and a tie with subtle patterns.

Next, Jack turns his attention to his footwear, opting for a pair of polished black leather shoes. Would you examine his shoes with a magnifying glass? No, but that doesn't stop Jack from meticulously brushing off any lingering specks of dust, ensuring they shine in the morning light. As a finishing touch, he retrieves a felt Stetson hat, a prized possession that holds sentimental value because you gifted him with it. He tenderly cleans it, erasing any signs of wear, and proudly sets it atop his head.

Ready to see you- Jack leaves his apartment, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The crisp, chilly morning air greets him as he exits the lobby. I remember I met my sugar on a day like this, Jack thinks. He pretty much runs towards his car and turns the key making the engine roar to life. With each mile that passes throughout his two-hour drive, his mind remains focused on the meeting ahead.

When Jack arrives at the hospital, he hands his keys to the valet while scanning the surroundings for the reception area. He spots a man in a gray uniform and approaches him, his voice full of eagerness, "Good mornin’,” Jack begins, "I have a meeting with Dr. Navarro at 10 AM." 

"May I see your ID, please?" The man asks politely, extending his hand.

Jack hesitates for a moment and reluctantly hands over his ID, watching as the man's eyes scan the name. There's a brief pause, and then the man looks up at Jack, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Jack Daniels." The man says with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow at the name on the identification. 

Jack, sensing the unspoken question, clenches his teeth and responds with a touch of irritability, "Yes, it's real." The man understands the tone and directs Jack toward the appropriate elevator.

Jack complied eagerly and made his way toward the elevator. With anticipation, he reached out and pressed the button, making it glow orange. A ding echoed behind him in a matter of seconds. He hurriedly stepped inside the elevator and quickly jabbed at the close button, unwilling to wait for another passenger. Jack kept repeating a mantra of hurry, hurry, hurry in his mind. Without wasting a second, he confidently pressed the number 10.

Jack grows impatient inside the elevator, his fingers tapping restlessly against his hips as he paces back and forth. The rising numbers on the display screen get his attention, frows burring with each digit slowly increasing- reminding him of precious time slipping away. "This has to be the slowest fukin' elevator in the world." He growls in the empty elevator. Frustration lingers in Jack's thoughts; You should've taken the stairs instead of the goddamn elevator, his inner voice cursing the choice that delays the meeting with you. And when the tenth floor finally arrives, Jack leaps into action, his boots hitting the clean baby blue floor with a resounding thud.

Startling the receptionist, Jack raises a hand in apology and walks toward the front desk. He provides his name and appointment details, receiving a buzz of approval before being directed to his destination. Jack rushes forward, his heart pounding. Unbeknownst to him, the receptionist shakes their head, silently cautioning him to be careful, a concern in the receptionist's head so he won't stumble and falls on his ass because of his hurried run. 

The instructions echo in his mind, and he checks them off as he goes; walk to the automatic white doors, check, press the buzzard, check, walk to the end of the corridor, check, make a left, check, take one last left, chec-

And there you are, seated on a gray leather bench outside the meeting room, your eyes locked onto the black screen of your phone as if you’re waiting for it to light up, lost in a world of your own. Jack's breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you, and his eyes well up with tears. Time seems to stand still as he stares at you, overwhelmed by the flood of memories and emotions that surge within him. Despite the passage of years, you still possess the power to make his heart flutter, your presence stirring a mixture of awe and love. She's still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thinks.

However, Jack's expression falters as he realizes the missed opportunities, the unspoken words, the love not fully cherished. Regret taints his thoughts as he reflects on the path that brought the both of you to this moment. He wants to make amends for the pain he caused you, but Jack knows that this meeting has a different purpose; he doesn't know why the exact reason, but after everything he put you through, there must be a reason you need him. He's not going to let you down, not again.

Summoning his courage, Jack calls out your name. Your head immediately turns towards the voice, one that hasn't graced your ears in years, and for a quick moment, he sees a flicker of reluctance in your eyes. Seeing Jack again, admittingly, stirs up an overwhelming desire to hide from him. All you can see are the haunting memories. A flood of painful flashbacks that would bring you to tears in privacy. The temptation to approach him surges within you, but it's not for a hug or a kiss, no. Instead, you imagine the crimson mark your hand could leave on his cheek. But you take a deep breath, reminding yourself of the reason you reached out to him after all these years.

"I didn't think you were going to show." You finally say, your voice tinged with relief and guarded vulnerability. Rising from the bench, you stand before him, your hands tucked inside the comforting embrace of your black hoodie's pouch. 

Jack's heart aches at the sight of you, knowing that the pain he inflicted has left an unforgettable mark on you. Though he craves to erase the memories of hurt, he understands that redemption lies in actions, not words alone. Taking a deep breath, he suppresses his own desire to close the distance, touch you, and maybe taste your lips again. He mentally shakes his head, focusing instead on the reason for your reunion.

"Hi, Sug-" He stumbles for a moment, realizing he no longer has the right to call you by the affectionate nickname. "I mean, hello. I'm here." 

"I'm glad you came."

Jack nods, his throat tight with emotions he struggles to put into words. "I knew I had to be here," he says, "I couldn't let this opportunity slip away." 

"There are things we need to address, wounds that need healing. I want to make things right, to find a way to move forward together."

You want to interrupt, to rip the bandaid off, but Raul's advice rings in your ears, urging you to let the meeting room be the place to lay everything on the table. So you hold back and let Jack do the talking.

Jack takes a step closer, the distance between you shrinking. His heart pounds in his chest as he gets closer. "I know I've caused you so much pain," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm here today because... because I want to make things right. I wanna understand, I wanna listen, and try to heal the wounds I've caused. I wanna be there for you, to support you, to love you, and do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. And if you'll let me, I wanna be a part of-" 

Just as Jack was about to request something that has always been on his mind, a door opening from behind you interrupts him. Raul with one foot inside the meeting room and the other in the corridor, calls out for both your names.

"We're ready for you," Raul announces a sense of urgency in his voice. He holds the door open, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

You exchange a quick glance with Jack, seeking reassurance, a silent confirmation that he'll follow through and both of you follow Raul into the conference room. The door shuts softly behind you, filling the room with the only sound. Your gaze sweeps the room, and you take in the white conference room with its black and white marble table in the middle and the soft glow of natural light.

Feeling a wave of emotions crashing over you, you instinctively shut your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. This is a lot harder than I expected... the thought lingers in your mind. Dr. Navarro's words echo in your memory, urging you to relax through the simple act of breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, you repeat silently, allowing the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation to steady your racing heart.

Choosing your chair carefully, you opt to sit with your back facing the window. It provides a sense of security and shields you from external distractions allowing you to solely focus on Jack. Your hand reaches out and lands upon one of the gray roll-on chairs, its smooth leather headrest cool against your fingertips. 

On the opposite side of the table, Jack is reluctantly guided by Raul to his designated seat. Oh, I can sit wherever I damn well please, he scoffs silently, but I suppose I can play by the rules for now. Just think about all the appointments with Dr. Reynolds and what-if scenarios. Don't mess this up. He takes a seat, begrudgingly accepting the arrangement, while his back deliberately faces the door. The positioning serves as a physical reminder of the boundaries and emotional distance that have grown between the two of you throughout the years.

Raul takes a seat at the head of the table. Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence. "Thank you both for coming today. As you may already know, the purpose of this meeting is of utmost importance. Mr. Daniels, the reason my client-"

Jack interrupts, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and vulnerability. "Stop. I don't want this to be an official meeting. I just... I want," he glances at you, his eyes searching for understanding, "I just want you to do the talking, please." He knows he has no right to make demands, but he wants to talk with you directly, to bridge the gap between you, if even it's just for a moment.

Raul looks at you briefly, to see how you're doing. "My role is simply to facilitate the conversation," Raul responds, his voice assuring and tinged with a hint of anger. Maldito inútil malparido (Fuking useless bastard). This asshole hurt her so much. How dare he make demands? Raul is well aware of the pain Jack caused you. He was one of the first people you confided in about the divorce, and he naturally helped you with the process. Raul cashed in many favors to expedite the process which would usually take time. In fact, he stayed up all night to ensure that he could serve Jack the papers the morning after you left him.

Truth be told, Raul initially liked Jack when you first introduced him to your friends. However, as time went on and you grew more serious, Jack's repeated slips of the tongue and thoughtless actions made Raul's opinion of him sour. The final straw for Raul was when Jack couldn't even give you the wedding you deserved. Raul knew how much you loved Jack, so even though he could see through your forced smile when discussing the wedding details, he congratulated you both and sent a gift.

You meet Raul's gaze, conveying your appreciation for his support. "Raul, está bien. (Raul, it's okay.)" You say softly, recognizing his concern and knowing that you need to have this conversation directly with Jack.

With a nod, Raul settles back in his chair, allowing the focus to shift solely to the two of you. The room is filled with a charged silence. As you prepare to speak, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and decide how you want to phrase everything.

"My baby... my baby has Fanconi Anemia and needs a blood donor." You explain, your voice trembling with desperation. "No one in the family has been a close match. Even among friends, no one is a match. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that almost everyone I know has been tested, but a donor hasn't been found."

You pause, the weight of the situation making your heart hurt. "Just a month ago, we were hopeful. A match was finally found through the National Marrow Donor Program. We finally felt like we could breathe, but then she was involved in a severe car accident. She was T-boned by a drunk driver, and her car fell into a ditch, causing a traumatic brain injury. Thank God she's going to be okay, but unfortunately, her condition disqualifies her from being a donor."

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Now, we're back to square one, searching for a compatible donor, but it's going to take a long time again. Jack, I know you didn't love me or care about me, and I understand that you didn't want me to have the baby. But please, I'm begging you to get tested to see if you're a match. If you are, please consider donating."

A rush of emotions floods through you, a mixture of fear, vulnerability, and a glimmer of fragile hope. You gaze into Jack's eyes, desperately searching for a spark of compassion, a willingness to help. "I understand you still resent me for everything. If you do this, I promise it will be the last time I'll contact you. I won't ask for anything more. Please, Jack." 

Jack takes a moment to absorb your words, his eyes flickering with a complex mix of emotions. "What's their name?" He asks, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of longing.

"His name is Ángel." You reply softly, feeling a bittersweet ache in your heart.

Jack's eyes widen, and a myriad of emotions passes over his face. "Ángel." He repeats and although he can't quite replicate your pronunciation thanks to his accent, it's still beautiful to him.  "I have a son." He whispers, his voice barely audible.

A flood of thoughts and emotions washes over Jack, overwhelming him. He shuts his eyes momentarily, attempting to process everything. This newfound knowledge stirs something deep within him, a sense of responsibility and a longing to be a father. I lost a son before he was born, I missed out on Ángel’s life when I said I didn’t want him, but I won’t lose him again. 

With determination in his voice, Jack looks at you. "I'll donate. I’ll do whatever it takes to help Ángel.”

He’s going to do it, you let out a sigh of relief. The alleviation that surges through you, washes away some of the anxieties that had been weighing you down. You're grateful that Jack is willing to take this step, to offer his help for the sake of your son. However, before you can express your gratitude, Jack's questions pour out in a rush.

“But... what is Fanconi Anemia? How bad is it? Is the procedure going to hurt him? Does he need surgery? What if I’m not a matc-" his voice trails off, uncertainty and concern etched on his face.

Realizing his anxieties, you reach out and gently interrupt him, calling his attention. "Jack," you say softly, trying to soothe his worries. "Breathe."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to explain Ángel's condition. His doctor was supposed to join us, but I can explain for now."

You take a deep breath, grateful that Jack is willing to help. "Fanconi Anemia is a rare condition where the bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells." You explain, your voice filled with sadness. "Ángel was diagnosed fairly recently because he didn’t have any physical abnormalities. But then, he started experiencing frequent nosebleeds, which was weird to us. We took him to his Pediatrician, who ordered blood tests. The results showed abnormally low blood counts, and that's when we knew something was wrong."

A twinge of admiration and pride fills your words as you continue. "He underwent a bone marrow needle biopsy to confirm the diagnosis. It wasn't an easy procedure, even though they numbed the area. I could see the discomfort in his eyes, but he never complained. In fact, he saw that my eyes were red and swollen, and he reassured me that he didn't even feel it. I knew it was a lie, but he just wanted to protect me."

Your voice trembles with a blend of love and admiration as you speak of your son's strength. The memories of his bravery since before his official diagnosis fills your heart with both pride and a deep ache. You pause for a moment, to regain your composure.

You are about to explain more about his condition and the procedure when the door behind Jack opens. Jack's gaze is solely focused on you since he assumes his son's doctor is the one coming in. Suddenly, you have a smile on your face when you look over Jack's shoulder, and he's confused until he hears the voice of the man that has given him nightmares ever since he got served with divorce papers.

“Cariño, Danny, and Heidi are staying with Ángel now,” Javier says as he makes his way to you, his presence a comfort for you and unease for Jack. "Sorry I'm late, I wanted to stay to see if he could keep his food down." He hovers over you and kisses the top of your head.

He pulls out a chair next to you, and that's when Jack sees it – a wedding band on Javier's left ring finger.

Fuck.

Unconsciously, you pull your hand from underneath the table and place your left hand on Javier's for comfort.

You had your hand covered the entire time, and that's when Jack notices it- your rings. 

Fuck.

You’re married to him? Jack seethes in his head.

“Jack.” Javier nods but Jack can’t respond. How can he respond when another man is married to the love of his life? 

In a moment of anger and hurt, Jack blurted out, "Did you cheat on me with him? Is that why you wanted a divorce?" Jack asks, the pain and jealousy bubbling to the surface.

Just like that, some of the gratitude for Jack shatters.

The response from you was immediate, “Jesus, no, you asshole,” you spit out, offended. “How dare you ask that?”

“You didn’t love me. That’s why I divorced you." You retort, feeling the anger resurface.

At that moment everything he discussed with Dr. Reynolds, all of the progress was gone. He did just find out so much within the past few minutes, and his usual coping techniques seemed to fail him in this moment of overwhelming emotions.

“Wait, if you cheated on me with him, that means he could have been the one to knock you up. How do I know Ángel is my son?” Of course, you remarrying was killing him, but if that on top of having his son snatched when he just got him back, it would end him.

“I never cheated on you, Jack.” You spit out, offended. “You were the one that was involved in another relationship, even if it was emotional. Not me. Don’t make me the villain.”

"You’re Ángel’s biological father, Jack." You emphasized, hoping to dispel any doubts he had. But he seemed stuck in his head.

Biological, the word echoed in his ears. It was a harsh reminder that he was just the man who contributed to Ángel's DNA. He hasn't been his dad, and if he keeps this up, he will never know his son like he wants to.

"You want a paternity test? Done," you offered, wanting to rid his doubts. "But if you don’t want to take my word for it, Fanconi Anemia is an inherited disease. Ángel has the FANCR gene, which is autosomal dominant. I got screened for it, and I’m not a carrier. Autosomal dominant means that a gene from one parent can cause the genetic condition. If I didn’t pass the gene, that means you’re the carrier. That’s how Ángel got the disease."

The reality hit him like a ton of bricks. I did this to my son. He’s sick because of me.

The room falls silent, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air. The pain and guilt wash over him, and Jack is overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Querida, calm down. This isn’t good for you. Te va ser daño. (It’s going to harm you.) This isn’t good for the baby," Javier tries to soothe you, his voice gentle and caring. Javier's dark eyes bore into Jack with rage. Jack can feel the anger emanating from your husband. Javi leans forward, his body language asserting his presence. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck visibly tense, and his hands grip the edge of the table as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

The baby? Jack thinks.

The hospital is always cold, which is why you always have a sweater with you, but right now, you feel like you're burning up. You lean back from the table and unzip your hoodie, instantly feeling cooler with your sweater out of the way.

Jack's eyes are drawn to your swollen and round stomach, and he's speechless.

Extended note: Just as I thought, Jack is more popular than Dave, so in the meantime, I'll be working on the graphics for this series instead of Eres Mía. Dave is one of my top 3 favorite Pedro characters, and I think he's highly underrated, but I get the love for the cowboy! 

I'm slowly adding titles of fics that I plan on sharing, so if you see something without a link on my masterlist, I'll get to it (eventually). After this series is completed, I think I'll post another Whiskey one-shot (he's been to therapy in this one :), but I'm not too sure yet.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them!

Tag list: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy

#angst #jack daniels x female reader #Jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels angst #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #Jack daniels #agent whiskey #no y/n #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #tw:sick child #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing #fic: iyw

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter One

Top right gif by: @uuuhshiny , bottom left gif by: @userdjarin

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Word count: 4.7k+

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Chapter summary: You're filled with excitement as you share news with your husband, Jack. However, his reaction isn't what you were expecting. His hurtful and hateful words leave you reeling, causing you to reconsider your marriage. Luckily, friends and family are there to help you through.

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut.

Warnings: ANGST, topics of death and mourning, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, pregnancy, divorce, toxic marriage. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: Yes, I'm aware that this piece bears similarities to my first work (Jack Daniels and Frankie Morales) that I shared here. However, I only realized this after creating the graphic at the top. Oops! If you've grown tired of the Whiskey storyline, I have another piece with Dave York available!

"Jack?" You call out, anticipation and happiness filling your voice. Jack brings his head up and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the joy that radiates from you.

"Yes, sugar?" he responds, mirroring your smile with his own.

You can't help but let your smile grow wider. "I'm pregnant!"

But the moment the words escape your lips, Jack's smile vanishes before your eyes. Confusion swirls within you, and you can't understand his reaction. "No, you ain’t," he denies firmly.

You refuse to let his denial dampen your excitement. With a quieter voice, you insist, "Yes, I am."

Again, he denies your claim. "No. You ain’t pregnant." His Southern drawl carries a mix of shock and denial.

He’s got to be in shock, right? you wonder silently, trying to make sense of his reaction. He must be, you reason, which is why you decide to make it more tangible for him.

"I am. Look!" You declare proudly, pulling out the glossy black and white sonogram from your pocket, and presenting it to him.

But to Jack, it all feels wrong. He glances at the sonogram, your name on the top left corner, and the blurry white image representing the tiny life growing inside you. Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, Jack shuts his eyes tightly, wishing desperately that this is all just a nightmare. Meanwhile, you remain over the moon, your gaze fixated on the sonogram, admiring the newly forming person you already love the most. I already love you more than words can describe. You’ll be loved so much, I promise. 

In an instant, a sharp sting shoots through your right fingertips, eliciting a hiss of pain from your lips. Startled, you look down and see the crumpled sonogram on the floor. It becomes clear to you that Jack's intention was simply to drop the picture, but the force behind his action accidentally inflicted pain on your fingers. As you wince from the ache, Jack's realization dawns upon him, triggered by the audible hiss of pain that escaped you. However, the physical pain in your hand pales in comparison to the overwhelming confusion and hurt that now blossoms within you.

The sharp sting brings you back to reality, and you struggle to comprehend why you felt the need to step away from your own husband. Your heartbeat quickens, mirroring the pace of your racing thoughts, as you bend down to pick up the now-bent sonogram.

Jack has never laid a hand on you before, not even in the slightest way. You take a cautious step back, ensuring a safe distance between you. Your voice quivers with a mix of concern and hurt as you ask, "What's wrong with you?"

He shakes his head frantically, before he finally speaks, "This ain’t supposed to happen."

Confusion deepens within you, and you struggle to understand his meaning. "What... what do you mean, love?"

"This ain’t supposed to happen," Jack repeats, his voice filled with desperation.

You remain silent, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for him to offer an explanation. But his next words cut through you like a knife. "You can't be pregnant... You just can't!"

You flinch back, wounded by his outburst. The pain in his words sears through, and tears well up in your eyes. "This ain’t supposed to happen with you," he continues, his voice filled with anguish. "I... I was supposed to have a family with my wife."

His reference to his first wife, tragically taken from him years before you entered his life, shatters your heart into a million pieces. The weight of his grief and loss settles heavily upon you, mingling with your own pain. You whisper, barely audible, "I'm your wife."

The words escape your lips, your voice barely registering as a hushed murmur. But Jack's confusion echoes in his question, "What?"

"I'M YOUR WIFE!" you shout, your voice filled with hurt and frustration. "It's me! You married me!"

"I held my tongue for so long, but I can't bear it any longer," you continue, your words pouring out in a torrent of pent-up emotions. "You make me feel like the other woman like you didn't even marry me."

"You always call her your wife when I'm right next to you. And no, this isn't being dramatic or exaggerating. Did you know you've always done it? Even my own family noticed and they keep having to pull me aside to tell me about it. It wasn't just a slip of the tongue, because you always do it. That's why no one in my family likes you!"

Tears stream down your face as you pour out your heart, laying bare the insecurities and pain that have haunted you for the entirety of your marriage. "I never told you because I didn't want to seem selfish or disrespectful, but you're the one who only thinks of himself and has no respect for me.”

“¡Dios mio!" You exclaim in exasperation. "I told myself I was going crazy for feeling this way. You said it when we were dating, then when we got engaged, and foolishly, I thought you would stop once we became husband and wife. But no."

"When we were dating and talked about our future, I made it clear that I wanted to get married and eventually have children. You knew this! If you didn't want the same things, we should have parted ways, but you said you wanted it too." You say, your voice choking with emotion.

Your voice cracks with frustration and heartache as you continue, "Well, I guess you needed a big wedding to consider me your wife, huh?” You let out a bitter chuckle, the sound carrying a tinge of despair. “You couldn't even give me the wedding of my dreams. I always wanted a celebration with all of my family, and you disregarded my wishes. Fuck, I should have seen this coming! You didn't want a big wedding to overshadow your perfect one, right?" Your words are filled with bitter resentment as you yell out your frustrations.

"YES!" Jack explodes, his own emotions coming to the surface. "I didn't want to replace her memory with you! My first weddin’ was perfect, and nothin’ could have beat it. So, why should I have tried to replicate it with you? I still love her and my boy so much... I tried with you, but it just ain't right! You need to get rid of it. Y'can't keep goin' through with it. She's the love of my life, and you..."

His words slice through your heart, leaving you in pieces. You collapse into sobs, your entire being overwhelmed by the weight of his contempt of you and the anguish of his lingering love for his late wife. "Your first wedding or your first wife?" You choke out through your tears. 

"Marrying you was the worst decision I ever made." Jack's words hit you like a punch to the gut, intensifying your heartbreak.

Why the hell did he marry me then? Echoes in your head, tormenting you with unanswered questions and self-doubt.

"Then why am I still in your life?" you manage to say, your voice barely audible as you struggle to understand why he hasn't let you go if you're such a disappointment to him.

"Because you're needy and fuckin’ clingy, and you won't let g-" Jack's words are abruptly cut off by your interruption.

"Don't," You interject. "You don't have to finish that sentence." You say through the knot in your throat. "I know where I'm not wanted. Don't worry, I won't force you to stay in this so-called marriage, and I will not force you to be my child's father.”

Your voice trembles with a mixture of sadness and determination, as you gather the strength to continue. "I can't keep being the only one fighting for this relationship. The only one who wants to be in this marriage. I won't even suggest therapy. Remember the last time I asked you to go? You wouldn't fucking talk to me and kept going to her grave and god knows where else! For two weeks! Do you have any idea how I felt? I can't keep doing this. I won't compete with a ghost. Not anymore. I'm done.” After those two weeks, I don’t know how I believe we could have worked through his grief. I just.. I didn’t know he didn’t love me...

The words hang in the air, heavy with finality. You take a deep breath, mustering the strength to continue. "I'll contact my lawyer and initiate the divorce proceedings. The papers should arrive soon. I won't ask you for any financial support for my child. So, just do one last thing for me — I mean, you've never really done anything for me — but sign the papers as soon as you receive them, so I can stop being the wife you despise. I'll stay somewhere else tonight, and people will come tomorrow morning to move all my personal belongings. Anything we purchased together will be sold, and the payment will be spl- You know what? I don't have time for this. My lawyer will clarify everything." The words leave your lips with a mix of sadness and determination, the image of a shattered dream painted across your mind.

Through tear-filled eyes, you gather your strength and make a decision. It's time to take control of your own happiness, to reclaim your sense of self-worth. With a trembling voice, you declare, "I won't let myself be treated like this anymore. I deserve to be with someone who loves and cherishes me. I won't settle for anything less."

You feel drained, your heart shattered, but you know you need to leave. You put the sonogram in your purse and turn to head out, but not before you deliver a final blow. "When someone asks about your wife is, you can say her name. You already do."

Jack stands frozen, his mind filled with regret and the realization of the irreparable damage he has caused. Part of him wants to chase after you, to beg you to stay, but he remains rooted to the spot, consumed by guilt and sorrow. The room feels empty and suffocating, the shattered dreams and broken promises hanging heavily in the air.

Jack's eyes snap open to a sudden commotion reverberating through the walls of his house. His Statesman training kicks in, and he springs out of bed with the speed of lightning. The adrenaline coursing through his veins fuels his urgency to investigate the source of the disturbance. Hastily, he descends the stairs, his mind racing, and his heart pounding in his chest.

As Jack reaches the ground floor, he is met with an unexpected sight. A decent group of movers, your family, and your friends filling the space. Instantly, his gaze falls upon your cousins, aunts, uncles, and fucking Javier Peña. Jack's blood boils with a deep-seated hatred for Javier.

Javier had been your best friend during your early childhood, but with a move across the country, you never saw him again. Until, five months ago, when everything changed. You and Jack were out grocery shopping when you reached for a package of chocolate abuelita. In that split second, a large hand enveloped yours, jolting your attention towards a deep voice that called out, "Cariño?" The whirlwind of emotions Jack experienced was suffocating. He watched, consumed by jealousy, as you recognized the man before you. Witnessing the radiant expression on your face, he saw you embrace Javier and ecstatically exclaim, "Javi!" The sight of your reddened cheeks when you released him, burned a searing image into Jack's memory. Despite Jack’s language barrier, he observed how animatedly you conversed with Javier. Although he couldn't understand most of the conversation, he caught the moment when Javier mentioned that he was only in town for one day and then swiftly requested to exchange contact information. Concealing himself around the corner, Jack surreptitiously observed the scene of you giving Javier one last hug, unable to tear his eyes away.

Right after you parted ways with Javier, you excitedly recounted the encounter to Jack, oblivious to the torment it caused him. You spoke about your long-lost friend Javier, sharing every detail, and Jack listened, pretending it was all fresh information. Before the day was over, you informed Jack that Javier had called to tell you he accepted a position at the local police department and asked you to meet him so you could catch up.

The memories flood back for Jack, his resentment towards Javier intensifying. He vividly remembers the christening of one of your second cousins, a significant event, and one where your family showered Javier with adoration. It was another moment that added fuel to Jack's growing disdain for him.

Now, here he stands, witnessing Javier Peña loitering around his home, overseeing the packing of your belongings into cardboard boxes. The sight ignites an inferno within Jack, further fueling his abhorrence for the man everyone loved.

In a flurry of activity, everyone rushes about, their movements brimming with urgency. Oblivious to Jack's presence, they fail to notice him standing at the bottom of the staircase. Suddenly, your friend, colleague, and lawyer, Raul, approaches Jack, breaking through the chaos. The weight of the forthcoming conversation settles heavily upon Jack as Raul addresses him, his tone grave, "Mr. Daniels, we have some matters to discuss."

Jack tenses, fully aware of the impending storm that awaits him. Every word uttered by Raul feels like a stab wound, each syllable a reminder of the impending divorce. The word echoes relentlessly in his mind, sending shockwaves through his entire being. Jack longs for a blink, a mere blink to make all of this vanish, to have you by his side once more. Deep down, though, he knows he cannot be the father your child deserves, and he fears you'll never take him back after the hurtful words he unleashed. Helplessly, he stands there, his emotions raging, as every piece of your shared life is stripped away. Clothes, jewelry, pictures, shoes, bags, kitchenware, even the goddamn fridge magnets—every item is callously placed into clear bags and then transferred into their respective brown cardboard boxes, their labels written in bold red letters.

The pain intensifies as your favorite cousin removes your wedding pictures from the wall, carelessly flipping them upside down before removing them from their expensive frame, and then unceremoniously tossing only the pictures into a box labeled 'QUE ARDA.' Jack wonders what you plan to do with those cherished memories. He makes a mental note to translate that phrase later, his mind cluttered with thoughts and emotions.

As the relentless dismantling of memories continues, Jack withdraws into the sanctuary of your shared bedroom, seeking solace amidst the chaos. The weight of despair presses upon him, urging him to preserve a fragment of what once was. With trembling hands and a heavy heart, he surreptitiously slides one cherished wedding photograph beneath the protective shelter of his underwear drawer. It rests there, hidden from prying eyes, a bittersweet reminder of a love that now hangs by a thread. The image captures the essence of your wedding day, a moment frozen in time where love and hope intertwined. It represents a fleeting glimpse of happiness that Jack yearns to hold onto, to cherish, even if only in the confines of his solitary existence. As his eyes settle upon the drawer, a surge of emotions courses through his veins, reminding him of the role he played in their unraveling.

In the depths of his soul, Jack confronts the painful truth that he bears responsibility for their crumbling relationship. Regret claws at his conscience, its grip unyielding. The yearning to hold onto the photograph, to clutch onto the semblance of what they once had, tugs at his heartstrings. It is a bittersweet reminder of the love they had, now tainted by his own shortcomings and mistakes. To Jack, the photograph is a painful reminder of what he has lost, a reminder that this photograph, like their love, now resides hidden away in the depths of darkness. I did love her, I still do… he finally admits to himself 

But even as he acknowledges his fault, the reality of their situation remains unchanged. The impending finality of divorce looms before him, a painful reminder that holding onto faded illusions will not resurrect her love. With a heavy sigh, Jack turns away, unable to escape the weight of his actions and the consequences that now unfold.

Stepping back, Jack's eyes lock onto the figure of Javier, approaching the room with purpose. Clutching a box labeled 'ROPA,' the weight of past joys and sorrows, Javier carries an unmistakable yellow envelope securely tucked beneath his arm. The sight sends a surge of conflicted emotions coursing through Jack's veins. There, within the confines of that envelope, lies the final decree that will sever the bonds his marriage once held.

Jack wrestles with conflicting desires. He longs to keep the photograph close, to savor the image that once symbolized their dreams and aspirations. Its presence would serve as a evidence of the love they once shared. Yet, the impending finality of divorce tugs at his conscience, reminding him of the futility of holding onto a fading illusion.

His moment of introspection is abruptly interrupted by Javier stepping into the room, "We just need this room, and then we're done," Javier's voice cuts through the heavy air, each word dripping with finality. He strides past Jack with deliberate intent, their shoulders colliding in a jarring collision. It’s a calculated move, a manifestation of tensions and unspoken grievances. The impact reverberates through Jack's being, jolting him with a surge of mixed emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

Javier's voice pierces through the silence, demanding Jack's compliance. "Oh, and sign this," he commands, holding out the document that seals their separation. Jack's heart sinks further, aching with the weight of his mistakes and the harsh reality of his actions. He realizes that his choices and his inability to fight for their love have led them to this precipice of destruction.

A whirlwind of emotions swirls within Jack as he struggles to maintain composure. He longs to retort, confront Javier, to defend himself against the accusations that echo in his mind. But the fear of breaking down, of exposing his raw vulnerability to his nemesis, forces him to swallow his words and bury his pain beneath a façade of indifference.

Suppressing his emotions, Jack forces out a strained response. "I'll go get a pen," he mutters, his voice betraying the cracks in his armor. Of course, he notices a pen casually protruding from Javier's pocket, but doesn’t acknowledge it. Jack's intentions are twofold - to avoid indebtedness to Javier and to steal a fleeting moment of solitude, where he can gather his shattered pieces and shield his vulnerability from prying eyes.

"No need," Javier replies, retrieving a black fountain pen from his crimson shirt. "Here."

Jack accepts the pen wordlessly, turning away from Javier. A wave of emotions washes over him as he approaches the smooth surface of your cherished vanity. Its polished veneer reflects the dim light in the room, casting a soft glow that dances upon the surface like distant stars in the night sky.

As he places the envelope down, he can't help but notice how out of place it looks amidst the serenity of the vanity. The contrast between the cold, impersonal paper and the warmth of the polished wood is sharp. It's a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within Jack's heart, a stark reminder of the shattered dreams and promises that now lie in ruins.

His attention is momentarily diverted, his ears pricking up at the sound of hangers clanging against each other in the closet. Javier's intrusion into this intimate space feels like an invasion, a violation of the sanctity that once existed between you and Jack. The echoes of the hangers serve as a painful reminder of how swiftly everything has unraveled, leaving him feeling helpless and adrift in a sea of emotions.

The entrance of more voices into the room disrupts Jack's already tumultuous thoughts, shattering the fragile stillness that once enveloped the space. Amidst the chaos, a distinct sound catches his attention—an unmistakable rustling of a bag. He turns, his gaze drawn to one of your uncles holding a storage bag. Its contents hold a precious piece of your shared history, the short, simple white dress you wore on your wedding day. The bag appears relatively small, but it carries an immense weight that lodges itself as a hard lump in Jack's throat.

A rush of memories floods his mind, triggered by your words uttered just the night before: "You couldn't even give me the wedding of my dreams." The sting of truth reverberates through his being, for he knows deep down that you were right. You had shared your dream for a celebration surrounded by all your loved ones, but he had selfishly protested. It was never a matter of financial constraints, as both of you were financially stable, but rather his fear of overshadowing the memory of his first marriage. The image of your tear-streaked face flashes before his eyes, when he said he “didn’t want to make a big deal about the wedding," a haunting reminder of the pain he inflicted upon you with his own demons.

His heart aches as he realizes that you had ultimately surrendered, selflessly agreeing to a courthouse wedding to avoid further conflict. There were no grand gestures, no best man to stand beside him, and only your parents as witnesses. The weight of his own choices and the consequences of his actions press heavily upon him, like a heavy stone lodged in his chest. Regret engulfs him, his remorse magnified by the sight of your dress being packed away, a symbol of the dreams he shattered and the happiness he denied you. 

Jack sees your uncle place the storage bag in the 'QUE ARDA' box he noticed earlier, and he knows he will never see that dress again. Unable to bear the weight of these memories any longer, Jack lowers his gaze, seeking solace in the downward cast of his eyes. The room buzzes with activity as more of your possessions are packed away, each item serving as a painful reminder of the life he once shared with you. The anguish wells up within him, threatening to consume his fragile composure. He longs to shield himself from the mounting pain, to retreat into a fortress of emotional detachment, even as his heart aches with the knowledge of the devastation he has caused.

Jack knows he must face the inevitable. He doesn’t want to, but he knows he doesn’t have another choice. He didn’t love you as he should have. He wasn’t a husband to you in the truest sense. Reluctantly, he opens the envelope, gingerly withdrawing the papers contained within. The bold letters of "Decree of No Fault Divorce" sting his eyes, and tears threaten to spill onto the pages. A part of him wants to let them flow freely onto the papers, to show you just how deeply this affects him too.

His gaze traces the contents of the documents, fixating on your initials, your signatures, and the relinquishment of parental rights. He shouldn't be so close to letting out a sob at the sight of everything laid out. The pain is overwhelming, almost suffocating. He had said that he didn't want to be a father to your child, screaming those hurtful words at you. This is what he wanted, isn't it?

Thoughts whirl in his mind as he contemplates sending the papers to a lawyer, as your lawyer had suggested. But he doesn't want to prolong your agony. He senses your urgency to sever ties with him. He doesn't want to contest the division of assets, knowing that what rightfully belongs to you should remain with you. He reads a statement noting that while you're not asking for child support, he understands if the court mandates it.

With a heavy heart and trembling hand, Jack signs his name on the designated line next to your signature. By the time he surrenders his parental rights and agrees to everything else, his hands have gone numb.

Lost in his thoughts and emotions, Jack is unaware of the activity in the room until he notices your lawyer approaching him. Raul's presence jolts him back to reality.

"Very well. I will expedite these papers," Raul states, extending his hand to collect the envelope.

Jack hesitates, his grip tightening on the document, reluctant to surrender it. In fact, a surge of defiance pulses through him, urging him to tear it into countless pieces, to feed it to the pigs, and restore all your belongings to their rightful places within the sanctuary of your home. But he knows he must suppress these rebellious impulses. Reluctantly, his fingers loosen, and he extends the envelope, a mixture of sorrow and resentment coursing through his veins. The burden of the decision he made hangs heavy upon him, a haunting reminder of the choices that have led to this painful moment.

Unexpectedly, Raul reaches into the depths of his dark gray suit pocket, retrieving a small black box. Jack's heart clenches in recognition, knowing all too well the contents that lie within. 

"Here is my client's wedding band and diamond ring. She wanted to return them to you." Raul informs him.

The box becomes a symbol of shattered dreams and promises, a vessel holding the remnants of the love that once bound them together. It serves as a perfect reminder of the life they had envisioned, now irrevocably altered.

The gravity of the situation bears down upon Jack's weary shoulders as he gazes at the box, his mind flooded with a whirlwind of emotions. It is a bitter pill to swallow, suddenly acknowledging the pain he has caused and the irreversible damage inflicted upon the once-vibrant tapestry of their relationship. Regret seeps into every pore, intertwining with the threads of sorrow that bind him, leaving an indelible mark upon his soul.

Jack's fingertips tingle with a mix of trepidation and resignation, for in surrendering the envelope, he recognizes the finality of their life together.

With a heavy sigh, Jack reluctantly releases his grip on the envelope, its transfer an act of surrender and acceptance. The bittersweet taste of resignation lingers on his tongue, a poignant reminder of the love that once burned brightly but now smolders in the ashes of what could have been. The echoes of his unspoken regrets reverberate through his being as the envelope changes hands, sealing their fate.

Javier's voice pierces the silence, "Ya está todo" ("It's all done"). Without a single word directed at Jack, everyone exits the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Your family and the movers pick up the boxes and load them into a truck that will carry them away, transporting them to a place where you can begin anew, free from him.

The sound of the door closing echoes through the nearly empty room, and Jack retrieves his phone, launching the translation app. He enters the phrase "QUE ARDA," and his stomach churns as he reads the translation of what you intend to do with your wedding items and the pictures you once cherished: "LET IT BURN"

Overwhelmed by emotions, Jack collapses onto the bed in the nearly bare room, tears streaming down his face. The weight of his actions and the consequences of his words crash down upon him, suffocating him in remorse and regret. He yearns for a way to turn back time, to rectify the pain he inflicted upon you throughout the years. How did she keep up with everything I put her through? He asks himself.  But he knows it's too late. All he can do now is bear the burden of his mistakes and hope that someday, somehow, you can find it in your heart to forgive him.

In the depths of his being, Jack understands that the time for desperate gestures and sentimental hopes has passed. It is a painful admission, an acceptance that their love has slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. And as he looks at his underwear drawer, the image etched into his memory, he carries the burden of his own fault, knowing that he didn't want his wounds to fully heal, which, in turn, caused your own wounds.

Extended note: (Repeating from my previous Dave post from yesterday, because I believe there isn't much overlap between Jack and Dave fans. So I'm sharing this here as well.) As I mentioned in my initial post, I have been writing fanfiction for a long time. However, I recently decided to start sharing some of my work. English is my third language, and while I have experience writing and publishing grants, research papers, proposals, and so on, it’s nothing compared to fanfiction and erotica. Also, I have always had a team to revise my work, so this is definitely outside of my comfort zone. With this being said, I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post.

I don't know when the next part will be up because I like to create dividers and the image displayed at the top of the post. I'm not quite sure what to call it—Collage-like manner gifs? Banner? Oh, and I'm horrible at graphic design, so it took me an embarrassing amount of time to create the ones included here.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! (If you would like to, of course :)

#angst #jack daniels x female reader #Jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels angst #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #Jack daniels #agent whiskey #no y/n #javier peña #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #fic: iyw #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Three

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Two

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Four

Word count: 9.6k+

Chapter summary: Jack faces the consequences of his actions, and his past once again, haunts him and you. (Picks up directly from ch. 2. The flashback scene is bold and italicized.)

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles.

Warnings: ANGST, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, mentions of cheating, toxic marriage, no explicit content, but suggestive, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease. (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been years since I wrote this.)

A/N: Some of 2017 references. Huge, huge, huge apologies for the late chapter! Long story short, a colleague had to take emergency leave, and I stepped in to manage a project that will be presented in two weeks. My work is pre-written, this one in 2017, but I have to add the translations, and I love making the graphics, even if it takes me way too long. I'll be out of the country for the presentation, but I'll try my best to upload something before then. Thank you to everyone for their patience, and I hope you enjoy this part!

She's pregnant?... She's pregnant... Jack's mind whirls with a mix of surprise and jealousy, the revelation hitting him like a freight train and igniting an uncontrollable fire within his chest. 

"Did you fuck him while we were married?" The question escapes Jack's lips, driven by irrationality and a mix of hurt and anger. If he were more collected, he would have realized the insensitivity of such a question, but his emotions are spiraling out of control.

He doesn't even get to hear what you have to say because, in an instant, Jack gets up from his chair in a sudden burst of emotions and sends it flying backward into the wall. 

His thoughts and emotions collide, just like the chair and the wall, and he feels like he's drowning in a storm of feelings he can't control. Jack constantly thought about you and his child, but without knowing the gender or having a name, his child remained an elusive figure in his mind. A fleeting thought that now lingers is how he always referred to your child as his little angel, never imagining how close to the truth it was.

Just as he discovers the existence of his son, he's confronted with the harsh reality that you've moved on. In the purest sense of the word, you have moved on. She's truly moved on, he repeats in his mind. The pain is overwhelming as he realizes you married Javier, probably raised Ángel with him, and now you're expecting another child—a child that belongs to another man. 

Jack had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance for him, you, and his child to form a family together. But that hope has been crushed. He knows deep down that you would never leave the family you've built, especially not for someone who treated you like an afterthought.

His heart aches at the knowledge that you have built a life without him. You're carrying another man's child, and it cuts deep into his soul. The thought of you and your husband raising a family, laughing and sharing moments together, stabs at him like a knife. 

It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that he missed out on so much. That he wasn't there to witness the joy of your pregnancy, to see your belly swell with the life you both created. He can only imagine the moments he lost, like not being able to go to the obstetrician with you, to witness the miraculous sonograms that reveal the tiny life growing inside you.

Tears sting his eyes as he recalls the sonogram of Ángel that you had given him, and how he carelessly threw it to the floor in a fit of anger. The regret now gnaws at him, realizing he'll never be able to relive those moments he cast aside.

A heartbreaking sense of loss envelops him, knowing that he wasn't there to hear Ángel's heartbeat resounding in the clinic. He wasn't there to hold his son for the first time, and thank you for giving him such an extraordinary gift. It's like watching a movie of his own life, but he's only a viewer, a stranger to the beautiful moments he should have been a part of.

He knows he hurt you, and Jack knows he doesn't deserve your forgiveness. But he can't help but wish for the chance to make things right, to be there for you and Ángel, to be the man you need him to be. Yet, deep down, he knows that ship has sailed.

Ya treated her like gum stuck to the sole of your boots, a cruel voice whispers in his head. Why would she ever wanna be with ya again?

As the emotions continue to swirl inside him, Jack glances at Javier, your husband, the man who has taken his place in your life. The sight of the wedding band on Javier's finger is a cruel reminder of the life they've built together.

That coulda been me, Jack thinks bitterly. I coulda been the one to marry her, to raise our child, to create a family.

But it's not him, and he can't change the past. He can't go back and be the man he should have been. All he can do now is face the consequences of his actions and accept that he missed his chance.

His heart weighs heavy with regret and sorrow, knowing that he let go of something precious. Your laughter, your smile, your love—all lost to him now. 

But amidst the storm of emotions, there's one thing that remains crystal clear: he has a son, Ángel, a part of him that he didn't know existed. And while he may not have the chance to be the father he should have been from the start, he can still try to be there for his son now.

Jack knows that he can't change the past, but he can choose how to move forward. He can decide to be a father his son deserves, to be a better man, even if it's not the fairytale ending he once dreamed of.

"I meant it. I'll get tested." Jack finally says. It's a small step, but it's the first one toward building a relationship with his son. He knows it won't be easy, and there will be obstacles to overcome, but he's willing to try.

You look at him, your eyes filled with tears. Honestly, when you first contacted him, you didn't know what to expect. But the fact that he's willing to take this step means something to you.

Jack replies, his voice resolute, "I want to be there for him, even if it's late. I want to be a part of his life."

Javier, still seething with anger, glances at Jack cautiously. He's protective of you and Ángel, and he won't let anyone hurt you again. But he also knows that this is a difficult situation, and he's willing to give Jack a chance to prove himself.

"I hope you mean it," Javier says, his voice stern but not without understanding. "Ángel deserves a father who will be there for him."

"I do," Jack says. "Sorry, I overreacted. I've been going to therapy, I swear." He lets out a dark chuckle. "I'm just... it's hard."

"Of course, I'll get tested, and I hope to God- I'm a match." He adds sincerely.

"Thank you, Jack," you say, your voice softening, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have implied in any way that Ángel's illness is your fault because it's not. But thank you for doing this- it means a lot to us."

Just then, Dr. Navarro enters the room, breaking the tension. "Woah," he exclaims, looking at the scraped wall. "I never noticed that before. We'll have to get maintenance to fix it."

After Jack agreed to get tested, Dr. Navarro sent him to get a physical to determine if he was in good condition to donate stem cells. Jack passed the tests with flying colors and was then sent to get tested for HLA markers. The doctor explained to Jack that this would determine if he was able to donate his cells to Ángel.

As he leaves the pathology department with his sleeves rolled up and a cotton ball taped to his right arm where the puncture was made, he's taken by surprise to see you waiting for him at the front desk. With his grey suit coat draped over one hand, he quickly tries to adjust his appearance, but the look on his face betrays his attempt to appear composed.

"Here." You say, handing him a red heart candy lollipop.

"Where did you get it?" He laughs, touched by the sweet gesture. Jack reaches out to take the lollipop, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

"From Mrs. Kroos." You say, pointing behind you.

His brows furrow, giving away his confusion.

"The lady that works at the front desk loves Ángel, and she knows he loves these candies. So she always gives him a few whenever she sees one of us. But be careful, don’t drop it. I won't give you another one.” You warn.

"I'll guard it with my life, sugar." Jack clutches the candy tightly, cherishing this small token of kindness from you. His eyes soften, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. It's as if, for a brief moment, he's transported back to the early days of your relationship.

To steer his thoughts in another direction, he examines the lollipop's wrapper, fingers absently tracing its red heart shape. But his eyes instinctively draw to your stomach, where the faint curve is evident beneath your clothes. It's a closer look than he's had before, the first time he's seen it up close since learning of your pregnancy this morning. His eyes linger there, and you can feel him searching for words to say or questions to ask. 

"How far along are you?"

"Five, almost six months." You reply, your hand instinctively resting on your baby bump.

He stays silent, unsure of what to say.

"Oh," he recovers, "Do you know what you're having?"

"Another boy." You answer with excitement.

"Oh." He clears his throat, trying to hide any hint of disappointment. 

"That's good. Congrats." Jesus, Jack, can't ya quit bein' an ass for just one minute?

As you stand before him, Jack can't help but feel a pang of pain. It's envy and jealousy, but it's also the sadness for what he missed out on with you and his son. The family he could have had, the love he could have shown and the joy he could have shared are now experienced by Javier, not him.

"Excuse me for a moment." He says suddenly, and you hear his voice trembling. He nearly runs to the restroom, needing a private space to let his feelings pour out.

Inside the stall, Jack allows himself to cry, and release the pent-up emotions. The tears are a mix of sorrow for the time lost and the regret of not cherishing the moments he had with you and your first child. Memories of the past flood his mind—moments he should have cherished, words he should have spoken with love, and gestures he should have made to make you feel valued. It's a cathartic moment, a release of the pain and the realization of what could have been.

As he wipes away his tears, Jack takes a deep breath and leaves the stall. He washes his hands and gets a good look at himself through the mirror. He prays you won't comment on his red and puffy eyes, but as expected, your concern for him is evident as soon as you see him exit the restroom.

"Everything alright?" You ask, worried about his sudden departure.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Jack replies, his voice still shaky but trying to regain composure.

Shortly after, you both take a deep breath and in a moment of eagerness on Jack's part and haste on your own, you attempt to speak at the same time, your words overlapping:

"Can I mee-"

"Do you want to mee-"

Jack's desire to meet Ángel is unmistakably clear in your eyes.

After a moment of contemplation, you speak first. "Yes, you can meet him," you say, voice filled with caution, "But we have to be careful about how we approach it. I think we have to take it slow with the official introduction."

Jack nods, understanding the need for caution. "Yes, ma'am. I get it. I don't want to do anything that might upset him."

"We'll take it one step at a time. Maybe we can start by introducing you as a friend, someone special to us. We can see how he reacts and take it from there. But you have to promise not to push him away," you continue, your gaze locking with his, "As a parent, I know the love one has for their children. I know you will always love the baby boy you lost, but you cannot compare him to Ángel. Each child is special and deserves their own place in your heart."

Jack takes a moment to absorb your words, realizing the truth in them. "You're right," he says, his voice softer now, "I don't want to make the same mistakes again. Ángel deserves better than that."

"He does," you affirm, "And I think you'll be a positive influence in his life. Just take it one step at a time, be patient with him, and be there for him. It won't be easy, but I think it's worth trying."

Jack nods, grateful for your understanding and guidance. "Thank you," he says sincerely, "I really appreciate you giving me and Ángel a chance."

"I want what's best for my son," you say, your love for Ángel evident in your eyes, "And if that means having his biological father in his life, then I'm willing to support it."

"Thank you," Jack repeats, his heart feeling true hope for the first time in years.

"C'mon. He's on the 16th floor." You say guiding him to the elevator. 

This time Jack is more collected in the elevator. Not that he's any less nervous, in fact, his heart is pounding with anticipation. Because he can't believe that after all these years, he has the opportunity to meet his son.  

As you guide Jack down the hospital corridor towards the elevator, he takes in his surroundings. The fluorescent lights above cast a sterile glow, and the muffled footsteps echo through the hallway - that's what Jack tries to focus on. Ideally, he would reach out to take your hand in his, and that would settle his racing heart. He gives it a little more thought and correctly assumes that you would probably smack him, so he decides against it, not wanting to upset you. Again. 

You can sense his nervousness as you walk beside him, and it amuses you how, in the past, you would have done absolutely anything to make him feel better. Yes, a part of you feels for him because there was a point in your life when you were in love with him more than anything, more than you had been with anyone. But another part of you is screaming, Don't care, don't let him in, remember all you went through?

The truth is, it feels almost unfair that you still have the instinct to comfort him when he never extended the same care or compassion toward you. It's a reminder of the one-sided nature of your past relationship, where you gave your all, but he held back. You hate that reminder. You hate how he made you feel. You hate how he made you act. You hate how he still makes you feel when you think about your past. 

You try your best to settle your thoughts as you walk together toward the elevator. Therapy had been helpful after the divorce, but it took a backseat when Ángel got sick. Now, considering how you feel around Jack, you realize it's time to prioritize your emotional well-being again. You make a mental note to schedule an appointment with Dr. Ordoñez soon, even if it means being on the phone for an hour and sitting on an uncomfortable hospital chair during the session. 

You'll soon be co-parenting with Jack, and you want to get to the stage where you don't appear like you want to kill him. If it weren't for your son, you would have been just fine never seeing Jack again, but you don't want your son to resent you or miss out on having a relationship with his biological father. 

Ángel already has a father and a wonderful father at that. Javi has been a fantastic father as well as a good husband. He loves Ángel, which is why, when you discussed Jack, he felt that his son shouldn't be denied the option to have another parent. 

You both keep walking, and when you make it to the elevator, you press the button, and the polished metal doors slide open with a soft ping. Jack places his hand on the door, and with a gracious gesture, he extends his other hand, signaling for you to walk through first. It's a small gesture, but it stirs a mix of memories and emotions within you. Before the divorce, you would have melted at such chivalry. His southern charm seemed to vanish right after you married. You had hoped that Jack would return to the man you were once head over heels for, but now, with hindsight, you can see a field of red flags that you had overlooked, perhaps purposely. Looking back at your relationship with Jack, there are moments when you can't help but cringe at your own behavior, realizing you held on desperately, not wanting to let go. Your yearning for him to love you was so intense that you settled for the bare minimum, hoping things would change. But as you stand there pressing the button to take you to the 16th floor, you can't help but acknowledge how much has changed, how much you've changed. You've known how you felt about him for years, but looking at Jack now, without any remnants of love in your heart, brings you a sense of liberation.

As the elevator door glides open with a soft ping, you step out, and Jack follows closely behind, his footsteps echoing lightly as you lead the way down to the front desk. The receptionist warmly smiles as she recognizes you and, with a press of a button, she buzzes you in without any need for further verification or questions. This special perk is granted due to your frequent visits to receive food and welcome visitors.

Unfortunately, you know the path to Ángel's hospital room like the back of your hand. You could be blindfolded and make it to room 43 without bumping into any obstacles- that's how long your son's been here. 

You make your way through the corridor, the hallway branching into two sides. Rooms 1-20 are on the left, and rooms 21-45 are on the right. You direct Jack to the right, to room 43, where Ángel is.

The walls are adorned with a burst of bright colors, courtesy of the children's paintings. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the left, where three adorable minions holding bananas are doodled. Next to it, a watercolored rainbow stretches across the length of the wall.

As you continue to room 43, your gaze shifts to your favorite artwork on the 16th floor- a bright red bear wearing a dapper top hat and a crooked, thick mustache. One eye is bigger than the other one, but you love it. To the left of the bear, there are princesses in their glitter-covered gowns. The last piece of the row is Spiderman. He's shooting webs, and his hand is drawn in the classic pose - his right hand extended with his index and middle fingers bent, touching his palm.

I haven't seen this one before, you think, as you notice mouthwatering donuts, likely drawn by an older child. Each donut has different glazes and toppings, so realistic that they almost look good enough to eat, leaving your taste buds tingling. Weird pregnancy cravings.

Every inch of the corridor is decorated with these precious works of art. The sight brings a smile to your face as you think about the children who must have carefully crafted their art with love, making this corridor bearable to walk through.

As you walked past the 30's, admiring the colorful artwork adorning the walls, Jack's mind was filled with thoughts of his son. ' Does he have her hair or mine? Whose eyes does he have? Lord, I hope he has her nose.' He couldn't help but subconsciously trace his nose's bridge.

You steal a glance at Jack while walking to Ángel's room, and his expression says it all. His brows are slightly furrowed, and his eyes dart around. His neck seems a bit tense, and you can see his jaw clenching and unclenching. Esta comiendo ansias. (He's worrying too much.) You think, looking at the mixture of eagerness and anxiety written all over his face.

"We're almost there." You tell him, your voice gentle, as you approached the 40's.

43. Jack's heart skips a beat as he sees the number on the door. It's as if time stands still for a moment before his heart starts racing with nervous excitement. A million thoughts rush through Jack's mind, and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. I'm going to meet my son. All those years of longing, of wondering what his child would be like, of yearning for a connection he thought he might never have - it's all happening.

As you reached for the doorknob, Jack's hand was slightly trembling. Don't trip, don't say something stupid, he mentally coached himself, trying to calm his nerves. With a mix of trepidation and hope, Jack stepped into the room behind you, taking in his surroundings. The room felt a bit cold, but the soft sunlight streaming in from the window cast a gentle glow over everything.

The room had that familiar hospital scent, a combination of antiseptic cleaners and the comforting aroma of fragrant flowers placed in vases around the room. 

He hears a movie playing in the background and looks at the TV to see little yellow characters with overalls he doesn't recognize. The animated movie's sounds mix with the soft beeping of medical equipment. He can see Javier getting up from the couch to the right of his son's bed, and your husband sends Jack a small, discreet nod of acknowledgment. You step in front of Jack, giving him a reassuring look, and he waits for your cue, staying near the door.

From this angle, Jack can't see Ángel; he only sees you and Javier to the right of the bed. He moves slowly, staying hidden beside the wall, not wanting to startle his little boy. He can't help but feel his heart pounding in his chest, his emotions swirling in a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"Mi niño, estas despierto?" ("My boy, are you asleep?") You call out in a soft, tender voice.

"Sí, no se quiere dormir. Quiere minions." (Yes, he doesn't want to sleep. [He] wants minions.) Javier replies playfully, his eyes widening with a playful expression as he tickles Ángel, eliciting sweet laughter from the boy.

That sound, Jack thinks, it's the most beautiful sound I've heard. 

"Se llama Despicable Me, Jav." ("It's called Despicable Me, Jav.") You correct him with a soft smile.

"Es lo mismo." ("It's the same.") Javi playfully groans, earning a swat from you.

You look at your husband, and he knows what you need to do. Javi gives you a smile and gives your hand a squeeze. With his reassurance, you turn back to Ángel.

"Papi, queremos que conozcas a alguien." ("Baby, we want you to meet someone.") You tell your son as you gesture toward the corner where Jack is waiting.

You send Jack a look, and with a deep breath, he steps forward. His eyes immediately draw to Ángel, like a moth to a flame. Time seems to stand still as Jack takes in the sight of his son. He's perfect, Jack thinks. 

Ángel is a sweet little boy, with jet-black hair that curls gently at the ends. Behind his black-rimmed glasses are a pair of brown eyes that mirror Jack's. At that moment, Jack feels an indescribable connection, an everlasting bond. He's the perfect combination of both of us, but I think he resembles me a little more, he thinks, his heart happy that his phenotypes seem to have won.

As he steps closer, he notices Ángel's nose and lips, traits that are identical to yours.

A rush of emotions overwhelms Jack as he looks at his son. His heart swells with love and joy, but there's also a twinge of sadness at the time he missed. His eyes start to water, blurring his vision a bit, but he tries to blink the tears away, wanting to see Ángel clearly, to memorize every precious detail.

"Hi!" Ángel cheerfully says, and that breaks Jack's dam. He starts crying, unable to contain his tears.

"Mami," Ángel whispers, leaning to your side, "¿Por qué está llorando el señor?" ("Mommy, why is the man crying?")

Jack's voice wavers with emotion as he speaks, "Sorry," he says, his voice cracking slightly. He tries to wipe his cheeks and regulate his breathing, "I'm sorry."

"Ángel, this is Jack. He's a family friend." You introduce.

"Hey, buddy," Jack manages to say, his voice still trembling, "Sorry 'bout the tears, I just... I found out a lot this morning."

Ángel stares for a second and then reaches for his bedside drawer. He pulls out a mini-wrapped Crunch bar and extends it towards Jack, saying with a caring tone, "It's okay, Mr. Jack. Here, this will make you feel better. I love chocolate, and this is my favorite candy." He smiles warmly as he extends the mini Crunch bar towards Jack.

Jack is touched by Ángel's kindness and accepts the chocolate with a grateful smile, "Thank you, Ángel." Pull it together, Jack, don't start cryin' again. He mentally lectures himself, fighting back the feelings threatening to rise again. "This is my favorite chocolate too." He says honestly.  

"Here, I brought this for you." Jack says, his heart pounding with anticipation. He removes the jacket from his free arm, revealing a medium-sized gift bag that he had kept hidden underneath. Damn, how long has he been hiding that? He's had the coat in his hand since I saw him after the blood draw, you think, touched by Jack's thoughtful gesture.

Ángel turns to look at you and Javier for permission, and you both give him an encouraging nod.

Jack hands his son the red gift bag, and Ángel eagerly receives his present. Excitement dances in the little boy's eyes as he quickly removes the tissue paper. Jack can't help but overthink, What if he doesn't like it? Is he too big for-

Ángel gasps, and Jack's heart sinks for a moment, fearing the worst. But then, a radiant smile lights up Ángel's face as he pulls out a teddy bear, dressed in overalls and a black cowboy hat. The bear's dark brown coat is fluffy, and there's a heart stitched on the front pocket of the bear's overalls, right in the middle.

"Cool! Thanks!" Ángel exclaims, clutching the teddy bear to his chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Jack's worry melts away as he watches Ángel kiss the bear's hat. "It's perfect!" Ángel shouts, looking up at Jack with gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you so much!"

Relief washes over Jack, replaced by overwhelming joy at the sight of his son's delight. It's as if Jack's heart has grown tenfold, witnessing his son's happiness.

Jack's heart swells with happiness as he sees the joy on his son's face. He can't help but smile back, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. "You're welcome, Ángel," Jack says, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm glad you like it."

"My dad gave me a Spider-Man teddy, now Spidey has a cowboy friend!" Ángel cheerfully exclaims, proudly showing off the Spider-Man build-a-bear that Javi had gifted him earlier this year. You don't miss the way Jack's face falls a little at his son calling Javier his dad.

Ángel shares all the details of when Javier gifted him with the Spidey teddy, and you watch as Jack listens attentively to every word. A mix of emotions is evident in his eyes - happiness at finally meeting his son, but also a hint of sadness and longing for the title of "dad" that Ángel has already bestowed upon Javier.

You give Jack a reassuring smile, silently telling him that it's okay, that Ángel's heart is big enough to love both of them eventually. Jack sees your expression and shifts his focus back to his son. He may not have the title of "dad" right now, but he's building a connection with his son, and that's what matters most.

After finishing his story, Ángel immediately turns to you and Javi, his eyes filled with hope. "¿Se puede quedar para c-o-m-e-r?" ("Can he stay to e-a-t?") He spells out the word, not wanting to vocalize it in case his parents don't agree, and wanting to avoid any potential disappointment for Jack. He doesn't want Jack to feel unwelcome or like he's being kicked out by not being asked to stay for lunch.

You can sense that Ángel has taken a liking to Jack and wants to spend more time with him.

Javi smiles warmly at his son, understanding Ángel's hesitation. "Claro que sí, mijo." ("Of course, my son.") He says, not wanting to deny his son this request. You notice the joy that lights up in Ángel's eyes, grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with Jack.

Turning to Jack, you extend the invitation, "Jack, would you like to stay for lunch?"

"Of course, thank you." Jack replies, and Ángel's face lights up even more at his response.

"Danny and Heidi dropped off Pozole earlier." Javi informs.

Pozole, why does that sound familiar? Who are Danny and Heidi? Jack thinks.

You exclaim with delight, "I love your cousin and his wife, and I love Pozole!" 

"And Ángel does too. He gets that from you," Javi says, giving you a small kiss on the cheek before going to the table across Ángel's bed. He reaches for the bag with the Tupperware containers, clearly eager to eat.

As Javier opens the bag, he can't help but playfully tease, "You know I'm more of a menudo guy."

"I know. Your only flaw…" You jest.

Jack observes the easy love between you and Javier, feeling a bittersweet sense of heartbreak. He can't help but compare the deep connection you share with Javier to the time when he was your husband, witnessing the loving moments that once belonged to him.

Javier opens one Tupperware, and the air fills with the rich, savory scent-a tantalizing blend of chicken broth, hominy, and a mix of earthy spices and aromatic herbs. Suddenly, the smell transports him to a distant memory, back to a time when he was your husband.

It was a cold winter evening in December, one of your favorite times of the year when you could savor warm and comforting food and drinks. Tonight, you had finally convinced your husband, Jack, to try Pozole, one of your favorite dishes. You gathered the ingredients and set to work in the kitchen, hoping to create a special meal for him.

The pot was filled with water, and you added onions, garlic, salt, and chicken, allowing the savory aroma to fill the room. In your blender, you carefully blended the sauce, a perfect mixture of chile ancho, chile guajillo, garlic cloves, onions, vegetable oil, oregano, and salt, mindful of not adding too many chilies so it wouldn't be too spicy for Jack, just enough for flavor.

As the broth boiled, you took the time to prepare the fresh toppings, washing and slicing the lettuce, jalapeños, white onion, lemon, cilantro, and radishes. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of the simmering Pozole and your music was playing softly in the background.

With the hominy added to the pot, the Pozole was nearly ready. You carefully ladled it into bowls, adding the toppings to each one, making sure to skip the jalapeños in Jack's bowl to avoid any spiciness.

When Jack came home, you could tell he wasn't having a great day. He didn't greet you, not that he usually did, and there was a hint of frustration in his expression. But you hoped that your efforts would brighten his mood.

"Hi, Love. Welcome home." You said with a smile, hoping to receive some affection in return.

He glanced at you briefly, barely acknowledging your presence. "Yeah." Was his only response.

You tried not to let his lack of enthusiasm affect you and continued, "I made something different for dinner tonight. Pozole, one of my favorites. I hope you'll like it."

Jack glanced at the simmering pot on the stove, but his expression remained indifferent. "Right, you said you would."

As you took the bowls to the dining table, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. It seemed like no matter how much effort you put into making him happy, he rarely showed any appreciation or love in return.

He sat down to eat, and you watched eagerly for his reaction. But as he took the first spoonful, his face turned red, and he exclaimed, "You said it wasn't spicy!"

You insisted, "It's not, honey! I made sure to adjust the spices for you."

"Well, Darlin'," he emphasized mockingly, "I can't feel my tongue." He grumbled, looking at you like he was angry, and you rushed to get him some milk to ease the heat.

"I'm so sorry, Jack. I really thought it wasn't spicy." You apologized, feeling disappointed in yourself. The excitement and anticipation you had felt earlier were quickly replaced by a sense of sadness as your efforts had once again fallen short.

"I'm never eating that again." He declared, pushing the bowl away, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your heart. You had put so much love and effort into preparing the meal, hoping it would bring a smile to his face, but instead, it seemed to have added to his frustration.

Feeling hurt and upset, you excused yourself to the kitchen, wanting to give him space to cool off. The music playing in the background continued. ‘Miro tus ojos y no eres feliz. Y tu mirada no sabe mentir. No tiene caso continuar así. Si no me amas, es mejor partir. Desde hace tiempo ya nada es igual. No eres la misma y me tratas mal. Y ante mi Dios te podría jurar. Cuánto te quise y te quiero, todavía. Adiós amor, me voy de ti. Y esta vez para siempre. Me iré sin marcha atrás porque sería fatal. Adiós amor, yo fui de ti, el amor de tu vida. Lo dijiste una vez, me lo hiciste creer. Cómo me duele perderte. Me resignaré a olvidarte. Porque me fallaste’ ('I look you at your eyes and you're not happy. And your gaze doesn't know how to lie. There's no point in continuing like this. If you don't love me, it's better for me to go. For a long time, things haven't been the same. You are different and you treat me poorly. And before my God, I could swear to you. How much I loved you and I love you, still. Goodbye, my love. I'm leaving you, and this time for good. I'm leaving without turning back, or else it'd be fatal. Goodbye, my love. I was the love of your life. You said that once, you made me believe it. What a pain it is to lose you.I will resign myself to forget you. Because you failed me')

If only you had paid more attention to the lyrics and your feelings, maybe you would have confronted the problems earlier. But at that moment, all you could do was try to salvage the evening and find a way to communicate with Jack.

Knowing it would only take a few minutes, you decided to make Tennessee Meatloaf. On one of your early dates, he had mentioned it was one of his favorite dishes, and you had learned how to make it, even though you weren't particularly fond of the smell. But if it could bring a smile to his face, you were willing to endure it.

The Instant Pot hummed with gentle pressure, and you took a moment to close your eyes, relishing the memories of how Jack used to love this dish. The way he'd smile and compliment your cooking, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation. But those moments felt distant now.

When the timer beeped, you carefully released the pressure from the Instant Pot, eager to serve the meatloaf to Jack. As you lifted the lid, the hot air brushed against your fingertips, causing you to unintentionally scream, "Fuck!" You rushed to run your hand under cold water, trying to soothe the burn. In a hurry, you grabbed the first aid kit and quickly tended to your wounded hand, the pain causing your eyes to sting.

After handling your injury, you quickly retrieved the meatloaf from the pot – tender, juicy, and with its strong aroma enveloping the room. Placing the dish on a nice plate, you added a generous drizzle of your homemade barbecue sauce, its tangy and smoky scent blending with the meaty smell.

With the meatloaf now ready, you gathered your courage and returned to the dining table, placing the dish before Jack. As he glanced at the meal and noticed your injured hand, a flicker of recognition, concern, and guilt passed through his eyes before he quickly masked it with indifference.

You sat down next to him, your heart pounding with nervous anticipation. He glanced at you, and though his anger had softened slightly, he still seemed guarded. Nonetheless, he gave you a small thanks, a brief glimmer of acknowledgment that you held onto like a lifeline.

"I'm sorry about the Pozole," you said, trying to break the silence, "I really wanted to make something you'd enjoy."

"It's fine." He mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

You reached for his hand, and he didn't pull away, but there was a noticeable lack of warmth in the gesture, a warmth that hadn't been present in your relationship for a long time.

You felt a knot forming in your chest, wanting to reach out and connect with him, but it seemed like he had built an impenetrable wall around himself. Still, you couldn't bear the thought of leaving things unresolved.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to gently probe, "Is everything okay, Jack?"

He let out a sigh, seeming almost annoyed that you brought it up. "I just had a rough day at work. It's nothin'."

Your heart sank. This was the pattern, the wall he always put up whenever something was bothering him. You felt like you were constantly walking on eggshells, never knowing how to approach him without setting him off.

"I wish you would talk to me, Jack. We're supposed to be partners, and I want to be there for you." You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He glanced at you, his eyes softening for a split second before the coldness returned. "I ain't need you fixin' everythin' for me, okay? I can handle my own problems." His jaw clenched, and you knew he was struggling with his emotions.

"It's not about fixing everything. It's about being there for each other, supporting each other through the good and the bad. That's what a marriage is supposed to be."

He scoffed, pushing his plate away. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't need that right now."

Your heart ached at his words, feeling the distance between you grow wider. You tried to hold back the tears, not wanting to show him how much his indifference hurt you.

He stood up and walked away, leaving you sitting at the dining table, eating by yourself.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself, and began clearing the table, putting away the uneaten Pozole and the Tennessee Meatloaf you had made with so much hope.

After tidying up the kitchen, you mustered the courage to follow Jack to the bedroom. As you entered, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, freshly showered, staring at the floor. He seemed lost in his thoughts, distant and closed off.

You went to his side and gently massaged his shoulders, "I'm sorry about earlier. I'm here for you, no matter what. I love you, Jack," you said softly, looking into his eyes with love and concern, "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

He looked up at you, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. But just as quickly, he shut down again. 

His response was unexpected and detached, "Get on all fours. Face down."

You knew you could say no, but you didn't want to. You wanted his love, even if it meant emotionless on his part. Your brow furrowed, but you did as he commanded anyway. 

After both of you were done, he told you to go pee. When you came out of the bathroom, Jack was already asleep. He slept with his back towards you.

As you lay in bed that night, you cried yourself to sleep. Silently, not wanting to wake him up. You were in a deep sleep as a result of your body being overworked, the stressed cooking made you, and from crying. You thought you felt him wrap his arms around you and heard him mumble a sorry into the top of your head, but you were sure you made it up.

Out of all the things Jack was, he wasn't oblivious. He knew how much he hurt you. He knew he was an ass, but he couldn't bring himself to reflect on how much he hurt you tonight. 

He heard your stifled sobs earlier, and each one was like a dagger in his chest. The pain he inflicted on you was a weight he could hardly bear. But when the sobs finally ceased and silence settled, he assumed you had drifted into sleep, offering him the opportunity he needed.

With cautious movements, he shifted closer to you. In the darkness, he could make out the contours of your face, the lines of worry etched by his actions. Gently, he rolled over and reached for you, pulling you into his arms. Seeking solace from the very person he had hurt. 

Wrapped in your embrace, he stroked your head lightly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns through your hair. He pressed a soft kiss onto the top of your head, his lips lingering there, trying to convey all the apologies he couldn't find the words for. At that moment, he wished he could erase the pain he had caused, the detachment he had shown.

"Sorry," he huffed out, "I'm so sorry, my love." He whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. He wished he could be better for you, offer you the love you deserved, but his own monsters held him back.

Yet, even as he murmured his apologies in the darkness, his touch carried a tenderness that spoke volumes. It was as if he sought redemption through this secret exchange because he wasn't ready to confront the reality of facing you in the light of day. He wished he could hold you close, to make the pain he inflicted vanish with a simple embrace. But he knew that true healing required more than just whispered words; it needed a change he wasn't sure he was capable of making. 

After his silent confessions, he released you from his gentle hold, allowing the fragile connection to slip away as he turned. He rolled onto his previous position. The weight of his guilt and remorse remained, but so did the weight of his fears. And as he lay there, his back turned to you, he faced his own darkness, unsure how to bridge the gap between the man he was and the man he needed to become.

You start talking with Javi about the food, and Jack watches you converse with your husband as you serve the food together, and his heart hurts watching the domesticity.

At the same time, you're caught in a whirlwind of memories, and the rush of them makes your movements stutter. In your distraction, you accidentally cut yourself with the aluminum foil, and some loose lemon juice gets in your wound. A small sound of pain escapes your lips, and Javi immediately drops what he had in his hand, rushing to your side. He gently cradles your hand in his, concern etched on his face.

"Amor!" ("Love!") Javi says, his voice laced with worry. His eyes flicker between your wound and your face, trying to gauge the severity of the cut.

Jack's heart clenches seeing you in pain. He wants to rush over and take your hand in his. He wishes he could be the one to hold your hand and soothe your hurt, but he knows that's not his place anymore, and it kills him.

"Mami, ¿está bien?" ("Mommy, are you okay?") Your son asks, equally concerned as his dad. He moves closer, his little brows furrowing.

"Yeah, sweetie, I'm just overreacting." You brush it off, though your eyes betray the pain you're feeling. You're trying to hide the memories that caught you off guard, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere for your son and Jack.

"You're not, you got hurt." Javi insists, his eyes fixed on your wound.

"Sit down." He commands, his tone still gentle but leaving no room for argument. He guides you to a chair, his larger hand engulfing yours, and he reaches for a nearby first aid kit. His fingers move with practiced ease as he cleans the wound with antiseptic, his touch gentle and attentive. He then wraps a band-aid around your finger, his movements unhurried, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

Your eyes start to water, the flood of memories of Jack and Javi overwhelming you. You can't help but recall the countless times Javi has taken care of you, both the physical and emotional wounds, much like he's doing now. His actions carry the weight of all the love and comfort he's provided over the years. He's always been there for me. Not like- you stop yourself before full waterworks begin.

"Mi vida, ¿te duele?" ("My love, does it hurt?") Javier asks, his voice full of care, taking your hand into his. His brown eyes search yours for any hint of pain, and his brows furrow with genuine concern.

"No, nomás me acordé de algo. I'm okay." ("No, I just remembered something. I'm okay.") You whisper, trying to assure him, your voice barely above a breath. It's not just the cut that's causing your distress; it's the memories that were triggered by the simple act of serving food. You had moments like these, but they hadn't been present in a while. 

"Segura?" ("You're sure?") Javier asks, his concern palpable, his gaze unwavering. He wants to make sure you're truly okay.

"Ya se me pasó. I'm okay, I promise." ("It already passed.")

Javi knows you well enough to sense when you're not entirely okay, but he also knows that this is something you'll want to talk about later in private. For now, he respects your need to maintain normalcy in front of your son and Jack. He leans in and gives you a gentle kiss, his lips warm against your skin, a silent promise of his support.

"No te muevas. I'll serve the food, cariño." ("Don't move. I'll serve the food, dear.")

You nod and then turn to the reason for your tears, "Jack, are you sure you want Pozole? I don't know if you remember, but you already had it once."

Jack's face drops slightly, his mind racing, Oh God, she remembers what I did. He approaches you, whispering an apology, his voice laden with regret. "I do want it. I'm so sorry." He murmurs, looking like he might cry.

You can't bear to look at him right now, so you shift your gaze to Javier. 

Javier adjusts the hospital bed table to Ángel's height and gets ready to serve. He starts with Ángel, ensuring his plate is prepared just right, with no onions, just as he likes it. He places the bowl before him, "Provecho, mi niño." ("Have a good meal, my boy.")

"¡Gracias papi!" ("Thank you, Daddy!") He was going to wait for everyone to start eating, but his hunger for having a light breakfast gets the best of him.

Javi quickly arranges the larger table, despite your offer to do it. He only guided you to sit at the table and served you a bowl of Pozole. The sight of the soup with radish on top made your mouth water. 

“I'll give him some of Ángel's container. Ours has four Chiles de arbol," Javi says to you, glancing over at Jack. "It’ll be too spicy for you,” he smirks.

Jack takes it as a challenge. “I’ll have some of yours.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Remember what happened last time? It was too spi-“

“No really. It’s fine,” Jack insists, a determined look on his face.

Javier serves his and Jack's food and all eyes shift to Jack. Ángel is eating his Pozole with ease, but his gaze flickers between his meal and Jack's reaction.

As Jack takes the first spoonful, he tries to maintain a facade of composure. However, within moments, his face turns a noticeable shade of red, and beads of sweat form on his forehead. He manages another spoonful, but as he swallows, a sudden fit of coughing overtakes him.

You quickly move to the refrigerator, grabbing a carton of milk for Jack. 

As Jack's face turned redder, Angel looked worried. "Are you okay, Mr. Jack?" he asked with genuine concern.

"I'll be fine, bud." Jack managed between coughs, his pride momentarily overshadowed by his son's concern.

Observing Jack's struggle, Javi's expression remained calm, a knowing look in his eyes as if he had anticipated this outcome. He leaned towards Jack, "Told you you couldn't handle it." He doesn't say it loudly, only loud enough for Jack to hear, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Jack ignores Javier and rasps thanks for the milk, and quickly drowns it. His tongue stops throbbing, and he goes for a third spoonful before Ángel stops him.

"Maybe you should try some from my Tupperware. I only want one bowl," Ángel kindly suggested, not wanting Jack to suffer from the spiciness of the food his dad served.

"Yeah, I think that's the best idea." You quickly chimed in, turning to Javi with a decisive look that left no room for argument.

Javi got up and served Jack another bowl, this time from Ángel's portion so it would be less spicy for Jack. If it were entirely up to Javi, he might have made Jack eat the spicy pozole, but Ángel's compassion for Jack was clear, so Javi complied.

Jack nodded to Javi and then turned to Ángel, his voice sincere as he said, "Thank you, buddy."

This bowl was spicier than the one you had prepared for him in the past. Jack's mind had become clouded by anger, causing him to exaggerate and latch onto your cooking as an excuse for his emotions. If he were to eat the pozole you made exactly as you had prepared it before, he would have no issue. It was as if his anger demanded a tangible reason to be directed at you, and this distorted perception had twisted the reality of your dish. Now he realizes his mistake, and it makes him hate himself all over again.

Ángel was engrossed in the movie he was watching, providing Jack with the perfect opportunity to voice something that had been on his mind for a while. “He has your nose. Good,” Jack chuckled.

“Yeah, and let’s hope this one also has her nose,” Javi said, his hand gently caressing your stomach.

"Hey," you interjected, "Both of you stop hating on your noses, right now. It's ridiculous."

As Jack glanced at you, memories of your past flooded his mind. I remember when she used to tell me how much she loved my nose whenever I said I hated it.

"Right. I almost forgot how much you love my nose." Javier said suggestively, breaking Jack's train of thought.

You felt flustered by Javier's comment, and Jack's emotions churned into a mix of fury and jealousy. He couldn't help but feel anger at the casual way your new husband had commented on your sex life. Jack's hands clenched slightly under the table, his fingers flexing as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He averted his gaze, focusing on his plate as a way to regain his composure.

Ángel's laugh pulled him out of his trance, and Jack's head instinctively turned to him. 

"Look," Ángel said between laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "the security guard from Binky Nelson Unpacified kinda looks like you, Mr. Jack!"

Everyone's gaze shifted to the subject of Ángel's amusement, and soon, laughter filled the room as the uncanny resemblance became evident. Jack couldn't deny the similarities: the mustache, the sideburns, the pair of boots, and a cowboy hat. Jack got up from the table and took a seat next to his son's bed. 

"You're right," Jack chuckled, "Even the cowboy part is spot on, but I've got a ranch." He shared with a hint of pride in his voice.

"Actually?" Ángel's amazement was noticeable.

"I ain't kiddin'," Jack responded with a grin.

Ángel gasped in delight, exclaiming, "I love ranches!"

"Well, maybe once you're out of the hospital, we can all go," Jack suggested warmly, glancing at you and Javi. He made sure to add, "If it's okay with your parents."

The idea seemed to energize Ángel, and both you and Javi agreed. Your son's face lit up.

Your son cheered before a realization struck him. "But we have to go before or after Coco because I haven't been to the movie theaters in so long, and I really, really want to watch that movie," Ángel's words tumbled out in excitement.

"You can come with!" Ángel extended the invitation, his excitement contagious. "Mami? Papi?" ("Mommy? Daddy?") Ángel turned to you and Javier, seeking your approval.

"Yeah, if Jack wants to." Javi responded, giving his approval.

"I'll be there. You just name the time and place, bud." Jack assured Ángel with a genuine smile.

Jack's attention shifted back to the TV, and his eyes zoned in on the cowboy hat. "Oh! You need a hat like mine." Jack suggested.

"I do?" Ángel's curiosity was piqued, his eyes widening as he considered the idea.

Without hesitation, Jack reached up and took hold of his own Stetson, lifting it from his head. "Would you like to try it?" he asked, enthusiastic about sharing a special moment with his son.

Ángel's face lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight. "Can I really?" he asked, his excitement practically palpable.

"Of course!" Jack replied, his smile widening. Jack carefully placed the hat on Ángel's head. He was mindful of the size difference between his head and his son's, so he adjusted the hat to ensure it wouldn't slip over Ángel's eyes. The hat found its place at a jaunty angle, mostly resting on the back of Ángel's head.

In Ángel's excitement to grab the mirror from his bedside table drawer, he moved a bit too quickly, causing the Stetson to slip down over his eyes. The weight of the hat threw his glasses off his face, and Ángel exclaimed, "¡Ahh, mis lentes!" (Ahh, my glasses!")

Ángel's muffled laughter came from beneath the hat, as he tried to push it back up. "It's heavier than I thought." He admitted with a sheepish grin, his glasses now resting on the floor beside him.

Jack picked up Ángel's glasses and handed them back to him, he thanked him with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Mr. Jack."

Jack settled back into his seat, his smile lingering. "We'll just have to get you a hat your size."

"I'm so ready to get out of here," Ángel remarked, his excitement apparent.

"Speaking of getting out of here, I'll be back," you announced, rising from your seat. "Ángel ran out of towels, and it's better to go up to the housekeeping desk."

"I'll go get them." Jack offered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll go get them." Jack reassured you.

"I'll be back, buddy." Jack told Ángel, his voice soothing as he shared a brief exchange of smiles with his son.

Jack left the room and was on a hunt for towels. He had no idea where the housekeeping desk was, but his eagerness to be useful had spurred him to offer to pick up the towels.

After a short search, he spotted a desk and rushed over. A teenager in a bright blue polo shirt, wearing a badge reading 'volunteer', caught his attention.

"Good afternoon, sir, what can I help you with?" The boy asked politely.

"Afternoon," Jack began, almost instinctively tipping his hat before remembering it was with his son, "Would you happen to know where I can get some things from housekeeping?"

"I can help you with that, sir." The volunteer responded, a touch of enthusiasm in his voice as if Jack had just made his day.

“Perfect! My wife asked for towels for my son. He's in room 43.” Jack stated, happy that he wasn't completely useless.

The volunteer tapped away on the computer keyboard. “For Ángel Peña?”

Jack swallows hard and nods. Fuck, Jack thinks. It should have been Ángel Daniels. My son should have had my last name. 

The boy leaned back in his rolling chair and opened a cabinet. He retrieved three large towels and handed them to Jack. Thanking the teenager, Jack turned and walked away. Lost in thought, he looked down as he walked, and when he turned the corner, a familiar voice reached his ears.

“Oh, I didn’t know you remarried. Again. Because surely you’re not talking about my girl.” Javi said with his jaw clenched. “She’s not your wife anymore, Jack. She’s my wife.” 

Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them! I promise I'll try to engage more!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm

The song used in this chapter is called Adiós Amor. I was obsessed with Christian Nodal in 2017, and when I wrote this, that song was extremely popular.

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎 (I hope this uploads because I had everything ready to go until I accidentally hit undo. I wasn't able to recover my draft, yay! I definitely did not want to throw my computer for a while :)

#angst #jack daniels x female reader #Jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels angst #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #Jack daniels #agent whiskey #no y/n #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #tw:sick child #pedro pascal character #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing #fic: iyw

[loslentesdepedrito]

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Four

Top right gif by: @pedrohub, bottom left gif by: @pedroispunk

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Three

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Five

Word count: 5.0k+

A/N: This time of year is always hard on me, and I don't know why I didn't factor that into my uploading schedule. I decided to cut the chapters short to prolong the series, so there are still a few chapters left. Thank you to everyone for their patience, and I hope you enjoy this part!

Chapter summary: Javi confronts Jack, and in the aftermath, Jack bonds with Ángel. (Picks up directly from ch. 3)

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles.

Warnings: Angst (less than the last few chapters), language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

“Oh, I didn’t know you remarried. Again. Because surely you’re not talking about my girl.” Javi said with his jaw clenched. “She’s not your wife anymore, Jack. She’s my wife.”

"Well, I thought 'the mother of my son who I was married to and is the love of my life' was too long to say. Because I was married to her, bud," Jack countered. His voice, while tinted with pride, carried an undercurrent of sadness. It was as though he was grasping for a sliver of the life he had lost.

But Javi wasn't about to let Jack's words undermine his place in your life and Ángel's. He interjected forcefully, his frustration evident in every word. "Mira, Cabron," (Look, asshole,) he told Jack, "Keyword, was. You were married to her. Not anymore. She's my wife. She's the love of my life, and I am the love of her life. She's the mother of my children. I was there for the OB appointments. I was there for Ángel's birth. I was there for everything. Ángel is also my son, and I get that you want to be there for him now.” Javier uses his hands to point at himself every time he emphasizes a word. “But remember that you wanted nothing to do with him. You told her you wanted her to get rid of him! Forgive me if I don't fully believe you're as committed to being in Ángel's life as you say you are. I won't let you hurt her again, and I certainly won't let you hurt my son."

Jack's face contorted with a mix of frustration and desperation as he struggled to regain ground. "You might have been there for all that, but I've changed. I want to be here now, for Ángel and for her." 

Javier's gaze remained unwavering, his jaw clenched in determination. "Changed? Jack, do you even realize how much pain you caused her?" His voice dripped with reproach. "You left her alone when she needed you the most,” Javier puts one hand on his hip and uses the other to motion, “and now you waltz back in here, thinking you can just pick up where you left off. It doesn't work like that." 

Jack's fists clenched, his temper flaring. "I know I messed up. I can't change the past, but I can try to make it right now."

Javier takes a step closer and shoves a finger into Jack’s chest, his tone ice-cold. "Make it right? You can't erase the years you missed, the tears she shed, or the heartache you caused. And you sure as hell can't take my place now."

Javier's voice grew firmer, more assertive, as he continued, "You can't pretend like everything is all sunshine and rainbows. You need to start looking at me like Ángel's father and her husband."

“He’s my son!” Jack bursts. “I'm not letting you replace me in his life.” 

Javier didn't back down. Instead, he leaned even closer, their faces mere inches apart. "I'm not replacing you, Jack. I'm the one who's been here for him all along, loving him and caring for him when you were nowhere to be found. And I'll be damned if I let you come back into their lives and disrupt what we've built."

“A father doesn’t abandon their child before they’re even born. In all those years, you never looked for him,” Javi's voice carried deep disappointment, the kind that had festered over time.

Even though it was difficult, Javier tried to let go of his anger. “I get you want to be his dad now, but that’s going to take time. I’m not saying you’ll never be his dad, but I will always be his dad, Jack. I know we don’t have the same blood, but he’s my son. You need to learn and accept that. Maybe he’ll call us both dad one day, but stop interjecting yourself into her life. What you two had is over. You can’t be the family you want anymore.”

Deep down, Javier knew that Jack was also his son’s father, and he wasn't willing to waste more time arguing that point. However, he needed to clarify to Jack that he couldn't just play house with you. Javier told Jack he wasn’t Ángel's father primarily out of anger. He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the best of him, but seeing Jack pretend to be the one you were building a family with, as if he hadn't abandoned you, was infuriating beyond words. Both of you had agreed that if Jack wanted to be in Ángel's life, he could. It just hurt Javier deeply to share his son, especially when it could result in Ángel being hurt by Jack. But if Jack was honest about his intentions, this could result in Ángel being loved by more than two parents, and Javier wasn't willing to steal that from his son.

Jack took in Javier’s words and instead of understanding why he was so protective, his temper flared in the face of Javier's unyielding stance. He couldn't deny the truth in Javier's words, and that only stoked the burning frustration within him. "You've got it all figured out, don't ya?" Jack's voice was overtaken with resentment as he spoke. "You waltz in here, take my place like it's no big deal, and now you're the king of this castle?"

Javier's eyes bore into Jack's, an unspoken determination in his gaze. "I didn't waltz in, Jack. I walked in when you walked out. I filled a void you left behind. I didn't choose to be the king; I just chose to stand by her side when you chose not to."

Jack felt like a caged animal, his anger mixing with a bitter sense of regret. "I messed up, alright? But I'm back now. You think you can just replace me?"

Javier's voice remained steady, though his anger simmered again just beneath the surface. "I'm not trying to replace you, Jack. I'm trying to protect them from being hurt by you again. It's not just about you anymore; it's about them."

Jack's fists clenched as he fought to regain some semblance of control. "I love her, and I love Ángel. I want to make things right."

"Desgraciado," (shameless) Javier muttered under his breath, choosing to ignore Jack's blatant profession of love for his wife. "Love is more than just words, Jack. It's actions. It's being there when you're needed, not just when it's convenient for you. It's about accepting that you hurt them deeply and that they might need time to heal. Ángel doesn’t know about you, but what do you think he’ll think once he finds out the truth? No kid wants to hear that his dad didn’t want anything to do with them."

Jack struggled with his emotions, the weight of his past mistakes heavy on his shoulders. "I- I know I can't erase the past, but I'll do whatever it takes to build a future with them."

Javier took a step back, his face still stern but less confrontational. "Then prove it, Jack. Actions speak louder than words. Show them you've changed, not just with what you say, but with what you do."

Jack's shoulders slumped, and he looked down momentarily, grappling with his emotions. It was a difficult pill to swallow, facing the consequences of his past actions. "You're right, Javier. I can't change what I've done, and I can't expect things to go back to the way they were." He admitted, "I know I've hurt both of them deeply, especially her. I'll respect your place in their lives, but I want a chance to be there for Ángel too."

Javier nodded, his expression softening a fraction. "I'm not saying you can't be a part of Ángel's life, Jack. But it has to be on their terms, at their pace. And it has to be with the understanding that we're a family now."

Jack swallowed hard, finally starting to accept the reality of the situation. "I get it. I won't push. I just want a chance to prove that I can be a better father to Ángel." He didn't say anything about your family not including him; he wanted to, but he knew it would be futile.

Javier extended a hand towards Jack. "Then we have an understanding. It won't be easy, but if you're serious about making amends and being there for him, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Jack stared at your husband’s hand for a while before he shook Javier's hand firmly. 

The two men made their way back to room 43 in uneasy silence, their faces carefully composed as if they hadn’t almost ripped each other apart not even ten minutes ago. 

When they walk through the door, you immediately sense that something happened. You knew your husband too well and felt he had little interest in helping Jack, so you had been concerned when Javi insisted on helping Jack with the towels.

Javier gracefully moves to you, kisses the top of your head, and then sits next to you. His hand finds its place on your stomach, a subtle yet affectionate touch. Jack, however, lingers awkwardly, towels in hand, as he takes in the scene before him. Seeing Javier so close to you stirred a storm of emotions within him, and it took a moment for his jumbled thoughts to come together. When he finally came to, he stored the towels in the maple wardrobe, and he retook his seat beside Ángel. To an outsider, it might have seemed as though nothing unusual had occurred, but the atmosphere remained charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You didn't get a chance to express your gratitude to Jack before he gently resumed his conversation with your son. 

They were chatting about Jack’s ranch and Ángel was practically creating an itinerary for the visit. 

"Mr. Jack, do you have horses on your ranch?" Ángel asked, his eyes shining with curiosity. His innocence was a welcomed breather from the tension in the room moments ago.

Jack, who had been caught slightly off guard by the sudden question, managed a warm smile. "Yes, we do, buddy. We've got some of the finest horses you'll ever see."

To prove his point and perhaps bond with his son over their shared love for horses, Jack reaches into his pants pocket. As his fingers curled around an object, your heartbeat raced. It was unmistakable – the small, black phone, a Motorola in all its glory. For a split second, a flood of emotions surged within you. Why did he still have it? Your mind wrestles with the significance of this unexpected memory he kept, but you quickly push the thoughts aside.

Ángel, his curiosity piqued by the sight of the odd phone, couldn't help but voice his surprise, his brows arching in unbelief. "Uh… Is that your phone?" He stares as he takes in the object he’s never seen before. The phone’s body was primarily matte black, with a reflective silver border and a letter ‘M’ in the middle.

Jack noticed Ángel's expression and furrowed his brows in concern, his lips beneath his mustache forming a subtle pout. "Something wrong?" He asked, worried that he might have inadvertently upset him.

Ángel, quick to reassure Jack, shook his head. "No," he replied, his head moving somewhat furiously, "It's just that I've never seen a phone like that before."

With a fond smile, Jack replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "This, buddy," he began, holding up the phone, "is a Motorola Razr V3. It's not like the fancy ones you see nowadays." He opened the phone with a satisfying snap, showing off the small screen and metallic keypad. As he continued, Jack's eyes seemed to shimmer with memories of a different time. "Back in the day, this phone was all the rage.” He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the chance to share a piece of his past with Ángel. 

“Cool!” Ángel exclaimed. 

"Very.” Jack agreed. “It might not have all the apps modern phones do, but it sure serves me well. Look, I even have pictures of the horses here.” He tapped a button on his old phone, and his fingers were a bit too big but he had years of practice to not accidentally click other things.  He opens the camera roll. The phone, although dated, was still functional. He scrolled up until he found the best photos and moved the phone closer to Ángel. As he scrolled through the photos, he couldn't help but notice Ángel leaning in closer, his eyes glued to the small screen. Jack knew these images might appear grainy and outdated to a young boy, but the fact that Ángel showed genuine interest warmed his heart.

Jack carefully selected a handful of the best photos, ones that showcased the beauty and spirit of the horses. He moved the phone closer to Ángel, allowing the boy to take the pictures at his own pace.

In the first picture, Jack shared an image of a dusty gray pony, its gentle eyes looking out from a stable stall, bathed in warm sunlight that filtered through the wooden slats. "This one is Bubbles. He’s a Shetland pony." Jack explained with a fond smile.

"Wow, he looks so soft." Ángel remarked, his eyes glued to the picture.

Jack nodded. "Oh, he's the softest. Loves being petted and brushed."

In the next photo, a golden chestnut horse galloped freely across a lush, green pasture, its mane billowing with the wind. Jack's voice was filled with quiet excitement as he narrated the picture. "And here's Bullseye, she's got a lot of energy, and loves to run around. She’s an Akhal-Teke, and the speed demon of the bunch."

Ángel laughed at the thought of a speedy mare and the sound warmed Jack's heart.

But as soon as Jack swiped to the third picture, it elicited a gasp of awe from Ángel. In that image, a striking black Andalusian horse stood tall against a backdrop of hills. Its glossy coat seemed to absorb the sunlight, giving the horse a beautiful shine. Ángel's brown eyes widened as he took in the creature, captivated by its beauty and strength.

Jack couldn't help but smile at Ángel's reaction. "That's Andor," he said, his voice holding a hint of pride. "He's the most majestic horse on the ranch, the true definition of a stallion. We'll make sure you get to meet all of them when you visit."

Ángel's excitement bubbled over as he delved into his vision for their ranch visit. He continued to rattle off a list of activities, his imagination running wild with possibilities. "Maybe we can play with the horses, Mr. Jack! And feed them apples! Wait, do they actually eat apples? And... and,” His voice trailed off briefly as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Oh my God! How many horses do you have?" Ángel's eyes sparkled with excitement, his curiosity genuine.

"Lots of horses. More than these three,” He shook his phone. “Big ones, small ones, all sorts of them. Would you like to ride one?"

Ángel's eyes widened, and he practically bounced in his hospital bed. "Can I, Daddy? Mommy? Please!"

Javier chuckled at Ángel's excitement and nodded in agreement. "Of course, Ángel. I'm sure Jack can teach you how to ride safely."

“Can I ride Andor?” Ángel asked, his excitement apparent.

Jack paused for a moment, considering. He knew Andor was a spirited horse and perhaps not the best choice for Ángel's first ride. "It'll take a while to ride that one. How about we start with Bubbles?" Jack suggested, his voice gentle and reassuring.

Ángel thought it over, a slight frown forming as he passed his tongue over his cheek. His brows furrowed in contemplation, and then a cute, hopeful, and bright smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Can I ride Andor eventually?"

At this moment, Jack knew there was little his son could ask for that he wouldn’t immediately hand over. However, he understood it wasn't his place to make decisions about Ángel's life. After a brief moment of hesitation, he replied, “Eventually. If your… parents agree.” It stung to refer to Javi as his son’s parent, but a big part of him reminded him that he had brought this on himself.

You chimed in with a warm smile. "We'll discuss it when the time comes, Ángel. If it's something you really want to do, and it's safe, we'll certainly consider it."

His eyes dimmed slightly in momentary disappointment. But the resilient spark in his eyes quickly returned as he nodded and said, "Muy bien.” (very well)

Jack, sensing Ángel's momentary letdown, decided to distract him. "Speaking of horses," he began, "would you like to hear a funny story about another one?"

Ángel's curiosity was instantly piqued, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please!"

With a twinkle in his eye, Jack leaned in closer. "Now, Ángel, let me tell you about Randy, the sneakiest horse you'll ever meet. One sunny morning, just like today, Randy decided he was tired of the usual hay and grains. He had his eye on something sweeter."

Wide-eyed and intrigued, Ángel leaned closer. "What did he want, Mr. Jack?"

"Apples, my boy! The juiciest, crunchiest apples you could imagine. So while having his roaming time, he jumped a fence that was under construction and onto the Apple orchard."

Giggles escaped Ángel's lips. "He snuck into the orchard?"

Jack nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, he sure did. And there he was, surrounded by my apple trees loaded with ripe, red apples. I woulda been fine if Randy ate a few, but he was a bit of a greedy horse."

Ángel's eyes widened with anticipation. "What did he do?"

Chuckling softly, Jack continued, "Well, instead of just taking one apple, like any sensible horse would, Randy went from tree to tree, until he'd eaten all but two apples!"

Your son’s laughter filled the room. "Almost all of them?"

Jack nodded, his voice filled with mirth. "Almost! And when the ranch hands found him, only one tree had two apples left. In his defense though, there weren’t many apples on the trees. Everyone had a good laugh once the vet was called.” 

Clapping his hands with delight, Ángel exclaimed, "That's a funny story, Mr. Jack!"

Smiling from ear to ear, Jack replied, "It sure is, Ángel. And when you visit, you can meet Randy. He's much better behaved now. "

“I’m glad Randy didn’t get sick.” Ángel said with a thoughtful look. Before Jack could respond, a shadow of sadness crossed Ángel's face, and he shifted the topic, his voice growing quieter. "Did you know horses don't throw up?" He asked Jack, his brown eyes focused intently. "I wish I were part horse; then, my food and medicine wouldn't make me throw up."

Everyone was silent for a while not knowing what to say. Your heart ached for your son, and you wanted to say something that would bring him comfort—racking your brain thinking how to do so. You get up from your seat and gently reach out, placing your hand on Ángel's. "Sweetie," you began softly, "I know it's tough, and we're so proud of how strong you are. Being part horse might sound fun, but you're our incredible, amazing boy just the way you are. And you know what? Horses can't have all the fun things you have. They can't watch your favorite movies or they can’t have dairy so no ice cream." You managed a smile, hoping to reassure him.

Javier chimed in, his voice full of love and support. "That's right, mi niño (my boy). We love you just the way you are. I promise you we’re doing everything we can so you won’t be here for much longer."

"Ángel," he began, leaning in closer to the young boy, "I want you to know something really, really important." Jack's voice carried a warmth and sincerity that was impossible to miss. "You are an incredibly special kid. You've shown so much strength, more than most people could ever imagine." His eyes locked onto Ángel's, filled with admiration.

Jack's smile was encouraging, like a reassuring hand on Ángel's shoulder. "You're brave, Ángel. So, so brave. And I'm not just sayin’ that. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. You've been through a lot, but you keep going, and that's something truly amazing."

With a gentle and affectionate pat on Ángel's hand, Jack continued, "Hang on, okay? We’ll get you outta this hospital as soon as we can. And then, we're gonna have so much fun together at the movies, ranch, and anything you want." Jack's words were filled with genuine enthusiasm, meant to uplift Ángel's spirits.

Ángel's eyes brightened at the sincerity in Jack's words. He absorbed the praise like a sponge, his tiny chest puffing out with pride. His eyes moved from one loving face to another, absorbing their words like a lifeline. Though still tinged with sadness, his voice held a touch of hope as he replied, "Los amo mami y papi." (I love you, Mommy and Daddy) 

A shy but radiant smile spread across his face as he looked up at Jack. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'll be brave, just like you said, Mr. Jack." 

Jack patted Ángel's head affectionately. "No need to thank me, buddy."

Tears of love and pride welled up in your eyes as you leaned in to kiss his forehead. "We love you too, papito (baby), more than anything in the world."

A soft knock resonated throughout the room, and Javier called out for the person to come in.

The door swung open, and Ruth, Ángel's morning nurse, entered with her scrubs adorned with colorful teddy bears.

"Good mornin’,” She greeted with a kind smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Ángel, his eyes still shining with the love and reassurance from his parents and Jack offered a small but genuine smile to the Nurse. "No, it's okay," he replied softly. "We were just talking."

"Great! Then are you okay with me taking you downstairs for some tests?" she said gently. Then, she turned to you and Javier, asking, "Mom, Dad, is now a good time? Y’all are welcome to come with."

"Yes, now is fine," you agreed, your voice laced with gratitude. "We'll come along with him. Thank you for letting us be there."

Javier echoed your sentiments, "Absolutely, we want to be with him."

Jack stepped away from Ángel’s bed when he saw the nurse had a wheelchair with her. 

Nurse Ruth smiled kindly at your willingness to accompany Ángel and your words of gratitude. "Of course, it's important for families to be together during these times. I'll make sure Ángel's as comfortable as possible during the tests. Let's get everything set up, shall we?"

"Alright, Ángel," Nurse Ruth said gently, "I'll just adjust your IV pole here so it can move along with you." She carefully disconnected his IV from its stand and secured the IV pole to the wheelchair, making sure it was stable and within easy reach. 

As she prepared Ángel for the wheelchair, you leaned over and smoothed out his hospital gown to ensure it was comfortable and wouldn't catch on anything.

Javier took charge of folding up Ángel's favorite blanket, his movements gentle and precise. He placed it neatly over the backrest of the wheelchair, creating a cushioned spot for his son to sit on. 

Ángel carefully positioned his hospital-clad feet on the chair's pedals, making sure the baby blue sock with grips was securely in place.

It was all a practiced routine that was mastered a few days after Ángel’s admission.

The Nurse smiled at the collaborative effort. "You're a great team." she complimented before gently moving the wheelchair toward the door.

You noticed Jack standing at the side awkwardly, and you could see how intently he stared at your son- as if he was memorizing every move he made. Sensing his desire for a proper goodbye, you decided to give them a moment. 

"Nurse Ruth, if it's alright, could we have a few moments to say goodbye to our guest? We'll catch up with you in just a bit."

She nodded understandingly and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you, Javier, Ángel, and Jack together in the room.

You turned to your son and asked, "Ángel, how do you feel about Jack coming back to see you?"

Ángel, a mix of emotions dancing in his young eyes, replied, "He's nice, mami (mommy). I like him." He then turned his gaze to Jack and smiled warmly. "I hope you come back soon."

Jack, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he would have to leave his son behind, crouched down to Ángel's eye level. He spoke gently, his voice filled with both longing and love. "I hope so too, buddy. I'll be thinking about you all the time."

Ángel, not fully grasping the complexities of the situation but feeling the genuine care in Jack's words, extended his small hand toward him. "See you soon, Mr. Jack."

Jack took Ángel's tiny hand in his, fighting back the tears that threatened to surface. "See you soon, Ángel. Take care, alright?"

As Jack reluctantly released Ángel's hand, his eyes held a mixture of pain and hope. He knew he had to leave for now, but he also knew he would see him again.

You watched as Javier and Ángel made their way out of the room to Nurse Ruth. Javier recognized the look in your eyes and understood that you wanted to speak with Jack privately. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, whispering, "We'll see you soon."

You returned the kiss and nodded. Once they were out of sight, Jack turned to you. 

“Can I have your phone number?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I don't want to keep talking through Raul." Jack had grown tired of the impersonal nature of communicating through your lawyer; it felt like a barrier between him, you, and his son, and he hated it.

You understood the sentiment behind his request, and despite the complexities of your history, you could sense his genuine desire to be more present in Ángel's life. 

“Give me your phone.” You extended your hand, prompting him to quickly hand over his Motorola. As you took the phone, you forgot that you’d seen it earlier and once again the memories of your past life together briefly flickered through your mind. 

“Your phone… it’s still-“

Jack interrupted, “The same. Yeah. And it’s my same number, so…”

“Oh,” you said in a flat tone, not letting your emotions show too much. “Uh… at least it still works,” you said, almost ignoring the fact that he didn’t change his phone number after the divorce, unlike you. “When you were showing it off to Ángel, I thought it was going to fall apart.” You laughed, and everything in that moment made Jack’s heart race. 

Jack joined in the laughter. "It's a tough old thing, but it's been with me through a lot," he admitted, his gaze briefly distant as if he was reminiscing. But he didn’t reveal the reason why he kept his phone after so many years.

“So you’ve got ranch money now?” You asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from the emotional minefield that lay between you two.

“Yeah, I got promoted,” he replied.

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding, masking the mixed emotions swirling within you. “That’s… that’s good.”

Jack wanted to stay in that moment with you, but you, on the other hand, felt like you couldn’t be there any longer. But before you left, you wanted to give him something.

You opened your small purse and pulled out a picture. It was a snapshot of Ángel when he was four years old. The image captured a family trip on a snowy day, and Ángel was bundled up in a fluffy red jacket with the cutest red and blue knitted hat.

Jack noticed the picture in your hand, and he couldn't tear his eyes off it. You handed him the small Polaroid and said, “Keep it. I have more at my house.”

My house. Echoed through Jack’s mind. Not our house. It was a stark reminder that the life he once shared with you and Ángel had irrevocably changed.

He raised his head to look at you, his face mirroring the same expression Ángel had given multiple times – brows furrowed, lips turned down in a mixture of confusion and sadness.

"Thank you." Jack finally replied, his voice on the verge of cracking. 

You nodded in acknowledgment and said, “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“If… if I’m not a match, we’ll figure something out, I prom-” Jack stammered. He realized you probably wouldn’t believe his promises, so he chose his words carefully. “I know so.”

“Thanks,” you replied, your tone tinged with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty.

Then, Jack's expression shifted to one of concern. “Oh, wait, his insurance, do you and…” He hesitated before mentioning your husband's name as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “J-Javier have to pay for anything?”

“No. His insurance covers everything, thankfully.” You reassured him, relieved that, at least in this difficult situation, financial concerns weren't adding to the burden.

Jack, visibly relieved to hear that financial worries wouldn't add to the stress, spoke up, his voice carrying a sense of sincerity. "I'd be more than happy to cover any of his expenses now and in the future."

You offered a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Jack. We'll talk about it later, alright? Right now, I have to go catch up with them. Take care. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you turned and headed for the door, leaving Jack to his thoughts, the Polaroid picture of a young Ángel clutched tightly in his hand. A heavy ache settled in his chest, a feeling of pain that was almost unbearable. It felt like a part of him had stayed with you and Ángel, and he couldn't shake the sense of loss that washed over him.

Time seemed to blur as he stood there. Eventually, he snapped back to reality and pulled his phone out. With trembling fingers, he dialed a familiar number as he made his way out of the hospital.

Extended note: Thank you for reading! Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them! I promise I'll try to engage more!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr

If you're feeling angsty, maybe you'd like to read a heartbreaking story featuring Joel Miller- Que Vuelva (Hoy me muero yo).

#angst #jack daniels x female reader #Jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels angst #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #Jack daniels #agent whiskey #no y/n #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #tw:sick child #pedro pascal character #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing #fic: iyw

[loslentesdepedrito]

Que Vuelva (Hoy me muero yo)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (No Ellie in this)

Word count: 3.6k+

Summary: Joel doesn’t come home on his birthday; once he does, he tells you he’s been unfaithful.

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these types of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but the story starts after the Watches if you don't want to read them.

A/N: I wrote this before the show, so I used Joel from the game. Don’t worry, I made sure to change his eye color. I’m sorry in advance for this, but if it makes you feel better, I wrote it after I played TLOU2 and finished the part where Ellie walked through the house (don't look it up if you want to avoid spoilers). The poem 'Darkness', especially Line #6 gave me some inspiration for this, as did the song 'Que Vuelva' by Raulín Rodríguez. Unrelated, but I think line #7 fits perfectly with Joel and his studio (don't look it up if you want to avoid spoilers). Happy reading!

Warnings: ANGST, Post Outbreak, Infidelity, brief mention of Sarah’s death, hurt no comfort, vomiting.

September 27, 2023

Once again, as if caught in an unbreakable routine, your gaze becomes fixated on the alarm clock. The digits, their neon red hue, spell out the time: 6:41 A.M. Where is he? This question reverberates incessantly through your mind, an unrelenting echo that refuses to go away.

Gone is the mere worry that first clung to your heart; that emotion has long been overshadowed. What now courses through your veins is something far more primal, more gut-wrenching—it's fear. Its icy grip reaches out from the depths of your consciousness, its fingers coiling around your thoughts, squeezing out all traces of rationality. It's not just a mental grip, but a physical one as well, constricting your throat until each breath feels like a struggle. The haunting possibility of Joel's lifeless body hidden somewhere in the surrounding woods torments your every waking moment.

In a world where he is your anchor, the idea of his absence is enough to shatter you. This potential loss would be more than devastation; it would be death. The void left in his wake would engulf you, consume you. You had just learned to live without the people you love, losing Joel would be like dying all over again. You never intended for your entire universe to revolve around one man, but when the world you knew vanishes, what choice do you have? 

As the minutes drip like molasses, you stand as a sentinel, peering out through one of the double-hung windows in the dining room.

You are transported back in time to when you were a child, peering out the window, awaiting your parents' return from work. Only now, the scenario has shifted, and you're in a different role, anxiously waiting for the man you love. 

You look at the stainless steel kettle nestled in the corner of the room, and through its reflective surface, the weariness clinging to you becomes evident in the shadows beneath your eyes. Endless hours of wakefulness have exacted their toll, leaving behind a profound ache that envelops your body, but you force the sleep away.

Your gaze drifts back to the window, offering a view of the front porch that holds memories of wooden chairs – the same chairs where you and your fiancé would spend evenings together, accompanied by a small table and a lantern that had seen many a conversation. 

And beyond the porch, the mountains stand. The first light of day unfolds, painting the sky with a palette of rose and gold hues that blend into the lingering dark shades of the night. The early morning sun casts long shadows from the mountains, stretching across the town.

Seeking a break, you walk over to the dining table. You grab a chair from the table and position it in front of the window. Your feet have touched every inch of this room. With the possibility of needing to rush out in search of your fiancée on your mind, you decided to keep your shoes on. The room has seen it all—chairs moved, feet pacing, and your restless steps on the floral rug at the center of the room.

You should have searched for him earlier, you chastise yourself. When an hour had passed, and he hadn't come home, you had contemplated venturing out to find him. But, a lingering hesitation stopped you, his voice echoing in your mind—a memory of a past conversation with Joel.

Two months into your relationship, Joel wore a serious expression when he said he needed to talk. You couldn't shake off the fear that he might want to break up, and that thought made your heart clench. You were falling for him, and the idea of him ending your relationship left you with a deep ache. Later, he took you for a walk. But instead of ending things, he led you down Rancher Street, which left you confused. Eventually, you found yourselves in front of a house you had never seen before. A grayish house stood two stories tall, once likely a white or cream house before the world had gone to hell. You counted nine windows, the front door was painted red, and a white picket fence surrounded the perimeter of the house. To the right of the home, towering trees loomed, their height surpassing even that of the house. Uncertainty filled your mind about Joel's intentions for bringing you here. As your gaze lifted to meet his, you found him already looking at you.

"It's our house." He said, his gaze fixed on you in a trance-like state. 

"Our house?" You echoed, your confusion gave way to a smile.

He blushed, clearly flustered by his own words. "Shit, that's not how I meant to ask." He admitted.

"Do— I really— Tommy and Maria are about to have their baby, and I heard you were thinkin' ‘bout finding a new place," he stumbled over his words, "I want you to move in with me. Into the same room, I mean. Or, if you prefer, you could have your own room," he added hastily, his blush deepening.

"You're giving up your bachelor pad for me?" You teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"If you'd call living in a tiny windowless space with Old Man Jimmy a 'bachelor pad,' then absolutely."

"I probably shoulda asked ya if you wanted to move in together," he admitted, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice, "Is this moving too fast?"

"No, it's perfect!" you exclaimed, "I want to live with you. Same bed and everything."

"Really?" He responded, his disbelief evident.

You extended your hand, and he intertwined his fingers with yours. You guided him toward the staircase, your free hand held onto the dark railing. You walked through a path of flat rocks before you reached the door. A tan mat adorned with pine trees and the word 'welcome' in elegant black cursive greeted your feet. 

As Joel reached for the key, you found yourself stealing a moment to admire the intricate details of the door. The sight in front of you was nothing short of breathtaking. Your attention was drawn to the lovely features engraved into the entrance. The door had three windows in the center, and each side of the door frame was adorned with four panels of stained glass: —yellow, blue, white, and green tiles—each one delicately intertwined with lead lines forming pretty designs. 

Your attention then drifted to the doorknob, which stood as a work of art in itself. It was beautifully designed, with little circles nestled within larger circles.

He turned the key in the lock, allowing the door to swing open as you stepped inside. With a graceful motion, he gently closed the door behind you and locked it once more. The view that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

As your gaze swept across the entryway, a painting caught your attention. The artwork depicted what you assumed were Wyoming's mountains. Their peaks crowned with pine trees. Underneath the mountains, a small herd of oxen meandered.

Joel noticed your gaze fixed on the artwork and explained, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "Uh, it's not fully decorated yet. It came with most paintings, but we can change them if you want."

You shook your head, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "No, they're perfect." You assured him, your appreciation for the existing decorations clear in your voice.

To the immediate left, the living room opened up. An expansive bookcase adorned one wall, semi-full with some books and trinkets. In the center of the room, there stood a sofa, a coffee table, and a small end table. A worn, light-colored rug sprawled across the wooden floor, taking up almost the entirety of the floor.  

The wall beside the bookcase held a fireplace, flanked on either side by another pair of double-hung windows. Above the fireplace, a second painting caught your attention – an elk set against a backdrop of trees. To the right of the fireplace, against the second window, there was a console table with a flat-screen TV on top. The wall running parallel to the bookcase also had two windows with a bench underneath that stretched through the length of the wall. In addition to the other furniture, an armchair was set up so it faced the TV directly.

Joel fell even more in love as he observed the awe on your face while you took in your surroundings. You looked at the house as though it were a mansion in the Barton Creek neighborhood. Meanwhile, he would describe your newly shared home, for lack of a better word, as raggedy.

He had taken your hand and gently guided you to sit on the sofa. With a serious tone, he had said, "If I don't come back home, promise me you won't search for me, darlin'." He looked deep into your eyes before continuing, "If I don’t come back Tommy will come look for you. If I'm not here and anything goes wrong in Jackson, find a place to hide, or if you have to, just run. No matter what happens, don't ever look back." 

Two years had passed since he made you promise, but now the weight of worry had grown unbearable. What if he was hurt? That thought gnawed at your mind incessantly. Waiting was no longer an option; you had to search for him. You had kept your word, honoring the promise you made, but the time had come for you to look for him.

As you rise from your seat to grab your backpack, the sound of the door swinging open interrupts your movements. The wooden legs of the chair scrape against the floor, slicing through the momentary silence. Hurriedly, you make your way out of the dining room and are met with the sight of Joel stumbling at the entrance. 

Without a second thought, you propel yourself forward, your feet carrying you swiftly across the room. The wooden floor absorbs the sound as you move closer to him. When you reach him, your arms instinctively wrap around him. 

"Joel! Oh my god!" Your voice is a mixture of relief and concern. Your fingers find their place on his back, tracing patterns of comfort as if to erase whatever challenges he encountered throughout the night.

Your eyes lock onto his, searching for answers that his disheveled appearance can't provide. "Are you okay?" 

As your senses sharpen, you become acutely aware of a mix of scents clinging to Joel's form. The most prominent among them is the unmistakable stench of alcohol – a strong, potent aroma that hangs around him. But layered beneath this heady cloud of alcohol is a scent you've never smelt on Joel. The subtle smell threads its way through the overpowering aroma of liquor. 

His voice finally emerges from the heavy silence, "I need to tell you something," he admits. The vulnerability in his voice is a stark contrast to the Joel you thought you knew so well, and it draws you in even closer, your grip on him serving as both anchor and comfort.

His complexion takes on an unsettling pale color, and his eyes now glisten with a hint of moisture, as if teardrops linger just beneath the surface. "I slept with someone." His voice trembles, the weight of his confession causing it to break and quiver. As his confession settles upon you, you find yourself taking a step back, releasing your hold on him.

A strange sensation takes hold among your racing thoughts: the ringing in your ears. His confession has caused a vibration that fills you entirely, drowning out all other sounds. If he’s saying something, you don’t hear.

In the midst of his confession, a thought emerges, almost frantic: wake up, you think, this has got to be a nightmare. You plead with your subconscious to release you from this grip, to awaken you from a reality that feels too brutal, too surreal to be true.

But when you open your eyes, the room before you remains unchanged. Joel is still standing there.

Why isn't this working? Wake up, dammit! You tell yourself, desperation seeping into your thoughts. You open your eyes once more, and he's still there. Joel's presence is proof that this is, indeed, reality. The truth of his words looms over like a precipice you have been pushed toward, and there's no escaping it.

He moves closer to you, and you instinctively step back further.

His voice, heavy with guilt and remorse, breaks through, "I wish I could undo it." 

Your throat is dry, and your thoughts are a tumultuous blend of anguish and confusion as you battle to find your own voice. "How," your voice cracks, reflecting the confusion that you're feeling inside, "How... How could you do this?" You can feel the gaping hole in your heart that threatens to engulf you.

Joel's eyes are cast downward, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own regret. Slowly, they lift to meet your gaze. His voice is filled with his own ache. "I never meant for any of this to happen. It was a mistake, and I can't even begin to explain how sorry I am."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you meet his brown eyes, a tumultuous blend of anger, heartache, and confusion swirling within you. 

"A mistake?" Your voice trembles with a mixture of emotions, the words tinged with a bitter edge. "That's what you call this? A mistake is forgetting to set an alarm, not destroying a relationship!" 

“I was drunk!” Joel's voice rises, desperation lacing his words. “Baby, please!” His voice breaks in a frantic attempt to explain. He reaches out towards you, his hand outstretched in an almost pleading gesture. "It didn't mean anything. She d-"

His words cut off as you raise your hand, the gesture both a plea for him to stop and a shield against the words that seem to cut deeper with every syllable.

“Don't,” you cut in sharply, your voice slicing through the room like a blade. “Shut up! I don’t want to know anything about what you did.” You interject, your voice laced with anger and frustration.

His expression is one of desperation, his features contorted with regret and a plea for some understanding. "I messed up, I know," he continues, his voice now a softer murmur, "But I love you. I've always loved you. This was a moment of weakness, a terrible lapse in judgment. Please, let me make it right," he implores, his voice cracking with sincerity.

You're silent. 

His gaze doesn't waver, and his words carry an urgency, a promise of change. "I swear I'll be better. I'll only go out for patrol, and I- I'll make sure I get paired with a guy." The words tumble from his lips, his desperation palpable in every syllable. He's reaching out, trying to grasp any sliver of hope to mend the fracture that has torn through your relationship.

But his words hang heavy in the air. They're like a stone lodged in your throat, blocking your own voice, your own emotions, your own decision.

"I am so sorry," Joel's voice quivers with regret, his admission heavy with the weight of his actions. "It was the anniversary... The tenth year since... since Outbreak day," His explanation tumbles out, his voice a mix of remorse and self-loathing. "I needed to get away, to forget for just a moment. I had too much to drink-"  

“And you think I didn’t want to forget too? But instead, I was in our home waiting for you so I could be there for you."

The words poured out of you like a flood of emotions and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface. The air in the room is tense, your voice like a crackling lightning bolt piercing the silence.

“I lost my little girl!” He roars, his voice a mixture of anguish and rage as if the dam holding back his own pain has finally broken. The rawness of his grief crashes against the walls, filling the house with an intensity that matches the storm of emotions raging within both of you.

"I lost people I love too!" You countered, your voice a desperate cry.

His response was sharp and unyielding, dismissing your pain. "It's ain't the same."

"But I lost everyone! Everyone!" The anguish in your voice reverberated, and your words shifted, now infused with a desperate need for him to comprehend your own loss. "I lost everyone."

"I FUCKING THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! AND YOU... YOU WERE..." Your voice cracked, tears streaming freely as your emotions overwhelm you. 

A sickening wave surged within you, a physical response to the intensity of the moment. The sensation of nausea clawed at your insides. With a surge of urgency, you run to the downstairs restroom just down the corridor. As your hand reached the door, you swung it open and entered the restroom, eyes locking on the toilet bowl. Instinct guided your trembling fingers to the lock, a definitive click reverberating through the small space as you secured the door. 

Clutching your hair with your left hand, you pulled it away, desperately seeking to clear your line of vision. Your body heaved with an overpowering force, and you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. The guttural sound of retching mixed with the acrid taste of vomit, further intensified the nausea. It was a cycle of discomfort, each bout of vomiting seemingly triggering another.

For a fleeting moment, you believed you had regained control. But one glance at your left hand, the engagement ring glinting, was all it took to trigger another surge of vomiting. 

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. The dampness on your skin carried an uncomfortable sensation. The tears themselves were leaving a trail of itchiness in their wake. The itchiness, an almost prickling sensation, added an extra layer of discomfort.

Joel's attempts to enter the restroom were met with the firm resistance of a locked door. The urgency in his movements was evident, and you thought he would kick the door open, so you managed to muster the strength to utter, "Don't come in." before throwing up some more.

Finally, the relentless waves of vomiting stop, leaving you drained and spent. Gasping for air, you found yourself on the restroom floor, your knees sinking into a soft blue U-shaped mat. With a slow, deliberate motion, you crawled toward the opposite wall. Your body leaned into the wall, knees drawn close to your chest.

Hugging your knees to your body, your body trembled with the sheer weight of emotions that surged through you. Your sobs became a haunting soundtrack for you and Joel who could hear everything.

You don’t know how long you stay there. You can feel the hot steam from the restroom's ventilation issue around you. You don’t know what’s more suffocating the hot air or the pain.

Why? Why did he do it? The question echoed within your mind, a relentless question that seemed to have no definitive answer.

Eres valiente. Siempre lo has sido, (You're brave. You've always been) a voice emerged from the depths of your thoughts, a reassuring whisper that ignited a spark of resilience within you. The words gave you a newfound strength, enough to coax your exhausted body to rise.

Standing before the bathroom sink, toothbrush in hand, you summoned the determination to get rid of the taste of vomit. As the water flowed and you scrubbed away, your gaze met your reflection in the mirror. Disheveled was an understatement. Your once-neat hair had become a mess, with small strands clinging to your forehead due to the sweat that coated your skin. Dark circles clung beneath your eyes, and bloodshot eyes stared back at you. The traces of dried tears ran from your eyes all the way to your neck. The fabric of your shirt bore faint damp spots thanks to your tears.

Cupping your hands, you collected a handful of water and brought it to your face, the cool liquid splashing against your skin is refreshing. Your fingers find the white towel that hung on the wall, and you gently wiped it away. Inhaling deeply, you focused on the rhythm of your breath, allowing it to steady your racing heart until you felt a semblance of composure return.

Turning the doorknob, you push the bathroom door open, revealing Joel's figure. His expression is a mix of concern and relief, his eyes trace the contours of your form as you emerge from the restroom. 

As your eyes met him, a violent rush of emotions surged within you, the floodgates of the intensity you had repressed, suddenly open. Uncontrollable tremors shook your body, and Joel's instincts took over. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace.

Don’t touch me. You want to say, want to scream, but you can’t vocalize anything.

You feel Joel’s tears fall onto you, and their warm touch only seemed to amplify the storm that surged within. Your cry becomes heavier, your body convulsing with the force of your sobs.

“I love you.” Joel says. 

Immediately, your throat knots, the pain excruciating. The weight of his words and the depth of your own emotions leave you speechless, so the only thing you can manage is a small nod. 

He realizes you don't say it back and he says it again, his voice a soft echo of love and regret as he looks into your eyes. But you're beyond words at this point, your own pain and anguish welling up until you can only scream into his chest, mourning. 

Extended note: Thank you for reading! I apologize for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language, but I promise I did try. 

​​Please feel free to comment and reblog! I truly do love reading them! I promise I'll try to engage more!

(edit: I accidentally copied and pasted the wrong file, so the graphic is different)

Taglist: @mishasminion360

#angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou 2 fanfiction #no y/n #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #tw:infidelity #pedro pascal character #hurt no comfort #tw: Infidelity #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[loslentesdepedrito]

Broken Bottle, Broken Heart

Characters: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’ and Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales 

Word count: 3.4k+

Rating: 18+ no explicit content but I'd rather not have minors read these type of subjects. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut

Summary: You go to Jack's house, expecting a perfect evening with him, but instead you are met with hostility when Jack accuses you of stealing his deceased wife's necklace. His words break you, and then seven years later, he’s back.  

Warnings: angst, topics of death and mourning, language used by the characters is harsh and contains strong emotions, lines can definitely be viewed as emotional abuse, pregnancy mention. Hope I didn't leave anything out!

As you entered Jack's house, the sweet aroma of his favorite dish filled the air. The table was already set for two, and you couldn't help but smile as you imagined a perfect evening with the man you loved.

"Hey, cowboy," you called out, looking around for him.

Getting no reply from him, you walked towards the hallway. He was rummaging through the closet, and it seemed like he wasn't finding what he was looking for. You asked him what he was looking for, but he snapped at you with a harsh tone that sent chills down your spine.

"Where’s her necklace?” Jack grits out and you can tell he’s panicking over this necklace.

What is he talking about? You wondered. “What necklace?” you ask 

“Why does it matter to you? I bet you stole it. It's not like you care about her, or me for that matter," he said bitterly.

You were taken aback by his words. Of course, you cared about him. You loved him with all your heart. But before you could even ask what the hell he was talking about, he continued his outburst.

"You're just a replacement for her, you know that? You're here to fill the void she left behind. But you could never measure up to her. You could never be her," he spat.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized what was happening. Jack doesn’t love you. He was using you to mourn his deceased wife. You were just a temporary fix until he could move on.

The way he said those words, with such venom and hatred, broke something inside of you. You could feel your heart splintering and your spirit breaking.

"I don't understand what you're saying, Jack," you managed to whisper, trying to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape.

"You don't understand? You're not like her, and you never will be. You're just a pathetic imitation," he said, his voice growing louder and angrier.

You tried to speak, to defend yourself, but your words were choked with sobs. You didn't want to believe that Jack could be so cruel. He said he cared about you. You didn't want to accept that you were just a rebound. That you meant nothing to him. But his words made it clear that you were nothing to him.

His eyes are red when he screams at you “Leave! I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

“No, Jack. Let’s talk about this.” You get closer to him and the intense smell of whiskey hits your nose. 

“I fucking told you to get out! I don’t need you. I will never need anything from you.” Jack said with bloodshot eyes, and his voice slurred with the effects of the alcohol. His face contorted with anger as he shouted at you, his words laced with venom and bitterness. The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

As you tried to reason with him, he grabbed the whiskey bottle and held it tightly in his hand. You could see his knuckles turn white from the force of his grip, and your heart sank as you realized what was about to happen. ‘No, please don’t do it, please don’t break it.’ 

Without warning, he hurled the bottle against the wall with all his might. It shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, sending a spray of amber liquid in every direction. You jumped back, startled by the sudden explosion of glass and liquor. 

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the house, and the smell of alcohol filled the air. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, and your breathing became ragged and quick. You could feel your hands trembling with fear as you gazed at the broken glass and liquor that now covered the floor. Jack stood there, breathing heavily, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. He looked at you with eyes that burned with fury, and you knew that there was no reasoning with him. At that moment, you were terrified of Jack. you had never seen him like this before, and you didn't know what he was capable of.

Every muscle in your body was tense as you tried to keep yourself together. A voice inside was telling you to run and get as far away from him as possible, but another was asking you to stay; To make sure Jack was okay. Paralyzed in fear, you felt like you were walking on eggshells, afraid that any wrong move could set him off again. You could feel your heart racing and your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to calm yourself down.

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you backed away from him. All you could think about was ‘It broke into a million pieces. It’s shattered beyond repair, and there was no going back’ 

With a heavy heart, you turned to leave, your steps were unsteady, and your feet felt heavy as if you were wading through mud. You felt like you were being watched like Jack was still hovering over you, even though he was several feet away. Every sound made you jump, every shadow made you flinch. It was like the fear had settled into your bones, and you couldn't shake it off. You kept glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting him to come running after you, and half-hoping he would. But he never did.

Finally, you made it outside, and you took in a deep breath of fresh air, your heart still racing. As you walked out into the cold night, You felt like you were leaving a part of yourself behind. You didn't know how you could ever forget this.

Seven years later

As you sat in your home office, surrounded by ancient texts and artifacts, you heard a knock at the front door. You got up to answer it, only to find Jack standing on your doorstep. Your heart raced as you felt anger bubbling up inside you. You had moved on with your life after he cruelly pushed you out of it seven years ago. You had built a family with Frankie, and you didn't need Jack to come barging in and disrupt it all.

"It's good to see you," he said softly. 

You snorted, "Is it really? After everything you did, you just expect me to help you? I’m assuming you need my help. Why else would you show up out of the blue? Didn't you say 'I don't need you. I will never need anything from you. I never want to see you again.' You may have forgotten, but I never forget things," you spat at him as you stood with your arms folded tightly across your chest. Fuck you were going to slap this man. You were going to drop-kick his ass, but before you could further imagine his demise you saw his guilt-ridden expression. 

Jack hung his head, looking ashamed. "I know I messed up baby, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack shuffled his feet. "I should have come to you sooner, baby, I know that now. But I've thought about you every day for the past seven years. I should have run after you, I should have looked for you. But I was scared. I should have told you how I felt about you sweetheart.” 

You raised an eyebrow. "And how did you feel about me?"

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours. "I loved you, dammit. I- I love you more than anything baby."

"What the hell do you need from me?" you asked, relenting slightly.

"I um... I need some classified documents translated. I know you're the best in the field, and I need someone who will be discreet," Jack explained.

Taking your silence as too much he started to explain himself. "I thought you stole my ex-wife's necklace," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I couldn't find it anywhere, and then her sister had it. I'm sorry, I should have trusted you. I should have known you’d never steal from me."

You didn't respond, feeling the anger still simmering inside you. But when you heard the sound of the car pulling up into the driveway, you knew you had to compose yourself.

Unsure if you wanted to get involved in his mess again, you hesitated in giving him an answer. “Okay, you need to stop with the pet names. I’m mar-” Before you could tell him you’re happily married and give him an answer about the job, the sound of the car doors opening interrupted your conversation.

"¡Mami, ya llegué de la school!" (“Mom, I’m back from school!”)  your daughter called out, her voice echoing through the front of the house. You felt relief flood through you as you saw her, happy and carefree, running towards you. Frankie followed closely behind, and his face instantly contorted with anger when he saw Jack.

Frankie knew you could handle yourself, but he still worried about you. He knew you too well, he knew that seeing Jack again was hurting you. 

“Mija, entra a la casa y ve a jugar con tus muñequitas y carritos arriba,” (“Mija, go inside the house and play with your dolls and cars upstairs”) Frankie spoke to his daughter in a soft tone as he gently touched the top of her head. 

Everything was in slow motion for Jack when he saw your daughter. His heart was racing as he watched your daughter run towards you, her hair bouncing in the sunlight. She looked so much like you, but there was something about her that made Jack's heartache. He couldn't quite put his finger on it at first, but then he saw it - the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips. They were just like his own. He couldn't help but wonder, was she his? Had he missed out years of her life, never knowing that he had a daughter? The thought made him feel sick to his stomach, and he had to take a deep breath to keep from hyperventilating.

“Hi, cowboy! Bye, cowboy!” Your daughter told Jack as she zoomed past him excited to go play.

What pulled him out of his trance was also heartbreaking. “This is my husband Frankie, Frankie you already know who he is,” You point towards Jack, watching as his eyes widened and then darted to your left hand, where your wedding ring glinted in the light... ‘Fuck’ he thought. Of course, you’re married. You were such an amazing person. He was an idiot to push you away. 

Frankie's arms wrapped around you tightly, his warm embrace a comfort against the tumultuous emotions stirring within you. His lips pressed softly against yours, and for a moment, you forgot that Jack was even there. You melted into the kiss, savoring the taste of him, the feeling of his body against yours. It was a familiar comfort, a reminder of everything you had built together.

But as quickly as it began, the kiss ended, when Frankie pulled away to face Jack "Let’s go inside. I don't want to cause a scene out here,” your husband gently led you inside, followed by Jack. 

Jack stepped into your home and paused, taking a deep breath. The scent of a home-cooked meal wafted through the air, filling his nostrils and stirring his appetite. He looked around, his eyes taking in the space, and he couldn't help but notice the bookcases lining the walls. They were filled with ancient texts, tomes, and artifacts - a reflection of your passion for history and knowledge. Jack felt a pang of regret as he remembered how he used to love listening to you talk about history and archaeology.

His eyes wandered around the room, scanning the pictures on the walls. There were several family photos - one of you, your husband, and your daughter all huddled together on the beach, another of the three of you smiling brightly at a family gathering. Jack's heart sank as he realized that he could have been in those pictures. He could have been a part of your family.

He continued to inspect the room, taking in the little details that he had missed out on. The vibrant, hand-woven rug that you picked up in Peru. The small figurines on the mantelpiece that you had collected from your travels. Every item in the room told a story, and Jack felt a sense of longing to be a part of those stories once again.

As he stood there, taking everything in, he felt a lump form in his throat. He had let you go, pushed you away, and now he was just an outsider looking in. He couldn't help but wonder how things could have been different if he had just been honest with you and if he had fought for you. He had missed out on so much - your laughter, your love, your family.

With a heavy heart, Jack turned to you, his eyes filled with regret. "You have a beautiful home," he said softly. But even as he spoke the words, he knew that he could never be a part of it again.

Jack’s restraint broke when he saw the picture of your daughter as a newborn. Jack's teary eyes searched for answers. "Is she mine?" he asked, his voice quivering with emotion.

Without hesitation, you replied, "No."

"How old is she?" Jack pressed on.

"She's six," Frankie, answered with a calm yet firm voice.

Jack's eyes widened as he calculated the dates in his head for the first time. "So, she could be mine?" he asked, his voice tinged with hope.

Frankie's eyes narrowed as he shot Jack a sharp look. "No, she's my daughter," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jack looked ready to lash out, his fists clenching at his sides. "But biologically speaking, is she mine? She looks an awful lot like me," he insisted.

"She looks like Frankie too," you interjected, snapping at the man who hurt you so long ago.

"But biologically speaking, I don't know," you added, wanting to be honest.

"I met Frankie right after you kicked me out," you said, your voice trembling with memories you'd rather forget.

Jack's expression turned sour. "Oh, so you spread your legs for the first man you saw," he accused. He knew it was hypocritical of him as he reverted to his old ways the same night he kicked you out. 

Frankie's temper flared as he grabbed Jack by the collar and pushed him against the wall. "You don't get to judge her for seeking comfort in someone else," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Jack flinched, feeling the weight of Frankie's words. "She loved you, you know," Frankie continued. "But you never deserved her. You took advantage of her while still grieving. She was in love with you from the moment she met you, and you didn't even trust her."

"Do you even remember what you said to her? How much you hurt her?" Frankie asked, his voice rising with each word. "Because she couldn't forget. She would cry every day when she remembered how quickly you threw her away like she didn't matter. But she is not a replacement and she didn't deserve to be treated as such."

"That little girl is my daughter, got that?" Frankie said, his eyes burning with fierce protectiveness. "I don't care if she may not be biologically mine. I didn't even want a paternity test because I know she's my little girl."

"I've been there since my wife started getting pregnancy symptoms, when she took a pregnancy test, when she took 5 more, when she went to her first appointment, when she first heard my daughter's heartbeat," Frankie said, listing off each milestone with pride. "When my little girl grew every day in my wife's womb, when my princess first kicked, when my wife craved all sorts of street food at 2 am, when our daughter was born, when she first rolled over, when she first crawled, when she took her first steps, when she said her first words, when she had a fever that wouldn't break, when she broke her leg, when she was scared of her first day at school, when she graduated pre-k and kinder. I've always been that little girl's dad."

Silence hung in the air as Jack absorbed Frankie's words. He looked at you and then at Frankie, his face a mix of regret and resignation. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Frankie's grip on Jack's collar loosened, and he took a step back, and he sent you a look. You knew what he was thinking. It’s something you discussed together before- what if Jack found out about your daughter and came back for her? Although, you thought he would demand a paternity test. As the years went by, the possibility of his return diminished and you and Frankie stopped discussing the possibility. You certainly weren’t expecting him to turn up now. 

You had never expected Jack to show up at your doorstep, but here he was. "Give me your phone number," you said, your voice distant and cold. "We'll get back to you as soon as we figure out a plan." The words slammed into him like a ton of bricks, and his heart dropped into his stomach. He knew that things would never be the same again.

Jack could feel the weight of your words bearing down on him as you continued to speak. "I don't think it's a good idea to introduce you to our daughter as her father just yet," you said quietly. "However, you might only see her on special occasions, such as birthdays." Jack knew he should be thankful. It wasn't certain your daughter was his because she could have been Frankie's. Even if she was Frankie’s, it would be his only opportunity to be a father figure, and he would take it.

And then came the crushing blow. "I'm not going to let you hurt her, Daniels," You said, your voice rising with anger. "Your words... they have the power to make you feel weak, pathetic like you don't matter. I am not going to expose my daughter to that. I don't care if you didn't mean to hurt me. You said those words. I need to make sure you’re not capable of saying something like that to my daughter."

Jack felt a lump form in his throat as he remembered the fight that had led to this moment. The hurtful things he had said to you, the things he wished he could take back. He had never meant to hurt you, but he had, and now he was facing the reality of it.

"Did you know I still flinch around loud noises?" You continued, your voice shaking with emotion. "I'm sorry if you think I'm keeping her from you, but I'm doing this for her own good. She already has a dad who loves her so much. I don't want to break that bond."

Jack felt a wave of jealousy wash over him as he thought about another man raising his daughter. He wanted to be the one to hold her when she cried, to teach her how to ride a bike, to be there for all of her firsts. But he knew that it wasn't meant to be.

"When she gets older, we can tell her about you," You said, your voice softening slightly. "We always planned to be honest with her, and if she wanted to look you up, we weren't going to stop her."

As Jack walked away, he couldn't help but think of all the things he had lost. The chance to be a father, the love of a woman he had hurt, and the sense of belonging that he had always had with you. He was a man adrift, lost in a sea of his own mistakes and regrets. He could only hope you could forgive him one day. 

As soon as Jack left, you turned to Frankie, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. "Why did he have to come back now, after all these years?" you asked him, your voice choked with emotion. Frankie took your hand, his touch warm and comforting. "I don't know, baby. But I won't let him hurt you again or our princess. Todo estará bien amor, ya lo veras," (Everything will be okay my love, you’ll see) he said firmly.

Note: I have been writing for plenty of fictional characters for years, including Pedro’s characters. However, this is my first time publishing anything I’ve written. This was intended to be a series, but I ended up writing one part. Apologies for any mistakes, I don’t have a second reader. It’s just me double checking within seconds! 

#angst #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels angst #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x you #kingsman fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #no y/n #jack daniels x reader #angst with happy ending #pedro pascal characters #well for one of the boys #I will write a happy ending for Jack (in the future and in another work) #pedro pascal fanfiction #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[loslentesdepedrito]

Eres Mía- Chapter 1

Top right gif by: @uuuhshiny , bottom left gif by: @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Dave York x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translation will be provided at the end.)

Word count: 7.4k+

Chapter summary: Your husband comes home and reveals that both of your lives are in danger. The only option is for him to go into hiding. Despite your reluctance, you find yourself agreeing to his plan, knowing it is the best course of action. You spend one last night together, cherishing each moment until the time comes for your eventual reunion.

Series Masterlist

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI). Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut.

Chapter warnings: Angst, fluff, talk of divorce, oral (female and male receiving), semi-rough blow job, dirty talk, unprotected PIV sex, slight breeding kink, cream pie, light talk of pregnancy, cum eating (I hope I didn’t forget anything, it’s been about five years since I wrote this.)

A/N: I apologize for the lack of plot, but I promise it will pick up in the following chapters.

Without even realizing it, Dave felt the weight of danger pressing heavily upon his broad shoulders as he cautiously stepped through the front door. 

"Love?" he called out, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and anticipation, knowing that you would be home.

Your voice carried a smile as you responded, "In here! I'm just cleaning up some dishes. Hice unas galletas de limón, and they're in the oven."

As he followed the sound of your voice, his heart melted at the sight of you, and a bittersweet ache settled within him. Oh, I’m going to miss her so much, he thought. His eyes welled up with tears as he braced himself for the words he needed to say to you. His gaze met yours, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for everything happening.

When you turn around to greet him, a flicker of surprise dances across your features when you see Dave’s expression. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and love, were clouded with what appeared to be fear. Your heart quivered, sensing that something was terribly wrong. And as he held eye contact, his voice trembled with a rare vulnerability.

His words spilled forth, laced with anguish, each syllable tearing him from the inside. "I have to tell you something, something that’s killing me. A job... it went fucking wrong, and now there's a bounty on my head. I fear for your safety, my love. It's only a matter of time before they find out about our relationship, and they won't hesitate to take away what I love most in this world." His once steady and comforting hands now trembled as he reached out to touch your face, seeking solace in the midst of all the chaos.

A heavy silence enveloped the room, the weight of his words shattering the tranquility of your shared existence. A thousand emotions surged within you, their collective force threatening to consume your very being. Fear, sadness, and an overwhelming desire to protect the man you loved intertwined, fueling the agony in your heart.

His voice cracked with the weight of his confession, "The only solution is to... baby, we have to get a divorce, and I have to go into hiding." The pain etched across his face revealed the immensity of his struggle. You could see the toll this decision had taken on him.

He continued, "Once they see that we are no longer married, their focus will be on me, and you will no longer have a target on your head." The weight of his words settled in the air, the gravity of the sacrifice he was making evident in every syllable.

Reluctantly, you spoke, your voice quivering with a mix of love and anguish, "But Dave, the thought of divorcing and separating from you... it feels like tearing my soul apart. I don't want to be apart from you, especially not like this. Isn't there any other way?"

Dave's gaze intensified, his eyes searching your face for understanding. "Believe me, my love, this tears me apart too. But I can't bear the thought of you being in danger because of me. If we stay together, we'll be putting both our lives at risk. This is the only way to protect you, to keep you safe."

Tears well up in your eyes as you realized the immense love and sacrifice in his decision. "But what about us, Dave? Our dreams, our future together?" Your voice trembled, choked with anguish and the ache of longing, as you desperately clung to the fragments of the life you had built.

He took your hands in his, his touch offering a fleeting moment of solace. "I promise you, with all my heart, that once everything settles, I will come back for you. I will marry you again, and we'll live the life we've always dreamed of. There will be no one else for me, my love. Please, trust me in this."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and though you yearned for a different outcome, you knew deep down that this was the only choice. The pain of separation threatened to consume you, but you knew that it paled in comparison to the terror of losing him. Oh, this hurts so much, but losing him forever? I don't think I'd be able to handle it. Accepting it was a painful task, but deep down, you understood that sacrifice was the only path to ensure his survival.

"Of course, I trust you," you affirmed, your words infused with a steadfast conviction. "Let's go upstairs."

He raised his eyebrows, a flicker of surprise mingling with his love-struck gaze.

Your hands tenderly traced the contours of his sharp jaw, your touch a gentle reassurance that transcended words. Slowly, your lips found the corner of his, planting a soft, lingering kiss. The path of your kisses continued, tracing down to the curve of his mandibular angle. "I want to cherish my husband before he goes away for a while." You whispered, voice filled with love and lust.

Dave ducked his head towards you, while gently cradling your neck, and his lips pressed down against yours.

“Mmm…” you moaned out softly and sweetly against his plump lips.

The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine as your hands traveled up his chest and his thick arms. His grip tightens around your waist which causes you to feel his muscles flex beneath his shirt as you lean further into him. His other hand snakes its way up to cup your face lovingly.

The kisses were soft and slow at first, but they eventually grew heavy. “Ah” you breathe out when you feel Dave’s tongue tangle with yours.

Your breathing gets heavier as you feel him lean even closer towards you, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The sounds he makes are husky and deep, sending tingles down your spine. His fingers tangled themselves into your hair, tugging slightly before lightly sliding through the strands. Every nerve ending was screaming out from every inch of contact. You loved it when he kissed you like this. No one had ever touched you like this, until Dave. The fervent way he took your mouth, the way he lapped at your pussy until all he could taste was you, the way he would finger you until you were soaking and ready for him, the way he rocked into you until you were shaking from multiple orgasms and all blissed out, the way he took care of you after. Fuck, I’m going to miss him. 

Ahh, oh god, he’s making me feel all hot. Another wave of heat and desire coursed through your veins as his touch ignited a feverish fire within you. In his embrace, you felt an intoxicating combination of passion and tenderness, a unique blend that left you at a loss for words. How could you possibly describe the way he kissed you and caressed you with such fervor and yet with a delicate touch that made your heart flutter?

“Darling, I’m so sorry.” Dave spoke softly against your lips, pulling away, kissing your forehead, and then trailing light touches over your cheekbones and across your jawline. It wasn’t long until he pulled away and looked at you apologetically.

“No, Dave, don’t apologize to me.” You smiled reassuringly at him. “I understand that your job isn’t always easy…” you trailed off, as your eyes filled with tears. “Don’t be sorry, okay? Just keep on kissing me, baby.” You grab him from his shirt, wrinkling in the process, and pull him back to your lips.

His lips find yours once again, "Anything for you babygirl." He smiles against your lips, his words a tender promise that resonated deep within your heart. 

His lips were gentle and soft and tasted like blueberries and mint, from his daily snack, and your entire body lit up as he deepened the kiss. When you finally broke apart for air, you both laughed in relief. “So now that our mouths have been ravished by each other, can you please touch me more?” You giggled, your cheeks slightly flushing. You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers together as you gazed at each other adoringly. 

He squeezed your hand in response. “Yes, my love. Like I said, anything for you.” He grinned at you happily. "Do you want my fingers or my mouth first?" 

His thumb stroked back and forth across the back of your hand softly, and he gave you a smirk and a wink. Your breath caught in your throat, and your knees weakened slightly as your heart soared. Oh god, he’s perfect. You thought. "Mouth, Dave, I want your mouth on my pussy, please." You beg. 

He chuckled and cupped your cheek, pressing a light kiss to your temple before he led you to the bed. “As you wish, love.” Dave teased. You were so desperate to feel Dave's body against you that you whined in your head, He looks so handsome in his work clothes, but even better naked. What is he doing still dressed? I want everything off.

He placed you on the bed and removed his shirt slowly. He briefly paused, glancing at you, before dropping his clothes to the floor along with his belt. You gasp seeing your husband bare and you take him in. He’s so beautiful… His black hair, his dark eyes, his prominent nose, his full bottom lip and his thinner top one, his jaw and the stubble that adorns his handsome face, his neck, his broad shoulders, his slight stomach, and oh god… his cock… it’s so thick and hard already.  You bite your lips at the sight of your husband putting a little show for you. You want to reach out to him but he climbs onto the bed and straddles your legs, staring into your eyes with lustful eyes.

“God you look beautiful, babygirl.” He whispered. You felt his breath on your earlobe. He moved to your collarbone and sucked gently on it. A shiver ran down your spine. “Me? Have you looked at yourself?” You responded your voice a mere breath, heavy with longing and adoration. “You’re fucking perfect…”

Dave chuckled softly at your admiration for him. He reached his hand out and grabbed your wrist and began to pull at your fingers. 

“I don’t care what I look like, my wife is even prettier.” He teased, biting his lip.

You couldn’t even argue with him when he started lightly trailing his hands over your still-clothed body. 

“Dave,” you moaned out. “Please!” he smiled and moved back up to your lips, kissing you deeply. Mhm! I love his lips on mine, but I want them somewhere else.

“Please baby, I want you to touch me…” you pleaded quietly. 

He smirked down at you. "Patience, love. I need to get you undressed first."

"Oh, god…" you whimpered, feeling your panties getting wetter, and your nipples hardening under his gaze. He gently grazes his teeth against the skin on your collarbone causing you to squirm underneath him. "Almost there," Dave told you, "Just let me take your clothes off."

He pushed it up and off your shoulders and allowed it to cascade down your arms. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and nibbled on your neck, leaving behind a trail of fiery kisses. You let out another moan and arched your back slightly when he nuzzled the sensitive skin there. He admired your form for a few seconds before his thick fingers moved down to unbutton your jeans. He slid them down your hips, tossing them aside. You watched eagerly, your breaths quickening as he took his time removing your underwear.

The expression that graced his face was one you knew all too well, a blend of adoration and hunger, with just a look on his face, you knew you could never doubt the connection you shared. It never ceased to make your heart flutter, to remind you of the depth of his passion and the intensity of his love. In his eyes, you found solace, acceptance, and love.

"Beautiful..." he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. He gently rubbed his thumb against your bare hip before pulling back his head to look at you again. He leaned forward and planted featherlight kisses on each side of your neck before taking a firm hold of your naked ass. 

You gasped softly, feeling his lips and teeth graze on your flesh. “Oh…” you hummed into his shoulder. “Dave…” You groaned. His lips continued their journey down your neck and across your collarbone. 

You felt your pussy begin to water further as you felt his large hands slip between your legs, massaging you slowly. You were desperate for his touch. "Dave, please…" You whined.

"Shh, darling, I'm almost done." Once again, he kissed along your neck and collarbone and then began to suck on your left nipple with his teeth causing you to gasp.

You moaned and threw your head back in pleasure. He continued to tease you until you were writhing underneath him. Dave caught your right nipple and he roughly pinched and rolled it between his thumb and index finger, while he continued to suck at your other breast.

“Ah!” You shivered beneath him and you clutched the sheets beneath you, arching your back slightly. “Nngh! Dave!” You whimpered and you didn’t think you could bear it anymore.

"You're so fucking beautiful, baby." Dave groaned out in satisfaction.

"Please, Dave." You begged desperately.

He released your nipples and pulled away slightly from you. He moved his attention from your breasts to your abdomen, tracing small circles across your skin with his lips. Oh, Dave. He’s so good to me… A chorus of breathy gasps and soft moans escaped your lips as he peppered kisses over your belly button, his affectionate exploration inching lower with every blissful moment.

"Mmmm," he murmured, his warm breath caressing your skin, a melodic sound that echoed the depths of his desire. His fingers brushed the hair that covered your most sensitive area causing you to cry out in ecstasy, igniting an inferno of sensation that rendered you helpless to its intoxicating power. A cry of ecstasy escaped your lips, blending with the symphony of pleasure that swirled around you.

With grace, Dave lowered himself, his gaze locked with yours, brimming with both adoration and a raw hunger that mirrored your own. His hands delicately placed your legs on his broad, bare shoulders and he moved you down with him so you could be at the edge of the bed.

His eyes held the same admiration and love as he stared at you as if you were his only goal in life. It was enough to put you in a daze. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him either. He looked so handsome, so sexy wearing nothing, kneeling in front of you. You wanted him, so badly, your body ached.

The strength in his arms flexed, his muscles taut as he held you securely. A momentary pause filled the air as he licked his lips, a subtle flicker of anticipation dancing in his eyes. His gaze, adorned with long, dark lashes, met yours, an intensity mingling with gentle tenderness, and a knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Please, Dave," you breathed out. "I need...you...now!" you panted desperately. 

As the words hung in the air, your chest rising and falling with each rapid breath, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight before you. Dave, on his knees, devoting himself to your pleasure. The sight of him in this vulnerable position stirred a sensation within you, a surreal mix of awe and adoration. I'll never get used to seeing him on his knees for me you thought dreamily.

In a swift motion, he closed the remaining distance by lowering his head and sliding his hands under your ass to bring you his mouth. With practiced ease, he engulfed your clit in his mouth and lightly suckled on it. Your moans grew louder as he gently stroked your sensitive flesh with his tongue, his teeth occasionally grazing your already throbbing clit. "Mmm...ah! Yes! Dave, fuck..." you cried out in delight.

You kept screaming out in pleasure and he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, keeping you flush with him. Your head fell back, your eyelids fluttering closed as your mind became clouded with sensations and the overwhelming feeling of his warm mouth.

His mouth went further down, licking you from your clit all the way to your entrance. He then wrapped his lips around one of your folds, licking and sucking gently on your entrance while his fingers played with your clit lightly. Dave groaned at the feeling of your wet hot cunt in his mouth and how you were throbbing against his tongue. He pulled back and looked down at you with a smirk plastered on his face. “Such a sweet girl.” Dave praised.

When he was on his knees, Dave was always hit hard by a powerful surge of wanting to be with you, to reward you, and to taste you. The way she looks right now… so blissed out. Fuck, I need more of her, Dave thought. Once more, he seized hold of your hips and forcefully parted your thighs further before burying his head between your thighs and hungrily licking at your tight, aching cunt.

“Ah! D-dave!” you gasped.

Dave felt a primal desire between your parted thighs. His warm breath caressed your skin, sending ripples of anticipation through your body. With an instinctual urge, he leaned forward, his tongue pressing firmly against your wet entrance. Dave shook his head up and down creating a delicious rhythm while shoving his tongue against your entrance and moaning directly into your pussy. 

The intensity of the moment flooded his senses. His tongue expertly explored the contours of your cunt, tracing every delicate fold and crevice, savoring the very essence of your desire. The taste of you, sweet, tangy, and intoxicating, ignited a fire within him, fueling his hunger for more, and making his tongue dive even deeper. His mind swirled with primal thoughts, consumed by the overwhelming sensation of your essence filling his senses.

Fuck, she tastes so... so good... mmmm, Dave's thoughts echoed in his mind. He loved eating you out not just for your pleasure, but also for his own. The combination of your unique taste, the subtle muskiness, and the heady mixture of arousal intoxicated him, amplifying his hunger for you. Every delicate moan and whimper that escaped your lips only spurred him further, driving him to seek out your most sensitive spots with fervent devotion.

The symphony of your cries and the rhythmic movements of your hips guided him, urging him deeper into your pussy, unleashing waves of pleasure that cascaded through your body.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as waves of pleasure surged through every fiber of your being. The overwhelming sensations threatened to overpower your ability to stay upright, causing your elbows to buckle beneath the weight of your pleasure. Desperately seeking support, your hands fumbled behind you, and soon your fingertips brushed against a silky pillow.

Urgently, you grasped the pillow, your fingers tightly gripping the fabric as you guided it behind your back. As the softness of the pillow met your burning skin, it allowed you to enjoy the view of your husband without straining yourself. 

“Mmm, I want you to cum right in my mouth, babygirl,” Dave encouraged you. “I know you’re close.” 

“Mhm,” you whimpered. You tangle your fingers into Dave's hair and tug at it as you grind against his hot mouth. "So close, baby. Ahh!”

Dave immediately grasped your hips, to support you, and he watched in awe as your bare breasts bounced and your hips moved, rising and falling against his face. 

“Ohh! Nngh…ah!” you moaned heavily. “Sh-shit, I’m g-gonna c-cum – Dave! Ah!” 

“Fuck, c’mon, cum for me my love.” 

He grabbed your hips and pressed you up against his mouth, growling directly into your pussy and his nose brushed up against your clit. 

Your body shudders in response to the contact, the friction making you tremble uncontrollably. 

"Come for me, princess." He coaxed.

“Mm-mierda!,” you cried out, grabbing onto his hair tightly. Your nails lightly scratched his scalp, making him grunt out of pleasure.

“Ah! c-cumming! I’m cumming!” you cried out loudly. Your hair sticks to your forehead as your body overheats, and for a moment, you blank out. 

The only thing you were capable of doing was to scream loudly, your orgasm exploding into Dave's mouth. 

You let out a pool of cum, coating Dave's face with it. He grinned, enjoying the taste of your juices dripping onto his tongue. He eagerly drank it all down and appreciated every single drop. 

The taste of you made his cock twitch involuntarily. He felt his balls tighten even more at the taste of your cum flooding his tongue.

He quickly moved to lick you clean, using his tongue to drive you insane. He held you steady with strong arms, through your overstimulation, while making sure not to hurt you or cause any discomfort. 

“Verg-ahh, Amor, ah!” 

As the aftershocks of your orgasm rocked your entire body, your vision became blurry with tears. You no longer had a clear vision of Dave, but you heard him groan loudly, the sounds reverberating in his throat. He swallowed every last drop of your cum as he continued to kiss you, savoring every single drop, not wanting it to ever leave his mouth

"Mm, mm, mmpfh!" Overstimulated, you let out a combination of gasps and moans. 

When Dave finally lapped the last of your cum, he pulled away from your cunt and placed light butterfly kisses on your thighs. 

"There we go, sweetheart," he beamed, his smile brimming with satisfaction. "Limpiecita."

You smiled widely up at him, a sense of euphoria running through your body. You felt like you couldn't quite contain your happiness. 

“You’re so good to me, my love,” you said breathlessly. “None of my exes bothered to learn Spanish at your level, and now look at you. Todo un experto.” You say, voice filled with genuine admiration for the man who never gave you the bare minimum.

With a slight accent, he continued, "Sabes que haría cualquier cosa por ti." 

“I know mi esposo, and that’s why te mereces una recompensa. ¿Te parece?” You ask him suggestively, smiling devilishly.

"What are you thinking, love?" he asked with a grin. 

"Well, I was thinking how much I really want to taste you. Of how much I want your cock in my mouth."

His eyes sparkled at your words, and he flips you over so that he’s the one on the bed now. "Then taste me, babe. Make me yours." he murmurs.

Dave nearly choked on air when he saw you lower to your knees, your lips slightly trembling with eagerness, finally parting your lips for him, eagerly awaiting his dick.

A low growl escaped from his throat as his eyes took in the image of you, your naked body glistening with sweat and your eyes fixed solely on his cock, ready for whatever he would give you.

Mmm, Dave thought, admiring the perfect shape of your lips now open, just waiting for him to fill your pretty little mouth with his cock, but not his cum because he wanted to cum inside you this first round. 

“Good girl.”

Dave watched as the tip of his already leaking length gently pushed open your lips wider, and then the length of his cock gradually started to sink inside your lovely mouth. He exhaled softly. 

You let out a moan, closing your eyes as your lips enveloped and swallowed every single drop that leaked from him. It was delicious, and his cock pulsed inside of your mouth, filling you completely. 

Your delicate tongue felt the warmth and weight of his cock. You bobbed your head as your hot, wet tongue danced around his cock.

As soon as Dave felt your tongue brush up against him, he internally groaned. Oh fuck, I just want to wreck that little mouth of hers… Mm no, I have to be gentle right now so I don't hurt her. Dave thought.

You gave it your all for him, so intent on taking him in that as you moved up and down his length, your saliva began to wet your lips giving them a pretty shine.

"Such a good girl," Dave smirked and stated with appreciation. "My baby always does her best for me, right?

You pushed your head forward on his dick and mumbled, "Mmpfh," incoherently in response.

He questioned you knowingly, "How do I taste, baby?" 

"Mmmmm, so fucking good…"

Fuck, Dave's heart skipped a beat, his breathing hitched. Fuck, I love hearing her talk about me like this. I know she's not lying, I can tell.

As Dave attempted to make his way into your throat, he added, “Sweetheart, you might have to get messier." While he was aware that his cock needed to go deeper, he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

You did your best to suck his cock and swallow as much of him as you could. He did taste good, so fucking good, and you loved having his cock's ridges gliding back and forth between your lips and its weight pressing onto your tongue. But as his cock started to react, thickening and growing longer, you started to fit only a fraction of him into your mouth.

You pulled away and kissed the tip of his cock while panting.

Dave slipped his cock back into your mouth as you opened it once more. He gave you some time to adjust before making a small thrust.

You slightly gag in shock. Your throat started to tighten, and you frantically grabbed at his thighs.

"C’mon," Dave urged you as he tightened his hold on your head after sensing your natural tendency to withdraw.

When you felt his cock shove into the lower part of your throat, you let out a ragged whimper. 

Dave told you, though his voice was now gruff and hardly audible, "C’mon, amor, tu puedes. You need to loosen your throat just a little.”

He pulled your head down while pushing you to take every bit of his cock in your mouth because he knew exactly how to force you to open your throat gradually. 

You let out a choked whimper as you choked on his cock. 

He brought his free hand to his lap and intertwined your hands. He rubbed his thumb over the pads of your fingers, gently rubbing in small circular motions, trying to calm you down.

"Okay, baby. Take it easy now," he coaxed.

You breathed deeply and tried to calm yourself down, but it didn't work.

"It's okay, honey, that's it." Dave encouraged. "You're doing great." 

"You can do it," he assured you while guiding you in a very patient manner. "Remember to use your nose to breathe; you've done this before. Let your throat relax, but please push me hard if I hurt you, okay? I’ll be fine but shove me away if you need to."

You nodded and breathed in slowly. Then you slowly moved forward, letting him continue pumping into you.

Dave then exhaled deeply and slowly and mumbled, "Your mouth feels so good."

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the rising soreness in your jaw, because you loved to take him in your mouth and throat. Oh fuck, he mmm tastes so good and those sounds he’s letting out…

Your hand trailed along his thigh, brushing your fingertips across the ridges of muscle, sending sparks throughout his entire body. 

Now that you were relaxed, he was now able to slam his cock into your throat. 

"Good girl. Mmm, I love when you suck my cock. Always so good." 

You loved his praises. It only encouraged you to keep moving your head to keep your mouth and throat stuffed. 

Dave's breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened when your cheeks bulged even more. Shit… Her mouth is so warm… He thought.

Yes, yes… He’s so close, fuck… I want his cum!

"Uh- Fuck, baby, you feel amazing, b-but I can’t mouth in your m-mouth this…this time." So, reluctantly Dave pulls your head off him and guides you to his lap.

"Why?" You asked worriedly.

"Because I want to cum inside you and I'm a bit impatient to wait until I'm ready again."He replies, placing a finger underneath your chin.

"Okay." You sighed in genuine disappointment.

But a second later, a smile graced your lips as you reached out your hand and traced along the line of his jaw. 

"You're so handsome," you playfully teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “You have no idea how beautiful you look." You continue as your fingertips traced the contours of his stubbled cheekbones and jawline.

"Haha, yeah, yeah," he replied dryly, seemingly unaffected by your compliment, but in reality, his heart started racing. "What do you want?" he asked, his tone laced with playful skepticism.

Feigning surprised, you mock gasped, "Do I have to want something to compliment you?" Your voice danced with lightness, a teasing edge evident in your words.

"Ya te conozco," he responded knowingly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

With a dramatic flair, you continued, "Fine. Since you won't let me take you in my mouth, can you please fuck me instead?"

He chuckled, his laughter filling the air. "Ah, no. Not yet anyway."

"What do you mean 'not yet'?" You asked with an arched brow.

"Not yet." He smirked. "And A, we're not just fucking, we're going to make love, and B, I need to get you prepared before I'm inside you." 

"Oh, come on!" You whined in annoyance. "But I'm dripping!"

You sighed quietly as you planned your next step. He's not going to cave, is he? You complained in your head. "And I already came once!" you added, hoping to sway him with your argument.

With an unwavering focus, he responded his tone a mixture of firmness and love. "It'll only take a minute."

Your pout deepened as you tried one last attempt at persuasion, "But Dave..."

"No." He replied stubbornly.

"Pleaseeee…." you plead, touching his thigh seductively before he stopped your hand from going further.

He met your gaze, his determination firm. "Sorry, love."

Resigned to his decision, you sighed in defeated acceptance. "Alright, but just some quick fingering, got it?" you conceded.

He nodded eagerly. "Yeah, okay, you're in charge."

You gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. "You can never let me have any fun."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," He shrugged with a smile.

With a mock scowl, you muttered under your breath, "Hijo de-" but before you could complete your sentence, Dave swiftly scooped you up from his lap, his strong arms encircling your body, and threw you onto the bed.

Your back met the softness of the mattress, and a burst of laughter escaped your lips as you gazed up at Dave.                                                                                                                                                   

“That wasn’t funny." Dave chuckled, sitting next to your body and rubbing his thumb tenderly over your bottom lip.

You gave him a pointed look. "Yeah, well, you're a real asshole."

"Awe, c'mon baby. You’re calling your husband an asshole when all he wants to do is please you?"

A playful pout formed on your lips as you crossed your arms. "Well, I've been begging my husband to make love to me, but all he wants to do is tease me." You playfully complained, your words dancing between frustration and desire.

You could feel Dave's dick twitch with excitement. Ha, I’m getting there! you thought, realizing that a little more convincing would push him to the brink, granting you the long-awaited pleasure of feeling him deep inside you. 

"Here, feel how ready I am," you whispered, guiding his hand between your parted thighs.

His fingers glided over your moist folds, their touch igniting an electric surge of pleasure that rippled through your body. You moaned lightly, your body beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

"Jesus Christ, you're fucking soaked."

You smiled happily. "I am, and it's all because of you, my love." You confessed.

Fuck, she is ready. She'll be a tight fit, but she takes me, my perfect girl always does he thought. "Maybe I should change our plans. I mean, if you really want me to make love to you, we can go straight to sex.” 

"Really?" You asked hopefully, a hint of hope shining in your eyes. 

His response came swiftly, his voice full of adoration, “Yeah, my girl gets anything she wants."

He continued to rub your clit and stroke your pussy, your breathing became heavier.

"Good, because I've wanted this for so long," you moaned. "I want you inside me, Dave"

Your husband kissed you passionately, then asked, "How do you want me?"

"However you want." 

Dave sat on his knees and looked down at you with lust in his eyes, "On your back, just like this, baby, but scoot up a little." He demanded.

Eagerly, you obeyed his order, swiftly shifting up the bed until your head nestled into the softness of the pillows. With anticipation coursing through your veins, you spread your legs open, inviting him to take his place between them.

A smile of satisfaction curved his lips as he admired your form. "That's my good girl," he praised.

You gasped quite loudly as he gripped his length in his hand and placed the tip of his thick cock at your tight entrance. 

Oh, fuck! The pressure, mmm… he already feels good and it’s only the tip. But of course, it feels like this, it’s my D-

“Dave!” You wail loudly.

Dave couldn't help but press his lips against yours. Throughout these kisses, he kept pushing his hips forward, slowly and surely splitting apart your tight pussy with his dick. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” Dave grunted. “I thought- uh- I thought you said you were wet enough.”

"I am!"

"N-no," he stuttered. "I'm gonna have to pull out and prep you some more"

Immediately you crossed your legs around his waist, "No, Dave! Please, stay inside me! I can take it!" 

“Relax, baby, I’ll stay.” Dave stilled and reached down to your clit and played with you to encourage you to open up. 

He kept his cock inside your tight pussy while he teased you with his fingers. He felt your body open up and pushed more of him inside.

"Ah…faster, please, my love, move!"

Dave chuckled at how much you wanted him, then obeyed, slowly moving deeper. His grin turned into his jaw slacking as he felt the immense pleasure run through his veins. Shit, I’m splitting her open and she’s taking it like a good girl. 

He was resisting the need to fuck every inch of his cock into your perfect pussy. He had to remind himself, Gentle, gentle, Dave. She loves it rough, but…ah…now’s not the time. She needs to feel your love, before your quote-on-quote trip. You dumbass, you just had to take that job, and now you’ve hurt her by leaving. So you better not hurt her tonight.

“You feel so good, my love. So perfect… uh…I love you. I love you.” Dave moaned.

“Love you! I l-love you! You’re so good to… ah…to me.” You cried out as your entire pussy began to throb.

When he did begin to take you deep, all you were capable of doing was lying there with your legs spread open and taking his cock as he repeatedly thrusted into you. 

“O-oh, nngh, god, y-you feel good, mmm, so g-good inside me.” You panted.

"Fuck y-yeah, you do too, baby," Dave grunted.

“Ah! Ah, m-mierd-aaa… you’re so deep, Dave… feels so good!” He’s so deep…Oh! I’m dripping all over him.

As you clutched to the sheets, you cried out broken versions of Dave's name. 

The friction at your entrance felt incredible as Dave began to move his hips forward. While resisting the urge to close your eyes, you melted against the bed. Ah, don't close your eyes. Look at him!

He worked your bodies to the point of exhaustion, each roll of his hips igniting the passion that consumed you both. As the intensity grew, Dave took one of your hands in his and intertwined your fingers. In the midst of the mind-blowing sex, he kept declaring his love for you and praising you for being such a good girl and taking everything he gave you.

“Dave! A-Ah! Ah, ah! Deeper please!” you cried out squeezing his fingers

Dave complied with your plea, filling your body with more of him, pushing himself to his hilt. You screamed out, gripping his hand tightly.

When his tip kissed your g-spot, you became a mess sputtering incoherent moans.

“¡A-allí! Yes!”

Dave groaned in response to the noises you made, loving how he brought you to this state.

As your bodies became one, Dave pulled your hands above your head and held them tight, keeping you from pulling away or moving at all. You knew he was holding you so tightly because he feared that this would be the last night you could be together like this. 

You felt immense sadness at the thought of this being your last night with Dave, and a tear ran down your cheek. Dave slowed down to kiss away your single tear, then asked, "Why the tear, baby?

You knew he knew the reason you were crying, but you couldn't bring yourself to say it, so you ignored his question and focused on your other feelings. "I-I-I can't… nngh… feel my legs, and it's so good, oh…" You whimpered. 

I shouldn’t have said that. He’s going to want to stop. "No pares, por favor." You begged.

"Fuck!" Dave yelled as he thrusted into you hard. "I won't stop, baby, I promise. I'll never stop loving you, baby," he panted, thrusting into you with more force, "Fuck, I love you," he gasped. "I love you so fucking much; I can't live without you."

"I love you too, Dave, so much." You whimper.

He gently released your hands, allowing his fingers to trail along your stomach, a tender touch that makes the coil in your stomach threaten to snap. "When I come back," he promised, his voice laced with determination and tenderness, "I'll give you those babies we've always wanted."

"Yes!" You exclaimed, unable to contain the ecstasy you felt at the sound of his words. "I want to have your babies, Dave!"

He bit his lip and he fucked you even faster and harder, your pussy tightening around his cock.

“You’re going to be beautiful pregnant, baby,” he said, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, causing the two of you to scream in pleasure, “So fucking beautiful...” 

Yesyesyes! I want his babies! You repeated in your head unable to vocalize your thoughts.

Dave was on top of you now, kissing you passionately, his body flushes against yours, his hips thrusting into you with more force than before. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer.

"Ohhhhh, oh fuck!" He growled as he pounded harder into you.

"I-I'm gonna cum!" you screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders. Dave went harder and faster, feeling your pussy clench around him. "Ohhhh," you squealed.

Dave groaned loudly as he felt the pressure from your silky walls on his cock.

“Uh…You're so fucking tight, baby. C’mon… mmm… cum for m-me.” 

You could feel it coming and your moans became louder, his words igniting the fire within you.

"Oh god, oh god, Dave! Aaah!" You came with a loud cry.

Dave began thrusting in and out furiously, moaning each time his cock was buried to the hilt. He grunted as he held his orgasm back, wanting to last longer. He kissed you deeply as you scratched his back and moaned into his mouth.

He fiercely spat out, "Oh, shit!” as soon as he felt your pussy milking his cock and a surge of your hot cum coating his cock, he lost control.

He shuddered and warned, "I'm gonna… uh, I'm gonna fucking c-cum," in a strained voice as he felt the familiar tingling sensation in his balls.

"Cum inside me, Dave, give me your cum!” You pleaded desperately.

Your husband let out a deep growl and released inside you, thrusting hard as his cum filled you.

"Fuck! Ahh! I love you!" He moaned loudly.

“Teamoteamo…” You panted as he rode out his orgasm. 

He continued to pump you full of his cum, the hot liquid filling you up to the brim. You were overwhelmed with pleasure as you felt your husband's warm seed fill you, his cock still buried deep within you. Mmmm… I love when he comes inside me. Fuck, he came so much. 

Dave thrusted several more times but soon came down from his high. He pulled out of you and both of you shivered and moaned at the feeling of his cock leaving your body. He looked down at his work and saw that your thighs were wet with your own juices.

"We look good together. I wonder if we taste better?" He mused playfully.

"I'm getting tired of tasting my pussy on your tongue." You joked, sitting up on the bed.

"I'm not," Dave replied. To prove his point, he brought his index and middle fingers to your dripping cunt, scooping out your combined cum. With a devilish grin, he brought his fingers to his lips, savoring the taste.

"Mmmm, so good," he hummed, his satisfaction evident in his expression. "C'mon, don't you want a taste?" he teased, knowing you wouldn't be able to resist.

You nodded and opened your mouth.

The sweet tang flooded your mouth and you moaned. The moment he put his thick fingers on your tongue, you began sucking greedily onto it. He’s right, mmm, we always taste so good together…

He continued the motion until all traces of cum were gone from his fingers. 

"I'm sorry I went too hard on you," Dave's voice filled with genuine concern as he held your gaze, his brown eyes filled with remorse.

You reach out to caress his face, "It was perfect, Dave. It's always perfect with you." He leaned into your hand, pressing a tender kiss against your palm.

"Te amo." He whispered.

"Yo te amo más," you replied, your voice filled with a playful hint of competition.

"Let's agree to disagree because I don't want to debate with you right now." He teased, the same playful glimmer in his eyes.

"No? And what do you want to do with me right now?" You ask, a mischievous smile gracing your lips.

"I want to have my wife again, duh!" he exclaimed, his tone laced with amusement as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Laughter bubbled from deep within you, but suddenly you remembered- "The cookies!" You exclaimed, a hint of panic in your voice.

"The cookies?" 

"I left them in the oven, but they're going to get cold!" You explained, feeling a sense of urgency.

"I'll go get them," Dave offered, standing up and moving towards the door.

"And while I'm gone, for cookies, go pee." He playfully teased.

"Oh yeah, I'll go to the restroom soon. As soon as my limbs stop shaking," You subtly teased back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Dave chuckled, his confidence evident. "I did my job then." He replied, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

You gave him a knowing look, your words laced with playful affection. "Use the gloves, and there's a bowl of lemon glaze on the counter, so just grab a spoon and drizzle it on the cookies. They're Lemon Blueberry, by the way."

The mention of blueberries brought a smile to his face. This man really loves blueberries, doesn't he? You thought to yourself. “I love blueberries.” He whispers and you have to stifle a laugh.

"We'll eat our cookies, and then we're going again, deal? And this time, I’ll last longer, I promise." Dave proposed the mischievousness in his voice evident.

"Of course, and Dave?" You paused, your voice filled with tenderness.

"Yes, my love?" He replied, his attention fully focused on you.

"I love you." You declared, your voice filled with sincerity.

"I love you too. I'll be back soon." He reassured you. With those words, he exited the bedroom, and a few seconds later, you heard his voice echoing from the hallway, "I have to go get cookies!" He called out, making you giggle in response.

Spanish translations: 

Hice unas galletas de limón = I made some lemon cookies

Mm-mierda! = Sh-shit!

Verg-ahh, Amor = Fuc-k, love

Limpiecita = All clean 

Todo un experto = quite an expert

Sabes que haría cualquier cosa por ti. = You know I’d do anything for you

I know mi esposo, and that’s why te mereces una recompensa. ¿Te parece? = I know my husband, and thats why you deserve a reward. What do you think?

Ya te conozco = I already know you…

Hijo de- = Son of a-

M-mierd-aaa = S-shi-t

A-allí! = T-there!

No pares, por favor. = Don’t stop, please

Teamoteamo = IloveyouIloveyou

Te amo = I love you

Yo te amo más = I love you more

Extended note: As I mentioned in my initial post, I have been writing fanfiction for a long time. However, I recently decided to start sharing some of my work. English is my third language, and while I have experience writing and publishing grants, research papers, proposals, and so on, it’s nothing compared to fanfiction and erotica. Also, I have always had a team to revise my work, so this is definitely outside of my comfort zone. With this being said, I apologize for any and all mistakes because if I read this over, I’ll overthink and not post.

I don't know when the next part will be up because I like to create dividers and the image displayed at the top of the post. I'm not quite sure what to call it—Collage-like manner gifs? Banner? Oh, and I'm horrible at graphic design, so it took me an embarrassing amount of time to create the ones included here. 

If you've read this far, thank you, and have a great day 🤎

Please feel free to comment and reblog! (If you would like to, of course :)

#dave york x female reader #dave york smut #dave york #dave york x reader #the equalizer 2 #pedro pascal fanfiction #not rpf #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #dave york imagine #dave york fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike x female reader #well. eventually #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

[morallyinept]

A list of all my favourite AGENT WHISKEY Fic Recs, with the writers tagged. Includes fics I am currently reading/want to read.

PART 1

Please show some love to the writers by re-blogging and commenting on their work. 🖤

⚠️ Please ensure you check the triggers/warnings etc... on the stories themselves as some of them may not be suitable to your own particular tastes.

Palomino Series - @fuckyeahdindjarin Ranch Cowboy AU

Cupcake - @ezrasbirdie CarSalesman!Jack

Salty Caramel - @iamskyereads

The Laundry Room - @lowlights

Writings On The Wall - @thetriumphantpanda

Better Than Flowers & Taste Of Sugar - @palioom

Double Whiskey On The Rocks - @ghostofaboy OMC

Cognitive Dissonance Series & Decoherence Series @prolix-yuy Westworld AU

Honey-Honey, How You Thrill Me - @lukas-matsson

Move Me, Baby Series - @psychedelic-ink Stripper!Jack

Million Dollar Man Series - @psychedelic-ink Featuring Frankie Morales

Stellar Riders, Afternoon Sun & Happy Accidents - @psychedelic-ink

Snap Out Of It - @psychedelic-ink RockStar!Jack

Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy) - @deardjarin

Social Cues - @fooled-around-and-fell

Heartless Series - @creedslove

Ride Me, Cowboy - @odetodilfs M!Reader

Surprise, Surprise - @pedropascallme Daddy!Whiskey

Good Time, Sugar - @ninebluehearts

Birthday Wishes - @absurdthirst

Finding The Right Note - @absurdthirst CountrySinger!Jack

Southern Comfort - @missredherring

Baby, It's Cold Outside - @guess-my-next-obsession

Daddy Whiskey Masterlist - @whiskeynwriting

Hold On Tight, Sugar - @l0ngschl0ngking

Come Back To Me - @agentwhiskeysdarlin

Playing Pretend - @bluebeary-jay

I'm Your Wife Series - @loslentesdepedrito Featuring Javier Peña

Ride Cowgirl - @lincolndjarin

What Happens In Vegas - @wildemaven

Play With Me - @infinity-mars

What A View - @venturawriter

Chick At A Rick Concert - @lahooozaherr

Sweet As Sugar - @lis-likes-fics

Need You Now - @lady-djarin

Finally Home - @second-axis-point M!Reader

Tied By Your Apron Strings - @stardustandskycrystals

Gunslinger - @javier-pena

Positive Reinforcement - @ravensmadreads

Cabin Fever - @oogaboogasphincter

Shaken Not Stirred - @haylzcyon

Bull Ride - @palioom

Yoga - @heyhilana

Go Ahead & Cry Little Girl - @xdaddysprincessxx

Fingers Of Whiskey - @julesonrecord

The House Series - @gemmahale

Sugar, You're Worth The Pain - @epicrainbowsheep

Sugar - @corruptedfool

Forever Series - @wildemaven

Agent Whiskey Cowboytober Masterlist - @anabdaniels

#Rpedro pascal characters #fic recs #agent whiskey #agent whiskey jack daniels #jack daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels x reader #whiskey jack daniels #kingsmen golden circle #kingsmen agent whiskey #statesman #agent whiskey cowboy #pedro pascal cowboys #pedro pasck character fics #pedro pascal universe