#i have a lot of ’it works’ builds but only like one solid one which is awkward but not the worst thing

[lightyaoigami]

☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ how to resume ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ

after 10 years & 6 jobs in corporate america, i would like to share how to game the system. we all want the biggest payoff for the least amount of work, right?

know thine enemy: beating the robots

i see a lot of misinformation about how AI is used to scrape resumes. i can't speak for every company but most corporations use what is called applicant tracking software (ATS).

no respectable company is using chatgpt to sort applications. i don't know how you'd even write the prompt to get a consumer-facing product to do this. i guarantee that target, walmart, bank of america, whatever, they are all using B2B SaaS enterprise solutions. there is not one hiring manager plinking away at at a large language model.

ATS scans your resume in comparison to the job posting, parses which resumes contain key words, and presents the recruiter and/or hiring manager with resumes with a high "score." the goal of writing your resume is to get your "score" as high as possible.

but tumblr user lightyaoigami, how do i beat the robots?

great question, y/n. you will want to seek out an ATS resume checker. i have personally found success with jobscan, which is not free, but works extremely well. there is a free trial period, and other ATS scanners are in fact free. some of these tools are so sophisticated that they can actually help build your resume from scratch with your input. i wrote my own resume and used jobscan to compare it to the applications i was finishing.

do not use chatgpt to write your resume or cover letter. it is painfully obvious. here is a tutorial on how to use jobscan. for the zillionth time i do not work for jobscan nor am i a #jobscanpartner i am just a person who used this tool to land a job at a challenging time.

the resume checkers will tell you what words and/or phrases you need to shoehorn into your bullet points - i.e., if you are applying for a job that requires you to be a strong collaborator, the resume checker might suggest you include the phrase "cross-functional teams." you can easily re-word your bullets to include this with a little noodling.

don't i need a cover letter?

it depends on the job. after you have about 5 years of experience, i would say that they are largely unnecessary. while i was laid off, i applied to about 100 jobs in a three-month period (#blessed to have been hired quickly). i did not submit a cover letter for any of them, and i had a solid rate of phone screens/interviews after submission despite not having a cover letter. if you are absolutely required to write one, do not have chatgpt do it for you. use a guide from a human being who knows what they are talking about, like ask a manager or betterup.

but i don't even know where to start!

i know it's hard, but you have to have a bit of entrepreneurial spirit here. google duckduckgo is your friend. don't pull any bean soup what-about-me-isms. if you truly don't know where to start, look for an ATS-optimized resume template.

a word about neurodivergence and job applications

i, like many of you, am autistic. i am intimately familiar with how painful it is to expend limited energy on this demoralizing task only to have your "reward" be an equally, if not more so, demoralizing work experience. i don't have a lot of advice for this beyond craft your worksona like you're making a d&d character (or a fursona or a sim or an OC or whatever made up blorbo generator you personally enjoy).

and, remember, while a lot of office work is really uncomfortable and involves stuff like "talking in meetings" and "answering the phone," these things are not an inherent risk. discomfort is not tantamount to danger, and we all have to do uncomfortable things in order to thrive. there are a lot of ways to do this and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. not everyone can mask for extended periods, so be your own judge of what you can or can't do.

i like to think of work as a drag show where i perform this other personality in exchange for money. it is much easier to do this than to fight tooth and nail to be unmasked at work, which can be a risk to your livelihood and peace of mind. i don't think it's a good thing that we have to mask at work, but it's an important survival skill.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ good luck ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ｡⋆

#i don't know what to tag this lmao #job hunting #resume writing tips

[m1d-45]

i would share my builds but. i’m gonna be honest i just go with vibes. weapon would look pretty with certain character? it’s theirs now. artifacts seem even slightly useful regardless of whether or not they’re the most efficient set? slap those bitches on. i play genshin like i play pokemon: with my favorites and while pressing as many buttons as possible until the enemy dies - teddy anon

OH YOU JUST LIKE ME FR FR

kazuha has the isshin sword even though i have an aquila favonia cause that goes to kaeya who i built because i like him, even when he did lower damage. i run kazuha as a dps even though he’s supposed to be support (i have a p well done diluc that does more normal attack damage but.. kazuha :] and kukis supposed to be like a hyperbloom driver i think but i have her as healer. my baizhu is currently using her set cause i like the burn reaction (w benny, who i still haven’t built properly (just a ton of er for burst stuff) and only use for pyro applications lmao) even though he’s supposed to be like. a sub dps. he and kuki probably work well together but i can’t hear that over the sound of my burst support childe who ran freeze with kaeya for an embarrassing amount of my early abyss runs. i still haven’t attempted floor twelve and unless i get my shit together i don’t think i will. strategy i hardly know her, i just go “unga bunga men pretty” and that got me to ar 57. i have yet to level my mona despite her being a great support (she does have a r5 dragons tales for when i want childe to look pretty against the pyro flower but that’s it) and my xingqiu still doesn’t have good artifacts. my team ‘comps’ are “dps dps.2 sub dps/applicator healer” and i have not strayed from this in my entire time playing. chongyun is objectively bad for my current playstyle but that has not stopped me from trying. i will get a freeze team with him xingqiu and maybe kaeya if it kills me

#m1d : [chats] #teddy anon #woo lotta tags watch out #this got long but i. feel a lot about this game #i have a lot of ’it works’ builds but only like one solid one which is awkward but not the worst thing #‘jack of all trades master of none; still better than a master of one’ right #(i didn’t use my fully built diluc for the longest time except when grinding cryo flower (chongyun) cause i don’t like overloaded) #(i have a kazuha.) #(and regularly cringe when he isn’t on my team) #ngl it’s embarrassing how dependent i am on kaz. he’s not there i don’t know how to get the enemies together. what do. #before him it was heizou and his burst and before that it was aether and his skill/burst #me when anemo amirite (has a lv 20 jean and sayu i haven’t touched in ages) #that’s a lie sayu helps w crystalflies and unusual hillichurls #and diluc does go on both of those trips too #unrelated but there’s a bird like three feet away from me #just. walkin about. you go little guy i hope you get all the worms (it’s well into the afternoon) #unrelated x2 but i have an au for a piece of media i like and it’s so annoying that only i and like one other person know about it. cringe. #please i want to consume fan content of my au but i’m the oNLY FAN IT SUCKS #birds back. hey guy. wanna hear about my [it technically spans three fandoms oh lord] au? #i do think this is a low point in my life #like i’ll go to be judged and the guy’ll go ‘you made these three medias touch’ ‘they hold hands actually’ ‘why’ ‘funny’ #what do anime minecraft and marvel have in common? me baby #if there is no god to save you then you must make your own #fun fact i first wrote that like ten minutes ago and got a nosebleed right after #if there’s a god they certainly hate me. and that’s fair

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

It had been a long few minutes since he'd opened the door and there were a lot of questions running through Dick's head. Most pressing of which was how this kid seems to have information he should not have.

"How did you..?" he asked, but the words wouldn't leave completely. There's so much he wants to know, so much he wants to ask.

"How do I what?" Danny tilted his head like the child he seems to be is.

"How do you know?" Dick knows he sounds weak. There's no hiding that, but there are a lot of implications in what the kid has said so far and none of it is painting a very happy picture for him.

"Oh!" Danny had the audacity to smile, "You want to know how I know you moonlight as a vigilante!" And of course he knows. Dick knows he knows, but he'd held a little bit of hope that the child Danny was mistaken. Danny's smile softened a bit as he explained, "Your hair and voice match up in both jobs almost perfectly. Not to mention your build and how you hold yourself. There's also the matter of your overall vibes, but that's not something living beings can normally pick up on." Excuse him? "Well, not living humans, at least, so no worries on that end!"

"Excuse me?" Dick was fairly sure his heart just stopped beating for a moment there.

"Anyway, I was a hero back home for a while, too. I know what it's like to have to walk the tightrope between maintaining a civilian cover and a hero persona. I know how it feels to have to keep secrets from everyone because anyone who knows will be in danger." he rambled, Though, admittedly, our circumstances are quite different. I was working as a hero all hours of the day as well as going to school. You only have to worry about properly balancing between day and night jobs. Either way, me having more to bounce between just makes me al the more qualified to help you!"

Oh. Oh he did not like that. He didn't like a single thing that just came out of the kid's mouth. Because that's what he is, a kid. "Are you...Are you alright?"

"Not in the slightest," Danny admitted with an even smaller smile. Then, it brightened, not quite to a grin, but to something similar, "But I'm here to make sure you are."

He gets points for being honest, but Dick felt his heart shatter. He knew for a fact that he'd never worked with this kid before. He also knew that the Justice League didn't know about him. If they did, he would've been picked up and dropped with either the Young Justice team or the Titans.

Dick wasn't going to ask why he became a hero because that's not his place. It's more of a 'third mission with the team' kind of questions, anyway. Most of the heroes didn't have many options when they took up the mantle. Asking what Danny can do is a more appropriate question, but he wasn't going to ask that, either.

"Now that that's out of the way," Danny turned a few pages from the table of contents to another one that was topped with 'Why Sleep Scheduling Is Important' in the blue glitter pen that Dick was starting to suspect he favored. "You're not getting enough sleep. Following you around - no one's been able to find me for a while, so don't worry about that - for the last two weeks has given me some really worrisome information on you."

Dick was worrying. He was worrying a lot and even more questions were coming to the forefront of his mind.

"Your dayjob is as an officer on the Bludhaven Police Force, or BPD for short." He was looking over the page he'd turned to very aptly and Dick realized that the kid had notes written on him. "The average hours per week for police across the country is forty hours. Gotham and Bludhaven are the exceptions. As a member of the BPD, you work a solid two days and two hours. Six nights a week, you work as Nightwing from eight in the evening to three in the morning. The last day, you take off, which is good. No deserable pattern, so good on you for that. Regardless, that's seven hour nights and ten hour days, with one day off and one day on call as an officer. Seven hours are now left in your day for personal time, eating, and sleeping. That's not a healthy way to live."

Oh, god, the kid had honest to god notes on him! What the hell!

Danny didn't even skip a beat as he pulled Dick's attention back to him and his binder. "I've drawn up a schedule for you to follow." The back of the page had a meticulously drawn schedule, complete with blocks of time to eat, sleep, work both jobs, travel, personal time, and still have a bit extra left over. It was titled 'Ideal End Result' in green marker. "Drastic changes right away will only affect you negatively, so we're starting off smaller." The next page over had another schedule titled 'Where To Begin'. "I've only pulled one hour from your Nightwing hours because I know important that time is to you and the city. I am, however, going to be having you submit an appeal to your boss to cut back your hours from fifty a week to forty a week. That way, you'll only be working eight hours a day and not ten. You'll still be on call for one day, and you'll have that last day off. Altogether, you'll be going be going from working seventeen hours a day to fourteen hours a day. Nine in the morning to five in the afternoon, and eight in the evening to two in the morning. Not including breaks at work or travel time. It opens up a few more hours for you to sleep!"

"You really think the chief is going to pull back my hours?" Dick raised an eyebrow in question.

"He will if he knows what's good for him."

"You know I can arrest you for that threat, right?"

"Yeah, but you won't." And, damn it, he's right.

Although, there was now another thing he had to know. "How to you plan on enforcing this schedule of yours?"

Danny seemed to have been waiting for this. He got a gleam in his eye as he pulled a black folder from his bag, not breaking eye contact with Dick. He placed it on the table and pushed it across. "Congratulations, it's a boy."

Part 1 Part 3

#part 2 #please read part 1 #I had to redo a detail there to make something here make sense #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp dc crossover #dcxdp #danny phantom #dick grayson #dick needs a hug #dick needs sleep #danny's a hypocrite #work life balance #excelt it's being explained by a hypocrite 7 years younger than him #reverse adoption #is it really adoption if the kid shows up one day and just doesn't leave? #danny is going to make sure dick takes care if himself #good thing danny's sister and friends drilled this into his head #'this' being the importance of a proper work life balance #I maintain that Danny is a hypocrite #It's not adoption papers btw #It's a backstory

[bitchlessdino]

nobody's home (m)

Pairing: neighbor male nanny!seungcheol x afab maid!reader Genre:  smut, fluff towards the end Word count: 3.8k tags: working class au, mentions kids, big dick!Seungcheol, reader wears skirt and thong and panty hose, dom!seungcheol, brat!reader, rough sex, rough hair pulling and head movement, spitting and swallowing, heavy degradation kink, window sex, overstimulation, name calling (brat, slut, mr. choi), choking unprotected sex, breeding kink, cream pies Summary: Seungcheol and you have never crossed paths for long, but boy have you imagined it. Too preoccupied with your jobs working for some of the richest families in the city, you've sacrificed your grueling hours when you could've been fucked your brains out all this time. However, big risks come with big rewards when the holidays arrive. Then there's nobody home to stop you. author note: horny, horny, horny, that was the entire process writing all of this. i feel like i pulled this out one of my deepest most darkest horny moments bc why am i so into writing every part of this and thats so rare?? i enjoyed this alot, please enjoy guys and happy new year! its almost 2024 thats insane!!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @goblinvern @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic

You haven’t worked for this family all that long. Only long enough to realize the cute male nanny living in the house next door.

You've caught glimpses of him a handful of times on the lawn, overseeing the kids as they bask in the fresh air. His eyes sparkle like stars that lit the night sky and his smile outshines the opulence of this entire block of one-percenters. Witnessing that radiant smile aimed in your direction brightens your day each time. Without fail, you exchange polite greetings, accompanied by smiles and pleasant small talk, forming a delightful routine in your interactions.

As the housekeeper, you’ve had plenty of encounters while getting groceries, lawn or backyard parties, and windows. Lots of windows. You’d peer through when you’re cleaning, see him glance back at you, maybe sending you a wave as he’s mid-feeding the kid veggie tots. Your interactions with him were typically very brief and fleeting.

Now, there were no excuses. The holiday season is around the corner, and families in the neighborhood will soon be heading to the Alps, tropical destinations, or somewhere along those lines. That meant you’d be all alone in their mansion, much like someone else in the neighborhood.

You learn about it by seeing him at the grocery store. Trying not to get distracted by the loose-fitting dress shirt tucked in the waist of his trousers, you notice the little one he cares for rolls through the aisles full of toddler swagger in the shopping cart. You would gush at their delightful giggles if you didn’t find their caretaker so mind-numbingly distracting. 

With his broad shoulders, sturdy arms, and consistently solid build, you too would trust him with something so delicate and needy of attention. It was such a natural choice. However, the nearest option you had was, well, yourself.

He mentions that his employers preferred to keep their vacation exclusive to family, providing him with paid time off to use as he pleased. In turn, you mention being offered the same form of compensation, and am eternally grateful for such leniency. His expression sparks in piqued interest, briefly glancing at you before storing the hot chocolate package away in the cart. 

“Does that mean you’ll be away for the holidays?”

You muse at his question, fingers taking over your basket handle as he ponders on your response. A glimmer of optimism in his eyes beams in your direction, with a dimple etched deep in his cheek as he splays a hopeful smile. To which you answer jesterly, "Well, I hadn't implied that."

He softly chuckles, nudging you at the elbow, obviously trying to banger a proper answer. “Then tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a big house all alone during the holidays?”

His compliments delight you and warmth festers in your chest, greedy for more. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"

Seungcheol doesn’t have a moment to react as the child in the cart regains their energy. He shifts his gaze away momentarily and soon you escape his line of vision, seamlessly blending in amidst the bustling crowd of grocers. 

Returning to the residence, you linger by the largest window, offering a perfect view of Seungcheol dining during supper. It's a familiar scene, replaying like clockwork at the same hours each time. His silhouette in the warm glow of the neighbor's dining room becomes a sight with more to be desired, and you imagine a world where the divide doesn't exist. Staring in his eyes, you picture your entanglement. The heat of your bodies weaving together like threads in a tapestry, each bonded tightly, with only the power of shears to tear you apart.

His eyes reflect the same intensity, mentally undressing you down to the skin, making you his perfect canvas. He ponders the texture of your skin, your hair, and the sound you make when he tenderizes your flesh with his teeth. He wonders how full you feel between his fingers, or how sweet your nectar tastes. He can only envision the favor, the sensation, the warmth; holding the fantasy close to him like a secret taken to the grave.

That day would come soon enough.

Anticipating each passing hour of every day, you are elated by the promise of bidding farewell to your employers at the airport. You assure them of returning to a pristine home, meticulously cleaned from every nook and cranny. A grin, so expansive it borders on pain, graces your face, and there's a noticeable spring in your step as they fade into the depths behind the security checkpoints.

Without a moment's hesitation, you rush home, eager to connect with a kindred spirit just a few cobblestones away from your work residence. Judging by the expression in his eyes, it's clear he has fulfilled his responsibilities and bid farewell to his employers as well, eagerly awaiting your arrival. He grins at you, pleased to see you approach him.

“I see it that they made it to their flight safe?”

You hum in confirmation. “You would be seeing correctly. How did your family make it?”

"Quite smoothly," he answers nonchalantly, the dimple on his cheek sinking into a subtle but contented expression.

A palpable wave of relief releases from the depths of your lungs, and a chuckle escapes as you observe Seungcheol displaying a similar reaction. Even in the subzero temperatures, you sensed the fire of his gaze, unraveling your logical resolve and liquefying you into a puddle of your own arousal. In the depth of your gaze, he discerns your hopeful anticipation, one that matches his. “So, what are the plans for the rest of their absence?”

The corner of your lips can’t help the way lifts, smiling slyly back at him. “I’m sure you have some ideas.”

You thank the heavens every day they never reinstalled those security cameras. Utilize their vulnerability, you invite the neighbor’s nanny into their home, and the automatic door locks behind him. No use in holding back, he claims the lips swiftly, tasting need and rebellion on your tongue in a rough liplock.

His lips full and plush, they part to speak, but not with words. His tongue aligns with yours, only to tangle in incoherent mumbles that escape in between, yet communicate with you in perfect fluency. Much like the intimate gazes you share from the windows multiple times a day, the fervent kiss unfolding spoke more than the audible language ever could.

His hands work around your body, shoving off your coat and cardigan, abandoning them on the hardwood to slip his fingers beneath your shirt. A shallow breath leaves your lips and you rush him against you, planting yourselves against their pristinely white wall. The texture of the plaster digs into your backside, abrasive against your flesh and Seungcheol locks you in place by holding your thigh against his side.

“You don’t know how fucking bad I wanted to do this to you,” he growls into your kiss.

You let out a sultry chuckle, fiddling with his earlobe between the pads of your fingers. “You can say it out loud. Nobody’s home.”

He scoffs. “I said, I wanted to—“ he slams his hips against you, his cock bursting at the seams against your torso, “—fuck the living shit—“ he does so again, digging your sobbing clothed cunt with his solid thigh, “—out of this stupid, pretty cunt. That loud enough for you?”

You moan through your firm pressed lips, grinding against his steel hard thighs. “Just the perfect amount.”

In admiration, your hands roam over his body, and shamelessly rips off his dress shirt, hearing the buttons skip against the cool tile. He grunts at the sensation of the frigid air enveloping his broad stature as it pebbles goosebumps on his upper arms. Returning your savage gesture, his hand fingers through your hair and dragging it back to pin your head on the wall behind you, fisting handfuls of your locks. “That wasn’t very nice of you. Could’ve asked for permission at least first,” he snarls, baring his front teeth.

“Can’t help it,” you grin, “you just look so good without it on. I bet you look without anything on.”

His chest presses flat against your body without even space to breathe and his unyielding gaze bore into you. He aligns his conceited grin against your lips to smash it brusquely—as if thanking you—pulling at your bottom lip between his perfect teeth. “I’m sure it’s all you think about when you see me.”

Quickly, he maneuvers you; twisting your heel and guiding with a hand on your waist, he forces you against the unyielding surface of the wall and trails that same hand over your chilled spine. 

You softly gasp at his touch, feeling the flood of your clenched walls seep through your underwear and layering your inner thighs. His chilling, velvet voice beckons, coating the inside of your ears. “But I’ve dealt with brats, you know that. Let me show exactly what happens when you test the limits of my discipline.”

Seungcheol lifts the flap of your skirt, barring the shape of your cheeks protected under a layer of pantyhose and caressing its plush cushion. Then came the flat palm of his hand coming against you at full force. You jolt upon contact, clinging to the foundation of this house to recover, yet mewl at the arousal erupting inside you. A sound emerges from the depths of your throat, vaguely sounding of his name as well as plead.

“You like that, don’t you? A naughty little brat you are,” he chuckles sinisterly.

You push your back against his hips, finding the mold of his cock readily and fitting between the rounds of your ass. His soft groan follows, his erection rubbing against the pantyhose. “God, you really like that.”

“I want it,” you whine impatiently, backing your hips on him, and crushing his length, “give it to me.”

“What kind of authority figure would I be if I gave into one of my brat’s demands?” He strikes your cheek again, stinging lingering dully as your flesh had barely recovered from the last hit, and drool leaking out of the corner of your lips. “Not a very good one,” he answers.

“Please, Seungcheol...”

He does do again, if not harder, and each strike collides with both cheeks. “You’ll be referring to me as Mr. Choi now, brat.”

You never knew his surname, but upon discovery, you notice how smooth it rolls off the tongue. How delicious it sounds out of your swollen lips.

“Mr. Choi…” You breathe out, your cunt vibrating at the notion of his power.

He hums pleased, rewarding the back of your neck with a gentle peck. “Good job. What is it you want?”

“Please, Me Choi, I want your cock inside me…”

He clicks his tongue. “Do you, now?” He chides, “Are you going to behave from now on?” 

You nod gingerly. “Yes, just give it to me, please…all of it…”

“Mmh, since you’re being so polite. I guess positive reinforcement is in order.” Seungcheol’s hand caresses your hips, reaching for the curves of your ass in confident determination. The soft caress of his rich voice proceeds, “Let’s just get these out of the way.” 

He ruthlessly tears the sheer material of your pantyhose, exposing your skin and the red lacy thong that hardly holds you up. You erupt in a startled gasp, welcoming the cool embrace of the air ventilation on your blistered skin. His voice drops to a lower octave and his groaning dissolves, melding into a soft sigh. “What a pretty little holiday gift for me. Only took me a moment to realize I have to unwrap it.”

“I thought of you when I decided the color,” you admit in feigned innocence, “you seem to like the holiday colors.”

“I do. Darling of you for noticing,” he praises with a hint of tease, “and my, does it suit you. Maybe there is hope for a brat like you.”

You hear the draw of his zipper, following the heavy drop of fabric to the ground. Slightly turning your head, you see he kicks the clothes aside and grins upon inspection of his full-length lining up between your legs. Your knees began to wobble, parting your feet for a more stable stance, and you swoon with your head against the wall. “You look so big…”

The head of his cock rubs against the lace, precum leaking from the tip and creating a small mess on your already ruined panties. You hear a smile in his scoff and feel the snap of your underwear before his tip breaches your molten warmth. He whispers, “Wait until you feel how big it is pushing in and out of that pretty wet cunt of yours…”

“Mmh, Mr. Choi…” Your breath halts as his girth parts your entrance, stretching your walls until it is Seungcheol and your lubricating arousal. He seethes in relief, letting your welcoming embrace around him soothe his intensifying erection and he bucks his hips, having you adjust to his size.

You rest your forehead on the wall, feeling him bury himself inside you. “Shit…yes, Mr Choi…”

“Such bratty pussy.” He spanks both cheeks once more, watching the recoil of your flesh. “My perfect bratty little pussy…bet you’re so used to misbehaving. It won’t be like that around me.”

He took one deep, languid thrust, automatically groaning, “Fuck,” then released his hips.

You immerse in his plunder of your voice, letting it ache in need as you repeat his name. Meanwhile, your internal temperature rises with the collision of his lap and your ass growing harsh and unforgiving. Pinning your wrist together single-handedly, he lets his other grip reclaim your hair, dragging your body to him for his own use. “You feel so fucking good around me.”

He tenses his torso to take sharper strikes, pulsing deeper and quicker. Your hand slides on the solid surface in front of you, pushing yourself against him as you take every inch. Your jaw drops low, echoing a hollow whine, devoid of incoherent thoughts and instinctive response.

Seungcheol lets go of your wrists and instead sandwiches them between your back and his chest. He finds the front panels of your shirt and tears it apart similarly you did with his, echoing that familiar sound of buttons being abandoned on the ground. 

“Because you deserve the same thing to happen to you,” he softly mutters, only to cup your cladded breast hungrily, squeezing your flesh to the point it spills out of the material as his teeth kiss your neck, “and because I couldn’t stop looking at these when you’re walking around that see-through blouse by that window we share.”

Thinking about the fact that you share something made his intention all the more intimate, and you cling to his body like saran wrap due to the simple fact. You melt as he marks your body with bites, the stinging resonating on your goosebumped skin. “I wear that because of you,” you manage to squeak, “only because you wear that t-shirt that clings to your body during the summer. How it got damp from sweat fixing that broken bookcase. God, is it satisfying to rip your shirt off.”

“That window was always the culprit, hmm?”

He pries you from where you stand and drags you to the referred structure with you giggling after him. There he bends you over the dining table placed strategically in front of it, while your ass points towards the glass screen. His spanks come flying, tenderizing the already raw and blistered skin, “This damn window you always linger by.” 

His nails dig into your kneaded flesh and he fits his cock right where it belongs, plunging back inside you as he secures your head against the table. “The way I wanted to fuck you on this exact table, spank this cute fucking ass,” he roughly tugs your head up, watching your tits bounce as he ruts in you like a damn dog, and meets your warm wide-eyed gaze, “Spit in that slutty, brat mouth.”

Your lips part without delay, death gripping the edge of the mahogany, and your tongue slings out enthusiastically. He breaks out in an amused grin before it melts back into a smolder, gripping you closer until he hocks a hot load of salvia in your mouth, forcibly closing your jaw with his hands.

“Hold it,” he commands, seeing the subtle frown on your face as you obey. He smiles sinisterly, hands on your hips as he slams you towards him, watching your head bob at the harsh rhythm. He places his palm over the column of your throat, teeth clawing your cheek. “Now swallow, you slut.”

He feels the shift in your throat as it goes down, relishing that light gasp of breath leaving your lips, “Good slut. You’re finally learning.”

His power, his strength, his cadence were inexplicably captivating and you succumb to his every whim. It only intensifies as you drink in his delectable lips, so soft in contrast to the abrasive snap of his hips, hitting in a spot so sensitive you don’t even predict it coming.

Your moan resonates through the entire first floor, palming the dinner table as you ride out your high in teary anguish as Seungcheol’s pace doesn’t seem to falter, in fact, it seems to have grown angrier. Furious. 

“You fucking slut,” he spits, rubbing your overstimulated clit in the thick of your climax, squeezing the tears out of your eyes. You clutch his forearm in desperation, writhing uncontrollably. “S-Seungcheol—“

“Misbehaving again, I see.” He pulls out of you to flip you on your back. He watches at your hot cheeks expel heavy pants, sweat filming your entire torso, and eyes rolling to the back of your head. “You’re still conscious; you haven’t had enough just yet.”

Dragging by the arm, he takes you against the tempered glass, chilling your bare spine. He lifts your legs off the ground and holds them on either his side, stuffing himself back into you. Your heat drips around his cock, and he catches it in his thrusts, pressuring you to feel every inch of his cock rammed inside. 

Your ass and the pads of your fingers press against the glass, smudging its once-pristine sheen. “Mr.Choi…”

He strokes your cheek, fondness in his eyes before it lowers to your throat and closes around it. Then his eyes penetrate through you, eying you in a dark allure as he robs you of breath, and catching the daze in your eyes as he ponders in thought. 

“What are you thinking dirtying up the thing you took so long cleaning with your fingerprints and cum, hmm? Marking your claim on the house you've spent all day and night on looking perfect? A house far from being yours? How does it make you feel?”

“…Exhilarating,” you sigh shallowly, staring back at him with a smile. Your arms loop around his neck, finding security and embracing his vigorous nature. “Like it’s all worth the painstaking labor to make a complete mess of it.”

He groans at your answer, reconnecting your lips in what feels like an eternity, and cradles the side of your face endearingly with one hand still around your neck. His lips devour yours, swallowing your moans, jerking his hips, and savoring the velvet of your walls clench around him so deliciously. 

“You were just as worth the wait. Made my job so damn hard thinking your pussy wrapped around my cock, made me fucking blank out most of my day. Not a good move for me, but–really–I blame you,” he slams you against the window before quickly returning to his rhythm pace. 

“You and your perfect body—” He grinds up into you, relocating your sensitivity and you whimper, “—Your sexy fucking voice when you greet me,” and he finally, makes notice of your face, using that hand that crushed around throat now gripping your chin, “—or this beautiful face that I couldn’t wait to see contort when I push my fucking cum inside.”

Usually, you know better than to let that kind of thing happen, but after the long duration of having only distant contact, his offer becomes tempting—alluring even—that you knew someone had to physically pry you off of him until you were filled with his seed. “Well, you’re so good with kids, wanna make some of your own?”

Seungcheol beckons closer, grinning mischievously, “Should I? You want me to put my babies in you? Fill you up with cum?”

You mewl at the thought, bringing his warmth closer, “I’d be so full…taking your fat cock and all your hot cum inside me…it’d be a dream, especially knowing how good you’re taking care of us, especially me.”

“You’d want that, hmm,” driving himself into you until you're lost in your own world again—losing the grasp on reality—and he persists. “You want my cum making a mess of you and this house just so I could put some babies in this pretty cunt? Hmm? That what you want?”

You nod mindlessly, anchoring yourself to him until he finally lets up. When he does, you feel the power surges through you as if you’re fresh new battery, the electrical current being the cum he shoots up into you. You let yourself ride this high, rocking into his hips, and soon your weight takes over, deducing you to a puddle. He takes his final pumps, cooing softly at your lips as you share a kiss, then drops you back on the dining table, letting you catch your breath as the cum spills slowly out of you and stains the floor under your feet.

He stands between your legs, tracing over the texture of your thighs, and his other hand claims your waist, meeting your face with a tired but tender smile. “Hi.”

You softly chuckle, resting a palm on the back of his neck. “Hi,” you repeat back.

“So dinner?” 

You playfully roll your eyes, bordering his hips with your legs. “Are you offering to cook?”

“My job requires me to, so yes,” he traces over your jaw, drawing in closer, “Wouldn’t want to feed my clients burnt Mac and cheese with their frozen Dino nuggies.”

“True,” your arms lock at the elbows around his neck, “But what else can you make besides Mac and cheese with Dino nuggies?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” He answers vaguely.

You finger through his hair and notice how his perspiration has left him mouthwateringly disheveled, quietly contemplating how to stretch out this vacation time. Your solution: never leave each other’s side. 

“I’ll tell you what. We can think about what to eat…after a shower. “

You retrieve his hand, tugging him in your desired direction and he follows graciously with a knowing grin. “We can do that, but we both know that shower will end up more dirty than clean.”

“Good thing I’m an expert in keeping a clean home, now it’s your turn to clean my home.”

His dimple graced his cheek, visibly interested. “My pleasure.”

#svthub #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #Choi Seungcheol smut #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #seungcheol x y/n #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #choi seungcheol smut #scoup smut #scoups #seventeen seungcheol #seventeen scoups #svt #scoups fanfic #seungcheol fanfic

[luxaofhesperides]

Can I please have meet cute/weird with mistaken villain! Danny (but really just a engineer and or chem student) and the one being put on investigation cause Danny is a day villain(not really)! Duke

Technically, Danny Fenton is innocent. Technically. 

Duke wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he’s having so much trouble finding solid evidence that Danny is stealing from a wide variety of people, but he’s been burned before by trying to see people as better than they were. It doesn’t change the fact that Oracle’s cameras keep spotting Danny right before a building on the street is broken into and something stolen. He’s always just walking down the sidewalk; no one has spotted him entering or exiting a building, but he’s around far too often to be unconnected to these burglaries. 

It doesn’t help that strange, petty crimes have been on the rise since Danny first arrived in Gotham. 

So.

Danny Fenton is technically innocent.

Duke is trying to prove that he’s not. 

Maybe I’m looking too closely, he thinks, going over Danny’s sparse file in the Hatch. Maybe Danny’s only one person in a bigger operation.

He could just be the lookout, the runner, the information gatherer who marks which buildings to hit. He may even be the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb; Danny has no support in Gotham, no family, no job. There would be no one to help him if he got arrested or injured in a fight. He’s a freshman college student from Illinois who should be unprepared for life in Gotham but is somehow managing to survive like a native. 

There’s a lot about Danny that doesn’t add up. 

Duke has seen plenty of different people since he first went out as the Signal. He’s tried to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but it leads to his loved ones being put in danger. Some people are truly evil, some working on a malicious agenda, some are misguided in their beliefs, and some are desperate people who see no other way to move forward.

He’s not sure yet which on Danny is, but he’s hoping Danny is just desperate and needs a little help to get out of a life of crime.

Which leads to the next problem: Duke has no idea what Danny is steal, or why. He hits both rich and poor folks, civilians and members of the mob, and once, notably, stole something right out of Cobblepot’s office. Allegedly, at least, since no one saw him enter or exit the office, not even the security cameras. 

But added to the whispers going around about a new group in Gotham snatching people up from the streets, and some strange green substances found in warehouses often raided by police for the frequent drug labs that pop up in them… 

It doesn’t look good for Danny. Especially when a few of the items he stole were found where people either vanished or where that green substance has been found.

A week of analysis in the Batcave and they still don’t know what it is. 

Both Damian and Jason suspected Lazarus water, but the composition was completely different. By the look of the molecular structure, it shouldn’t have been in a liquid form at all. 

All these findings lead back to one person who may have answers: Danny Fenton.

According to Tim, who’s already broken into Danny’s dorm room and checked over all the labs he has classes in, Danny has some concerning items in his possession. Various inventions and little metal knick-knacks put together by a practiced hand. He was also the one to find all the information that went into Danny’s file when it was first being made: social media posts, school report cards, news articles about his parents… everything. 

And then he had an emergency mission to take with the Titans that swept him out of Gotham leaving Duke to tackle this investigation on his own. 

He doesn’t have Tim’s natural skill in stalking and invading privacy. He hates breaking into people’s spaces and following them around, but needs must and he has to force himself to work through the discomfort. 

It’s a good thing he did, too. Danny’s leaving his dorm after his last afternoon class, hood up to hide his face and something held in the front pocket of his hoodie. He ducks around people on the sidewalk easily, almost as if he’s gliding through the crowd instead of walking. 

Duke follows from above, bending the light around him to hide him from sight. 

He walks for some time, weaving through alleys and streets as if he’s been in Gotham his whole life, leaving behind the university campus to head towards Otisberg. There’s something strange about the way Danny walks, as if he’s moving around people who aren’t there, guided by something Duke can’t hear. Even using his meta abilities doesn’t do much beyond show him where Danny’s going to be in the next few seconds. 

He continues to follow Danny on the rooftops, walking along the edge to keep him in sight. 

Then Danny stops behind an apartment building and tilts his head back to look up at it. He tilts his head to the side, then nods and looks around the empty alley. Duke crouches down, keeping his eyes on Danny in the hopes of catching him in the act—

Danny disappears.

Duke curses under his breath and jumps down from the roof, putting more strength into his abilities as soon as his feet touch the ground. 

The space where Danny was has a faint outline, oddly enough. He’s never seen that before. From it is a semi-transparent trail, smoke-like and a pale green leading into the building. It goes straight into a wall, as if Danny walked through it.

He can’t go in and search the entire apartment, but he can grapple up and take a look into the hallways to see where Danny’s heading. If he was looking up, then that’s where he should be heading. 

It doesn’t take any effort to scale the building. There are ledges and windowsills and plenty of handholds for him to propel himself off of, and paired with his powers, Duke is able to find the correct floor in just under two minutes. 

The green smoke slowly dances through the air of the ninth floor, on the east side of the building. If he’s been counting the rooms correctly, then the target of tonight’s burglary has to be apartment 924. 

The curtains are drawn on the window he makes his way over to, and his abilities don’t show him anything helpful for the immediate future. He hates going in blind, especially to a civilian’s home, but capturing Danny takes priority. Duke picks the lock and slides the window up slowly, making sure it stays quiet, then slips into an empty bedroom. 

He makes his way out into the hallway on silent feet, keeping a wary eye on the thin smoke strands of green, curling along the walls. The rest of the apartment is empty as well, pale sunlight slanting across the floor through the blinds. 

Everything is still and silent. Danny’s nowhere to be found. 

Did he miss Danny leaving, somehow? Was this a misdirect to get him out of the way while Danny stole from another location? Did he know Duke was following him?

But no, his ears pick up on the faint sound of clothes rustling. 

Cautiously, Duke turns towards the front door, where the door to the coat closet is open. He focuses on what’s going to happen in the next twenty seconds and sees Danny panic, then disappear from sight again, but a transparent outline of his body is visible just enough to show him where he runs to. Best not to spook him; Duke pulls at the light around him and bends it to hide him from sight.

Then he moves along the wall, getting around the open door without bumping into anyone or anything. 

A figure in front of the coats, shoving them to the side roughly, flickers in and out of view, almost like a reflection in water, distorted by ripples on the surface. 

Danny pops back into visibility suddenly, scowling at the coats. “Are you sure it’s in here?” he asks the empty air. 

There is no answer, but Danny acts like there is. He rolls his eyes and says, “It’s a favor. That I’m doing for you. I can literally stop right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” He shoves aside another heavy winter coat, then sighs. “Why don’t you look for it, and then tell me where it is.”

He steps back and bumps into Duke.

Danny whirls around, eyes wide, and blast of green light has Duke crashing back into the wall, trying to blink spots out of his eyes. 

“Wait!” he yells, grabbing for Danny before he can run off. “I just wanna talk!”

“Standing right behind me like a serial killer does not make you look like someone who wants to talk!” Danny yells back, slipping through his hands like mist. 

“I just have a few questions!”

“Well, I have a question: why?!”

“Will you hold still, we’re being too loud!”

Danny escapes to the other side of the apartment, next to a window looking fully prepared to fling himself out of it. But he does stop yelling, so Duke is counting it as a success.

“Why is the Signal coming after me?” Danny asks, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Dude,” Duke says, “You’ve been seen outside of every single building that’s had a burglary since you first arrived in Gotham. All the Bats are after you, they just sent me because I’m the only one active during the day.”

“All the Bats?” Danny repeats, losing what little color he had in his face.

He looks legitimately scared, pale enough to be concerning, and Duke drops his guard and tries to relax the tension in the apartment. “I’m not gonna turn you into the cops or anything. I just had questions and you seem like the most likely person to have answers. That’s it.”

Danny still looks wary, ready to run at a moment’s notice, but he doesn’t leave when Duke approached casually, leaning his weight against the couch. 

“So,” he begins, “What’s the deal with all the thievery? It’s rarely something super rare or expensive.”

There’s a long few minutes where Danny doesn’t answer, looking anywhere but at Duke. Then he twitches a bit and glares off to the side, and says, “I taking items that are contaminated with ectoplasm to help ghosts move through the veil and leave Gotham.”

That tells him nothing! That just gives Duke more questions! But at least it’s an answer, the first one any of them have got.

“I think you’re gonna have to explain a little more.”

“Ghosts are real, alright?”

“Yes.”

Danny stops. Squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”

“Ghosts are real,” Duke repeats, “There are a few who help heroes or are heroes themselves, but that’s more on the magic side of things so I’m not super familiar with it.”

“Magic,” Danny says slowly. “Sure, alright. Um. Yes, ghosts are real. And there are a ton in Gotham who need help moving on, but they’re too weak to get past the veil. Something about Gotham has made the veil super strong, so they need a little boost to get through. Additional ectoplasm bonded helps with that.”

“And that’s why you’re stealing random things?”

“The ghosts I help can kind of sense ectoplasm-infused things, but they need me to grab them since they can’t hold anything without a physical body.”

Duke nods slowly. “Okay, that’s starting to answer some things. We have found those objects in the last places missing people were seen. Any idea what’s going on with that?”

“Yeah, those people were already dead.”

The way Danny says the most concerning answers as if they’re nothing is really throwing Duke off his game. He was expecting to be calm and serious to keep Danny from freaking out too much and look like a legitimate hero. But as soon as Danny started talking, all his nerves fell away and Duke is left grasping for composure. 

“They were…”

“They were ghosts, yeah. And they needed to get through the veil. But they were also able to possess their own bodies and didn’t realize they were dead until I had to break the news to them, which is why it looks like living people just up and disappeared.”

“Okay… What about the green stuff we’ve been finding?”

“Ectoplasm.” Danny holds up a hand and a neon green light surrounds it. Except it looks more solid than light, as if it can be touched, and it moves on its own like fire around Danny’s fingers. “It’s what ghosts are made of.”

Oh. If Danny has ectoplasm, does that mean…

“Are you dead?” Duke asks, heart dropping. 

Instead of looking upset about the question, or even disturbed by it, Danny just shrugs and waves his hand back and forth. “A little.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Duke says, trying to resist the urge to rub his temples. It’s a habit he didn’t mean to pick up from Batman, and it would just look silly with his helmet in the way. “You’re just doing all this to help ghosts?”

“Yeah. Basically. They asked for help man, of course I was going to help them.”

Danny’s a good person. He’s just a good person to ghosts. But this is good news either way, and he can let the others know that Danny isn’t the next Catwoman and is entirely unconnected from any drug production. Everything that made him look like a criminal is just the fault of ghosts. 

“Speaking of,” Danny continues, “Looks like they found what they need, so I’m going to grab that real quick.” He pushes off of the wall and heads for the closet again, moving past Duke without any fear. Duke follows, keeping a few feet of distance between them so Danny doesn’t feel trapped, and watches as he shoves aside the coats again and pulls a shoebox out of the depths of the closet. From it, he takes a single intricate lace headband and holds it up.

It looks normal, if a little old, but when Danny sends ectoplasm through it, the lace lights up and holds the glow. 

He pulls some strange contraption out of his pocket and holds it up to the headband. It makes a few beeps, then Danny mutters, “7.4 millisieverts. That’s enough to get you through the veil.”

Another concern Duke can let go of: Danny’s not creating weapons like his parents have, he’s just measuring ectoplasm through his own inventions. 

Maybe he could talk to Bruce or Tim about getting Danny an internship at the R&D lab in Wayne Enterprises? That way they could keep a closer eye on him while seeing what he can create in some of the best laboratories in the country.

Well, it might take having them meet Danny before they trust him enough for that, but Duke is sure he can make it happen. 

“I better go see this through, then,” Danny says, shoving the contraption back into his hoodie pocket. He gives Duke a small awkward wave, then pops out of visibility. ���I’ll see you around, I guess?” he disembodied voice hedges, and Duke smiles.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you again.”

“Cool. I gonna go now!” 

He doesn’t see any sign that Danny’s left, but he gets a feeling that he’s alone now, the apartment suddenly emptier than it was before. 

As strange and concerning as Danny and all his bizarre actions were, Duke is glad he was able to finally talk to him and get some answers. Knowing how Gotham pulls people him in, it’s only a matter of time before the other Bats are exposed to Danny’s kind of strange. He’s already looking forward to it. 

For now, though, he has a file to update in the Hatch; POTENTIAL THREAT will be removed and replaced with GHOST HELPER. 

If anyone goes snooping into his files and gets confused, then that’s their problem. Duke’s explained enough. And Danny can take care of the rest, once they go through the effort of tracking him down. Duke's done his part, he's ready for the rest of them to step up to his level.

He can’t wait to see what other kind of trouble Danny can get it into.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #could not do a meet cute/weird in this prompt so i made it a meet disaster lol #heres danny trying to focus on his education!! and then ghosts start popping up asking for help bc gotham wont let them leave #so danny has to make a few contraptions to be able to help them (mostly ecto tracking/measuring/containing) and it looks SOOO sus #the ghosts also have a weak ecto sense which is how they find him bc hes FULL of ecto #and that means hes robbing houses during the day/late evening bc the night is for homework and stress #duke is just... trying his best lol. #sorry if the last part of this is rushed or confusing i am slightly sick and can Not focus #anyways i hope u enjoy!! #thanks for the prompt!!

[andavs]

sorry what do you mean by eddie & shannon being a classic military couple?

Sorry it's been a minute, but this got away from me.

So military couples are notorious for getting married very young and very quickly for the benefits, and they’re also notorious for their relationships failing and getting divorced.

They skip the time usually spent building a solid foundation and partnership, and jump straight into marriage. Then if deployment comes up, one of them leaves for an extended period of time. This leads to a lot of relationships where sex is the only area where they’re compatible, because they’re both growing as people completely separate from each other. They’re handling different stresses, different schedules, sometimes completely different realities, until they’re finally reunited and a lot of the common ground they built their early relationship on isn’t there anymore. So they focus on the good things to keep things going because it’s easier, which is often sex.

Sound familiar?

Eddie and Shannon both said that they were always good at sex, but that’s about it. They never learned how to work as partners before they got married and became parents, and with Eddie deployed almost straight out of basic and overseas for half of their marriage, they never got the chance. Even just communicating was a struggle; anytime they tried to broach a difficult subject, it devolved into a yelling.

Like the fight about Eddie reenlisting:

Readjusting to civilian life is always rough, even with a really solid support system and no PTSD. Not just coming back to safety from danger, but while you're deployed, everything is relatively "simple". Even if you’re in a warzone and seeing combat, everything else is handled for you—food, clothing, medical, housing, etc. Coming back to suddenly having to worry about rent and paying for the dentist and grocery shopping and feeding the kids and getting them to school is a big adjustment and it can be overwhelming.  

So is coming back after a year and really realizing how much of your family's life you missed. They handled things without you, your kids grew and changed without you—you don't even know what you missed but you know you're out of sync, and it can be incredibly isolating. Reenlisting to get back to the familiar and "simple" life of the military isn’t uncommon.

Eddie didn't even know how to hold his son, let alone process the CP diagnosis, and all the bills and headaches of everyday life on top of that. Shannon was used to the bills and headaches and wanted him back so she wouldn’t have to handle it all alone, but he was so incredibly overwhelmed and disconnected that reenlisting was, in his mind, the way to solve a lot of those problems. (It’s also possible he got a pretty good bonus for reenlisting, which it sounds like they really needed, and Eddie was raised to do whatever it takes to provide.)

Then the welcome home party:

This comes with all the same problems as the reenlisting argument, but this time with more trauma and no exit strategy because Eddie was shot multiple times and discharged. The only way he's been able to "be a man and provide" for his family is unavailable, and he's clearly struggling with feeling useless and out of his depth.

Each member of his family in that scene puts pressure on common points of stress of returning from deployment:

Helena's on him for not knowing how to care for Christopher, and everything he’s missed while he was away.

Ramon's proudly holding up the symbol of his trauma and reciting the certificate, lauding the job Eddie can't do anymore.

Shannon's clearly been living for the day he gets back so she wouldn’t have to do it all alone anymore and they could get out of Texas. It was her light at the end of the tunnel, and she wants to get out of there as soon as possible.

None of them were being intentionally malicious, but Eddie constantly downplays everything about his military service ("I was just doing my job" / "I just did what anyone else would do") so none of his family really knew what he went through or how much it affected him. He came home pretending he was fine, so they expected him to be fine. Maybe they wanted him to be fine so they didn’t see how much he wasn’t. 

This is a really common problem for combat veterans and their families. They don’t want to think about what they’ve been through so they shove their medals in a box in the closet. They don't want to talk about it because their family won't understand or they don't want to go into the gory details, maybe they feel ashamed, or maybe they just aren’t ready to revisit it yet. But by not talking about it at all, the disconnect grows and they feel more alienated from their family, who has no idea how much they're struggling so they don’t know how to help, or even that they need help.

And Eddie’s clearly struggling in that scene, literally backed into a corner, snapping that he needs time because he doesn't know how to say that he can't handle up and moving to another state on top of everything else he's still not adjusting to. He probably can't even admit that he's not adjusting because this stuff should be easy and everyone else can get his son a drink, but he can’t even do that right. He was an incredibly competent and capable soldier and medic, and now he doesn’t even know where the juice boxes are.

But to Shannon, who doesn't know what he's feeling, he's being stubborn and dismissive of what she needs and everything she's been dealing with alone. And again, they never learned how to tackle these kinds of issues without fighting each other.

They were both at the end of their rope, and had similar responses that were incompatible with each other. Eddie dug in where it felt familiar and safe to him, in El Paso with his family nearby. Shannon retreated to where she could feel safe: LA, with her mom, where she wouldn't have someone correcting everything she did and constantly breaking her down further. It's possible she had her own support system there that she'd been largely cut off from while in Texas.

It's also not uncommon for a returning soldier to get boxed out of childcare and family decisions; their partner has gotten so used to handling it on their own that it can feel like they aren’t needed anymore. But sometimes the opposite happens: their partner has gotten so overwhelmed handling it all on their own that they end up dumping it on the returning soldier, like what happened when Shannon left. She was able to get away and breathe without everything on her shoulders, but then it all fell on Eddie who was already struggling with the basics.

Combine all of that with the stigma of PTSD within the military and so many soldiers willfully ignoring the symptoms, the way Eddie was raised to “brush it off, keep moving forward”, and Eddie’s very internal, freeze response PTSD symptoms where he just kind of shuts down and tries to stay where it’s safe, and you’ve got a dude silently drowning in Texas until he’s forced to make a move because his parents want custody of his son.

Most of this came from the book I Always Sit with My Back to the Wall, which again, seems like the instructions Eddie was built from.

#like...really away from me #911 #911 meta

[hillbillyoracle]

I’m working on some beginner materials to put out...eventually. But I think my advice is pretty much summed up with: 

give thanks/offerings to your ancestors - even if you didn’t like the ones you knew, I promise you’d like someone back there; doesn’t have to be daily but regularly and water counts

give thanks/offerings to the land - I don’t care where you are or if you like where you are, you’re only there because the land allows it; doesn’t have to be daily but regularly and water counts

pick a divination tool and use it - ideally pick 2; it’s very fashionable to study things in witchblr but expertise rests on a solid foundation of use; tarot, geomancy, dice, bibliomancy, and scrying are all great

pick a guiding philosophy/source of wisdom - a lot of paganism consists of practices which do not in of themselves guide how you should move through the world or make decisions; can be a philosophy, motto, or other religion

these are to me is what I’d consider the bare minimum but here’s the bonus round:

on each planet’s day, give thanks/offer to that planet - moon on monday, mars on tuesday, mercury on wednesday, jupiter on thursday, venus on friday, saturn on saturday, sun on sunday - water counts but they do love frankincense

track the moon - a lot of people are big into phases, I prefer tracking what sign she’s in; each month she will conjunct with every planet in the sky so tracking her a good way to stay aware of those influences

learn a method of cleansing self + space - fav instructions here; physical cleansing should always be a part of it if at all possible; smoke (incense, bound herbs), sound (clapping, snapping, singing, ringing), and energetic scraping are all good options

learn a method of warding self + space - go beyond visualization; witches bottle, salting, symbols of protection above a door, creating or appeasing a guarding spirit are all good options

learn a basic method of petition or spellcasting - a simple way to start is asking the spirits you’ve already been working with like your ancestors and the land and giving them a little extra back

decide on a small tradition for holidays - as you add in holidays, pick one small tradition to try to replicate next year; eating apples at Mabon, leaving an extra plate out at Samhain, lighting a candle on the stove for Imbolc, etc

doing these sorts of things for a year will honestly get you a lot further than most in my experience. these are a solid foundation from which to build in basically whatever direction you want. earnest practice beats passive theorizing and consumption any day. 

#witchblr #witchcraft beginner #beginner advice

[hatekawa]

Okay this idea regarding the Three Months Au has been floating around in my head for a solid two days now and I NEED to spill it out so. uh. here's my alternative ending for your au (so I guess i made an AU for your AU????) gonna keep it anonymous so I don't out myself as completely cringe LMAO

--okay, so. there's this episode of Doctor Who, right? it's called "A Christmas Carol", and a lot of weird shit happens, but one of the big plot points is this woman called Abigail. Abigail has a terminal illness, and was basically put into some kind of cryogenic chamber, which keeps her alive indefinitely-- but only as a frozen body. She's basically asleep while she's inside. She can leave whenever someone lets her out-- something the boy who loves her does, every single Christmas, so he can spend a day with her once a year--but the countdown to her death only stops ticking when she's asleep and immobile inside the cryo chamber. Eventually, her countdown gets down to one day left to live. And the boy leaves her in there for years. Until he's old and close to death himself, he never lets her out for fear of having to watch her live out her final day.

OK. CONTEXT PROVIDED. STAY WITH ME BRO.

--same situation, but with 3 months Mikey. Draxum and Donnie build something that does manage to "halt" the effects of Mikey's mystics on his body-- but it's something like the cryo chamber, where it only works when he's completely frozen and asleep inside. Mikey's 3-month-long prognosis is still intact (probably a bit shortened by the time the machine is built), but they manage to extend it by keeping him in that stasis chamber until Draxum and Donnie can find a true cure. For special occasions, like birthdays or holidays or really big fights, maybe they'll let him out-- but the countdown is still always in the background.

and, uh. maybe they don't find a cure.

days and months and years of trying, and they never find an actual cure. the only thing they have is whatever original invention Donnie and Draxum made to put Mikey into stasis-- and that countdown gets shorter every time they let him out. soon, it gets down to some miniscule time frame-- two weeks left, maybe. then a week. then five days. then three.

Donnie stops taking Mikey out of stasis.

he tells himself that he can still find a cure, or some way to reverse the effects. Mikey no longer leaves the stasis chamber to celebrate birthdays or Christmas. raph and leo and donnie and april all become adults. splinter or draxum die of old age. april probably gets married. huge universe-ending battles are fought and won. the world keeps turning and shit.

--and mikey sees none of it. asleep in the back of donnie's lab, while his brother spends decades trying to cure him; too scared of watching mikey live out his last day to take him out of stasis.

even as his family lives, and ages, and probably eventually dies-- mikey stays frozen in time. dying, but never dead. forever fifteen years old.

wouldn't that be kinda fucked up? :D

I have never watched Doctor Who so thank you for providing me context also OH MY GOD. YEAH, THAT WOULD BE FUCKED UP.

I just- Okay. I couldn't resist making a fanart of your idea

#it's very sketchy but #I JUST HAD TO #kawa's art tag #3 months au ask #or you could call it 3 months au au #pb&j duo #rottmnt

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Spirit Work

Working with spirits was popularized and developed in the 1840’s to the 1920’s. Spirit work has also been known as “Necromancy.”

The term necromancy as defined by Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

1: Conjuration of the spirits of the dead for purposes of magically revealing the future or influencing the course of events

2: MAGIC, SORCERY

Some may define that any working, communication, or magic involving the dead (and therefore spirits) is a form of necromancy.

By necromancy, I don’t mean to physically raise the dead. If that was truly possible, then I believe there would be a lot of skeletons and rotting corpses lurking around.

A spirit is a being that does not exist in our physical world. Many spirits can project messages into our world, but they cannot manifest into a solid, physical form here. Most spirits will reside within the astral – which is a separate dimensional plane from our own.

When someone works with spirits it is called spirit work and can take many different forms. Some people want to learn, and keep it strictly business, while others want to be friends or even more in some scenarios.

Deities, Spirits, or Ghosts

Deities are spirits who are seen as divine. They draw their powers from faith and being worshipped in a particular religion.

Spirits generally are entities with many other subcategories, but they tend to draw their powers essentially from the elements of nature and from peoples’ beliefs.

Ghosts were once humans or animals who have died and sometimes, they can remain in our world.

Religion and Spirit Work

Lots of people use spirit work to become closer to their faith or desired path working.

Abrahamic religions use spirit work to commune with God. While there are other individuals who only commune with the Angels or even better, those that commune with the Demons.

Pagans, on the other hand, use spirit work to commune with the various deities and spirits alike. Some people are aligned to a sole practice of religion or single pathworking, while other people are not tied down to any particular practice.

Building Spiritual Connections

Everyone is different in their approach on building relationships. These relationships can be started by either you or the spirit. Some people keep things strictly as business while others build friendships. However, they should not be a direct replacement for mundane relationships, especially not romantic ones.

Remember that spirit work takes effort.

Do the research. Sharpen your mind. Trial and Error.

Don’t let people play translator. No one should be the dedicated “interpreter.” Sometimes it’s okay to use a third party, but do not make it a habit. People can lie. Your relationship is between you and the spirit.

You can say “No.” Spirits can be held accountable for their actions, and you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.

Spirits can say “No.” Spirits are like people, and they aren’t playthings. They’re autonomous beings capable of making their own decisions.

Incompatibility. Sometimes a personality, method, and antics might not work very well with you. Recognize when it happens. This may mean taking a break or going separate ways.

Discernment

The process of discernment is interpreting and vetting metaphysical experiences. It helps you build what’s known as UPG or Unverified Personal Gnosis.

UPG is your direct experiences with a spirit or deity. If someone else has the same UPG as you they got all by themselves without help, then that UPG can be considered SPG, or Shared Personal Gnosis.

Your experiences don’t have to match other people’s.

Don’t tailor your UPG to match others. Many people fall into this trap simply because they want to belong to a community or be recognized by authority figures or in some cases both.

Spirit Communications And Synchronicities

When spirits try to get your attention, they will do it in a way you will understand.

They’ll show rather than tell who they are. However, some aren’t as forthcoming because names can give power.

Sometimes the spirits will gauge you and wait for you to come to your own conclusions before giving away their name.

Sometimes the spirits will want to know more about you before giving away their name. Sometimes the give and take relationship must be further established before names are given.

For example, we had consistent communications with a certain Fae entity that did not give away any maliciousness, but at first, they failed to give a proper name. Instead of turning this spirit away we both decided to ask for the Fae to give a name we can call it, until trust could be further established.

The name they gave us was Charles the fox. So, we called him that, but we didn’t believe him to be a simple, ordinary fox. He’s a Fae after all, and it took us roughly one year or so for him to give us his names. Even now, I had to ask permission for this to be included within the writing itself.

… And people tend to forget that sometimes spirits are like this.

…And then there are those ones that aren’t forthcoming about showing much of anything at all because they probably may be imposters – and have malevolent intentions.

One half of this tricky puzzle includes examination of coincidences being too much of an experience to be just coincidences.

Omens

Omens are a sign that appears in the physical world, and they can be good or bad omens. Most often, omens will directly relate to the spirit’s associations. Omens tend to be “gut feeling” experiences and not every unique thing you see may be one. When you’re unsure about a spirit making contact, you can ask for signs. Don’t look everywhere for a sign, though. Not everything is.

Dreams

Spirits can send messages through dreams, and it’s up to you to determine whether a dream is significant based on what happened and why. Analyze things from a logical and psychological manner before delving into spiritual territory. Record whatever makes the most sense to you and any repeating dreams as necessary.

The Astral

The Astral is whenever you are communing with a spirit by projecting and speaking with them. This requires Clairaudience or Claircognizance to be able to recognize and comprehend messages being received. Many people also need to make sure that the experience is not your imagination. Learning the differences from internal thoughts and external thoughts outside your own can be a challenge.

The astral is a dimensional plane that exists outside the physical world. The only way to communicate there is by learning how to project your consciousness.

There are many different dimensional planes, and an infinite number of places and people. One of the astral planes corresponds to earth, however it is hard to discern this. One would have to do research and examine other peoples’ experiences, coming to a well-rounded conclusion. 

Divination Methods

Divination is whenever you are communing with a spirit through methods of divination, such as pendulum, cartomancy, scrying, etc.

However, not all forms of divination are guaranteed results. Pendulums are swayed easily by subconscious influence. It’s important to have an open mind and factor in repetitive results as a sign.

Telepath Linking

Telepathy is whenever you are directing thoughts towards the spirit in question. This method can be difficult to achieve due to the mind and imagination wanting the results. Sometimes, desired results will redirect your mind to fill in the result most wanted versus actual spirit communications taking place.

Rule of Three

Repetition is key to the rule of three, as it is a measurement that can help you decipher potential signs from everyday mundane activities. Most signs will show up in different ways around the same time if a spirit is eager to meet you. If you aren’t sure, ask for more before making any solid conclusions.

Confirmation Bias

“This is the tendency to search for, interpret, favor, and recall information that confirms or supports one’s prior personal beliefs or values.”

The more you work against this, the more authentic interactions will potentially be. Use different methods of discernment to help assist you. Don’t try to push things together, that just don’t stick and eventually fall apart.

#energy work #beginner witch #pagan #witch #witch community #witch tips #witchblr #witchcraft #baby witch #pagan witch #paganism #pagans of tumblr #magick #energy manipulation #mindfulness #divination #witches #witches of tumblr #witchythings #pagan stuff #paganblr #pagan blog #witch blog #spirituality #spiritualgrowth #spiritual disciplines #spiritual #spirit work #deity work

[chaosandmarigolds]

you can skip this all u want but

I wanna know abt readers ex ngl

why does Ollie have attachment issues?

you seem like you could do soft angst, 👻

(I audibly giggled like a maniac when I opened this, because angst has my heart. it has my HEART- only when it ends in fluff tho, otherwise someone might as well just shove me in a ditch it feels the same- ahem, sorry, got sidetracked)

Let’s do a lil flashback and backstory to this whole…debacle shall we?

May 20th

“Annnn then we got get- got get, noo-no! Ister Riley no,” Ollie grumbles as he reaches over the block castle he had spent the last twenty minutes building to grab the toy Simon was holding- a tyrannosaurus, or as Ollie called him- The Superman. The little boy fixes the doll cape attached to the toy and then holds it back out, “Otay, is fix.”

Simon nods, “Good good, he needs to have his-his-“

“The cape gives him powers.”

“Oh!” Simon agrees and looks at the worn out toy, the cape like it would be found on an actual Superman toy but put on a dinosaur. He only looks back to Ollie as the boy goes on about grabbing the rest of the toys he thought they should have.

“Yeah, that what my daddy tell me. That-that my superhero cape make me have superpowers.” A short silence and he sets the toy fire truck down along with a tow truck, “It no give me power, but it does for Bo though.”

(Bo, the name of the T-Rex.)

Simon looks at the boy, watching his demeanor change and he holds how the toy, “‘ell your dad was right, Bo does have some super cool powers.”

To that Ollie takes the toy and then shrugs, “I guess. But my dad- he-he lies and you say lying is not good.”

“Ladd I’m sure your dad didn’t lie,” Simon returned, it was just a toy, and he couldn’t see the harm in letting a three year old believe in superpowers for his plastic T-Rex.

Ollie shakes his head, “But he do! He said he come back for-for my birthday and no come, he didn’t-he lie.”

“Oi, Olls, ‘m sure your dad wanted to come, he just couldn’t-

“My mom doesn’t like him anymore, I heard her talk to my Auntie Beth and she said my dad is lair and mean- so that mean he not good.”

Simon, upon a lot of other things, realized that little kids really did share anything that came to their mind. and that he should definitely do some more research.

July 2nd

“It is-“ you laugh out a sigh as you stumble into the entrance of Simon’s house, having left your umbrella outside, “Raining cats and dogs out there!”

Almost as it had fallen into some odd and domestic pattern, he helped you take off the coat and hang it off without much speaking and you then look to him as you take off your boots, “Thank you for watching him later, I didn’t know I would be working a double and it-“

“No problem, darling. Lil’ guy was out by seven.” He cut you off and hung up the coat beside Ollie’s on the rack, which hung beside his own, “You go’ dinner al’eady?”

You hum and stand back up, “Are you offering?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Dinner was a delicacy of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and oven cooked fries, matched with a hearty portion of sprite. And about an hour of what you would consider you yapping about your crappy day, and what he would consider it favorite part of the day- you finally faltered, leaning on the dinner table with a dull and lifeless laugh.

“I feel like…I owe you, god, I owe you my life or something.”

He furrows his eyebrows to that, “No’ why? ‘M no doing anything special.”

You give him a look, “Free babysitting for one. Not to mention the rides, you-you pay for him to go to soccer, and you go to the games and you buy him clothes and you love him and you care for him and-“ you cut yourself off and look up to stop the tears- which were threatening to flow, shaking your head, “I’m sorry. I’m…it’s just- no, it’s just been a day.”

Now, Simon was many things, a merciless killer and a solider was one of them but he always knew how to read body language. What really gave it away was how you messed with your ring finger, as if you were twisting a nonexistent ring, “What’s today?”

A glance up to him and you give a dull laugh, almost mocking yourself with your words, “I got married five years ago today. Wore the pretty dress and said ‘I do’ to a man that was a piece of shit but damn….i loved him. I did. I loved him so- and I’m, god, Simon you gotta tell me to shut up sometimes.”

He looks at you, and he knew you couldn’t read him, but there was sadness etched in his expression, “I never want you to shut up, luv.”

( That’s all the backstory you get for right now! Aka, I am doing this on my phone and my thumbs hurt…and all I’ve thought of rn- comments, feedback, and your ideas make my day!! Annnnyway that’s it! <33)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #cod x you #simon riley x reader #cod fluff #coco's chaos <3 #coco’s rambles #coco’s pre k universe! <3 #dad!ghost #dad!simon riley #dad simon riley #simon fluff #simon x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley #ghost x female reader

[theabigailthorn]

In the kindest way possible, I miss when your videos had more solid conclusions. I've been a fan of your content for years and it even got me interested in philosophy as a whole, but the past two videos especially have felt like they were building up to a powerful conclusion like many of your videos in the past have had, only to turn into a Nebula promotion before it feels like you've actually come to the thesis.

It saddens me because I think you're very good at strong ending arguments, and without even realizing it (before now) I had associated your videos with leaving off on a sort of mic-drop moment that always made me very excited and empowered. Of course, this is only my opinion, and your videos are your own and I'm incredibly happy for your play and your work on Nebula, I just can't help but notice it feels like something's missing now.

I have a lot of feelings about this feedback

Firstly, Philosophy Tube is very deliberately explorative, not conclusive. The point is to give people the concepts they need so they can go away and apply them themselves, not to tell anyone what to think. So I consciously resist firm intellectual conclusions when I'm writing because I think they risk terminating people's thought processes.

Secondly, I've been running my own experiments and I've noticed that a tiny minority of people always say this no matter how explicitly I state the conclusion. On the most recent episode I forced myself to state it very clearly - even called the final section of the video 'Conclusions' - which suggests to me that what you're after is emotional catharsis rather than intellectual resolution. When you talk about feeling "excited and empowered" those are emotional states rather than the state of having learned a new thing. And that's fine, some videos need to end on an emotional beat! But not all do or can. If I made every single one do that it would start to feel artificial. Certain ones like Identity need it, but just like not every theatre show needs a curtain call not every Philosophy Tube video needs to end on a wham line. Sometimes we're learning and we're in educationmode.

Thirdly, I would argue the most recent one ends on a note of emotional ambivalence (very deliberately so!) because that's the whole point: it's not meant to wrap everything up in a neat bow and tell you how to feel, it's supposed to present this multifaceted problem and encourage you to work through your own thoughts and feelings on it. And that is a kind of emotional conclusion in its own right, albeit a deliberately unsatisfying one.

[tiddygame]

i’ve stared at this for so long that i now hate it and think ive lost all concept of how to write so take this and get it out of my google docs

the introduction is rough and the medical depictions (and accuracy/realism) could use some (a lot of) work but whatever! here it is, my vague yet still oddly specific idea of how the face reveal would go in @myriadblvck ’s streamer au:

tw: description of a panic attack? i think?

[this takes place post first irl meet but before they’re officially together]

imagine ghost has a glasgow smile but on one side they carved a little too deep and left some nerve damage. time and surgery helped, after which he could eat unimpeded and talk without a lisp, but there's still some facial nerve damage and/or skin contractures from scarring, specifically around the corner of his mouth.

now, everytime he smiles, be it shit eating grin or a full genuine joy filled smile that not even grumpy mcgrumperson could hold off, it always looks wrong because one corner doesn't raise fully like the other.

everything else is fine, there isn’t any facial paralysis, he just smiles… wrong. especially since only one eye properly squints when he smiles, giving him the look of someone who got stuck mid wink.

if he wants to look “normal” (or as normal as he could get it) he has to manually squint his other eye. still, it always felt weird; you don't realize how much those muscles affect the rest of your face until they're gone.

it's why he learned to always wear the mask.

when his expression is neutral, you don’t really notice it. if you can see his mouth when he talks however, it’s obvious that there’s something wrong. he wouldn’t say he’s necessarily ashamed of the scars and damage itself, but it’s the stares that are the worst. before he started hiding behind it, people would openly gawk or even glare at him as if he was some ne’er-do-well gang member that got what was coming to him.

he still remembers the cosmetic surgeon that had been talking to him about fixing the contractures— the whole appointment was a fucking nightmare. the cuts had healed nicely enough especially considering how bad it could have been; he was lucky to only need a little cosmetic help. the only reason he was there was so he could fucking eat food without struggling to open his mouth.

the doctor spent god knows how long breaking down everything wrong with his face like he was a fucking car mechanic lying about how dirty your filter is. the guy constantly mentioned that while he was under, they could also fix his jawline, do a rhinoplasty, trying to break him down to agree to more work.

he was already fuming my the time the doc brought up how kids would react. asking ghost if he wanted to scare children since “you cant expect the little youngins that are still learning about the world to not get scared by something scary,” and that “even some adults would cringe at the scarring.”

what stuck out most was the condescending smile he had when he said it. as if he was pointing out the obvious and ghost was being stupid and shortsighted by not agreeing.

he declined everything except what was medically necessary. the procedure went fine and after an aggravatingly long recovery period, he could eat solid foods again without issue. but the comments still stuck with him.

…okay, maybe he’s a little ashamed.

scaring kids with your face doesn’t feel good and being reminded of everything you’ve lost when you try to smile can really fuck you up in a way words fail to describe.

so yeah, he hates it. he’s gotten used to the mask, both skull clad balaclava and simple medical mask, being a permanent layer of armor. even now that he’s a bit more comfortable in his own skin it still feels wrong to pull it off.

when he gets close to soap, it still feels like a layer of vulnerability that he’ll never be prepared for.

the first time he let soap see his face, there hadn’t been any grandiose build up, no extravagant planning.

simon had arrived just a few hours earlier. he hated commercial flights with a burning passion but it was always worth it to see johnny.

with soaps twin out of town for the week, he had decided to take leave to spend time with his friend, a friend that he most certainly did NOT have a crush on (a disclaimer roach and gaz heard everytime they started snickering over ghost taking leave.)

johnny had cooked something nice and simple for dinner, saying that simon had spent too long with MREs and deserved real food (ghost only agreed if he was the one washing the dishes, soap had laughed and told him he's not so kind as to let him off the hook for chores).

when they ate, it was always in the living room with johnny taking care to always stay angled away from simon, never trying to catch a glimpse, regardless of how much he wanted to see what was under the mask. the obvious gesture of kindness and respect for his boundaries always left him feeling all weird and fuzzy inside. but, then again, johnny seemed pretty good at triggering that feeling in general.

their finished plates were on the coffee table and johnny was watching whatever dumb movie he had put on. he was pretty sure the man spent more time talking over it and making fun of everything than he did actually watching it (it was simon’s favorite way to watch a movie.)

ghost however, was watching soap. thinking.

in the end, it was an impulsive decision made after a strong three seconds of consideration.

“you uhm— you can look by the way,” ghost stared at the can of soda in his hands, immediately regretting the words.

“what?” soap didn’t fully turn, just shifted slightly to hear him better. a simple gesture to show he was listening without turning to face him. it normally made simon happy to see that johnny was more than willing to accommodate for his boundaries. now though it made him feel stupid for robbing johnny of a normal face to face conversation, a normal human interaction, just over his idiotic insecurities.

“my face, you—,” he felt his heart block his airway and tried clearing his throat before continuing, “you can look if you want,” christ he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. why was he getting so fucked up over this?

“are you sure?” he hadn’t turned yet, but ghost could see his pensive expression from here. this should be nothing. realistically, he knew johnny seeing his scars wouldn’t suddenly make him hate him… right?

“yes.”

but it was more than the fear of hatred, wasn’t it? he was scared that johnny would see him. see more than just the scars, see all of the ugly idiosyncrasies and insecurities laid bare. afraid that johnny would see the truth of how unlovable he was.

jesus he was getting so fucking worked up and dramatic over nothing.

ghost didn’t look up. he made an effort to not focus on his peripheral vision. he heard soap turn, heard the intake of breath. the silence was loud only for a second. then, deafening white noise surrounded him, inescapable, suffocating.

fuck.

he didn’t regret giving permission but god did he regret everything else; the stupid scars, the stupid nerve damage, the stupid way he had managed to fall for someone so fucking good like johnny while he was unequivocally unworthy of his love.

stop being so fucking dramatic. you are not together, never have been and never will be. reality was blatant in front of him but it didn’t stop his heart from foolishly hoping.

he heard soap stand and walk closer. saw from where he was still staring a hole in the can his feet step in front of his. saw johnny’s hands raise. he took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and with a great deal of effort didn’t flinch when soaps fingers grazed his cheek.

both of his hands came up to cup his face, holding him and ever so slightly tilting his face up, giving him the chance to pull away. he didn’t. he may be a coward but he wasn’t backing down.

ghost eventually opened his eyes to see soap staring at him with wide eyes. he looked away, staring off to some point on the right. he hated not knowing what soap was thinking.

they stayed there for a while before soap broke the silence, muttering, “i fuckin knew you had freckles.”

it was stupid but it shocked a laugh out of ghost. he meant to drop his head, embarrassed that something so dumb made him laugh, but accidentally just pushed himself further into soaps hands making him blush.

he looked up and saw soap staring even harder than before. the chuckle died in his chest.

“do that again.”

ghost just gave him a confused look.

“smile.”

such a simple request, a one word sentence, but it set his face ablaze. his breath caught in his throat, somewhere around where his heart was still trying to choke him.

…he hadn’t thought it was that bad but soaps reaction indicated otherwise. fuck. was his it that awful? he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. this was stupid. he was stupid.

“simon,” of course, one word from johnny and it felt like he could breathe again.

“please?”

fucking goddamn soap and his stupid fucking puppy dog eyes and the way he has ghost wrapped around his fucking finger without even realizing.

ghost smiled. there was no real mirth, more a grimace than anything else. he just wanted to get this over with.

soap was still staring at him, his thumbs tracing his lips, following scars, drawing imaginary lines between freckles… if he wasn't so terrified it might have felt nice.

“Christ,” ghosts heart cracked more, “you weren't lying when you said you were beautiful.”

ghost huffed a laugh and went back to staring off to the right, the fake smile dropping. of course soap would try to lighten the mood with a joke.

his panic fled as quickly as it had consumed him, now just left sitting in soap's living room, face still cradled in caring hands, resigned to his mistakes.

he felt so tired and johnny's hands felt so inviting.

“i wasn't joking,” soap looked…upset? angry? wait— fuck, what’d he do?

ghost stared back at soap, confused and tired. soaps nails felt the grooves of the scar, catching where the skin was raised and lowered.

“you don't have to lie, soap. im a grown man. I'm not fragile. you don't need to coddle me,” ghost said it like it was a joke, hoping soap would laugh along and that this would all just blow over. that tomorrow morning they could forget this ever happened.

“are you calling me a liar?” soap’s brow furrowed. great. instead, he had managed to make everything worse and piss off soap as well.

ghost took in a deep breath, giving himself another shot at calming things down, “no, I'm not. I think you're lying, but you're not a liar,” he stood and stepped to the side, grabbing their dirty plates and walking them to the kitchen sink, “you just don't want to upset me, it's fine. I get it. you're a nice person but you don't have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“I am not fucking lying!” as per usual, all ghost had managed to do was make things worse. there’s a reason he had decided to stick to the battlefield and give up on domesticity.

“well alright then. agree to disagree,” he turned the kitchen tap and started rinsing the dishes, waiting for the water to heat up. just walk away. end it there. let us forget about this stupid blunder and move on. please just leave it. please, please, please—

“no.”

the force behind it damn near made ghost drop the plate he was holding. he managed to set it in the sink carefully and turned to face soap, who was now in the kitchen as well.

“i— I'm not just gonna fucking— simon,” soap took in a deeper breath and went to continue but ghost was faster.

“johnny,” he interrupted, walking forward with his hands up in a gesture of surrender, approaching slowly.

one last chance to not fuck everything up.

“the fact is they're called deformities for a reason. they're not cute. they're not pretty. they're your body’s way of healing what it can and protecting what it can't. it's not meant to look nice, it's just—”

“bullshit they’re not pretty! says fucking who?” the genuine distress in soap’s voice and force behind his words caught him off guard. “simon—”

he huffed and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, pulling slightly at the strands. christ, ghost needs to shut the fuck up. every single time he speaks he just upsets soap more and more.

he needs to retake his hostage negotiations courses. clearly he has forgotten everything about how to diffuse a situation.

johnny takes another second to breathe and collect his thoughts before he speaks.

“simon. I know that— that ‘this’ isn't something that's going to fix itself overnight and I don't expect it to. but, ‘the fact is,’ I think you're pretty.”

ghost opens his mouth to disagree but johnny doesn’t let him.

“no no,” johnny put his hand over simon’s mouth, shocking him into silence. he blinks twice, stupefied.

“i think— no. I know you're pretty. cute even. beautiful is a given but obviously worth mentioning.”

his hand moved to cup simon’s cheek. ghost grabbed his wrist but didn’t stop him, wether it was a warning or encouragement he himself didn’t know.

johnny continued, unperturbed, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right?”

there was a pause and simon realized he wanted an answer.

“johnny-”

“ah ah!” his hand moved back to cover his mouth, grabbing his face and shaking his head back and forth, over accentuating his words, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right? yes or no.”

he stopped shaking him and moved his hand back to simon’s cheek. simon sighed, defeated, “yes. you are right.”

johnny looked smug, “good. and what do you say when i give you a compliment you don’t agree with?”

simon sputtered, “wha— i don't fucking know—”

“nothing! you don’t say anything!” soap looked way too proud of himself and he continued, “or thank you if you feel so inclined.”

“that was a trick question,” simon replied eventually.

johnny thumbed over his scars once more, again tracing them, “sure it was. now go take a shower.”

he patted his cheek twice and walked to the hallway.

“wait,” johnny probably shook the few remaining brain cells out of his head. “this whole conversation ends with you telling me that I stink?”

“yes. rancid,” johnny opened the door to the linen closet. simon was still in the kitchen. the tap was still running.

“no dipshit, do you not remember telling me that commercial planes makes you feel gross?” johnny threw a towel at him, which he caught just in time for johnny to hit him with a bath rag.

ghost had mentioned that… ages ago, he thinks. on facetime with each other, discussing the merits of bathrooms on public transport. he had said that enclosed, crowded spaces like commercial planes or buses made him feel, well, gross. how—or why—did he remember that?

“but… I’m supposed to wash the dishes?” a weak argument against the stubbornness he was faced with but simon had officially lost track of his mind and this conversation.

johnny shot him a weird look as he walked back towards the kitchen sink. simon still hadn’t moved.

“did you think i was being serious earlier?”

“yes???” he felt like he had been given a lobotomy.

johnny decided to take pity on him and explained in a soft voice that felt out of place, “i was being sarcastic. i’m not going to make you wash the dishes, simon.”

“but that was the agreement: you cook and i wash the dishes.”

johnny laughed as if he remembered something funny, “yeah, i lied.”

simon still stood there, trying to figure out if he had a stroke. johnny had been angry, completely pissed at him, but now was letting him off the hook and calling him pretty? what the fuck is happening?

johnny turned him and pushed him towards the hallway. simon could have resisted but his resolve always seems to crumble around johnny mactavish.

“now go shower, you beautiful bastard,” soap grabbed one of the plates out of the sink and started washing it with water that had probably heated ages ago.

ghost walked towards the bathroom, feeling like he was on autopilot, limbs disconnected from his brain. his cheek still felt… odd? weird? tingly?

it felt something from where johnny had grabbed it. ghost thinks… he thinks he likes the feeling, whatever it is.

he needs to sleep.

#ghost: i look like a monster :( #soap: OH NO HES HOT #[also the interaction ghost has with the doctor is based on real life experience both me and other family members have had lmao] #also also it goes w/o saying but this isn’t negative towards cosmetic surgery but rather the cosmetic surgery industry #not pictured: me having a full scale debate w/ myself over tagging the person this is literally for #look i have anxiety alright #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #unreliable narrator #(soap is so fucking in love and ghost is so fucking stupid) #streamer au #streamer! au #streamer! soap #or is it #streamer!soap #god i hate tumblrs tagging system #my writing

[uva124]

So yeah, I finished the drawing of Asha's redesign from Wish :D, maybe I'll make some changes in the future, but I'm happy to have finished it, it should be noted that I haven't seen the movie. , so I can't give my opinion on it yet, but I found it very interesting that their fandom is mainly made up of people who rewrote or made their own version of the movie, they are all very creative and it got me out of an artistic block. that I had a few months ago, but above all I found the rewriting of @annymation which is the one I have been most hooked on, so I wanted to do some redesigns of the characters coming out of its rewriting, that's why everything that has to do with the story of this version of Asha, as well as her personality and her world on which I base my drawing are the ideas and work of this account: @annymation

I'm just making a drawing of her character and how I would design her as well as sharing part of the process I had to do to draw her because, why not?

BOARD:

The first thing I had to do was put together a table full of references that reminded me of the character and things that I would like to add to her design, so I used milanote to do it:

-Looked for some Asha's concept art and save the ones I liked the most, and add the main colors that I used in the design. -I also created notes to write down the personality of the character and some of his data to have a better guide, I did a little research and found publications that talked a lot about Asha's discarded designs and how Disney workers had put that she had tribe ancestry Amazigh on his mother's side and since his father was from the Iberian Peninsula, that's why the next thing I wanted to do is research more about their culture. -I am not an expert on this topic, nor do I belong to the cultures from which Asha has ancestry, so you can comment on any correction regarding this topic, I wanted to implement details of this culture to her design and I would really like to give a correct representation :)

HAIRSTYLE

Continuing with the theme, I saw that the hairstyles in the Amazigh culture mostly had this type of colorful decorations on their braids and dreadlocks, that's why I also posted these reference photos for Asha's hairstyle.

-Finally I decided that Asha would not have all her hair full of braids or dreadlocks, but only a few accompanied by these decorations with a great variation of colors, although it was fun to sketch the many hairstyle options that I had in mind based on these concept art and other photos that I had saved

TATTOOS:

-Another detail that I liked was giving Asha some tattoos with designs from the Amazigh culture, because I saw that it was quite common for women to get them, the tattoo on her forehead is a symbol of protection against bad influences, that's why the The middle symbol is responsible for deflecting it in the 4 directions, I also added a similar one in Asha's right hand.

ASTROLOGY AND THE SPACE:

-An important part of Asha's rewrite is her knowledge of astronomy inherited from her father, especially with the stars for obvious reasons xd, so in addition to adding constellations to her dresses, research the meaning (or something like that) of the planets. Only 3 really reminded me of the character, which were: -Mars: Symbolization of the internal conquering function of moving forward, independent, self-determined, enduring failures with new energy, courage and energy to fight for your desires. -Saturn: Maturity, effort to solidly build realistic criteria, frustrations are transformed into objectives to continue growing, critical and realistic, far from getting frustrated when an objective does not work, you strive to move forward and obtain even more resistant and solid achievements, perseverance , and tenacity (I feel like yhis it the most similar to Asha :D) -Moon: protective role, feeling very vulnerable outside your known areas, feeling of security with your ties, importance of family ties. The one that reminded me the most of Asha was Saturn, that's why I drew those Saturn-shaped earrings :).

SUITS:

I looked for references and placed some on milanote, I noticed that the concept art was mainly divided into whether the dresses have lilac colors or warm colors, I decided to draw 2 models based on the discarded designs, although at first I thought of using only one color palette lilac and bluish, I realized that the reddish colors of her dress reminded me of Mars which has certain meanings that in my opinion coincide with Asha's personality. In the end I didn't decide what wardrobe she would primarily have 😅, but I like to think that in this version of Wish, Asha would have wardrobe and hairstyle changes like in some older Disney movies.

-These are some of the concepts that I mainly used for my version of the dresses

FINAL COMMENTS:

I am satisfied with the result, it was fun to make all this, although what I researched mostly seems little, it actually cost me several hours and I did it at night, so as a funny fact the next day I was explaining all this information to my mother and I felt like I looked like that:

(Make this drawing was so funny LMAO)

(Apologies if there are errors in my writing, English is not my first language and my writing is very basic)

#wish asha #wish movie #wish 2023 #disney wish #wishrewrite #wish rewrite #redesign #asha #sketch #art #digital art #artists on tumblr #artwork #my art #illustration #drawing #design #disney #my draws #digital painting #digital drawing #digital illustration #artist #wish disney #wish #queen amaya #wish star #magnifico wish #magnifico x amaya #king magnifico

[singaporesainz]

Hot take hotline: The Ferrari driver pairing is the best on the grid and those who like to pit Charles and Carlos against one another need to take a step back and understand how having two drivers with slightly different driving styles, strengths, and weaknesses, can actually benefit a team rather than be detrimental.

Charles is frequently pushing the limits of the car, he will find it and go past it if that's what it takes to win and/or understand how it behaves, which is why he's so exceptionally quick when he has the right gear underneath him. Carlos is very analytical and consistent in comparison, more risk averse, and is a solid pair of hands if Charles takes it a step too far and ends up in the wall.

Their slightly different preferences in car setup (let's be clear here, the void is not as wide as people like to make out) mean that they have more flexibility in setting up the car for individual tracks when compromise is needed - i.e. they will generally have at least one driver who will be able to work well with what they have, and understand it better to feed back to the other how to get the most out of it, which in 2023 seemed to be something that was happening a lot.

If Ferrari can pull their finger out of their ass and build a great car, these two would be a serious threat and they would be silly to let either disappear off to another team. Watching those two compete properly for a title in the same car would be a truly exciting thing to experience and I hope we get to see it one day.

this this THIS! i feel like its hard to appreciate what a great pairing these two are because they are constantly pitted against each other. and more often than not, the hate for carlos tends to be a lot louder than the love/appreciation.

carlos and charles with a competitive car would fuck so hard, and i think would truly be the only one who can actually compete with red bull and make racing exciting (like think of the 2022 season esp the beginning).

#hot take hotline #carlos sainz #charles leclerc

[phoenixyfriend]

Time for some tracts:

"How do we create jobs?" You raise the minimum wage, because if people don't need to work three jobs to make rent, those other two jobs will mysteriously open up.

"How do we support small businesses?" You raise the minimum wage, staggered to the biggest corporations first.

"How do we reduce homelessness?" You raise the minimum wage.

"How do we make sure raising the minimum wage doesn't negatively impact prices or--?"

Prices are already rising faster than wages are, this is playing catch up.

Put a cap on CEO salaries and bonuses, they can't earn more than 100 times more than their lowest paid workers. Current US ratio is 342, which is insane. (This list is mostly about the US.)

Hit corporations first, give small businesses time to adjust. McDonald's and Walmart can afford to raise wages to $20/hr before anyone else does, they have that income.

Drop the weekly hours required for insurance from thirty to fifteen. This will disincentivize employers having everyone work 29hrs a week, partly because working only 14hrs a week is a great way to have undertrained, underpracticed staff. Full time employment becomes the new rule.

Legalize salary transparency for all positions; NYC's new law is a good start.

Legislation that prevents companies from selling at American prices while paying American wages abroad. Did you know that McDonald's costs as much or more in Serbia, where the minimum wage is about $2/hr? Did you know that a lot of foreign products, like makeup, are a solid 20% more expensive? Did you know that Starbucks prices are equivalent? Did you know that these companies charge American prices while paying their employees local wages? At a more extreme example, luxury goods made in sweatshops are something we all know are a problem, from Apple iPhones to Forever 21 blouses, often involving child labor too. So a requirement to match the cost-to-wage ratio (either drop your prices or raise your wages when producing or selling abroad) would be great.

Not directly a minimum wage thing but still important:

Enact fees and caps on rent and housing. A good plan would probably be to have it in direct ratio to mortgage (or estimated building value, if it's already paid off), property tax, and estimated fees. This isn't going to work everywhere, since housing prices themselves are insanely high, but hey--people will be able to afford those difficult rent costs if they're earning more.

Trustbusting monopolies and megacorps like Amazon, Disney, Walmart, Google, Verizon, etc.

Tax the rich. I know this is incredibly basic but tax the fucking rich, please.

Fund the IRS to full power again. They are a skeleton crew that cannot audit the megarich due to lack of manpower, and that's where most of the taxes are being evaded.

Universal healthcare. This is so basic but oh my god we need universal healthcare. You can still have private practitioners and individual insurance! But a national healthcare system means people aren't going to die for a weird mole.

More government-funded college grants. One of the great issues in the US is the lack of healthcare workers. This has many elements, and while burnout is a big one, the massive financial costs of medical school and training are a major barrier to entry. While there are many industries where this is true, the medical field is one of the most impacted, and one of the most necessary to the success of a society. Lowering those financial barriers can only help the healthcare crisis by providing more medical professionals who are less prone to burnout because they don't need to work as many hours.

And even if those grants aren't total, guess what! That higher minimum wage we were talking about is a great way to ensure students have less debt coming out the other side if they're working their way through college.

------------------

Linda P requested something either really interesting or really silly and this is... definitely more of a tract on a topic of interest (the minimum wage and other ways business and government are both being impeded by corporate greed) than on a topic of Silly. Hope it's still good!

#economics #politics #personal #ko fi prompts #ko fi

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 20

summary: Javier has a shitty first day at his new job—thankfully, you thought ahead and planned some surprises that will turn it all around.

rating: E (18+! No y/n, age gap (around 10 years), Soft Javier Peña, alternating pov, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, (massive) breeding kink, sneaking around (secretly fucking in a house full of people), dirty talk, spanking, praise kink, domestic fluff, family fluff, family bonding, PTSD (panic attack), food as a metaphor for love, emotional hurt/comfort, hanging out with Chucho and fam, Javier in love, Javier saying very romantic things in Spanish, Javier holding a baby, baby fever)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

a/n: Hello there! This is a very important chapter that I literally hammered out in less than two weeks (I don’t know how I did it). We meet some new characters, and there’s a lot of Chucho content. It’s also very plot heavy. Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul for betaing. You're the best!

word count: 22k (this is who I am)

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The Webb County Sheriff’s Office was located in the heart of downtown Laredo, a hulking two-story building with a tan stucco exterior and grey metal lettering on the front declaring, ‘Sheriff’s Office.’ Their jurisdiction spanned over three thousand miles and was the largest in southern Texas—whereas the Laredo Police Department only handled the town itself.

Javier had opinions about the local police.

None of them were good, seeing as the department’s Chief for the last twenty-something years has been Lorraine’s other uncle.

If it seemed like her family was everywhere, that was because they fucking were.

Her father’s side, the Smiths, have lived in the area going back generations and were the wealthiest family in Laredo, all thanks to the large transportation company her great-grandfather started back in the early 1900s. Their family made a name for themselves and were known for their philanthropy and pursuits to better the town—at least, that was true before her father took over the company from her grandfather and used all of the good his predecessors had done as a means to run for Mayor, making what turned out to be empty promises after he was elected.

He wasn’t the worst Mayor in Laredo’s history, but he wasn’t the best, either.

The philanthropic endeavors decreased when the business was handed over to her dad, who was more concerned with filling the family’s pockets, yet they still remained the town’s biggest benefactor and were held in somewhat high regard. The Smiths were well known, and two out of his three brothers had notable careers in town: one was the Chief of police, another had been a judge down at the courthouse before he was nominated by President George H. W. Bush to work on the federal level, and then, of course, there was Javier’s former barber.

Lorraine also had siblings and a hell of a lot of cousins who still lived in Laredo, so her family was fucking everywhere, much to his annoyance. He did his best to avoid them at all costs, especially if Cielito was with him. Javier was pretty sure there would be a physical altercation if she saw his ex, which made him smile, but it also meant he had to be on high alert when they were out and about. He was proud of how good he’d gotten at distracting her to keep them from crossing paths, usually feigning interest in a nearby store or restaurant. There was also the time they hadn’t even left his truck yet, and he’d spotted Lorraine down the street, so he kissed his girlfriend and made out with her for a solid five minutes to make sure the coast was clear—that one was his favorite.

Thankfully, none of the Smiths worked for the Sheriff.

There were five minutes to spare when he arrived at the office downtown, spending the first hour with the only Human Resources employee, Juana, a lovely older woman, half his size who kept calling him ‘Guapo (Handsome)’ and trying to wheedle his mom’s tamale recipe out of him. He’d filled out all of the necessary paperwork, frowning when he had to mark ‘Single’ on many of the forms. He got his picture taken and badge made, Juana commenting it was ‘Guapísimo (Very handsome),’ and he couldn’t wait to show Cielito to see her reaction, wearing it around his neck on a black lanyard. Then the older woman gave him a tour of the building, the only places of interest to him being the supply room, conference room, records room, evidence room, and where the nearest pot of coffee was located to his new office, which was their final stop.

Most of the people who worked here, he either knew or knew of, and they were all very aware of who he was if the looks and whispers he ignored were anything to go by.

His office wasn’t anything special and didn’t compare in the slightest to what he’d had in Colombia. It was small, with room enough for a cherry wood L-shaped desk against one wall, his desk chair putting the door in his line of sight, two chairs in front of it, and two bookcases behind it on either side of the window that had a breathtaking view of the parking lot. A computer was atop the reddish-brown hardwood, the bulky thing situated against the wall. A typewriter, which was more his speed, was on the other side near the edge, and a landline office phone between them in the corner. Aside from those three things, everything else was bare and empty—his plan was to raid the supply room, which could more accurately be described as a closet, for all the shit he needed.

He was standing just inside the door and finally alone, shuffling the stuff in his hands to free one up to grab the door handle and pull it forward to look at the other side, smiling when he saw there was a lock. Making his way around the desk, he set the things in his hand down on top of it, pulling out the chair and taking a seat.

The first item did not belong to him, and he’d never be caught dead with it, which was a fucking lie since it was sitting on his desk—The Empire Strikes Back Metal Lunch box was blue with art of Han, Leia, Chewie, and C-3PO in the Millennium Falcon cockpit, and did belong to his girlfriend, who’d packed his lunch the night before. She realized they hadn’t gotten him a lunch bag of his own, so she handed him this fucking thing at the door, giving him a kiss and a smack to the ass, telling him to have a good day.

He moved it off the desk and down behind it on the floor where it wouldn’t be seen.

The other two items were small black-bordered picture frames, setting the first one up: a picture of him and Cielito in his dad’s backyard, her standing in front of him with his arms wrapped around her chest, her hands holding them to her, his head beside hers as they smiled at the camera, the happiness clear on their faces. He put the second one next to it that had a Polaroid he’d taken while they made dinner one night in their kitchen of her grinning brightly at the camera and looking unbelievably adorable in his Fleetwood Mac shirt.

They made him smile, his mind going back to that morning and how fucking good it was. He sighed softly, touching the knot around his throat. He loved having her watch and help him get ready, then seeing how much it turned her on when he was dressed, wishing every morning was like that—the woman he loved choosing his outfit and keeping him company. They usually got dressed together, sometimes even asking each other opinions on what to wear, but it had never been like today. He wanted to look good for her, he wanted to wear what she wanted, he wanted to do something so simple to make her happy.

Then there were the things she did to him that had his slacks suddenly feeling a bit tight.

Javier felt like such a dick for arguing with her. He doesn’t know what came over him except that he didn’t think it was fair that only he was getting off—which was dumb because they both had times when they just wanted to pleasure the other without getting anything in return.

Fuck, her mouth, her tits. He looked at the Polaroid and her breasts under his shirt. She was so fucking beautiful between his knees, fucking him with them and letting him come all over her chest. Coming inside her was his favorite, but seeing her painted in his spend was a close second… Unless he could finish in her ass. His brain shortcircuited for a second, imagining how fucking tight she’d be while he filled her, and if she orgasmed at the same time, she’d tense up and squeeze his dic—

There was a low whistle from the door, a familiar deep voice saying, “Te tiene loco esa muchacha, se te sale la baba (That girl’s got you going crazy, you’re drooling).”

Javier frowned, his cheeks heating, clearing his throat as he looked at the older man standing in the doorway. He didn’t get up from his chair since his cock was at half-mast, confirming he was, in fact, crazy about her.

The newcomer had a similar build to his dad, the short cropped hair on his head and around his mouth grey with age, wearing the Webb County Sheriff Department uniform of a khaki short sleeve button up and army green pants with a yellow stripe down the sides, the golden Sheriff star badge pinned to his chest, glittering in the lights.

Unrelated to him, Sheriff Arturo López was about his age when he was elected into office back in the 70s. He was the county’s longest-serving Sheriff, and for good reason: he was an honorable man. Javier was very aware of this because he’s known him his whole life; Arturo was a good friend of his father’s.

“You’re as annoying as Pop,” he grumbled, straightening in his seat. “He’s told you about her?”

The other man’s face lit up, walking into the room to stand behind one of the chairs in front of the desk, resting both hands on the back.

“Talks about her and you—” His finger was directed at Javier. “—all the damn time. When I went out to the ranch last week, he showed me all of the pictures he took last month on his birthday with that fancy new camera you got him.”

He and Cielito had celebrated with his dad by barbecuing at the ranch. Daphne and Velma were in attendance; the two calves he’d practically raised, whom they affectionately called their bovine children, were given apples as treats, happily lying in the sun or chewing on the grass with their humans nearby. Chucho loved Cielito’s cooking almost as much as Javier did and had requested a peach pie for his birthday, which she, of course, made for him, much to his delight—he wouldn’t shut up about how much he loved it, and that was completely understandable, it was a really fucking good pie; so good, in fact, that Javier had stolen an extra piece before they’d left for the night. The picture of them on his desk was from that day, Cielito looking beautiful in a lavender-colored dress that he’d managed to match his button-up to—his eyes went back to it, thinking they looked so good together.

Perfect.

“¿Me oyes o que (Can you hear me or what)?” Arturo said a little louder, snapping his fingers to get his attention. Javier immediately looked up at him, seeing the other man was amused.

“Shit, sorry,” Javier replied, running a hand through his hair.

Arturo chuckled. “Tu papá tenía razón (Your dad was right). Estás arrebatado (You’re completely enraptured).” He slid a chair out and sat down, kicking his feet up on the desk’s edge.

His jaw ticked, annoyance creeping up on him, saying, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve got it bad—are you here to give me shit about it, or are we going to discuss the scope of this job you’ve been on my ass about since I got back?”

The other man huffed out a breath, his face going serious, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “Your dad also said you get very defensive about it—tu novia (your girlfriend) is off limits. I read you loud and clear.” He put his feet down, sitting up in his seat, his eyes on Javier’s. “Remember when I offered you a job when you graduated from A&M?” he asked.

Javier did—it was his backup plan if swimming hadn’t panned out. He’d wanted to get into law enforcement, and it would’ve been a good start, but then Lorraine fucked that up for him, too, since he had to get the hell out of Laredo.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“I saw your potential all those years ago—determination in your eyes to do something good and look at what you did in South America.”

Javier scoffed.

A crease appeared between the Sheriff’s eyes. “You know you’re a hero, right?” he asked.

Javier’s elbows were on the desk, his fingers laced in front of him. “I’m no hero.” He shook his head. “I just did my fucking job, and that’s it. Not like any of it mattered, anyway—the war on drugs will never fucking end.”

“On a large scale? No, there will always be drug trafficking, but things can be done here at home to crack down on it and keep our community safe.”

His eyebrow rose. “That’s why you need me?”

The older man smiled. “Partially.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’re aware of the drug smuggling problems we’re having here in Laredo?”

He nodded.

Arturo continued, “We know it’s coming into Laredo and then being distributed out to the bigger cities—we’ve got a whole narcotics unit, and they’ve done some decent busts throughout the county, but things can turn violent quick. You know how it is, people have drugs—”

“They’ll have weapons,” he cut him off, nodding.

They have to protect their cargo.

“Well, our current strategies aren’t making much difference, and even with some wins, it’s not enough. You personally took out the Colombians, and with them gone, the Mexican cartels have been taking advantage, and things have gotten bad, and that’s why I needed you to take this job. I need a new set of eyes. I need your expertise.” He pointed at Javier. “I need you to make sure we’re not overlooking anything. I want you to work with the team and make a better plan of attack. Have you kept up on the Mexican cartels?”

He has. Steve still works for the DEA in Florida and updates him about the goings on in South America and Mexico on their weekly calls.

“Yeah.”

“Good, we know they’re supplying.”

“Of course they are. So, you want me to look over the situation here, consult, and help plan? Can I meet the head of the narcotics unit?”

“You’re the head of the narcotics unit.”

His eyes widened, taken aback. “...what?”

That definitely wasn’t in the job description—he was supposed to be here for informational purposes only, training people, consulting, not running a team. He promised Cielito this would be an office job, and he absolutely would not go back on his word to her; he’d quit first and work somewhere else; hell, his alma mater, had put out feelers on if he’d like to teach. Anger was bubbling in his belly that this was turning out to be a fucking bait and switch, the Sheriff putting way more responsibility on him than he agreed to.

His face pinched in anger, glaring at the other man, his voice low, menacing, not brokering any room for argument, “When you pitched me this job, you said I’d be consulting, bringing in my knowledge and training people, shit like that. I didn’t sign up to head a fucking unit. I promised my girl this job would be nothing like the fucking DEA.”

“Cálmate (Calm down), Javi, it isn’t.” The Sheriff waved away his concern. “I’m sorry for springing it on you like this. I thought you’d like to be in charge since you wanted a desk job, and that’s what it is, a desk job—you’ll never see any action. You don’t even need a gun. You’ve got a lot of experience we could benefit from, so it makes sense you’d be the best person to lead and advise them. You’d help them do their jobs better.”

Javier had the upper hand here—the other man needed him more than he needed this job.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want the fucking responsibility of running a team—if that’s the case, I’m walking out that fucking door.” He jutted his finger toward it.

Arturo frowned, sighing deeply as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll forget the title. I’ll assign one of the other guys as the leader. You’ll consult—look into the situation here, help train, and plan. Is that better?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I am not in charge of them, is that understood?”

The other man sighed again. “Yes, Javi. You’re not in charge—no responsibility for them.” He leaned forward, offering his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” he replied, shaking the offered palm.

“Good,” the Sheriff said. “Welcome aboard.” He got up from his chair. “The team is scheduled to meet with you at one in the conference room for introductions—they’re expecting you.” He was walking toward the door, stopping before he exited to look at Javier over his shoulder. “There’s one other part of your job I forgot to mention.”

Javier let out a loud breath, feeling beyond annoyed. “What’s that?”

“You’ll be the point of contact for the DEA when they come knocking—I’ve got Southern Texas’ largest county to worry about. I don’t have time for their bullshit.”

He scoffed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m serious. I’m glad you’re here, Javi. Thank you for doing this,” he said as he left the room.

“Fuck,” Javier breathed, pressing his face into his hands.

Did he make a fucking mistake taking this job? He felt like he’d bit off way more than he could chew. He was starting to get a headache, reminding himself that this wouldn’t be anything like the DEA; he wasn’t going after cartels, he wasn’t having to put his life at risk, he was keeping his promise to Cielito, and that was all that fucking mattered.

Thinking of her, he remembered the day before when they were eating breakfast, hearing her voice clear in his mind saying, ‘...since you love challenges, you should dig into a problem…’

Find a problem to solve.

What was going on in Mexico wasn’t his problem; that was for the feds to worry about; what was a big fucking problem to him were drugs somehow making it past heavy border patrol and DEA intervention, but could he solve it?

The woman he loved was into that astrology shit, and the stars, or whatever the fuck, seemed to want him to.

Jesus Christ, was he really taking advice from something somebody probably pulled out of their ass?

He thought about it more rationally.

Laredo was his home, even if he wanted to leave it with his girlfriend most of the time. He had Cielito and his dad here; one day, they’d have children. Did he want to bring their kids into a world where there was a possibility of danger? He was remembering Colombia and the horrible shit he’d seen when drug busts went sideways, and innocent people got caught in the crossfire. What if Cielito was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and something happened to her? His memories of South America were fueling the worst-case scenarios playing out in his head of things that could happen to her or their future kids, his heart starting to pound in his chest, dread feeling like lead in the pit of his stomach.

He was beginning to panic as he thought of the potential consequences if he didn’t do this. He needed to keep his family safe; he had to make sure their home was safe, needing to protect his future wife and their future children.

What if I fail to protect them like I failed others before?

His breaths were coming out quick, the room suddenly going dark around the edges, it feeling stifling—he couldn’t breathe.

With it being the beginning of August in Southern Texas, it was barely ten a.m. and already scorching hot outside.

After sending Javi off to work with the coolest lunch box that he sighed really loudly at taking, a kiss and a smack to his ass, you’d showered, putting on some black bicycle shorts and the white t-shirt you’d gotten at a Prince concert the year prior. It had his symbol on the front with ‘The “Jam of the Year” World Tour 97/98.’ written on it, wanting to wear comfortable clothes since you’d be cooking all day—something that required you to leave your apartment.

But not to go to a store… yet.

The air conditioning was turned up as high as it would go in your car, Salt-N-Pepa playing loudly over the whirring of it as you drove down the road.

Ringing sounded in the passenger seat from the cell phone in your purse Javi got you when he moved in; you hadn’t wanted it, but the man worried about you getting stranded on the side of the road, or having an emergency, so to mollify him you’d accepted it.

Your eyes stayed on the road as you reached into your bag, fumbling around until you found the hard plastic Nokia phone that seemed practically indestructible. Pulling it out, you turned down the radio, the screen on the cellphone glowing green showing Javi was calling—which was a surprise, immediately hitting the answer button.

“Hey, babe!” you greeted, driving one-handed.

“Talk to me,” he said between heavy breaths, sounding like he’d been running.

It made you frown, worry curling in your gut that something was wrong.

“Javi, what’s going on?”

“Talk, please.” There was desperation in his tone, understanding he needed you to calm him down.

“Okay, um, gosh, I am so sorry for this stream of consciousness, it’s going to be unfiltered, just straight brain to mouth,” you rambled. “I’m driving right now and wearing those tight, stretchy shorts that I swear to fucking god are a magnet for your hands—you know the ones. Like, you smack my ass so much in these that I know if I’m within reach of you, I’m getting spanked—which, I’m only telling you this because you’re, you know, but I love when you do it so much—I love you, too, a lot, an insane amount, and I can’t wait to see you, so I can give you a big hug and smother your face in kisses—just smooches all over that sexy mug of yours. Um, I hope you’ll like the dinner I’m making—it’s gonna test my skills, and I’m excited to attempt it; hopefully, it’ll be edible.”

His breaths were beginning to even out, continuing to speak your thoughts, “I’m super worried about you right now since you’re calling me before your lunch and needing me to talk. So, just focus on my voice, baby—you’re gonna get through this. Breathe, you’re okay, and it’s gonna pass—everything is okay. Um, fuck, what else can I talk about, oh! I really liked that movie we rented Friday before last—the one with Harrison Ford? It was honestly so on point that the woman fell in love with him while stranded on that deserted island—how could you not fall in love with Pilot Harrison Ford? Which, I mean I wouldn’t—” you added quickly. “—I’ve already got a hunky, grumpy man I’m disgustingly in love with, thank you very much, and Harrison Ford can kick rocks—you’re my hunky, grumpy man, I’m disgustingly in love with if that wasn’t clear, and if I got stranded somewhere I know you’d find me—I don’t know how you’d do it, but you would. I know I said it already, but I love you, Javi—I love you so much sometimes I feel like I’m going to combust—”

“I love you, too,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

“There you are,” you replied, smiling in relief at hearing him. “Feel better?”

“Yes.” He audibly swallowed. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me, and you’d never bother me, Javi. I love you.”

“I love you, too—I fucking knew you wear those shorts on purpose.” The smile was evident in his voice.

You giggled. “Kinda. They’re just really comfy.”

“Uh-huh, right. I’m also happy to be your hunky, grumpy man you’re disgustingly in love with.”

“Good, ‘cause you are.” The reason he called had you sobering up, asking, “Javi, do you want to talk about what happened?”

He sighed. “The, uh, smuggling problem is worse than I thought, and I started thinking about if something happened to you or our kids, and it, uh—”

“Triggered a panic attack,” you finished for him. “Javi,” you said softly. “It’s your first day, and you already had a panic attack. Are you sure you should be doing this job?”

“I promise, I’m okay—it won’t happen again.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know,” he sighed again.

“You can quit and go back to work with your dad on the ranch while you look for another job that won’t be so triggering.”

“I know… But I want to do this.”

A frown was on your face again. When he told you he’d gotten a job with the Sheriff, you’d been worried it’d make him miserable and lead to him resenting you. He was adamant that wouldn’t happen, and his new work wouldn’t be anything like the DEA, promising you it was just an office job, but with this phone call, your worries were back. He’d been there—you glanced at the clock on your radio—two hours, and he’d already had a panic attack—it didn’t bode well that his PTSD was acting up. Then there was the determination in his tone, hearing how he felt like this was something he had to do, and it made you feel uneasy.

“Okay,” you replied. If this was what he wanted, you wouldn’t fight him on it. “But if this happens again, you call me.”

“I will.”

“Promise me, Javier—don’t hide it from me.”

“I promise, Cielito. I won’t keep it from you.”

“Thank you. Now, do you need me to come down there right now? It’d take me like twenty minutes.”

“No, baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m okay.”

“Alright. How’s your first day so far?”

“The woman from HR kept calling me guapo, but I think she was just saying it to get mi mamá’s tamale recipe.”

You snorted. “Eres guapísimo (You’re very handsome). ¿Ella tuvo éxito (Did she succeed)?”

He chuckled. “No, Cielito. No se lo diré a nadie excepto a ti (I won’t tell anyone except you).”

“I don’t know why, but that’s very romantic, and I’m touched.”

“Ella hubiera querido que lo tuvieras (She would’ve wanted you to have it).”

You were smiling big.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“I should probably get back to work.” He sounded like he didn’t want to get off the phone.

“Wait, promise me, Javier, if this job gets to be too much or you feel yourself slipping back to how you were before, you’ll quit. Promise me.”

“I promise, Cielito—I pinky promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it. I love you. Call me on your lunch.”

“I love you, too, and I will.”

Goodbyes were said, the call ending, tossing the phone back into the passenger seat.

Chewing on your lip, your brain was stuck on Javi as you drove.

You really fucking hoped he’d be okay, but your boyfriend was stubborn, and when he put his mind to something, he didn’t let anything get in his way—including himself. It was one of his flaws, yet also a strength, that made him good at his job.

Colombia was a looming shadow, always following him around, and he still hadn’t shed a light on it for you. You knew the overview of his time there—he’d worked with Steve to help take down Pablo Escobar, but he’d fucked up and was sent home before they’d gotten the fucker; A lot of his informants were prostitutes that he’d slept with; He was sent back a second time and was put in charge, working his ass off to take down the Cali Cartel, and once he finished, he’d resigned from the DEA—and now he’d found another thing to put his mind to, and you were worried it would consume him.

You wouldn’t let him fall back into old habits and would talk to him and lay down some ground rules, the first being work stayed at work—when he came home, it was time for him to relax and forget about the day. It was what you did; it was how you survived being a busy emergency room nurse in a hospital in Dallas, where there was so much death. Once you clocked out for the day, your shift was over, and your worries over work ceased until you clocked back in for your next shift. There was no dwelling on things when you’d go home. If you did, you would’ve been miserable and the job much more difficult. You knew it would be really fucking hard for Javi to do, but you were determined to make sure he didn’t revert back to the miserable, depressed man he’d been in Colombia.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not if you had any say.

Your mind had been so preoccupied you suddenly found yourself at your destination, pulling into Chucho’s driveway, the gravel crunching under your tires, seeing him sitting in one of the two white rocking chairs on the porch, waiting for you with a big smile on his face. Pulling off to the side in front of the house and parking, you shoved your cell phone back into your purse, grabbing it and the little notebook from the passenger seat, and getting out, walking along the stone path in front of Javi’s mom’s beautiful flower garden, her husband still tended to.

“Buenos días, Mija (Good morning, Mija),” the older man greeted as he got up from his seat in jeans, a white short-sleeve button-up, and cowboy boots to hug you when you made it up the few stairs.

Smiling as you hugged him back, you replied, “Buenos días, Chucho.”

He let go of you, meeting your eyes with a happy grin. “The house smells amazing,” he said, moving over to the screen door, the springs screeching as he opened it for you, making your way inside the house.

“I hope it turned out amazing.” You were hit with the smell of cooking meat permeating in the air, heading toward the kitchen, the older man following you with the screen door slamming shut behind him.

“I’m sure it did.”

It warmed your heart how much faith he had in you, setting your purse and notebook down on the kitchen table to go look in the Crock Pot and finding the pork you put in it the night before was done. Turning it off, you smiled, seeing that Chucho had already set out a giant bowl and tongs for you to use. Grabbing the utensil, you looked over your shoulder, clicking them twice. “I see this isn’t your first rodeo—thank you,” you said.

He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Mija. It can cool while we go to the store.”

“Very true.”

Your attention moved back to the slow cooker, removing the lid and using the tongs to transfer the big pieces of meat into the bowl.

“How was your morning?” he asked.

Memories of Javi getting dressed came to you, your skin heating when you thought of the dirtier things you’d both done.

“Pretty good—your son let me choose his suit and tie,” you answered, moving another piece of pork.

“A good man.”

“The best, and we had a lovely breakfast before he went off to work.” You’d stood in the kitchen drinking coffee together, and he took a granola bar for the road. “How was yours?”

“Not bad. I made sure all of the pots and pans you’ll need are where I saw them last, and I extended the kitchen table so you have more room.”

You’d noticed it was bigger, going from being able to seat four to about six.

The last chunk of meat was put in the bowl, discarding the utensil into the sink as you said, “You are the fucking best, Chucho.”

“I’m just excited,” he laughed.

After unplugging the Crock Pot, you faced the older man. “I’m excited, too, and really fucking nervous.”

“You’re going to do great,” he reassured, making your heart clench.

“Thank you, Chucho. I really hope it’s good. Do you have aluminum foil?”

He pointed beside you. “Second drawer.”

“Thank you.” You got the foil out, tearing a piece to cover the bowl, putting it back where it belonged, and turning toward your boyfriend’s dad again.

“Okay,” you started. “So, I watched the video of Antonia’s instructions again this morning and tried to take some notes.” You put it on after Javi left, doing your best to write stuff down. Frowning, you continued, “You know I’m getting better at my Spanish, but there were some things I missed.”

He had a warm expression.

“Don’t stress, Mija. I watched and helped mi amor (my love) make her tamales so many times I’ve lost count. I may not know measurements or remember all the ingredients, but we’ve got her recipe cards we can use.” He gestured to the dining table next to him, where your things sat atop it beside a small oak wood dovetailed box that you knew when you opened the hinged lid, it contained his wife’s handwritten recipe cards.

The idea to make Javi’s mom’s famous tamales came to you while watching the home video of her explaining how they were made. You knew they were his favorite food, and wanted to make his first day at work special because, even though he acted like the job was no big deal, you still worried it’d fuck him up—which is exactly what happened, and now you were really happy he’d have your attempt at his mom’s tamales to comfort him.

There was nervousness about asking Chucho for permission. The recipe was a heavily guarded secret and something his wife was known for, and you were just some random woman dating his son. He’d been ecstatic when you called, though, telling you he’d get out Antonia’s recipe box for you to use, which was such a huge honor, you teared up.

The first time you got a chance to look inside the box was the night before when you brought over the pork to cook—the cards inside were old and some stained, able to see which ones she used the most, her recipes written out in beautiful script, all of them in Spanish and finding some she added little notes to—one for Pozole she’d crossed out radish in the ingredients, noting Javi hated them.

It was a little overwhelming knowing each one this incredible woman had touched, each one she’d made, and even though you never got a chance to meet her, it felt like you had—as odd as it was, you felt closer to her, seeing the tweaks she’d made to some recipes and completely understanding why she did them.

Antonia Peña was alive through the stories her family told, the pictures in old albums, the many home videos, and the food she’d once made that you were now getting the chance to make to honor her memory.

Smiling, you said, “Yes, we’ve got the recipe.” Walking over to the table, you picked up your notebook, looking at him. “I wrote down our grocery list in here.” You tapped the cover with your finger. “But in the video, she mentioned a secret ingredient in her red sauce. She spoke too quickly for me to understand what she was saying, and I didn’t see it listed on the recipe card…”

He held up four fingers. “Four arbol chiles. No more, no less. Four.” Your eyes went wide, grinning as you flipped open your notebook, grabbing the pen tucked between the pages. A hand covered the paper, looking at him in confusion. “You can’t write it down,” he said. “It’s a secret only Javi, and I know, and now you do, too.” He smiled.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, feeling so honored to have been told. You were careful of the notebook and pen you were holding as you threw your arms around him in a hug.

Javi said you were the only person he’d tell the recipe to, and here was his dad saying the same, feeling so unbelievably loved by this family.

“Thank you for trusting me,” you said.

He patted your back. “You’re family, Mija—mi futura nuera (my future daughter-in-law), you get to know, but you can’t tell anyone. Es un secreto (It’s a secret).”

You pulled back, nodding, “Yes, of course.” The pen was put back in the closed notebook, using your free hand to wipe at your teary eyes. “You ready to go?” you asked. “You’re my inside man on where to get the best ingredients.”

Chuckling, he replied, “I’m ready. I’ll drive. We’ll go out the back.”

Grabbing your purse, you followed Chucho down the hallway to the house's rear. The walls were bright teal with artwork of flowers Antonia had picked out, passing a guest bathroom, another hallway that led to a spare bedroom, the laundry room, and the staircase that went up to the master bedroom. He stopped at the coat hooks behind the back door to put on his straw cowboy hat and grab car keys from a row of tinier key hooks.

On your first visit to Chucho’s, you learned they didn’t lock the house during the day, so it wasn’t a surprise when you shut the door behind you, and he just kept walking. The gravel driveway fanned out behind the house where many cars and trucks were parked beside each other, knowing most belonged to Javi’s cousins and uncle, who all worked on the ranch.

It confused you when he passed his pickup, having assumed that was what you would be riding in and ending up at a smaller vehicle with a white cover over it and a dusting of dirt.

“It’s a special occasion,” he said, going to the front and beginning to pull off the covering. “So, we’ll take my baby.” Removing it as he walked toward the rear, he slowly revealed an old, red, soft-top convertible sports car in impeccable condition.

“Wow, I get to ride in the fancy car,” you replied, delighted. “This is so nice.”

The cover was set aside, Chucho unlocking the driver’s side door.

“Thank you.” He patted the top. “She’s a ‘68 Ford Mustang. Got her the year she was made.”

You went to the passenger side, looking through the glass at the black leather interior, two seats in the front, and two squished in the back, the lock disengaging with a click.

Getting in, you used the crank to lower your window, the older man starting the engine, and it roaring to life.

“I’m sure Javi had a blast riding around in this,” you said.

He was leaning to the left to press a button near the steering wheel, the top slowly moving back to open with a whine.

“Oh, he did.” Chucho smiled. “I don’t drive it much—drove it more back then than I do now. Javi would beg me to take him for rides and always was an excited little guy when I’d pick him up from school in it.” The top was completely down, and he rolled down his window, too. “But, Antonia, mi amor, was my regular passenger.” He tapped the dashboard. “Brought out the Mustang for date night.” He grinned.

“I love that so much,” you replied, putting on your seatbelt and Chucho doing the same. “Once Javi got his license, did you let him drive it?”

He put the car in reverse, his arm going to the top of your seat as he looked behind him to back out.

“Hell no,” he answered, making you laugh.

He had you both on the road heading into town in no time, the wind whipping past you, unable to stop from smiling. There wasn’t any awkwardness, feeling comfortable casually chatting with him. Chucho told you more stories about Javi and Antonia that had you laughing, having the best time with him.

There was a small lull in the conversation, and turning your head toward him, you said, “Thank you for helping me with this, Chucho. You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”

Smiling, he glanced at you. “You’re welcome, Mija, and you know, you can call me ‘Pop’ if you want,” he replied. “I already think of you as my daughter and don’t mind.”

Your eyes were watering, and it had nothing to do with the top being down.

In all the time you’ve known this man, he’s been more of a father to you than your actual biological dad. He welcomed you with open arms and was so warm and caring, able to see how much he loved his son and now you, too. It was a stark contrast to the coldness you were used to from being the family disappointment, not even sure when you last spoke to your father, thinking it was probably when you visited your family months ago.

Your mother was the one who stayed in contact with you, though her calls have become less frequent since you’d gone off on her for saying shitty things about Javi. The next time she called after the incident, you had put your foot down and threatened to go no contact if she continued to belittle and say horrible things about him. She hadn’t liked the threat but begrudgingly agreed to your terms, and you assumed the lack of phone calls was because she didn’t have anything nice to say.

Honestly, you knew her weekly calls were to make sure you weren’t bringing more shame to the family name, and it was nice not having her breathing down your neck.

You’ve never known what it was like to have such a loving parent like Chucho, and you were over the goddamn moon you had him now.

“Thank you,” you replied. “You’re a great dad, and I’m happy you’re in my life.”

“I’m happy you’re in my and my son’s lives. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for all you’ve done for him. I just love seeing how happy he is and those smiles. So, thank you, Mija.”

“You’re gonna make me cry!” Tears were threatening to spill.

“Don’t cry! This is a happy day.” He patted your knee. “We’re having a great time and almost there.”

La Tapatía Market was a hidden gem on the west side of town in a more residential area, inhabiting what was probably once a neighborhood grocery store back in the 1920s if the old painted brick on the outside was anything to go by. It was on a corner lot, a stone wall separating it from the homes that resided next door to it, and it wasn’t large nor tiny but a decent enough size to offer a variety of goods straight from across the border.

The market also happened to be family-owned, as you learned walking through the front door, hearing a bell jingle above it.

Entering, there was a long counter on the right where the register was, and a young man behind it, who was maybe in his thirties, his black hair buzzed short on his head, and face clean shaven, wearing dark green flannel, his attention immediately on the two of you.

“¡Hola (Hello)!” he greeted. “Me alegro de verte aquí otra vez, Don Chucho (It’s good to see you here again, Don Chucho).”

“Buenos días, Martín (Good morning, Martín),” Chucho replied, smiling. “¿Cómo están tus padres (How are your parents)? ¿Están aquí (Are they here)?”

“No, no están aquí (No, no, they’re not here).” He shook his head. “Tenían que ir a un mandado y deberían volver pronto (They had to go run an errand and should be back soon).”

“Bueno, bueno (Good, good),” he replied. “Oh, Martín, me gustaría que conocieras a mi nuera (Martín, I’d like you to meet my daughter-in-law),” he said, stepping aside and ushering you forward as he told him your name.

“Hola (Hello),” you said. “Mucho gusto (It’s nice to meet you).”

The other man’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

“¿Javier se casó (Javier got married)?” he asked.

“No, todavía no (No, not yet),” Chucho chuckled. “Pero espero que más pronto que tarde (But hopefully sooner rather than later).”

“Sí, Don Chucho (Yes, Don Chucho). Es maravilloso que haya conocido a alguien (It’s wonderful that he met someone).” His attention turned to you, smiling. “Mucho gusto (It’s nice to meet you).” Looking between you both, he asked, “¿Qué los trae por aquí hoy (What brings you here today)?”

Chucho’s arm went over your shoulders, grinning as he answered, “Ella es una cocinera increíble y está haciendo los tamales de mi esposa (She is an amazing cook and is making my wife’s tamales).”

The praise had your cheeks feeling hot, thinking it was very sweet how highly he regarded you, but it also was a tad nerve-wracking, feeling the nervous flutter in your belly.

Surprise was on Martín’s face. “Los famosos tamales de la Doña Antonia (Doña Antonia’s famous tamales)?”

“Sí,” Chucho replied excitedly, and it was honestly very adorable.

“Guau, buena suerte (Wow, good luck). Avíseme si necesita ayuda para encontrar algo (Let me know if you need help finding anything).

“Gracias, Martín (Thank you, Martín).”

“Gracias,” you also said, smiling.

Just inside the door and to the left were metal shopping carts, Chucho grabbing one while you opened your notebook, telling him the first thing on the list, and him leading you to the aisle. There were only a couple of other shoppers moseying around, your boyfriend’s dad greeting them by name when you happened across them.

The recipe from Antonia’s cards said it’d make about two dozen tamales, and you were very confused when Chucho had you get five times the ingredients on the list.

Did he want to make sure you had extra in case you fucked up? Five times seemed a bit excessive for that...

You were standing in an aisle, many different kinds of chiles in plastic bags hanging on pegs in front of you. The older man was looking at the labels with concentration etched on his brow before grabbing a bag.

“These ones,” he said, showing it to you. “How many do you need?”

“Uh, twelve chiles.”

“Okay.” He nodded, looking in the bag and counting how many chiles it had in it, then once again, he was quintupling the amount, throwing in more bags, and doing the same with the arbol chiles.

“Chucho?”

“Yes?” His attention turned to you.

“Why are we getting so much extra stuff?” You pointed at the growing pile of goods in the cart.

“So there’s enough for everyone,” he answered.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Who’s everyone?”

“You’re making tamales…” he said slowly.

“Yes… and that means?”

What were you missing?

“You don’t make tamales alone…”

“Yeah, you’re helping.” You gestured at him.

He smiled warmly. “Mija, you’re going to need more than just me. So, I invited people to come over and help.” He shrugged.

It felt like a record scratched in your brain.

“What people?”

“Just my sisters and some of their kids—they’re very excited to meet you.”

Well, this new bit of information did not help with your nerves at all. Now there would be more people judging your food, and your worry that you’d fuck up was running rampant. You took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. You were doing this for Javi—you needed to do this for your boyfriend, and thinking on the bright side, it will be good to have people who know how to make tamales there.

“Oh, wow, okay. I’m meeting the fam. That’s cool. I’m excited to meet them, too.”

Aside from Javi introducing you to a couple of his cousins who work at the ranch, you hadn’t met anyone else in his family—not because he was ashamed of you or didn’t want you to meet them, he was just being selfish, and hogging you all to himself. His tía María had everyone over at her house after church every Sunday for food and to catch up, and there was an open invitation for Javi and you to attend, but he preferred spending the day with you instead. It was romantic of him, but you were dying to meet the people you’d heard stories about and seen pictures of in the photo albums of him growing up.

You hoped they’d like you.

Chucho was back behind the cart, and you were beside it. He put a comforting hand on your shoulder, looking you in the eyes.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” he said in a gentle voice you could imagine him using with the animals at the ranch. “They’ve heard all about you and are happy Javi has such a great girlfriend. They already like you.”

There was doubt in the back of your mind.

“You’re sure they like me?”

He smiled. “Oh, yeah. Rebeca had some of the peach pie you made for my birthday and wanted the recipe. They all can’t wait to try your tamales.”

That made you feel better.

“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

"You won't."

A thought came to you. "Fuck, I don't think I made enough pork!"

"You did." 

"I did?"

He grinned. "Yes, when you called to ask how much to buy, I made sure you got enough." 

Smiling at him, you replied, "You're very sneaky, Chucho and I love it." 

"Thank you. What's next on the list?"

“You won’t. What’s next on the list?”

The cart was fuller than you anticipated, with Chucho getting a variety of fruit-flavored sodas called Jarritos and some beer by the time you reached the register. He also refused to let you pay, which was annoying, but after the third time you tried, he gave you a grumpy look that was strikingly similar to your boyfriend’s, so you’d given up.

Everything fit in the trunk of the Mustang, and the two of you were off back to the ranch, Chucho turning on an oldies radio station while you guys made a game plan for the day.

He told you Antonia cooked the red chile sauce first, making the filling next, then the tamale dough called masa after. That was a good idea, deciding that was what you’d do, too.

Returning to the house, everything was brought inside, and you organized it all into piles for each step of the process on the kitchen table. Chucho put all the drinks in a giant cooler with a ton of ice stationed out of the way in the big kitchen.

After washing and drying your hands, you got to work, starting with shredding the pork that cooled while you were out. Chucho turned on the kitchen radio, you telling him to keep it on the Spanish station his wife had loved, and he’d gotten you guys some cold beers out of the fridge.

While you dealt with the meat, he took care of soaking the corn husks in hot water where they’d need to stay for hours to make them pliable and easy to work with when it was time to construct the tamales.

When you finished with the pork, it was put aside, and you started on the red sauce.

The two of you were standing next to each other at the kitchen counter, a big wooden cutting board in front of you both with kitchen shears and a chef’s knife you were using to cut the stems off of the chiles, then using the knife to slice them open and remove the seeds by hand—it was a somewhat tedious process.

“Did you always help your wife with this part?” you asked him, adding another cleaned chile to the pile on a baking sheet beside the cutting board.

“Sí (Yes), well, at least until Javi got old enough to remember not to touch his eyes.” He chuckled.

“A rookie mistake.” You shook your head.

“Oh yeah, I remember the first time, he was maybe five or six, she told him, ‘No te toques los ojos—es owie (Don’t touch your eyes—it’s owie),’ and what did he do? Rubbed them. Antonia had to soak cotton balls in milk and put them over his eyes.”

“Oh god, poor little guy!”

The pile of chiles was getting bigger.

“She felt bad, so I’d help her with the chiles, and he’d be her shadow through everything else.”

“He loved his mom a whole lot.”

“Yes, he did. Surprised he even bothered with me.”

Frowning, you turned your head toward him, pausing what you were doing to reply, “You know he loves you a lot too, right?”

He sighed, “I know.” His hands were still working.

“No, I mean he loves you so much, he won’t leave Laredo, we won’t leave Laredo. He needs to live close to you because he loves you, and he can’t fathom ever being away from you again. I think it’s those talks you guys have over beers.” You smiled, knocking your shoulder against his.

Chucho huffed out a breath. “Maybe it is. We had a good one after he watched the video of his mamá cooking.”

“Oh?” You tried not to sound too curious, returning to what you were doing. “Is there like father-son confidentiality, like doctor-patient?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “But,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “you didn’t hear it from me that he’s planning to propose in less than a year.”

Grinning, you replied, “On our first anniversary! I know; I weaseled it out of him.”

He laughed. “I should’ve known you’d find out. Mija?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you a betting woman?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. What are we thinking?”

“I’ll bet you fifty dollars he does it before.”

“See, I thought maybe he’d break, too, but he is adamant about this one-year thing. Apparently, he has a whole romantic plan. So, I’ll take you up on that wager. I see him waiting.”

“We’ll see what happens.”

“Yes, we will.”

He spoke a little softer, “You’re really not moving away when you get married?”

“Hell no, Pop. Our kids need to be close to their abuelo.”

You heard him sniffle, so you bumped your shoulder into his again. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The recipe for the sauce was pretty easy to follow, Chucho seeming to know what appliances you would need and getting them ready: preheating the oven, pulling out the blender, bringing you a good-sized saucepan. When it was simmering on the stove, you thoroughly washed your hands with soap and water to clean off the chile oils, Chucho already doing so.

It was now time to wait as it finished cooking, the anticipation swelling up inside you, praying to whatever deity was listening for it to turn out okay.

The black-rimmed reading glasses were on his face—they’d been kept in the inside pocket of his jacket, that article of clothing draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms, his eyes scanning the words on the document from the opened file in front of him on his desk, while his right hand scribbled notes on the yellow pages of a legal pad, his styrofoam cup of coffee, empty.

Before he met Cielito, it was nightmares that plagued him—not every night, but enough that there was a familiarity to the shadows of his dark room, the bright moon outside his blinds a regular companion. What happened earlier was… new, yet he knew he had to call her; she told him to if she wasn’t there, and he had a nightmare, and this seemed pretty fucking close to one. Her voice gave him something to focus on, grounding him, soothing him to the point his heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out. The whole thing was entirely unexpected, and he fucking hoped it didn’t happen again.

She wanted him to work out the shit in his head, and he hated admitting it, but maybe he needed to see a professional.

Fuck, he couldn’t go to any in Laredo because people would talk. He set his pen down, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pushing through his hair as he sighed. A neighboring town was an option. It’d be a bit of a drive—worth it, though, if they could help with whatever the fuck was wrong with him. He’d talk to his wif–girlfriend, he mentally corrected, frowning. He’d talk to her tonight since she could probably find a place with her connections at the hospital.

After the panic attack, he focused on work, stocking his office with supplies from the supply closet before going to annoy the fuck out of the Sheriff’s assistant. Her desk was right outside Arturo’s closed office door, a coffee mug on her desk with the University of Texas crest and the words, ‘Class of ‘98,’ so she was a fresh graduate, her nameplate reading Joy, looking like a deer in headlights when Javier rattled off various documents he needed from the Sheriff. Eventually, he sighed when he realized she wasn’t listening and asked for her pad of paper and pen to write them down instead, telling her he needed them as soon as possible.

Half an hour later, she’d brought him a small stack of files and apologized profusely, explaining she’d only worked there a month and had no idea what he was talking about, needing help from the Sheriff.

Javier then spent the time up until now reading and jotting down notes to work out his plan.

He flicked his wrist up, looking at the silver watch face, seeing it was a little past noon and time for lunch.

Closing the manilla folder, he moved it back onto the stack, pushing his notepad aside. His hips shifted forward in his seat as he shoved his hand into his right pocket to pull out his phone, hitting one, then the call button to speed dial Cielito, bringing it up to his ear. Sitting up in his chair, he rested his elbows on the desk, taking off his glasses with his free hand.

She answered on the third ring.

“Hey, babe!”

He smiled. “Hi, baby.”

Spanish music played softly in the background on her end, making him smile bigger, warmth radiating in his chest.

“I’m happy to hear your voice. Has everything been okay since we last talked? Anything else happen?”

“Aside from me confusing the fuck out of some girl and, I think, accidentally scaring her?”

She’d been very apologetic and wouldn’t look him in the eyes, bolting once he told her she didn’t need to apologize and that everything was fine.

“Was your face grumpy, and were you bossy?”

His smile fell.

“Maybe… a little?”

“So, that’s a yes. How old are we talking?”

“Just graduated from UT.”

“Then she was probably really intimidated. Be nicer. You’re working with these people five days a week, don’t make them hate you.”

He frowned, thinking about how everyone in Colombia called him an asshole because he didn’t put up with their shit.

Sighing, he replied, “I’ll… try.”

“Good. So, did the Sheriff give you better details on what he wants you to do?”

His face pinched when he thought of the conversation he had with Arturo.

“Yeah, he tried to fucking saddle me with a goddamn team and have me run the fucking show,” he seethed.

“Excuse me?” There was anger in her tone. “Javier, you told him to get fucked, right?”

“Told him I’d quit on the fucking spot.”

“That’s my man.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made his own lips tip up. “What happened?”

“We came to an agreement, and I’ll be doing the work I was promised.”

“And you’re positive you want this job?”

What choice did he have? He needed this job to protect her—he had to do this for her and their family. The work wouldn’t be too difficult, and it was a desk job, so he’d stay safe.

“Yeah, Cielito, I do.”

“Okay…”

“I promise I’m okay, baby. I’ll, uh, need to talk to you about this morning at home.” He scratched at his mustache.

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Changing the subject, he asked, “I hear you’re in the kitchen. What are you working on?”

“Right now? A sauce that I am stressing the fuck out about because I’ve never made it before and don’t really know what it’s supposed to taste like, so I’m basically doing this blind.”

“I know it’s gonna be the best fucking sauce, Cielito.”

“You think so?” He could picture her perfectly in his mind chewing on her bottom lip.

“I know so because you’re making it. Haven’t had cooking as good as yours since mi mamá.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and you fucking know it. I tell you every day.”

“You do really like my cooking.”

“I do, Pop loves your cooking, too, and I know you’ll kick this sauce’s ass.”

She snorted. “I’ll try. Speaking of your father, after work, drive out to the ranch. We’re having dinner with him.”

His brows furrowed.

“Are you cooking at the apartment or Pop’s?”

“Your dad’s because that was easiest for all the work I have to do.”

He smiled. “Is he with you?”

“Oh, yeah. Took the day off to be my sous chef, but I’m missing my good luck, especially with this sauce!” She said the last word dramatically.

The idea of his girlfriend and dad cooking all day together delighted Javier and had him wondering what she could possibly be making. He was assuming some kind of complicated pasta dish with a complex sauce—he was excited to try whatever it was.

“Baby, don’t stress,” he said calmly. “It’s gonna be so fucking good, and you know I’ll love it. I always love your cooking.”

“I have to be real, babe. There’s a lot of pressure with this one.”

“And you’re gonna knock it out of the fuckin’ park.”

“You’re so nice to me, and I am upset I cannot kiss your stupidly handsome face right now.”

He huffed out an amused breath, smirking. “Glad to know I’m your hunky, grumpy man, you’re disgustingly in love with who has a stupidly handsome face.”

“It’s true!” she exclaimed. “You are my hunky, grumpy man, I’m disgustingly in love with who has a stupidly handsome face I wish I could kiss right now!”

He heard his dad laughing in the background.

“I really fucking love you.”

“I really fucking love you, too. I don’t want you to waste your whole lunch on the phone with me. Go eat.”

“I’d rather waste my lunch on the phone with you.”

“That’s sweet, but please eat for me. It will make me feel better.”

“Then I’ll eat my lunch.” He moved the phone into his other hand, pressing it back to his ear, as he leaned over the side of his chair with a groan to grab the metal lunch box off the floor. “You couldn’t pack it in a paper bag?” he asked, setting it on the desk in front of him.

“You keep acting like my lunch box is the worst thing on earth when literally Empire is your favorite Star Wars movie, and I know you think it’s cool.”

He sighed. “Yeah, but I’m almost forty, walking around with a fucking children’s lunch box.”

“A cool children’s lunch box.”

“I guess it’s kinda cool.”

“Stop lying to yourself—you love it.”

“I don’t love it,” he grumbled.

“You do. I’m so sorry, babe, but I gotta get back to cooking. Don’t forget to come out here after work!”

“I won’t forget. I love you.”

“I know.”

He chuckled. “Smartass.”

“You love me, and I love you, too. See you after work!”

“Bye, Cielito.”

“Bye, Javi.”

They hung up, setting his phone down next to the lunch box, his hands moving to flick open the two clasps on the metal with his thumbs, flipping the top back.

He snorted, smiling, as he looked at the decent-sized sandwich, three—he pulled out the foil-covered sandwich—no, four little baggies of fruit snacks, a clementine, and a Hi-C Ecto Cooler drink carton.

God, he loved her.

Pulling open the foil, he sucked in a breath, lifting the top piece of bread and seeing she had made him one of her BLTs.

The previous night, they had breakfast for dinner before she’d left to go do her secret thing, and she’d made too much bacon, which he’s discovering was to make his sandwich—seeing the arugula, tomato, avocado, and aioli on bread from Anna’s bakery.

Something caught his eye in the lunch box, realizing it was a small piece of paper from the notepad on their fridge. Setting the sandwich down, he grabbed the folded note, unfolding it to see her familiar handwriting, a cute heart over the I in his name:

My dearest Javi, I love you SO FUCKING MUCH and hope you have the BEST DAY at work! I know it’s probably going to be a lot (even if you’re stubborn and won’t admit it), so your favorite sandwich to comfort you since I won’t be there and an Ecto Cooler because I know you secretly like them. I’ll be thinking about you ALL DAY and am going to give you so MANY kisses when you get off. Te amo, mi amor. Your Cielito xoxo

His eyes were a little watery at all of the thought she’d put into his day—that she fucking knew it wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he hoped it would. Why was he surprised? She knew him better than he knew himself, and of course, she’d go out of her way to try and make everything okay.

Because she loved him.

Aside from his parents, no one had ever loved him so selflessly. It was a little overwhelming that she loved him with the same ferocity that he loved her. The Sheriff had said he was completely enraptured, but that wasn’t all—he was enthralled, enamored, entranced, she consumed him, and he consumed her; she wasn’t just the most beautiful and perfect woman on the planet, she was the one.

The cell phone was put back in your bag on the kitchen table, relieved Javi was doing good. Even though he reassured you multiple times he was okay after the panic attack, you still worried about him, but he sounded fine on the last call, and now you could really focus on what you were doing. Going back to the stove, you took the lid off the pan, stirring it with a large metal spoon, determined to kick its ass like Javi said you would.

“Does this seem too thick to you?” you asked, and Chucho came over to look.

“Sí, it’s an easy fix. Just add a little more water.”

“Right.” You nodded, doing as he said with some water in a glass measuring cup until it was the consistency you wanted. “Okay,” you said, the cup getting set aside. “Do you want to do the honors and taste it? Be brutally honest.”

Chucho was beside you, taking the silver spoon from your hand. Chewing on your lip, your tummy was all aflutter with nerves. You had followed every step on Antonia’s recipe card and got the secret ingredient, hoping you did her sauce justice, not sure what you’d do if you failed—that was a lie, you’d cry hysterically that you were a failure and let your amazing boyfriend down.

He inhaled deeply. “It smells wonderful.” You were basically on the edge of your seat, watching as he scooped a little of the sauce onto the spoon and brought it up to his lips, blowing on it softly. He paused, looking at you. “You ready?” he asked.

“Yes!” you exclaimed. “I need to know if I brought shame to your amazing wife!”

His eyebrows creased. “Mi Antonia would be so happy that you tried to make her sauce, and she’d tell you what her mamá told her when she was learning how to make it.”

“What did she say?”

“You didn’t make it wrong; you’re creating your own.”

“Oh.”

“Now, let’s see what your sauce tastes like.” And he ended the sentence by putting the spoon in his mouth and tasting it.

He hummed appreciatively, nodding his head, moving to put the dirtied utensil in the sink. “It’s very good, Mija,” he said after swallowing. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. He was standing in front of you, his gaze on yours. “Wow.” His eyes were getting a little misty, taking off his glasses to wipe at them. “Haven’t had a sauce that good since mi amor. God, I miss her,” he mused, putting his glasses back on. His hand went to your shoulder. “It’s very close and very good. Antonia would be proud, and Javi’s going to love it.”

Happy tears fell down your cheeks, your arms going around him for a hug.

“I’m proud of you, too,” he said, hugging you back.

It made you cry harder, squeezing him a little tighter, roughly saying, “Thanks, Pop.”

After you calmed down, it was time to make the pork filling, which required using a large lidded Sauté pan, combining the meat and sauce, and having it simmer on the stove.

Chucho was making himself busy by cleaning and clearing off the counters of the stuff you no longer needed.

He had the dishwasher open, filling it with dirty things from the sink.

“I’m happy you had all the kitchenware I needed,” you told him.

Groaning as he bent to put the glass blender jar into the appliance, he said, “Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any of it.”

“That’s understandable.” You nodded. If something happened to Javi, you’d be the same.

He straightened. “And it’s a good thing I kept it all because now you can use it.”

“Yes, I can.”

“May I ask a favor, Mija?”

Turning to face him, you said, “Yeah, of course—anything.”

“I know you’ll want to make more of her recipes. Can the next one be her flan?”

It made you soften, well aware that Antonia’s flan was his favorite dessert, loving it so much he named his horse after it.

Smiling, you answered, “You got it. We’ll have to go on another store adventure.”

He gave you a big grin. “We’ll take the Mustang.”

“I hoped we would.”

Once the filling was done, you tried a bite, loving the rich savoriness with a slight kick of spicy, the pork infused with the chile sauce was absolutely delicious. It was finally time to make the dough, reading over your notes about what Antonia had said in her instruction video. Chucho had gotten out her nice avocado green KitchenAid stand mixer that was probably a good twenty years old and in fantastic condition.

The dough was called masa and made out of a special ground-up corn, and in Antonia’s recipe, she added some of the red sauce to it and used the broth made from slow-cooking the pork, you doing the same. The mixer was on, hearing the mechanical whir as it mixed all of the ingredients, needing them to become the consistency of smooth peanut butter. Chucho was sitting at the kitchen table sipping his beer, the corn husks in two tall piles on a baking sheet, and the pork filling in a large bowl on the tabletop next to them.

There was the sound of the front door opening and the screen door slamming closed.

“¿Donde está la muchacha (Where is she)?” A feminine voice shouted, footsteps coming closer to the kitchen.

“No la asustes, Lupita (Don’t scare her away, Lupita),” another woman said. “Tenemos la suerte de conocerla (We are lucky to be meeting her).”

“Sí, y me muero por conocerla, María (Yes, and I’m dying to meet her, María).”

Two very short older women entered the kitchen, both smiling and holding aluminum foil-covered glass Pyrex baking dishes. The two had similar hairstyles of their hair cropped short, the one with black hair, her curls framing her face with bangs, wearing a purple floral blouse; the blonde with a choppier cut, a gold cross necklace laying over her dark blouse.

“Aquí está (She’s here)!” The lighter-haired one excitedly announced, moving quickly to put her dish on a part of the counter you weren’t using.

Turning toward her, you smiled, a white rubber-ended spatula in your hand, greeting her with, “Hola!”

“¿Hablas español (Do you speak Spanish)?” she asked.

“Un poco (A little),” you answered. “Todavía estoy aprendiendo (I’m still learning).”

“Then I’ll use English,” she said with a heavy accent. “Chucho has shown us pictures, and you’re much prettier in person.”

“Thank you?”

“Mija,” Chucho said, “That’s my sister, Guadalupe—”

“You can call me Lupe,” she interjected.

“And María,” he added. The other woman had set down her glass dish, too, both now standing beside you, Chucho introducing you to them.

“It’s nice to meet you,” María’s accented voice said with a warm smile.

“So, nice to finally meet you,” Lupe told you. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Hopefully, good stuff,” you replied. “It’s nice meeting you both.” Your attention moved back to the mixer, switching it off.

“Lots of good stuff, Mija,” Lupe said.

“You’re making the masa?” María asked.

“Yes.” You nodded, lifting the mixing arm out of the bowl and scraping the sides with your spatula to check the consistency of the dough, smiling when it was smooth. “I think it turned out okay—I have to do the water test.” That was a way to determine if it was ready; if it floated, it was done, and if it sank, you needed to add more fat.

“I’ll get the water,” Lupe said, moving to get a cup out of a nearby cabinet and turning on the sink.

“Did you have a hard time making the sauce?” María asked.

Looking at her, you answered, “Not really? Antonia did a great job of writing out her recipe, so I did what it said, but boy, was I nervous about how it would turn out.” You chuckled.

“Oh, yes,” María said. “It’s the biggest worry.”

“It was,” you agreed, nodding your head.

A warm glass of water was set next to you on the counter. “Thank you,” you said, getting a small piece of the dough, holding your breath as you dropped it into the cup. It was floating, “Yes!” You pumped your fist in the air. “I did it, Chucho!”

“I knew you would!” he replied. “María, Lupita, ven aquí y prueba la carne (Come over here and try the meat).” They went over to the table, and nerves were once again making your stomach flutter, hoping they’d like it. You were distracting yourself by using your rubber spatula to get the dough off of the flat beater.

“¡Dios mío (Oh my god)!” María sounded surprised. “Es bien bueno (It’s very good). ¿Esta fue la primera vez que lo hizo (This was her first time making it)?”

“Mmm,” Lupe hummed. “Esta muy sabroso (It’s very tasty).”

“Sí, es su primera vez (Yes, it’s her first time).” Chucho sounded so proud, and it had your eyes brimming with tears. “Te dije que es una cocinera increíble (I told you she’s an amazing cook). Sabe casi como el de mi amor (It tastes almost like my love’s).”

“Sí, sí (Yes, yes),” María agreed. “Estoy sorprendida (I’m shocked).”

“¿Ella conoce el secreto de Antonia (She knows Antonia’s secret)?” Lupe asked.

“Sí,” he answered.

“¿Tú se lo dijiste a ella pero no a nosotros (You told her but not us)?”

“Sí, porque mi Antonia dijo que la esposa de Javiercito puede saberlo y creo que se casarán antes de fin de año (Yes, because my Antonia said Javier’s wife can know and I think they will get married before the end of the year).”

You spun around, your eyes wide. “Before the end of the year?” you gasped.

His gaze met yours, smiling as he nodded. “Oh, yeah,” he answered. “Javi can be… impulsive, and I don’t think there’s a chance in hell he’s going to make it to your anniversary.” He looked beyond amused.

Swallowing hard, you asked, “Really?”

“He’s right,” María added, looking at you, her lips lifted in a smile. “When Javi was still working out here, and I’d stop by, he wouldn’t stop talking about you. He’s head over heels for you, Chula (Cutie). That boy won’t be able to make it.”

“I agree,” Lupe said. “You’re going to be family sooner than you know.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, feeling positively giddy that the people who’ve known Javi his whole life all agreed he wasn’t going to make it to your anniversary. It wouldn’t even bother you if Chucho won the bet. You’d still be a winner.

“Wow,” you replied. “And I’m happy you like my cooking. I was super nervous.”

“With how good this is?” María pointed at the bowl of meat. “There was nothing for you to worry about, Chula.” She walked over to you, giving you a hug, saying, “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” you said, after separating, Lupe came over to hug you, too.

“You did good,” She told you. “We’re happy to have you here.”

María said to everyone, “There’s lunch on the counter. I made tortas ahogadas, and Lupita made some arroz y frijoles (rice and beans)—Rebeca’s bringing her tres leches cake.”

At the mention of lunch, your stomach grumbled, realizing you hadn’t eaten since that morning.

With everything done to make the tamales, it was time to take a small break, finding out a torta ahogada was a type of sandwich with pork carnitas and red onions smothered in a red chile and tomato sauce served on a crusty bread roll and was amazing.

Eventually, Rebeca showed up, the youngest of Chucho’s sisters and a couple of the wives of Javi’s cousins who worked at the ranch bringing along their young kids, who were happy to watch cartoons in the living room and eat snacks their mom’s brought, everyone else eating and drinking the food and drinks that were in the kitchen.

There wasn’t any awkwardness for you, the family very welcoming as you all talked and laughed, and then it was time to get to work making the tamales, forming an assembly line on both sides of the table—the first person spread the masa on the husk, passing it to the next person to put in the filling, the final person folding and tying them with a thin strip of corn husk. It was obvious all the adults had done the process before, continuing to chat as you worked, the children screaming as they ran around the house, and everyone having a great time.

Chucho was folding and putting the finished tamale in a large pot at the end of the table while you sat next to him, spooning on the pork before passing it to him.

He told the table, “She thought she was going to do this with just my help.” The whole table laughed, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“I didn’t know!” you defended, putting a large spoonful of meat on top of what María handed you.

“It’s okay, Mija,” he reassured, taking it from you.

“This is something you do with family,” Rebeca said, across the table, spreading masa. Her black hair was pulled up in a tight bun, her kind eyes glancing at you.

“In December,” Lupe started, folding on the other side of the table from Chucho, “we have a big Tamalada at María’s and make hundreds of tamales.”

Your eyes went wide. “That must take hours,” you replied.

“It does.” She smiled. “But we have a great time.”

“When Antonia was alive,” María said, “she did even more. It took her days to prepare the filling and masa, then our whole family and her older brother’s would come out here, and we’d have the table like this and switch out people when they got tired. It went the whole day, but she made tamales for the family and others in town who’d order from her.”

“I’m surprised we could fit so many people in our house,” Chucho chuckled.

“You couldn’t,” Rebeca laughed. “People were always in the backyard partying.”

“And we’d finish making the tamales,” Lupe said. “And everyone would stay out here until one, two in the morning hanging out and drinking.”

“That’s something you need to know,” Chucho told you as he took another tamale you passed him. “When the family gets together, it’s never a short visit; we’re together for hours.”

It was hard to imagine wanting to spend that amount of time with your own family—it would be literal torture. But with this family? You’d love it, with how much fun everybody was having and the way the conversation flowed so easily. It was apparent there was a lot of love between these people and that they enjoyed each other’s company, finding it refreshing. The thought that this was how Javi grew up made you really happy—so many people who loved him and were open with their affection; each person at this table had given you a hug and welcomed you into the family, including the daughters-in-law who were excited to have another one who would join their ranks.

You’d honestly never had a better time with so many people, feeling like this was where you belonged.

The rest of his day hadn’t been too bad.

The meeting with the narcotics unit had gone mostly well, Javier taking a lot of notes as they all discussed what they were currently doing, relaying what was working and what wasn’t, him already having ideas of how to help them improve. He was expecting there to be some pushback with him coming in—assumed there’d be dick-measuring contests, but he quickly learned the Sheriff only hired people who actually cared about their jobs and wanted to be better at them—except for the kid on the team who was in his twenties and Javier had to tell to fuck off when he asked if the government really paid for him to get pussy; Travis quickly learned that Javier did not tolerate that disrespectful bullshit.

His Cielito had told him to be nicer to the people he worked with, but they made it so fucking hard.

He’d left at five on the dot, carrying her Star Wars lunchbox out of the building and to his truck, stopping on the way to his dad’s at the florist. Mrs. Taylor, the owner, had a smile on her face when he walked into her tiny shop, asking him which bouquet it’d be this week, her not even remotely surprised when he told her his girlfriend’s favorite, sunflowers.

The flowers were carefully laid in the passenger seat as he drove out of the city limits toward the ranch, thinking about everything Cielito had done for him today—taking the day off to watch/help him get ready, making him come before work, answering the phone when he called and calming him down, hanging out and cooking with his dad, making his favorite sandwich for lunch with a sweet note that he saved in the top drawer of his desk. She was right when she wrote it’d be a lot for him to go back to work, but all those things she did had eclipsed any of the bad shit, and he was in a great mood, feeling so unbelievably happy.

He didn’t know how he could possibly thank her for it all, thinking he’d probably go down on her for a couple of hours and get her off so many times she passed out—that would be after he fucked her nice and slow, needing to feel her come around his dick.

His eyebrows furrowed when he turned onto his father’s long driveway and noticed more cars than usual parked along the gravel in front of the house and out back, spotting a couple belonging to his tía’s. Confused, he put the truck into park in front of his girlfriend’s car, grabbing the flowers before getting out.

The sunflowers were in his left hand, his right loosening his tie while he walked along the stone path to the front steps, it untied and resting on either side of his chest by the time he made it to the door. Once inside, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where he abruptly stopped at the doorway.

She was catty-corner to him across the kitchen, the angle allowing him to see her side as she stood at the kitchen counter next to his tía Rebeca at the stove, a tortilla press in front of Cielito, her grabbing some dough from a bowl beside her, rolling it in her hands to make it into a ball, and putting it in the press, pushing down on it hard with two hands. Tía María was next to Rebeca, cooking, tía Lupita nearby making what looked to be a salad, all four of them laughing as Cielito handed the flattened tortilla to Rebeca to cook on the hot pan.

He was stuck in place, shocked at how easily she was making the tortillas like it was something she’d done hundreds of times before and having a lively conversation with his tías, the familiarity in which they spoke making his heart squeeze tight.

Hearing them call her Chula (Cutie) made him smile because it meant they liked her.

Tía María’s head turned, spotting him, moving what she was cooking onto a cold burner to immediately make her way over to him. “Ahi estas! (There you are)!” she said. “Te demorastes! (It took you long enough).”

Rebeca stopped what she was doing, heading his way with Lupita.

He soon found himself crowded by his tiny tías glaring at him, Lupita reaching up to cup his cheeks, saying, “Cómo te atreves a mantener a este ángel lejos de nosotros (How dare you keep this angel from us).”

“Sí,” Rebeca agreed, pinching his arm. “Ella es maravillosa (She is wonderful).”

“Y una cocinera increíble (And an amazing cook),” María added.

“Nos debiste haber introducido antes (You should have introduced us sooner),” Lupita said.

María spoke, “Podríamos haberle estado enseñándole nuestras recetas (We could have been teaching her our recipes).”

“Y las de tu mamá (And your mom’s),” Rebeca told him, poking him in the arm.

“Que no se te ocurre venir sin ella el domingo que viene (Don’t you dare come without her next Sunday),” María threatened as she jabbed his other arm.

“Sí, más te vale (Yes, you better),” Rebeca agreed. “Necesito su receta de pastel de melocotón (I need her peach pie recipe).”

“Deja de ser codicioso y manteniéndola para ti (Stop being greedy and keeping her to yourself),” Lupita said, patting his cheeks. “Es grosero (It’s rude).”

“Muy grosero (Very rude),” María added.

Javier’s mouth was opening and closing, unsure how to respond, finally clearing his throat to say, “Lo siento, lo siento, fue mi error (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was my mistake).” He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Yo era muy codicioso pero cómo no iba a serlo, la has conocido, ella es increíble y la amo (I was very greedy but how could I not be, you met her, she is amazing and I love her).”

The anger left their faces, replaced with fond looks.

“Ella también te ama, Chamaco (She loves you, too, Little Guy),” María said, rubbing his bicep. “Ella te ama mucho y también la amamos a ella (She loves you a lot and we love her, too).”

“Encontraste una buena (You found a good one),” Rebeca told him.

He smiled. “Sé que lo hice (I know I did). Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo (I’m the luckiest man in the world). Ella es con quien me voy a casar (She is the one I’m going to marry). Vamos a tener hijos (We’re going to have children). La amo mucho (I love her so much).”

“Si dios quiere (God willing)!” the three exclaimed simultaneously.

María said, “Javiercito, tu mamá la hubiera amado y querido que te casaras con ella (Javier, your mom would have loved her and wanted you to marry her).”

“Sí,” the other two agreed, nodding their heads.

“Si, lo se (Yes, I know). Ahora, ¿puedo hablar con mi amor por favor (Now, can I please talk to my love)?”

They all moved away from him, finding that Cielito had washed her hands and was standing behind them. The moment her path was cleared, she was rushing him, flinging herself at him with enough force he grunted when her body collided with his, having to take a step back to keep his balance as her mouth fused to his, kissing him hard.

He was thankful for whichever of his tías took the flowers so he could hug her close to him, melting into the kiss that deepened quickly, her tongue slipping past his lips to slide along his own, her fingers digging in his hair. The older women were laughing, giving them some semblance of privacy as they returned to what they were doing.

Something like calm came over him, his body relaxing as they kissed, his hands rubbing all over her back, needing to feel her. It was the contentedness and knowing deep down in his bones this was where he was meant to be—when he was with her, he was home, she was home, she was forever and everything to him.

His lungs began to ache, and her mouth left his, breathing hard as she kissed all over his face, her hands grabbing his head to tilt it forward so she could reach his forehead, smothering him in loud smacking kisses that had him smiling so big she was able to kiss his dimple.

She finally pulled back to look him in the eyes, a little smile on her swollen lips, “Hi,” she greeted.

“Hi,” he replied.

“How was the rest of your day?” she asked, her fingers fixing his hair.

“Not bad.”

“That’s good.”

“Look at my badge.” He lifted it up for her to see his picture.

“God, you’re hot—it is unfair how photogenic you are.” She glanced up at him. “It’s a good thing, though.”

His eyebrow rose. “That I’m photogenic?”

“Yeah, means our kids will probably be photogenic, too. There are going to be so many pictures—I can feel it in my bones that you are going to be worse than your dad.”

He’d gone soft at the mention of their future children, smiling at her.

“Probably.” He shrugged because she wasn’t wrong. Javier was always using the Polaroid camera, and they started their own album—he’d been meaning to get a better camera. “I see you’ve met my tías,” he said.

“And a bunch of your primos (cousins) who work out here, their wives and kids, and your tíos (uncles). Most of them are out back.” She jutted her thumb behind her. “Your dad is barbecuing, and I was learning how to make tortillas, which aren’t too difficult. I’m basically a pro at making masa now.”

“You made masa?” He asked with his eyebrows up in his hairline.

“Yep. I actually have a surprise for you—take off your jacket, and get comfy at the table.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, doing as she said and shrugging it off while she walked away. He went over to the kitchen table, putting his suit jacket on the back of his chair, the wood scraping across the floor as he pulled it out to take a seat. The sunflowers he brought were in a small vase on the tabletop.

First, she brought him a cold beer, the bottle sweating in front of him.

“Thank you, baby,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She winked before heading over to the stove.

He picked up the beer, taking a drink, finding it cool and refreshing before setting it back down. His elbows rested on the table as he fiddled with the label on the glass.

All the women were whispering to each other, and it made him curious as to what the surprise was, watching as someone grabbed a plate from a cabinet.

“Did the sauce turn out how you were hoping?” he asked loud enough for Cielito to hear.

“According to your family, yes,” she answered.

“It turned out real good, Chamaco,” Maria said.

“It did,” Lupe added. “She did a great job.”

“A really great job,” Rebeca agreed.

His eyebrows creased, thinking about how she said it was a sauce she’d never made before and how she was stressed about it, his family now saying she made it well. Did she make a Mexican dish?

“Close your eyes!” Cielito said.

“What?” he asked.

“Close your eyes!”

“Okay…?” he replied, closing them.

Moments later, the beer was removed from his hands, moving his arms out of the way to make space for the plate that was set down.

“Now, before you open your eyes. I need you to know I tried really fucking hard, and if you hate them, it’s fine; I’ll never make them again.”

He snorted. “I’m not gonna hate it.”

“I mean, you might, and it’s okay if you do.”

“I won’t.”

Her hand rubbed his upper back, feeling her kiss the top of his head, her muffled voice saying, “This is why I love you. Okay, open your eyes.”

His breath hitched in his throat, his heart thudding in his chest, not believing what he was seeing.

When she said she was working on a new recipe all day that involved a sauce, he assumed pasta or something along those lines—he never in a million fucking years would’ve guessed she’d try to make tamales, staring at the two wrapped in corn husks on the plate in shock.

“What are they filled with?” he whispered, and the thing was, he knew her answer before she even said it, his eyes burning and his bottom lip starting to tremble.

“It’s your mom’s recipe,” she gently confirmed, the first tear falling down his cheek.

He needed to try them, his hands moving to unwrap one, the tamale steaming as he grabbed the fork she’d set beside his plate and took his first bite.

Javier has had years to grieve the loss of his mother and come to terms with the fact she was gone—he’d never see her, talk to her or get to eat her food again. She was gone. Yet, the spices of the red chile sauce and the sweetness of the pork hit his tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she was alive again, the taste so close that his shoulders started shaking, and more tears fell, savoring each bite he took, until the first one was finished, and he was quickly digging into the second.

It was like coming home after being away for years and feeling the warm embrace of your loved one—the instant comfort, happy nostalgia, and overwhelming love, Javier remembering the many times he’d sat at this same table with his mamá nearby, eating her tamales, feeling like she was here with him now.

“Are they okay…?” Cielito asked. “I hope you’re not mad at me for making them…”

The last tamale was gone, his head turning to look up at her with wet cheeks.

His voice was rough, telling her, “I’m not mad. I’m so fucking happy. You—” His voice cracked, his eyes squeezing shut. “—you,” he tried again. “You gave me a chance to eat mi mamá’s food again, and I’m so happy.” There was no way he could keep from crying, shoving his face into her stomach and hugging her tight as he sobbed.

This woman loved him so goddamn much, it was making him cry harder. He couldn’t believe she went through all of this effort for him—she did it for him. He didn’t deserve all of this. He didn’t deserve her. What was she doing with him? How had he lucked out so much? With all of the shit he’s been through and how life has always kicked his ass, there was a fear in the back of his mind that things were too good and she’d realize he wasn’t worth it. It just seemed so fucking impossible that he found someone who truly loved him—she didn’t even have to say the words, he could feel it in what she’d done, and it was crazy to him she loved him that much.

Was it crazy, though?

He was just as in love with her. He’d do anything for her, anything because she had embedded herself so deeply in his heart, he was sure if something happened to her, it’d stop beating—his love for her felt as bright as the burning sun and would keep shining even when he was no more.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, rubbing one hand on his back, the other cradling the back of his head. “I love you—I love you so much, and had a feeling today would be tough. Your dad said I can make any of your mom’s recipes, so if there’s something you want, I’ll give it a go, and your tías all offered to help me learn.”

Leaning his head back to meet her eyes, he asked, “You want to make more of her recipes?”

She stroked her fingers through his hair.

“Absolutely. I promised your dad I’d make him flan.”

He smiled. “Pop would love that.”

“I know, so I gotta make it for him. He said he’d take me in the Mustang again to go shopping for the ingredients.”

His eyes went wide. “He took you in the Mustang?”

“He did! Top-down and everything. It was a blast.”

“You should see if he’ll let you drive it...”

She huffed out a breath. “To see if you’re the only one with a Mustang ban?”

“Yeah.”

“I highly doubt he’ll let me.”

“You should still ask.”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “Fine, but if by some fucking miracle he says yes, you’re not allowed to be upset,” she said, poking his nose.

“Deal.” He nodded.

“You feeling better?” she asked.

“Yeah. They were so fucking good. Please tell me you made more.”

“There are so many. Your dad had me make a ton.”

Tía María said from over at the stove, “She thought she and your papá could make them all by themselves.”

“I didn’t know!” Cielito exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

“Wait,” Javier started, “was there a tamalada? Is that why everyone’s here?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Your dad sprung the news on me that he invited everyone while at the store. It was a lot of fun. I did filling.”

He was frowning, feeling sad he missed it.

“I liked to fold,” he sighed.

“Hey.” She held his cheeks. “We can do it again on a day you have off.”

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that.”

Leaning down, she gave him a tender kiss.

“I love you,” he murmured into her lips.

“I love you, too.”

His mouth left hers, his chair squeaking as it moved back, so he could stand, turning so their bodies were chest to chest, his big palms cradling her face as he looked her in the eyes.

“No,” he said, “te amo más que a nada y mi vida estaría vacía sin ti (No, I love you more than anything, and my life would be empty without you). Vivo para ti, respiro por ti, mi corazón late por ti, soy nada sin ti (I live for you, I breathe for you, my heart beats for you, I am nothing without you).”

“Javi,” she gasped, seeing the tears brimming in her eyes. “That’s so fucking romantic, but I don’t deserve that kind of devotion.” She shook her head. “I’m nobody, and I’m waiting for the day you realize I’m a big fucking loser.”

His eyes squinted, his eyebrows knitting together, not understanding why she would say that.

“What?” he asked. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re fucking incredible and everything to me. You’re not nobody. You’re my all—you’re it, and I hate the self-deprecating bullshit because if one of us doesn’t deserve love, it’s fucking me.” He patted over his heart. “I don’t deserve you, and I’m really fucking aware of it. So, stop it, and let me fucking love you.”

“Esto es mejor que mi telenovela (This is better than my telenovela),” tía Lupita whispered.

Rebeca shooshed her. “Se está poniendo bueno (It’s getting good).”

“What the fuck are you talking about that you don’t deserve me?” Cielito asked. “I can’t be self-deprecating, but you can? No, unacceptable. You’re a fucking amazing man, and I will not tolerate you thinking that you do not deserve me—you more than deserve me. Thank you very much. So, you fucking stop it—” She poked him in the chest. “—and let me fucking love you.”

He smiled, grasping her hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. “You can love me, and I’ll love you, so that’s settled.”

“Good.”

He kissed the center of her palm. “I really fucking love you.”

“I really fucking love you, too.”

His lips pressed to her wrist. “Estoy enloquecido por ti (I’m crazy about you).”

A kiss to her arm. “Mi corazón es tuyo (My heart is yours).”

Another press of his lips further up. “Soy tuyo (I’m yours).”

One to the bend in her arm. “Eres todo para mi (You’re everything to me).”

Straightening, he gently cupped her cheeks. “Eres el amor de mi vida, mi Cielito (You are the love of my life, my Cielito).” Finally, kissing her on the lips.

Javi demolished seven of your tamales, and when there was a minute with you two alone in the kitchen, you watched him fill two gallon Ziploc bags with probably twenty more that he hid in the fridge to take home, which made you so insanely happy. There was still a bunch left for everyone else to have more than one, not feeling too worried about it since Javi’s tíos showed up with a ton of meat and other things for Chucho to cook on his massive grill and ingredients for his tías to make sides.

Your boyfriend had draped his tie over his suit jacket on the back of a chair at the kitchen table, stuffing his badge in the pocket, rolling his sleeves up his forearms, and popping open a few buttons on his dress shirt before you’d gone out back. A beer he was nursing was in one hand, the other over your shoulders, keeping you close to him.

A dozen or so kids, all under the age of twelve, were running around laughing and screaming in the backyard. The glass dining table on the patio had paper plates, plastic utensils, condiments, a big bowl of fresh-cut fruit, and a tiny stack of tamales on it. The adults sat at a picnic table on the grass, others in plastic chairs pulled close, talking animatedly while eating and drinking their sodas and beers, waiting for more food to be ready, a boombox out playing music.

Javi’s dad had an array of things he was grilling, pointing at each one with his giant metal tongs and telling you what each was: costillas (pork ribs), entraña (skirt steak), chorizó (well-seasoned pork sausage), cebollitas asadas (grilled green onions), and elote (grilled corn).

“The elote,” Chucho said, flipping one over to grill the other side, “we dress it in mayo, cotija cheese that’s crumbly, chili powder, and lime juice. It’s very good.”

“I’m sure I’m going to love it,” you replied, Javi pulling you closer into his side and kissing your hair.

“Ask him,” he murmured in your ear.

“Ugh, fine, hey Pop?”

Your boyfriend jolted next to you, “Pop?” he whispered.

“Yeah, babe—” You rubbed his chest. “—there was a lot of bonding today; he said he thinks of me as his daughter, and real talk, he’s the best dad I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you, Mija,” Chucho said, smiling at you. “I’m happy to have another kid, and who knows, maybe I’ll finally get those nietos (grandchildren) I want soon.”

Javi was in the middle of taking a drink and choked, coughing into his arm while you patted his back.

“We’re waiting until we’re married,” you told him. “And gosh, we’d probably want to have a house, too. There’s no space for a baby in the apartment.”

Chucho was nodding his head. “Of course, of course, if anything, Javi’s got his room here, and I’ve got the spare bedroom we could turn into a nursery, so that’s an option.”

It made you grin.

“That’s so sweet of you, Pop. We appreciate it.”

“Anything for my kids and future grandkids. Now, you had a question.”

“Oh, yes! Would you ever maybe possibly let me drive the Mustang…?”

“Sure.”

Your mouth fell open, Javi saying loudly, “What?!”

“But I’d be your passenger,” Chucho continued. “You can drive when we go to La Tapatía for the flan—it’s the least I can do.”

“Can I drive the Mustang?” Javi asked.

His father met his eyes. “No.”

“¿Por qué (Why)?” he said in rapid Spanish, his tone laced with anger. “¿Por qué ella puede conducir y yo no (Why can she drive and I can’t)?”

“Ella me está haciendo el flan de tu madre (She is making me your mom’s flan). Por eso. (That’s why).”

“¿Qué tengo que hacer (What do I have to do)?”

The older man thought about it for a second before a big toothy smile appeared on his face.

“Cuando te casas con ella, puedes conducir el Mustang (When you marry her, you can drive the Mustang).”

Javi sighed loudly. “Esta bien (Fine). Estas bien agresivo (You’re very pushy). Me voy a casar con ella (I am going to marry her).”

“Yo sé, Mijo, pero no lo suficientemente pronto (I know, Mijo, but not soon enough).”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you want your grandkids. You’re gonna have to hold your fuckin’ horses and wait.” He took another drink.

“I’m not getting any younger.” Chucho’s attention went back to the barbecue, flipping meat and vegetables.

“I’m aware.”

The two of you migrated over to where everyone else was, standing off to the side as they all talked in Spanish, Javi’s arm around you, his finger drawing circles on your hip.

“I can’t wait to get home,” he whispered in your ear for only you to hear.

“Why’s that?” you asked just as softly.

“So I can spread you out and eat your pussy for an hour or two.” He nipped at your earlobe, your breath catching in your throat. “But first, I want to fuck you nice and slow—want you to feel how I stretch you open and make you squeeze my dick when you come. Gonna pump you full of me.”

You could feel your heartbeat in your cunt, squeezing your thighs together.

“Javier,” you gasped. “We are with your family. Stop making me horny.”

“Yeah? Your panties drenched? If I stuck my hand inside those stretchy fucking shorts I love, would I feel you all wet for me?”

You were, and you hated how smug he sounded.

“Of course, but we’re going to be here for hours. Don’t rile me up.”

His hand moved from your hip to squeeze your ass.

“Maybe I want to rile you up. Have you dripping for me and needy. Get you so fucking horny that we barely make it into the apartment, and I fuck you right there on the floor.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You fucking love it. You don’t give a single fuck where I do it as long as I fuck you full of my come—you love being stuffed.”

“Javier,” you hissed.

“Yes, mi amor (my love)?”

“You’re being a goddamn menace.”

“I’m being your menace.” He kissed your cheek.

A tiny child was suddenly hugging your legs, looking down to find Javi’s cousin, Danny’s toddler, holding her chubby little arms up for you to pick her up, bending to do just that. The little girl was wearing a pink sleeveless dress, her little bit of dark hair pulled up in two pigtails, sitting her on your hip.

“Hola (Hi),” you greeted her with a smile. “¿Cuál es tu nombre (What is your name)?”

She was rubbing her hands together, not looking you in the eye.

“So-feee-a.”

“Hola, Sofia (Hi, Sofia). Tu nombre es muy bonito (Your name is very beautiful). ¿Cuántos años tienes (How old are you)?”

“Dos (Two)!” she announced, holding up two fingers. “Sí, dos (Yes, two)!”

“Muy bien (Very good). Te estás divirtiendo jugando con tus hermanos y primos (Are you having fun playing with your siblings and cousins)?”

“Sí, corren rápido (Yes, they run fast).”

Looking over at Javi, there was a soft look on his face, you asking him, “¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) they run too fast for you?”

He was just staring, your eyebrows creasing, jabbing him in the side with your elbow, “Javi?”

“What…?” he asked.

“¿Cómo se dice (How do you say) they run too fast for you?”

“Oh, uh, corren muy rápido para ti?”

Nodding, your attention moved back to the child. “¿Corren muy rápido para ti?” you asked her.

“Sí, muy rápido (Yes, very fast).”

“Lo siento (I’m sorry) ¿Cuál es tu color favorito (What’s your favorite color)?

She tugged on her dress. “Rosadooo (Pink)! Y amarillooo (And yellow)!”

Her answer made you giggle.

“También me encantan esos colores (I love those colors, too).”

Sofia frowned. “Tengo sed (I’m thirsty).”

“Oh, um, Javi.” You looked at him. “Can you tell her we’ll take her to her mom?”

He set his beer down on the grass, straightening and holding out his arms. “Ven aquí, preciosa, te llevaremos a tu mamá (Come here, precious, we will take you to your mom),” he said in that sweet voice he always used with the animals, taking the child from you.

He held her easily in one arm, hearing him speaking softly to her in Spanish as he walked her over to her mom at the picnic table—your eyes had gone wide, gulping as you took him in, your ovaries going haywire at how perfect he looked; how natural, thinking those broad shoulders of his would come in handy to carry more than one baby.

Oh.

Oh no.

You had to fan yourself with your hand, it suddenly feeling very hot, doing your best to ignore the ancient, primal part of your brain screaming that he was the perfect man to father your children, and he needed to put one in you right that second—the temptation to toss your birth control when you got home was too damn high.

Dear god, was this baby fever? Were you experiencing baby fever?

The way arousal was burning in your gut and making your pussy throb with need told you, yes, you did, in fact, have baby fucking fever.

You were so unbelievably horny, annoyed it was at the most inopportune time, needing to go splash some cold water on your face to calm yourself down.

Javi was returning to you, your eyes darting away as you said when he was close, “I’m, um, gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” Pointing with your thumbs toward the house. “I’ll be back.”

He was in front of you, his hands rubbing your upper arms, your body shivering at the contact.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a concerned look.

“Yeah,” you said a little too quickly. “Fucking fantastic, not horny at all, no siree, perfectly fine. I’ll be back.”

“Okay…?”

You practically bolted away from him and into the house, passing the guest bathroom to go to the one in Javi’s room. Two of his tías and a daughter-in-law were in the kitchen making side dishes, their husbands in the living room, relaxing in the air conditioning, and watching something on the television.

Safely locked away in Javi’s en suite, you took care of your needs and washed your hands, leaving the faucet running and turning the temperature as cold as possible. Leaning over the sink, you splashed some water on your face, which helped a little, still feeling on edge as you walked over to get a small towel out of the in-wall cabinet to dry off.

The sink was turned off, staring at yourself in the mirror. “We will get married, we will buy a house, and then we will have babies,” you said out loud. “Don’t you dare give in just because your boyfriend is a goddamn DILF without the children. Oh, god,” you whined. “He’s going to be such a fucking DILF! Why does he have to be so sexy?! We can’t even fuck until later. Focus!” You pointed your finger at yourself in the reflection. “No babies, no matter how fucking tempting it is, no. Cool your fucking jets. You’ve got this.” Nodding your head once, you turned to toss the dirtied towel into a nearby hamper.

Unlocking the door, you pulled it open, squeaking in surprise when the hulking figure of your boyfriend was right there, immediately invading your space, his hand on your jaw as he crushed his lips to yours, his other arm wrapped around your back—walking you backward, kissing you like his life depended on it, his tongue quickly pressing into your mouth to tangle with your own, your hands landing in his hair, gripping the soft strands between your fingers.

He kicked the door shut, his lips not leaving yours as he reached behind him to lock it.

The horniness was back at full force, wanting him, no, needing him to ease the ache between your legs, snaking your hand down his front, finding his cock hard under his navy blue slacks, his boxer briefs making it stretch up at an angle toward his belt, Javi groaning as you stroked him over his pants.

He pushed you back against the bathroom counter, his hips pressing into you, moaning as his tongue plundered your mouth.

A moment of clarity hit you, remembering where you were and the many people outside his bedroom door, reluctantly breaking the kiss to say, “Javi, your family’s in the other room.”

Kissing you again, his words were muffled, “I locked the bedroom door.” He squeezed your breast, his other hand grabbing your ass.

Pulling back again, he chased your lips, moving your head to dodge him. “We can’t fuck with them out there, Javier.”

There was a grumpy expression on his face as he stared at you. “Why not?”

“They could hear us?”

“They won’t—we’ll be quick and quiet. Nobody will know.” He licked his plush lips, your attention drawn to them.

There was his bedroom and the entryway separating you from everyone else, so as long as you weren’t too loud… Christ, were you really thinking about fucking in a house full of people? Yes, you were, knowing Javi would make it so good—remembering how he said you didn’t care where he did it as long as he came inside you, which was apparently true, your resolve disappearing in an instant, wanting him so fucking bad nothing else mattered.

“Fuck, okay—a quickie, Javier, and you better make sure I’m not too loud,” you said, poking his chest. “God, I’m so fucking horny.”

His mouth was on yours again, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his lips moved to your jaw, saying into your skin, “I know you’re horny, baby—” He nibbled on your chin. “—could tell outside.” His mouth was against your neck, kissing down it, his hand moving between your legs, making you moan when he rubbed over your sex. “You think I’m a DILF.” He sucked on your pulse point before his head popped up with a confused look, “What the fuck is a DILF?”

“Oh god, you heard my pep talk.” Embarrassment had you covering your face with your hands, Javi immediately prying them off, looking at you fondly.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Cielito,” he said, kissing you quickly. “I loved the pep talk—we needed the pep talk ‘cause seeing you with the baby fucked me up, too. You didn’t answer my question, what’s a DILF?”

“You know a MILF is a mother I’d like to fuck, so a DILF is a dad I’d like to fuck—you’re a fuckin’ future dad I’d like to fuck.”

He kissed you, smiling into it. “You’re in luck,” he said, ending the sentence with a nip to your bottom lip. Stepping back, he spun you around to have your front to the counter, his body flush with yours, seeing you both in the mirror with his lips at your ear, his dark eyes meeting your gaze in the reflection. “You get to fuck me,” he said in a deep timbre that had tingles moving down your spine.

“Good,” you replied, pushing your ass back into his hard cock. “I need you to fuck me, Papí.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, seeing his throat bob as he swallowed. His body left yours, pulling you with him as he took two steps back. “Arms on the counter, baby,” he rasped, his big hand sliding up your spine and gently pushing you forward, bending at your waist to rest your forearms on the countertop beside the sink. “Fucking love these shorts.” His hand came down hard on your asscheek in a loud smack, your cunt clenching, gasping his name.

“You’re also gonna love what’s under them,” you purred.

Hooking his thumbs under the waistband, his gaze was on yours in the mirror, smirking under his mustache. “The red one?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

He tugged the bike shorts down, the air cool as it hit your bare skin, Javi sucking in a breath, his eyes locked on the red thong you’d worn, unable to keep himself from squeezing handfuls of your ass. “I love you so fucking much—fuck, it’s pretty.” He glanced up to continue, “Thank you for spoiling me today, mi amor (my love).”

Smiling, you replied, “You’re welcome, Javi. Now please fuck me.” You wiggled your hips.

“Are you needy for me, Cielito?” he asked, his hands going to the front of his pants, hearing the clink of his belt and the teeth of his zipper coming apart.

“Needy in the sense that I need your dick inside me right now, and we can save the ass worship for later.”

He chuckled, his slacks and underwear getting shoved down his thighs. “I’ll put my dick inside you, then,” he said, using one hand to pull the soaked fabric of your thong to the side, spitting on the fingers of his other to slick up his cock.

Anticipation was thrumming in your veins, your pussy weeping for him, needing Javi to fill your achingly empty center in the way only he could satisfy. He didn’t waste any more time, pressing the tip of his length to your sopping entrance, gasping yes as he started pushing in, your head dropping between your shoulders, resting your forehead on your crossed arms in front of you. His hands had a tight grip on your hips, cursing under his breath as he slid home in one smooth thrust, making you moan when he bottomed out—it felt so fucking good, his thick cock stretching your tight walls, carving out space inside you while your cunt tried to suck him in deeper, feeling so goddamn full.

The hem of his dress shirt was brushing against your ass, Javi pulling almost all the way out, and thrusting back in hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, setting up a punishing pace that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

This was going to be hard and fast, the goal to get off as quickly as possible.

You could hear the wet slap of his hips connecting with your ass, the flesh jiggling—his hand landed on your asscheek hard enough the smack echoed in the small room, your pussy squeezing him tight as you moaned. Looking up, you saw him behind you in the mirror, his mouth slack, eyes dark and half-lidded, his attention on you, the first few buttons on his white shirt undone, seeing the flush crawling up his chest to his beautiful neck, the taut skin glistening in sweat.

“Does it turn you on, baby,” he asked through his teeth, pistoning into you, “thinking about me as a dad?”

The beginning threads of your orgasm were starting to weave in your belly, feeling the familiar heat growing.

He slapped your ass again. “Answer me, Cielito.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your words stuttering from the pounding, “Fuck, it’s so good, Javi. It turns me on—turns me on so fucking much,” you babbled. “You’re fucking me so good. Harder, Javi.”

“You want it harder, mi amor (my love)?”

“Yes.”

Bending over your back, his arm went under you and across your chest, pulling you up to stand. His thrusts didn’t wane, shoving your shirt up your chest one-handed to reveal one bra-covered breast, tugging the cup down to pinch your stiff nipple, the sensations shooting straight to your pussy.

He kissed the side of your neck, grunting in exertion.

“You really want it harder?” he asked breathily in your ear.

“Yes, Papí,” you moaned.

His big hands moved, grabbing your biceps near your elbows, pulling you back as he thrust forward, fucking you so hard your mouth was open, gasping out moans. Your mind was a pleasure-addled mess, unable to think about anything except how good he was fucking you—the knot in your belly was getting tighter and tighter, hotter and hotter, until euphoria exploded outward from your core, coming with a shout of Javi’s name that was quickly muffled by his hand covering your mouth.

“Shhh, Cielito—such a good fucking girl for me” Your cunt had clenched up so tight his rhythm slowed to a grind, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his cock as he worked you through your high. His head was beside yours, speaking in your ear, “I know it’s good, baby—need you to be quiet, just ride it out.” He kissed your neck again, his free hand rubbing over your stomach and up to squeeze your breast. “I love you so fucking much.”

Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving after climaxing, Javier waiting for her cunt to stop fluttering around him, his throbbing cock slowly moving in and out of her, it wetter where they were joined.

He loved watching her come and knowing he was the one that got her there, pride always swelling inside him that he made her feel so good.

She was saying something, not making out the words with his large hand over her mouth, quickly removing it.

“What’s that?” he asked, kissing just behind her ear.

Her eyes blinked open, smiling dreamily at him in the mirror.

“I said I love you, too,” her rough voice responded.

One sentence, and it had his body going warm, unable to keep from smiling at her with how fucking happy she made him.

He was close to his end, the heat in the base of his spine threatening to explode with how fucking gone he was on her. All he could think about was everything she’d done for him that day, all of the things, big and small, showing him without her saying it how much she loved him, and he wanted to give her the entire fucking world—it was more than what she deserved, but that wasn’t possible so he was settling with giving her such good dick, it made her drool.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out of your mind,” he said, placing a kiss on the spot where her shoulder met her neck. Her aftershocks had finally ended, and it was his turn. “I’m gonna move you,” he told her. She gasped when he pulled out, getting her closer to the counter where he turned her to face him, bending to tug down her shorts and underwear, impatiently taking off her shoe to get one of her legs free. When he stood back up, he gripped her bare thighs, grunting as he lifted her onto the counter's edge, spreading her legs to make space for himself.

She was wide open for him, seeing the puffy lips of her pussy shining in the light, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, wishing he had time to taste her. She leaned back on her arms, Javier taking his place in the cradle of her thighs, quickly sheathing himself back in her wet heat.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, slowly rocking deep inside her.

Her legs wrapped around his middle to lock at the small of his back, her cunt warm and welcoming, beckoning him to come, feeling the build low in his belly.

There was a need to have her like this, his lips smashing into hers in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans as he started moving faster. His hand held her face, the other pushing her shirt all the way up her chest to get both of her breasts free from her bra, palming the bare skin and tweaking her pebbled nipples while his tongue slid along hers in the way he knew made her toes curl.

Her soft sounds and his rougher ones were quieted with their mouths being connected, his hips swinging into her with strong, even thrusts, hearing the wet suck of her pussy, the slick friction of her velvety walls pushing him closer to his release.

She put all of her weight on one of her arms, her free hand grabbing his hair to pull his head back, her lips wetly trailing along his jaw, her voice saying into his skin, “It’s so good, Javi—you feel so fucking good inside me.” Her tongue licked up the column of his throat, and it had his eyes rolling back, his rhythm stuttering for a second.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, her mouth sucking a mark on his jugular. “You’re gonna make me come.” The muscles in his abdomen were beginning to tighten.

His pace sped up, able to tell he was fucking her good when her head fell back, and her sounds started getting loud enough he had to cover her mouth again.

“It feel good, Cielito?” he asked roughly. “You like knowing you’re gonna make me come? That this pretty fucking pussy is gonna milk me dry? You love that I’m gonna give you what you want and fill you up—stuff you full of my come?” He licked his lips. “Bet you wish you weren’t on birth control.” Her moan was muffled, squeezing her eyes shut, causing a jolt to run through him.

Seeing her earlier with the baby had ignited a fire inside him, something instinctual telling him he needed to give her one of her own—that they needed one of their own, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he fucked his come deep inside her. From the look on her face, she was also feeling some type of way, which was why he’d followed her into the house, her pep talk confirming he was right. There had been no way for them to wait until they got home to fuck, he was too riled up, and she wasn’t any better.

She looked at him, her eyes glazed over in lust, a sheen of sweat coating her forehead, looking absolutely fuck drunk as she tried to say something he couldn’t make out, still fucking in and out of her.

He lifted his hand.

“What?” he asked through heavy breaths.

She sounded wrecked. “Fuck a baby into me—please,” she begged.

The sentence was his undoing, a strangled noise ripping from his throat, his head falling against her shoulder, his balls tightening, and cock thickening—two more quick strokes before he was burying himself to the hilt, sinking his teeth into her flesh over her shirt as he came so hard his vision went white and he lost hearing in his left ear.

He rolled his hips, working his spend as deep as he could get it, the overstimulation causing a whispery hiss to leave his lips before he finally stilled, his body so relaxed he slumped into her. A euphoric haze came over him, his mind as slow as molasses.

Her free hand stroked through his sweat-damp hair, her nails scratching lovingly along his scalp, which felt so good, he was humming appreciatively.

A few minutes passed, and she finally broke the silence to croak out, “Well, that was unexpected.”

His ear was still ringing, lifting his head to look at her. “What was unexpected?” he asked.

“The sex—” She delightedly smiled, poking his nose. “—and your massive fucking breeding kink.”

Confusion came over his face.

“My what?” he asked.

“For a man who has had a lot of sex, and I mean a lot, it’s always surprising when you don’t know a sex thing.” She pushed some of his hair off of his forehead. “Your breeding kink; it gets you off thinking about knocking me up.”

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, looking away from her.

“Shit, I didn’t want you to know…” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Her hand gently moved his face to meet her eyes, her brows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?”

Letting out a long sigh, he answered truthfully, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I’m fine with waiting,” he quickly added. “Really fucking fine with it, especially after this morning, but the fantasy…”

“Really gets you going. Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got a massive breeding kink, too. I like to imagine you getting me pregnant when we fuck, and also, the whole there being a one percent chance that you actually could really gets me going.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over her thighs. “So, it’s okay..?”

She smiled, resting her palm on his cheek. “Oh yeah. It’s more than okay. We can have our fantasy for now, but my god, imagine how good the sex will be when we’re actually trying.”

That had arousal stirring in his belly. “Fuck,” he breathed again. Cupping her cheeks, he said, “I don’t know how I got so fucking lucky with you, but you’re perfect, and I love you so fucking much. Eres la mejor novia del mundo y soy feliz de compartir cada instante de mi vida a tu lado (You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world and I’m happy to share each moment of my life by your side).” He kissed her softly, murmuring into her lips, “Siempre has sido tú, incluso antes de conocerte, y siempre serás la elegida porque eres el amor de mi vida y tú eres la única para mí (It has always been you, even before I knew you, and it will always be you because you are the love of my life and you are the only one for me).”

She pulled back to look him in the eyes with a smile.

“I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world, and I’m happy I get to spend my life with you and have your babies.” She pecked him on the lips. “It’s cheesy,” she continued. “But before I met you, it felt like something was missing in my life, you know? And now I feel like everything is right—you feel right; you were what I was missing,” she said, poking him over his heart. Javier grabbed her hand to kiss her knuckles, listening to her speak. “So, you’ve always been it for me, always, and life just waited for us to both be lost before allowing us to finally find each other.” She shrugged. “You’re it for me, Javier Peña—you’ve always been it; yesterday, today, tomorrow, a year from now, it’s always going to be you because I was meant for you, and you were meant for me. In summary, I love you so fucking much, too.”

He chuckled, kissing her a little harder this time, feeling so happy he thought he might be floating.

He knew she was the love of his life—knew it with every fiber of his being, and he would spend the rest of his days with her just to prove it.

When your lungs begged for air, you broke the kiss, Javi smiling so big his dimple was showing, the love for you clear in his gaze.

“Today was good?” you asked.

“Today was fucking amazing.”

“Good, good,” you nodded. “Javi?”

“Yes, Cielito?” His hands were skating up and down your bare thighs.

“I have another surprise for you that can’t happen until tomorrow…”

“Baby, you’ve done so much. I don’t need anything else.” He quickly kissed you.

“Oh, you’re gonna really fucking want this.”

His eyebrow lifted, looking curious.

“What is it?”

“Well, after a lot of thinking and working up my courage, I thought maybe you’d wanna try fucking my ass?”

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