October 31st, 1920

The air was warm, laden with the scent of sweet cinnamon and heady cempasuchil. It was a balm to the man's weary senses and aching body, frayed with the frequent rush of incoming work orders leading up to today and the labor required to meet them. After all, it was common knowledge that despite his prowess in shoemaking, and the good money he made doing so throughout the year, Imelio Rivera never worked through a holiday. Holiday was time to be spent of your family, or those as close to you as family. People wanted their orders in and finished before Dia de los Muertos began.

Taking another deep breath, relishing in the crisp taste of cinnamon spice and flowers on his tongue, Imelio looked up from the book he had been reading. It was so difficult to focus on the words printed on the page when every time he looked up, he was greeted with a vision so perfect that not even the wildest, most fanciful novel could draw his attention away for long. He set the book aside, bookmark marking his page.

Helene glided across the room in graceful, swan-like twirls. Her skirt flared around her in great swaths of fabric, similar to how a blooming flowers petals spread to touch the sun. Her footsteps were light and airy as she danced, and cradled in her arms was their most precious blessing of all. Their cherished Socorro was giggling as her mother held her close and they danced around the room, small arms and tiny hands flung around the woman's neck. He could remember back to when she was a newly born infant, swaddled in a blanket and wailing with a red face and the barest hint of the dark hair inherited from her parents. Had it really been two years, almost three, since they had welcomed their daughter into this world?

His wife was radiant, as though God himself has seen her crafted from the first rays of sunlight that marked the coming of dawn, the first light which kissed the clouds of heaven. Perhaps it was just his bias speaking, but that made it no less true. Despite what many people in Santa Cecilia had to say about Helene, and the scandal that came of him marrying her on account of her low birth, at the very least even her rivals grudgingly acknowledged that 'the girl' was at least somewhat charming, if not in personality and looks, then it was her voice. The most vicious, pettiest of them said her looks and voice were her only charm.

Watching her now, the way she so tenderly held Coco to her bosom, Imelio believed that home was where she was the most radiant, most charming. It sent thoughts of all others and what they thought away from him. In his eyes, there was only her and their home, the shared world they'd created. Something primitive purred darkly in the depths his chest, a second heartbeat curling with satisfaction that only he was able to see Helene like this, a precious jewel without price, one beyond comparison to all others, and furthermore, he was the one in her marriage bed. The pleasant smugness that filled him at the thought was almost unbearable, though no one but Helene and the most persistent of her paltry suitors had ever seen it. Paired with a cutting, vicious smirk thrown over his shoulder, they rather quickly understood that Helene was his just as much as he belonged to her.

Continuing to watch his wife, he basked in her presence. She was even more resplendent in the auspicious glow of flickering candlelight. Her hair was bound up in braids, interwoven with cream colored ribbons that matched her dress, and secured in place with nearly unnoticeable pins, to all but the one who had helped placed them. Her hair had felt like silk as he had brushed it, styled it, felt it slip through his fingers - and if it took a bit longer than usual for them to get ready for the day, well, that was no one else's business. It shone like midnight in the dimming evening against the candles glow.

It cast her form in shades of gold and amber, and from time to time when she glanced at him, it made her eyes appear as depth-less as the sea, as though he could sink into her gaze for days and years and drown because he didn't realize or want to resurface for air. The was a flash of gold, rebounding off her wedding ring as she reached up one hand to smooth down Coco's hair. Its matching counterpart rested on his ring finger, and he watched as Helene's eyes went from Coco, to her ring, to Imelio's ring, and then...her gaze slid from his hand, up his arm, and fixated itself on his face. Their eyes met in unspoken conversation. Imelio could feel his heart beat a bit faster in his chest as her lips curled with an undeniable allure that spoke of near unimaginable ardor. Something wicked glinted in her eyes, and Imelio felt the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. It spoke of a promise made, one to be kept, and a near hedonistic desire.

For all that Helene appeared angelic, she was far closer to a minx than a saint. Even so, he would gladly worship her every day for the rest of his life. If that made him a sinner, he'd gladly continue to wallow in his sin. He loved her. It was an all-consuming tempest, an untamed conflagration of passion that made the fires of hell itself seem meager and pitiful. Sometimes, he couldn't believe that he had been blessed, so heavily blessed by God, to earn the right to marry such a woman. To have her carry her child, to have a child born from a union of love and not the name of social advancement. Their precious baby girl. It was a bonus to him, that the manner of child-making, love-making, was so pleasurable to them both.

Surely, this was the greatest happiness a man could achieve in life, the purest happiness one could attain during their mortal existence. His heart was so full, of bliss and adoration and a sense of peace, that he felt it was about to burst each day he carried it in his chest and woke with Helene next to him. She was, next to his twin brothers and beloved daughter, the most precious person to him.

A feather-light touch brushed over his shoulder. Helene had stopped twirling now, and watched her husband with such arduousness woven into her expression that it made his heart ache. Coco was yawning, rubbing at her eyes and struggling to stay awake despite laying her head down on her mother's shoulder, quickly drifting off into the land of dreams. "A peso for your thoughts, my dear husband?" She purred, and he knew then that he wasn't imagining that licentious look to her eyes. Her voice was low and husky, the scent of her perfume lingering around them both like a seductive miasma intent on capturing him, from his soul and mind, to his heart and body.

After all, this day - this holiday - was very special to the both of them, beyond what the rest of society was already celebrating.

Standing from his chair, Imelio pulled her close to him, careful not to disturb the slumbering Coco. The scent of roses he had quickly grown to associate with Helene mingled with the scent of cempasuchil. It was intoxicating, and pulling her even closer to him, it was all Imelio could do to breathe and not just drown himself in her scent. There was no escape anyway. All of the hacienda, all of Santa Cecilia itself, was paved with cempasuchil and lit aglow by candles. Of course, the candles were all kept out of Coco's reach, and Pepita knew very well to keep away from the flames.

Imelio caressed her cheek with his thumb and leaned close to her, pressing a slow kiss to her lips. It was reverent, filled with as many emotions as there are unseen stars in the skies and spirits of the deceased roaming the streets. When he pulled away, Helene seemed stunned breathless by her desire. Whereas before, it had been an easily restrained flame, it was quickly escalating to dragon proportions. He recognized that expression. The tip of her tongue, a tantalizing rosebud pick, darted out from between her lips to wet them as if they had gone try.

A smirk, slow as honey and luminous as the sun itself, crossed his lips. "I'm counting my blessings, my wife." His voice lowered to a deep rumble in his chest, one he saw her visibly shiver with as it ran through her, sank through her skin, and pushed her to lean even further into his grasp like an invisible fishing line. Her lips parted with a silent gasp, and she pouted at him very slight. He could almost hear her as though she spoke aloud. How rude of you, knowing I can't handle myself when you sound like that! His smirk widened, almost childlike in it's glee, as though to tease her. Like what?

Her cheeks flushed minutely, and he knew that she knew what he wanted her to 'say' to him. Her lips quivered as though she wanted to speak, and she looked askance, flushing even brighter as she tried to articulate her thoughts and convey what she wanted to say without speaking. Her eyes darted to Coco...and she gave it up as a lost cause. So quietly, as though to keep Coco from hearing, she turned her head and put her lips close to his ear as she spoke.

"Like you want to devour me."

Her voice trailed off as little more than a whisper, caught at the end as their lips met again in a deeper, infinitely softer kiss. These kisses were a drug, just barely skirting the line between proper and indecent behavior. Before it could go any further between them, a kittenish mewl led to them pulling away. Coco stirred, and straightened herself a little. With sleep-blurred eyes, she looked at her parents. Finally, she turned to her mother. "Papa's not a wolf, so there's no way he can eat Mama."

Helene, with lips growing bruised from the kiss exchange, laughed merrily at her daughter's comment. The somewhat awkward, embarrassed air that had taken hold of the room cleared as the family matriarch gave the child a luminous smile. "So it is, mi corazon. But I think it's time for you to go to bed. Look at you, with such big yawns!" She exclaimed, and lightly tapped the girl's nose with her finger when the toddler began to whine. "Ah, ah, ah! As a compromise, Papa and I will tell you the story of a real wolf who tried to eat a little girl."

Coco watched her with wide dark eyes. "Really?" She gasped, leaning forward in her mother's grasp. "Really." Her mother smiled as she always did, and Imelio felt his own desire coiling in wait in the pit of his stomach. He could wait. If only for Coco, he could wait. "My special lullaby too?" This time, she looked to both of her parents for confirmation. Imelio placed a reassuring hand on her head. "Si, Coco. Just for you." The girl paused for a moment, ruminating on what she'd been told. Over head, Imelio and Helene shared soft, childish grins with each other. Their baby girl. After a few seconds, Coco looked up at them with a beaming, but sleepy, grin. "Okay!"

Twenty minutes later, Coco was tucked into bed and once more drifting off to sleep. Her mother, and then her father, leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, each with a parting of sweet dreams and good nights. Cuddled up with her doll beneath the comforter, Coco called out to her parents once more before sleep overcame her again, her words interlaced with a great yawn. "Happy...Dia de los Muertos, Mama and Papa." Snuggling into her blankets, she was out like a light before her words even reached their ears.

Helene, who stood in the doorway with her hand on the knob, smiled very softly into the dark room. "A very happy Dia de los Muertos to you too, dear Coco." Quietly, she swung the door shut behind her. Her breath stilled for a moment as Imelio's hands snaked around her stomach from behind, sliding down to rest on her waist. Her head tilted back, resting against his shoulder as his lips began marking a path down the smooth expanse of her throat. The heat of his palms easily seeped through her dress, the corset, and even her chemise as though no barrier existed between skin to skin contact.

Her hand was frozen on the doorknob, mind pleasantly distracted by the feel of her husband's body heat, his hands and lips on her. Her hands, so small compared to his, came to rest over the smooth knuckles and long fingers. "Happy Dia de los Muertos, Imelio..." A deep, roiling groan rose from his chest and past his lips as she shifted her weight back slightly, just enough for him to feel the pressure of her body weight over his. That soft smile from before grew into a coy grin as Imelio rasped out a plea nearly inaudible, meant solely for her ears.

"Come to bed, Helene... Please." He pressed her even tighter into his embrace, so closely that she could feel his arousal at her back. That familiar ache for intimacy with her husband spread throughout her body, loosening her tongue. What harm could teasing him a little do? Playing innocent, she unraveled herself from his grasp, waltzing away with quick steps as she reached up to pull her hair loose from its pins and ribbons and braids. Imelio whimpered, audibly whimpered, a growl smothered in its infancy before it could disturb anyone, at the loss of contact and the sight of her hair spilling down her shoulders as she strode to their room, dropping the pins and ribbons into her dress pockets.

Looking over her shoulder, she smirked at him. "It's rude not to reply, dear." She crooned. She was blessed, irrefutably blessed, to have this man as her husband. He was steadfast in his belief and actions, unafraid even when was outmatched, never outclassed, so sharp and witty and vicious - hardworking to boot. Who wouldn't be honored to have his ring on their finger? Leaning against the wall as he was now, it was undeniable that as well as having a powerful personality, he was handsome too. Dressed in dark trousers and a white button-up shirt with long sleeves, eyes lit with the flame of lust, Imelio was glorious. Anyone who saw him would know he was man of wealth, not just material, but of all matters. It was in the way he carried himself, held those he loved so dearly...

Glorious was a pitiful, meager title to grant him, but how could she, a mere mortal woman, put into words the best of her husband's character when no such words existed in any mortal tongue? It was impossible to do, and left her yearning for his touch all the more. To convey to him in action what could not be spoken in words. Taking in a fortifying breath of air, Imelio began taking rapid strides towards her, his long legs eating the distance between them gluttonously. His eyes burned as he took her hand, gently as though she were a flower that would break in the slightest gale of wind.

His voice was slow and unhurried, a casual pace despite being heavily laden with so many emotions it made her heart beat a little faster in her chest. "Happy Dia de los Muertos, Helene." If Imelio had been born with cat ears and a tail, they'd be swishing back and forth in anticipation.

They disappeared into their room in record time, the door locking behind them with the faintest click of a turning key.

Later that night, basking in the afterglow of their activities, Imelio pulled Helene close to him. Her skin, smooth and supple beneath his lips as he pressed kisses across the firm lines of her collarbone, tasted of sweat and salt even after they had wiped each other down with cloth. "I'll love you beyond the day I die." He breathed, arms wrapped around her so tightly there was scarcely any room for either of them to breathe. Their foreheads touched as he willingly drowned himself in her eyes, and she in his.

Her fingers still trembled with the echo of ecstasy as they carded through his hair. "Through Life, Through Death, Beyond Eternity, so too do I swear I love you." She breathed. He leaned down to kiss her, fingers intertwined. Her voice was soft as she recalled her wedding vow to him, a vow from before they married and had first given themselves to each other anyway.

"Happy Anniversary, mi amor."

HAPPY OCTOBER 31st!

I headcanon that Imelio and Helene first slept together on Dia de los Muertos in 1916, which to them was basically an unofficial marriage to each other, making October 31 1920 their anniversary of four years, though you don't have to take this as canon. Not sure how much of a part it would play if i do make it canon. Tried to make it sexy and romantic with a cute side of baby Coco. On AO3, I'll probably post this to the main story first, and then republish it as it's own work in a series related to the main story.