#Location: Mayor's Office

[heartlandians]

Mark Cogan’s Instagram Stories 22/9/2022

#heartland #on set #location #high river #hudson #maggie's #mayor office #mark cogan

[not-avery]

Aphrodisiac- Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Spider! Reader

TW! Sex, PvP, Biting, Semi-Public Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Technically Non-Con(Under the influence?), Language, Confessions, Poorly translated Spanish from google translate, No Beta read only Grammarly Probably more I forgot 💀

A/N!! This is my first fanfic!! I hope y’all enjoy it and that it isn’t totally unbearable lmao- Constructive criticism is welcome and wanted!!

18+ MINORS DNI PLS!!!

“What the hell was that stuff?” I cough, the pink powder settling around us. We’d both breathed in a good amount of the mysterious powder, but there was still a good amount left on the concrete.

“I don’t know,” Miguel grumbles, ripping his mask off as he crouches to investigate the mysterious substance. I look around, trying to locate the villain that had just powder bombed us. “I’m going to take a sample, see if I can figure out what this is,” Miguel says, his voice gruff and cold like it always was.

“Well dammit,” It’s my turn to grumble, looking in the direction the villain had run. “We lost them,” I tell Miguel, looking down at him crouching on the ground.

“Joder…” (T: Fuck) Miguel groans standing up. “I was so close…” He practically growls, staring at where he ran off.

“We were close, Miguel,” I remind him, an annoyed expression crossing his tanned face. “We’ll get him next time,” I tell him, taking my mask off.

“That isn’t how it works!” Miguel growls, “What if that villain screws up this Earth more? What do we do then? Get him next time?” Miguel says, stepping closer to him. My breath catches in my throat, looking up at the man towering over me. “God I shouldn’t have brought you and your immaturity on this mission,” He growls, looking down at me. Miguel and I have never had a great relationship, we had very…different approaches to being Spiderman but when the leader of spider society asks you to go on a mission you can’t disagree with him.

“You invited me on this mission, Miguel,” I snap back, a frown on my face.

Miguel grumbles something I can’t hear, I roll my eyes at him. “I don’t think we are going to be able to catch him,” Miguel sighs, looking down at the mysterious powder on the concrete. “Maybe we should just head back,” He admits, a scowl on his face.

“So I was right?” I smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. Maybe this is why he doesn’t like me, I don’t care honestly.

“No, you were not,” Miguel says, looking at his watch. Lyla appears, looking at both of us.

“Kinda sounded like you were agreeing with her,” Lyla says to Miguel as he opens up a portal into spider society. I laugh softly, looking at the little ai person.

“See, even Lyla agrees with me,” I tell him, following Miguel into the portal. “You totally were agreeing with me you just don’t like to admit you’re wrong!” I say, walking around him in a circle as we get into his office. Instead of being cold to Miguel like he was to me, I chose to annoy him, being the biggest pain I can to him.

“Eres el mayor dolor en el culo,” (T: You are the biggest pain in the ass) Miguel groans, going over to his computers. “Just go, I’ll figure out what this is,” He says, looking at the mysterious powder.

“Good! No one wants to be around you anyway,” I yell as I walk away, I didn’t really mean it, Miguel just knew how to push my buttons.

I’m a sweaty, shaky mess in the bathroom. Around one hour after the powder bomb and the villain escaped my body started feeling…off. I was sweaty but freezing at the same time, my hands shaking, my entire body quaking. And I have no clue what can be causing this except…the powder. And guess who would be the only person who would know? Miguel.

I sigh as I get closer to Miguel’s quarters, my body shaking as I approach where he normally hides out. I lean against the wall for support as I see Miguel hunched over his desk. I go to speak but Miguel breaks the silence first.

“I know it’s you, Y/N,” Miguel’s voice sounds..weird. It almost shudders as he turns around, looking at me. “It’s the powder,” He groans as he stalks closer to me. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I feel a sudden wave of attraction for the man getting closer to me. I feel this need for him, my thighs squeeze together. “Dios Mío…you’re gorgeous,” (T: My God) Miguel groans as he grabs my chin making me look up at him. My breathing picks up as I look up at the man, lust fills his deep red eyes and his fangs poke out of his lips slightly. Suddenly all the late-night thoughts and dreams I had of this man came flooding back, my heart beating fast and my drop of sweat rolling down my neck and down the arch of my back.

“Miguel,” I whimper, looking up at the man above me. “Please…help me,” I practically beg him, biting my lip as my thighs rub together. Miguel smirks, those little fangs showing. Miguel slams his lips down on mine, pinning me against the wall. I feel his muscular thigh slip between my leg, stopping myself from trying to hit the heat between them. I whine into the kiss, Miguel nipping at my bottom lip. He pushes his tongue into my lips, exploring the wetness. I moan into the kiss, my nails digging into his scalp. It’s his turn to groan into the kiss, pushing me more into the wall. We pant with heavy breaths, our chests heaving against each other.

“I’ve been waiting to kiss you for so long,” Miguel growls into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He picks me up with no effort, having me wrap my legs around his waist. I can feel the painful-looking bulge press into my body, he feels huge against me, giant. “T-this is okay with you, right Mami?” He asks, setting me down on his desk, causing all of the papers and other items to scatter onto the ground.

“Yes, yes please,” I beg him, grabbing onto his broad shoulders. “I need you, Miguel,” I pant, spreading my legs for him. All of my self-control and embarrassment had left my body as soon as he slammed me into the wall.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Miguel says, slamming our lips together again. Then his lips start traveling away from my lips, to my jaw line then he latches onto my neck, leaving hickeys on the skin. I didn’t even realize what I would have to say if someone sees the marks that Miguel is leaving. “I need you now, Mami,” Miguel moans in my ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

“Me too,” I pant out, hitting the button on my bracelet that retracts my suit, a nifty little thing I had created when I first became the Spiderman for my earth. I’m left alone in my shorts and a tank top, which I had slept in last night. Miguel on the other hand had to take off his suit, his dick bouncing up and down as he freed it from its tight constraints. At this moment I also realize that Miguel doesn’t wear boxer under his suit, keeping that information in the back of my head. His fingers slip into the waistband of my shorts, yanking them down. My cunt throbs as the cold air hits my heat, a slight shiver crawling up my spine.

Miguel slowly pushes his huge cock into my throbbing hole, moans escaping both of our lips. Miguel rests his sweaty forehead on my shoulder pants slightly. “Ay Mami,” Miguel groans, “tan apretada, carajo,” (T: So tight, fuck) He nibbles on my neck, feeling his fangs grazing against my neck. I don’t speak Spanish, hell I barely know Hola but whatever Miguel says makes me tighten around him. Miguel starts trusting, setting a fast pace.

“Oh Miguel,” I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good,” I moan, throwing my head back. He quickens his pace, small whimpers and moans being breathed into my ear.

“I feel like you were made for me,” He groans into my ear before biting down on my shoulder. I moan out loudly, my nails scratching his back. He feels so good, this all feels so good, maybe this was the tension between us boiling over, maybe it was the powder but it felt too good. I was getting close, the coil in my stomach tightening. “Are you getting close? Te estás poniendo tan apretada a mi alrededor,” (T: You are getting so tight around me) Miguel grunts into my ear, his clawed fingers trailing down my body to the bundle of nerves between my thighs.

“Oh my God, yes!” I moan out, scratching his back as he picks up the pace of his fingers and thrust. As my moans escape my lips Miguel clamps his hand over my mouth, panting into my ear.

“Can’t have anyone hear you crying on my dick can we?” Miguel groans, “You don’t want people seeing how well you suck me in, do you?” He smirks against my skin, trusting in deeper. I moan into his palm, nodding frantically. “Buena Niña,” Miguel groans, pressing his fingers down onto my clit. The coil in my stomach snaps, orgasming around his thick cock. My hips buck wildly against his.

“Quédate quieta, mami, quédate quieta,” (T: Stay still, Mami, stay still) Miguel groans, his pace becoming frantic, chasing his own pleasure now. His hand keeps my hips pinned down as his trust overstimulates me. I whimper and cry into his hand, my nails leaving crescent-shaped imprints on the skin of his muscular flesh. Miguel stills, the liquid filling me up with a bite on my shoulder to prevent a loud groan from escaping his lips.

Our heavy pants escaped both of us, sweat dripping both of our bodies. “Miguel…that was…God,” I laugh, still recovering. I wrap my arms around his back, laying there for a second.

“Y/N…” He mumbles, kissing my neck softly. “I-I think I love you,” Miguel grumbles, his dick still inside of me. My heart stops, my breathing stops, my mind stops, everything stops.

“What?” I ask, looking at the massive man. There is a genuinely sweet look in his eyes, not the normal cold, aggressive look he normally has.

“I think I love you,” He repeats, staring down at me. “I know I’m scary and mean but Y/N, please just give me a chance,” My heart rate goes crazy as he continues. “I just want you to be safe and careful, and I love your teasing, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, I think about you day in and day out,” Miguel finishes, looking down at me with pure love in his dark red eyes. I didn’t even know how to react.

“I think I may like you too, Miguel,” I say, thinking about all those nights I’d spent thinking about Miguel. That's all Miguel needs to press our lips together in a kiss, our lips moving against each other in a soft kiss.

“Do you want me to help you get home?” He ask, handing me the shorts he’d thrown off. I slip my shorts on, sitting up to look at him. I notice him doing the same thing, putting his suit back on

“I think I can get home mysel-“ I say but as I stand up my legs give out Miguel having to catch me. He just laughs, helping me stand up. “Okay maybe I do need your help,” I sigh, looking over at him.

“Let’s get you home, Mami,” Miguel says, helping me stand up, opening a portal to my home dimension.

#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara smut #atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #marvel #marvel smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman smut #spiderman x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #aphrodisiac #biting kink #slight exhibitionism #hes in love #hes so silly #i’m delusional #may delete idk

[panther-os]

beating my head against the walls in Latine

here's eight things that atp will have me immediately closing out of any fic, AleRudy edition:

1.

❌ "the los vaqueros"

ah yes the famed and feared las almas battalion of Mexican special forces. the the cowboys

✅ "los vaqueros"

✅ "the vaqueros"

2.

❌ "the los vaqueros base"

✅ "los vaqueros' base"

✅ "the vaqueros' base"

3.

❌ "corporal alejandro vargas and sergeant rodolfo parra/major rodolfo parra"

look, fuck the military as an institution and also fuck the devs for using American rank structure for members of the Mexican army but

it takes roughly 2 years in the army to advance to Corporal. the equivalent in the Mexican army is Cabo, and Google will not give me the requirements for it no matter how I ask

it takes 3-6 years to advance to Sergeant. From what I can tell, the Mexican equivalent is also Cabo (where Sargento Segundo is closer to Staff Sergeant)

it takes 10-12 years to advance to Major, the equivalent is Mayor (not the English word mayor like of a city, don't be like those white people)

it takes 22-24 years, a bachelor's degree, and officer school to become a Colonel and it takes 18-20 years and a whole mess of leadership courses nearly equivalent to a degree to become a Sergeant Major

put some goddamn respect on their names

✅ Colonel Alejandro Vargas and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra

✅ Coronel Alejandro Vargas and Sargento Primero Rodolfo Parra

4.

❌ Fuerza Especiales

❌ Fuerzas Especiale

this is just not understanding Spanish grammar

✅ Fuerzas Especiales ("Special Forces")

❎ Fuerza Especial ("special force")

5.

❌ Sin Nombre ("without name")

Alejandro literally corrects Soap on this one in the game

✅ El Sin Nombre ("The Nameless")

6.

❌ "Alejandro Vargas, leader of Mexican Special Forces"

the leader of Mexican Special Forces is the Secretaría de la Defensa Nacional - the Secretary of Defense - and Fuerzas Especiales is composed of three brigades, 74 independent battalions (like Los Vaqueros), 36 amphibious special operations groups. Colonels command single brigades at most.

Alejandro is capable of leading Mexican Special Forces, but it would require him to retire from the field and get more of a desk job, with far more politics than I think he'd have patience for

✅ "Alejandro Vargas, leader of Los Vaqueros - a battalion of Fuerzas Especiales stationed in Las Almas"

7.

❎ "our ancestors, the Aztecs"

look, indigenous identity is weird sometimes and I don't know enough specifics about the culture around it in Mexico to have a solid opinion, but I'm also very fucking tired of people thinking the only indigenous groups in Mexico are the Nahua (Aztecs) and Maya. if they're on the Texas border and their families have always lived there, their heritage is most likely seven different Apache nations/language groups in a trench coat with some Spanish conquistador on the side. they're most likely not related to any famous indigenous chiefs or other figures, but it's very possible they can trace their Spanish ancestry back directly to nobility

for example, I am related to absolutely none well-known Tsalagi or Kwikipa people as far as I'm aware, but I am a direct descendant of the brother of King Ferdinand the Catholic, which also means I'm a direct descendant of the guy who started the Inquisition (and now I'm Jewish (and pro-Palestine for those who want to know) so take that, colonizer)

also while Bayardo is Mexicano, Alain is Cubano, please be respectful when talking about the actors or when in their instagram lives and just. don't make assumptions y'all

8.

❎ "Los Vaqueros" is a nickname from the people of Las Almas, the battalion's actual name that is on all the paperwork and dog tags is more likely numerical or describing their role/location - like "11th Battalion" or "The Borderline Battalion" or something like that. maybe even both, like "The 11th Border Battalion"

#/incoherent noises/ #call of duty #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #alerudy #bayardo de murguia #alain mesa #cod mwii #fandom critical #writing tips

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (9) - Hard Comes the Rain

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 2.5k

-You pray for the storm of your life, it's over and nothing survived-

This school year was officially turning into the biggest mess you had ever experienced. Oversized Gollum-looking monster that killed a bunch of people, finding out from Wednesday that Weems was a shapeshifter who had no issues with covering up Rowan’s murder, and now this ominous message burnt onto school grounds.

Fire will rain.

There had to be more to it than that.

Let it never be said Wednesday was the only one who could sneak in and out of some secure place. And your methods were more suited for what you were aiming to do.

You were sitting in a tree, close to one of the open windows of the mayor’s office. There was probably someone there, so you’d need to do this quickly. Just go in and out, and if you can’t get what you need in fifteen to twenty minutes, try again tomorrow. You stabbed a knife into the branch, one of the knives you didn’t mind losing and jumped down, using a small burst of lightning to slow down your fall. When you landed you sent some electricity through the ground, searching for electrical wires, you wouldn’t damage them, you’d just use them to cut the power at the very source.

A drop of sweat slid down your face. It was difficult to locate the wires, to recognize what was your electricity and what wasn’t. And you needed to stay in control and not fry the wires. You took several deep breaths, focusing as hard as you could and finally, after what felt like eternity, you found it, the steady current going toward the building. That was the hardest part.

With a bit of a smirk, you sent your own electricity toward the power source and disrupted it, cutting off the power in the entire building, you would have cut the power off for entire block to make it less suspicious, but you didn’t have that kind of control.

Well, more optimal solutions aside, you accomplished what you were after. You zapped to the knife in the tree and tossed another one through the open window, zapping inside. For once you allowed the beast within you to somewhat come out as your eyes turned red and your vision cleared, the darkness around you was no longer an issue. Perks of your primary beast being what it was.

You broke into the archive, making sure to make as little sound as possible as you did that, and powered the computer on with your electricity. Your eyes narrowed as you forcefully bypassed the security. This was why you were so focused on learning all about technology you could, with your powers and knowledge you were a human hacker, capable of breaking into any device you were familiar with, regardless of passcodes or any other protections. With full access to the PC you began searching through the files, starting with Crackstone. There wasn’t anything there, at least not anything you didn’t already know. So, you went with another tactic.

Garrett Gates, dead family, the mansion that was long abandoned but recently bought by some woman. None of this was helping you, at all. You should have brought Wednesday with you somehow, maybe she could have seen something in this mess of information.

“Come on, it’s an old family, surely someone wrote some kind of book about it?” you muttered, already anxiously searching for Garrett’s grandparents or someone even further back. Nothing, it was as if one of Jericho’s oldest families just vanished from records older than a century ago and you weren’t sure if it was them specifically or if it was just in general. No books, no records, the only new information was the existence of their mansion, which you could have figured out without extra effort.

As the last ditch effort you wrote ‘Fire will rain’ and all of a sudden something strange began happening, it was as if something was disrupting you, as if there was a security in place that was specifically meant to stop a raiju or someone else capable of using lightning from getting into the system.

“Shit!” you cursed, turning the computer off and running outside, no longer caring if someone working here would catch you. You didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but just for a moment you felt as if you could sense the danger, as if you were on a timer and needed to get away as soon as possible, otherwise you’d be in way over your head. You reached the window you came in through and were about to zap to the knife in the tree when you froze and ducked. Someone was in the tree, right where your knife was.

That figure, it didn’t feel human, it didn’t feel like you were looking at some outcast, just one glimpse was enough to freeze you on the spot. It didn’t matter that staying near the window made you vulnerable, that it was the obvious entry point for you, none of that mattered. You just couldn’t move.

Your heart hammered in your chest, there was nothing you could do, to escape or protect yourself. Somehow, despite only catching the glimpse of that figure you knew not even shifting into your beast form would help. You were at the mercy of whatever was in the tree, you couldn’t even pull out your phone to apologize to your parents for being reckless, you could just sit there and wait.

And then the tension vanished, but so did your knife. And the power was back on. You dared to look outside and the moment you did that you were met with completely blue eyes staring down at you, no pupils, nothing, not even the sclera was white, everything was pale blue. Before you could even begin to understand what was going on; before you could even take in any other features of the one in front of you, you were struck by pain and slammed into a wall. There wasn’t even a sound, there was nothing, just pain, excruciating pain you couldn’t endure.

~X~

Wednesday was always a light sleeper, though she learnt how to ignore certain sounds in the middle of the night. A loud thud against the wall and a body dropping to the floor was one of those sounds. Thing frantically tapping her arm wasn’t something she could ignore though. Especially when he insisted on repeating your name in Morse code.

“What?” she didn’t appreciate being woken up, and it didn’t sound like you were losing control over yourself. But Thing was persistent, so she opened her eyes and sat up. Due to Enid’s excessively colorful side of the window Wednesday couldn’t see it quite clearly, but she could swear she saw a body lying there. Thing jumped from her bed and ran outside, turning around just once to make sure Wednesday was following him.

Surely it wasn’t you, right?

But it was you.

You were right there, unconscious and lying on the cold stone of the balcony. “Y/N,” she touched your neck to make sure you were alive, only to be struck by a vision. It was just flashes this time, chilling completely blue eyes, a shadowy figure in the tree, being thrown against the wall, and then nothing. Wednesday almost gasped, both due to the vision and the realization that you were alive.

What were you doing? How did you get into this situation? Wednesday didn’t know, all she knew was that she needed you to wake up, because carrying you and risking another vision wasn’t something she wanted to deal with. So, she shook you slightly, ignoring how the grunt of pain you let out didn’t sound as good as she hoped it would. Not when she wasn’t the one that caused it. No one else should have that right and whoever did this, sooner or later she’d get her revenge.

“Y/N,” she spoke again as you blinked a few times. You looked disoriented, in pain, and barely aware of where you were, and then your eyes widened and you frantically looked around, jumping to your feet, and pulling Wednesday behind you before she could even realize what was happening.

“What? Where is that?!” you were looking for whatever or whoever attacked you, and there was no doubt in Wednesday’s mind that you were instinctively making sure you were between her and whatever danger you were worried about.

“Calm down, we’re alone,” she assured you, but you didn’t listen, still stuck between flight and fight response. “Y/N,” she tried with your name and that reached you as you let out a shuddering breath and calmed down enough to turn around and look at Wednesday. “Can you walk alone?” she asked and though wide-eyed you nodded slowly.

You didn’t move and Wednesday realized you were waiting for her to get inside first. With a heavy sigh she did exactly that. A thought came to her mind, entirely related to the information her mother revealed to her. About that generational bond between her family and raiju.

As far as Wednesday was concerned this, from your interaction with Wednesday to this apparent protectiveness, simply wasn’t your choice. You couldn’t help it if her being an Addams made you drawn to her. That would certainly explain your behavior toward her, your acceptance of who she was. She was different, she was stronger than some curse that brought the two of you together, she knew about it, she wasn’t influenced by it. Every experience she had with you was of her own free will, and so was this. If a raiju was meant to die for an Addams, it certainly wouldn’t be you dying for her.

No matter the consequences of that choice.

And that decision was even more definitive now that you came back from wherever you were like this. Clearly in pain, though without visible injuries, and attacked for something she was almost certain had something to do with her and/or her investigation.

Even she could see how distraught you were, but there was nothing she could do other than lead you to your part of the room, only guide you to your bed until you went through the motions and got on the bed. You were anxious, still focused on perceived danger and frantic and Wednesday had to do something about it. As you were, you wouldn’t go to sleep, and she had no patience or will to deal with that right now. So, she did the next best thing and struck a pressure point on your neck before you could react.

As Wednesday watched your unconscious form she found herself biting her lower lip, angry and frustrated at what just transpired.

~X~

You were alive.

Somehow.

When you woke up the next morning the first sight you saw was Wednesday sitting at the bottom of your bed, reading a book with Thing dutifully staying next to her.

“How bad was it? Since you are sitting here?” you couldn’t help but ask, revealing to her and Thing that you just woke up. Wednesday didn’t move, she didn’t even look at you and that made you even more worried. “Wednesday?” you remembered how disoriented and afraid you were, how you followed her, frightened that whatever attacked you would come back and that she’d get hurt too if that happened. Was that really enough for this kind of reaction from her?

Thing jumped to your side and asked you how you were feeling.

You smiled a bit, bringing your fist up to fist bump him. “I’ll be fine, Thing,” and you would be, the pain from last night was mostly gone. Being a raiju meant you had a higher than average tolerance to pain and that you healed faster than normies and most outcasts as well.

Wednesday just stood up and went to her bed, not even looking at you in the process. You sighed softly and glanced at Thing. You thought he’d just shrug, keeping Wednesday’s secrets under lock and key, but he didn’t. He openly told you she was worried and that she spent the night watching over you, that the lack of pain had a lot to do with the medicine she injected you with and you just leaned your head back into the pillow and nodded.

You made Wednesday worried and had nothing to show for it. All you accomplished was getting caught and hurt.

~X~

Two days later Enid approached you while Wednesday was tending to Eugene’s bees and the two of you were alone in your room with an idea you would have loved, if there wasn’t one tiny detail that made you refuse.

“Come on, it’s Wednesday’s birthday and there’s no better place for her!” Enid tried to persuade you.

“I agree, that’s the perfect place for Wednesday’s surprise birthday party, but, there’s a lake I need to get across and I’m not doing that,” you were absolutely never going to give in and approach that lake. Or any other bigger body of water. Not even for Wednesday.

“Y/N, come on! If you aren’t there there’s fifty percent higher chance she won’t even tolerate it!” Enid kept trying, as stubborn as she always was.

You sighed. “No, not even for Wednesday,” besides, you had a feeling Wednesday would hate the surprise either way. She barely spoke to Xavier, and you were fairly sure she never spoke with Yoko, or Ajax and whoever else Enid was going to convince to join. Frankly, you and Enid were the only ones whose presence at Wednesday’s surprise birthday party was understandable. “Besides, she is going to hate it either way,” you pointed out.

“Well, maybe she will, but I will show her that she is appreciated and accepted!” and you thought Enid’s reasons and way of thinking were perfectly reasonable and something most people would appreciate, but that was the thing about Wednesday, she didn’t need to feel like she was appreciated or accepted, she was the one in complete control.

Besides, you were still shaken by what happened at the mayor’s office building. At the end of the day you owed Wednesday for taking care of you. And you weren’t about to repay her with a surprise party, even if it was for her birthday. You’d wish her a happy birthday the morning of her birthday and you’d hand her the gift you’ve more or less had ready ever since you took Wednesday’s knife.

Frankly, you were just glad that knife remained in your possession, unlike the knife you left in that damn tree.

“I really can’t convince you?” Enid tried, hopefully, for the last time.

“You really can’t. I’m not getting close to that much water, no matter what,” you stood your ground. It wouldn’t matter what the reason was, you just, plain and simple, wouldn’t risk falling into water, no matter how safe the transportation was.

Not even for Wednesday.

A/N: Well, there’s chapter 9, a bit short, but I feel like I accomplished what I was after. Honestly, I’m gambling on that line from Laurel, that it’s a part of the bigger game or whatever she said, paying off and blindly adding to that part of the plot. Will it work out? Well, I hope it will. Worst case scenario I can use ‘wrong people’ line from Bianca’s mom as an explanation. Oh, well, we’ll see when season 2 comes out.

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader

[directdogman]

hello dogman! i am analysing your backgrounds in dialtown for a project and i am trying to prove a point to a teacher so

is the movie theatre red for a specific reason?

dumb question i know but i need to know

Oh, it's colour theory. Dialtown uses different palettes for the various backgrounds. Most of the nature areas are blue, the carnival is generally green/purple and a lot of the locations tied to the cast have palettes that relate to those characters.

For instance, a lot of the backgrounds in Randy's route (the dumpster, the street shots, subway) are blue, the cinema is red (like Mr Dickens and Oliver), the Mayor's office is purple, the bank's palette is autumnal (like Karen), etc.

[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?”

Prev - Next - Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

Tagging: @theorganasolo @nicolethered @lola766 @nessamc @vanemando15 @fiscinthirst @melancholyy-hill @hnt-escape @sherala007 @jadesabre83 @rainbeaubrightchild @blub-senpai @pedrohoe04 @theherothesavior @captain-creampuff @javiersjeans @zetasaturno99 @amb11 @lovedbyth3sun @siidereeus @marvelousmermaid @mrszdjarin  @themarcusmoreno @woomen23 @ms-loverman-066 @star-wars-fan-2005 @kissing-stars @chloeinpink @notyourlovemonkey @unofficialavenger90 @fictionismyreality @sheetsof-lennon @damnyoupedro @katareyoudrilling @iamskyereads @enjoyourlattebitch @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtlee @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @theewokingdead @guess-my-next-obsession @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña/reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (37)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). YOU GUYS! If you would like to be a huge help and if you can I would love if you guys checked out my Ko-Fi link. It's in my bio and main masterlist. It would be a huge thank you and to whoever does donate you would have no idea how much I would appreciate it. It's been a very tough year for my mental health but writing this story for you all has been such a huge help.

Hongjoong laid out the map that you had seen the other day. He had city hall circled on the page and the routes highlighted. There were a few other things crossed out or underlined as well. Most of which were on the other side of Cromer. 

“Here's a map of Cromer.” He told everyone. 

“This is the mayor's home, but the stronghold is in city hall.” He pointed to an estate located on the other side of the city from where your family's hotel was. 

After hearing that the mayor was involved with the cult, you figured there wouldn’t be much evidence of that in the city hall. Someone should still be going through the files, but the letter they had intercepted was personal, so it would be hidden in the mayor’s home office. 

“I don't know.” You spoke up. “I don't think we should be heading for city hall.” You explained. 

“What do you think then?” Yunho asked you. “We still need to take all the money back.”

“What about the evidence about them giving the money to Scienslaver?” You questioned. “One of us should go to the mayor's home and the judges.” You added. 

“Why the judge?” Seognhwa asked. 

“Quaid was appointed town judge two years ago, which was when the mayor started raising taxes.” You explained. 

“Quaid?” Wooyoung spoke up. “The judge is named Quaid? Thomas?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” You answered. “He was the one who signed mine and Yeosang's marriage certificate.”

“I knew he looked familiar.” The boy snapped his fingers, nodding his head as he thought back to the day you got married. 

“You know him?” Hongjoong questioned. 

“He goes to a lot of underground fighting.” Wooyoung told him. “Well used to. He made bets on people and would take the money back to Jo.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together when Wooyoung mentioned underground fighting. You figured it had to do with their life back in Aurora, but it still left you a bit worried. All Wooyoung did was add questions to the list.

“Not anymore it seems.” Yeosang said. 

Quaid had clearly stopped placing bets on fighters to get money and moved onto a better form of income. Something must have happened back in the big city. But whatever it was, it seemed he was still trying to support the cult. 

Gambling was no secret here in Cromer, but for someone like Klein, it might as well be criminal activity. While you had never personally met the man, you knew people were proud of him because he would take into account what everyone needed and wanted. Both the rich and the poor found ways to appreciate him. 

“Klein grew up here in Cromer in the slums.” You started. “He has been one of the greatest mayors this town has ever seen. But ever since Quaid came up, things went downhill for him. He turned into a recluse and only seems to make demands and agreements from within his office.”

“If I know Quaid, the man is a manipulative bitch. He must have Klein wrapped around his finger.” Wooyoung told you. 

You didn’t think evidence of the cult would be found within Klein’s office, but there could be things tying him to it. Quaid on the other hand probably had journals and stacks of files dedicated to the entire thing. Either way, you thought it would be best to enter both of their homes in order to have something to blackmail. 

If it came down to it, the only one you would probably blackmail was Klein. Quaid was another story. He had no ties to the town–aside from being the county judge–he could easily skip town and not think twice about the people. They were opposite people who cared about opposite things. Klein was just too nice of a man to not fall into the temptations of sweet talk. 

“So who's where?” Yunho asked. 

“Groups of three.” You told them. “Three go to Quaid's home. Three to Klein's. And three to city hall–obviously at different times.” Some of them looked at you with wide eyes, while others nodded their heads with your idea. 

“Three?” Jongho questioned. “Who are these three? There's 8 of us.”

“You're going to tell me I can't go?” You turned to the man, looking at him pointedly. 

“It's dangerous-”

“I know Cromer much better than any of you. I know the people.” You cut Yunho off. 

“Doll-” Mingi tried to calm you down. 

“Princess goes.” Hongjoong stopped them all. “However, you're going with the team who's getting the horde.”

You nodded your head when he gave you a harsh look. Hongjoong was not going to allow you to argue with his plans over where you went, and you were not going to put yourself in that position. You respected his wishes, just like all the others. Though, you can’t lie and say you didn’t want to disobey him just a bit–only to see what would happen. 

“That team will go at night when everyone's asleep. The others will have to do it when Quaid and Klein are out of their houses.” Hongjoong continued. 

“Who's going where?” San asked. 

“If Quaid is involved with the cult like you said, I wouldn’t put it behind him to have a bit more security on his things compared to Klein.” You started. “Whoever has the best ability at fighting should go there. Klein isn’t going to have much compared to him but the risk of going at night while he’s asleep, so that team is fit to go at the same time as Quaid’s.” 

“That way–and I am begging you get out there–the police only have the chance of going to one house at a time.” You looked up when they all stayed quiet. 

“What?” You blushed. 

“You trying to take the captain's spot?” Seonghwa teased, elbowing the shorter man in his rib.

“At least she knows how to plan, unlike half of all of you.” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, scoffing. 

The boys all began to protest, crying over who was able to come up with better plans than another. You laughed at how they turned unserious in a matter of seconds. It made all the worry about the whole thing go away for just a moment. 

“I don’t think I’d find as much pleasure as Hongjoong with being called Captain.” You teased, causing all the boys to laugh at the blue haired man who turned away. 

“Anyways.” Hongjoong cleared his throat. “Yunho, take Jongho and San to Quaid's house.” He began. “You three are the most experienced when it comes to fighting, just in case he has guards. Seonghwa, me and Mingi will go to Klein's home.”

“Wooyoung, Yeosang and Princess can take the horde from city hall. We'll wait outside for the loot and disperse it as soon as possible.” He looked up. “City hall heist should go down first, that way the following day everyone will be too busy trying to figure out what happened with all the money. Quaid and Klein will be too busy to be at home, which will be perfect for us to go into their homes then.”

“We’ll be look-outs.” You told Hongjoong, getting a nod from the man.

“Everyone okay with that?” When the captain got nods and agreements from everyone, he turned to you. “Princess?” 

Everyone waited for your response. You gave them a grin. 

“Whenever you give the order.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory , @mommahwa1117 , @sunnyhokyu , @cloudieclair , @araknoid , @starjoongi1117 , @chel-awingcherry , @puppyminnnie ,

#kpop fanfic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez hongjoong #ateez san #ateez yeosang #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez yunho #ateez seonghwa #fanfiction #hongjoong x reader #jongho x reader #seonghwa x reader #choi san x reader #wooyoung x reader #mingi x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader

[solar-sunnyside-up]

Community gardens-

Community gardens are a piece of land gardened or cultivated by a group of people, which you can do individually or collectively. So they can be done on private or public land. 

Community gardens are not only a testament to community care and mutual aid, it's also almost a radical act of protest and activism. You're combining and sharing resources, which is inherently anti-capitalist, and you're actively protesting climate change by cultivating the land and bringing back native plants. They exist in various forms, it can be located in the proximity of neighborhoods or on balconies and rooftops. They are far from a one size fits all, they are built to meet the needs of the people cultivating them.

History-

this is gunna be a long one yall--

1890s-- Rapid urbanization in Europe and North America lead to community ran gardens to supplement food stocks that the city couldn't maintain causing an obscene cost of food. Thus lead to cities across the world attempting in their own ways to handle the problem-

1893 - Detroit Mayor Hazen S. Pingree took office with citizens even calling for “bread or blood”. In the mist of this crisis the city establishes a program that required vacant lots to be used as gardens and farms for the unemployed citizens have access to food. The deal the city basically makes is 'we will provide the land for you to farm, you feed yourself by farming it!' Later called "Potato Patches" would convert thousands of acres of vacant and idle land in the city for subsistence gardens, then cultivated by the unemployed in order to ensure citizens access to food regardless of the employment or economic status. At its peak, 1563 families participating over 430 acres of donated or City land. This would become so successful that later other cities like Boston and Buffalo would later adopt similar programs.

In England, “allotment” gardens were created to improve working-class people’s food provision, living conditions, and overall health of people living in suddenly crowded city centers.

Marseille in 1896, “les jardins d’ouvriers”, or ‘the workers’ gardens’, were created by a clergyman, with the purpose of reducing the misery of the working class and improving living condition.

1917- The War Gardens Commission was established to call on citizens to become, "Soldiers of the soil," planting gardens to meet some of their own domestic need for food as well as solider rations. (talk about abandoning your citizens for the sake of war >.>) Providing booklets, cartoons, and plenty of propaganda to teach everyone able to grow and preserve their own food supplies. War and Victory Gardens running well through the 1920s into the 50s. Often communties would have a vacant lot or shared spaces to also fullfill any need that wouldnt fit on private land. By 1944, between 18 to 20 million families with victory gardens were providing up to 40% of the vegetables in America.

1970s - In major cities that were fighting both economic crisis and urban decay as a result of white flight to the suburbs. Bringing rise to community groups like The Green Guerillas-  built of horticulturalists, gardeners, botanists, and planners who work to turn abandoned or empty spaces in New York City into gardens. The group threw "seed grenades" into derelict lots and developed community gardens, often without going through official channels. It became especially popular after the concerted redevelopment of a dangerous, trash-filled space at the corner of Houston Street and Bowery in Manhattan.  That first and now oldest recognized community garden in New York City on a street corner, grew to be over an acre and remains active as of 2023 now named the Liz Christy Garden after its founder who wanted a safe space and good food for children in her community.

2010-Current

Millions of community gardens spanning across the entire world have been reestablished. Particularly over the course of 2012 on wards in order to get back to connecting with the soil and feeding low income housing. Many of the gardens today also hold other community functions like yoga and woodworking classes, socializing centers, holding events, and act as a 3rd space where there are so few these days. Becoming more like a community hub over just a simple source of food.

How do I join or create a community garden?

Join an existing garden- look up one in your area here

To create your own, you will need to do your own research on your city or towns bylaws but generally you'll need a few things-

Gather friends/group to garden with

Secure a place to garden, as well as access to water

Gardening Equipment

Happy Gardening!!

Also @solarpunkani this is for you!!!

#reaping week #solarpunk #gardening #ecopunk #food #permaculture #sprout guide #history

[findafight]

Little headcanon I've been brewing for like over a year is that Claudia Henderson was a tech/computer programmer for the legitimate side of Hawkins Lab prior to season one, so after everything goes down Dustin is very obviously not really happy with his mom working at an evil government lab that uses the legit energy side to cover up the evil child experimentation side. He begs her to find a different job because he hates the lab, tries to reason with her that it's farther out of town than other places she could work at, and Dustin is wary of the woods after Will. She obviously doesn't want to distress her kid, and dotes on him, so looks into other jobs despite the lab being reliable and government funded. If nothing shakes out it's fine but if it does Dustin will be happy.

Turns out a few places like the mayor's office and the police station and the library are all considering beginning digitization, and maybe the hours are worse and it's at three different locations, but it's a city job and she's still doing what she loves and is good at. Dustin is incredibly relieved she stopped working at the lab, even if he could never fully articulate why he suddenly hated her working there so much, but she's glad her Dusty is more comfortable now, possibly because he knows he'll be able to bike to her more easily now if something happens?

And THEN the demodog infestation and S2 lab scandal breaks and Claudia is watching the news thanking God she got the hell out of there a year prior, well clear of the blast radius and saving her life, wondering what the hell Dustin knew that made him so insistent she leave...

#claudia henderson #dustin henderson #stranger things #finda's rambles #claudia being a computer tech is so real to me. i love her. i think instead of rubber ducks she uses little cat statues tho lol #and imagine the DRAMA of her hearing about the mass casualty event at the lab and realizing she left her job just in time bc dustin hated #that she worked there. hoohoo!!

[norinenglish]

Stardew Rancher AU - Intro cutscene

Here's my first piece for the Stardew AU challenge.

If you want to take part too, use the #traffic stardew au tag (You can also use the banner I made). On my blog, I will be using #stardew ranchers au as well.

The writing is under the cut.

>> Next Part

I hate this life.

Jimmy doesn’t remember a day in the last year he has not thought this. He’s staring at a computer screen, as he has been for the last seven hours, when it hits him. He hates this life. In fact, it could barely be qualified as a life. 

He misses nature. Running around in the grass, playing, talking to people… He turns his head around to look at the window, but there isn’t even any on the office walls. He looks around him and only sees rows and rows of cubicles with other lifeless people slaving all day. The clicking of keyboards and mouths, the buzzing of the neon lights, it’s all too much.

I can’t stand it anymore, he thinks to himself. I need a way out.

Suddenly, he remembers a conversation he had with his grandpa, when he was young, about the burden of modern life. He hadn’t really realised what it had meant before today. Jimmy, like his parents, had dismissed it as the stubbornness of an old man who was made to live in the countryside. But it must have stayed on the back of his mind, because he kept the letter. 

In fact… 

He opens the drawer of his desk and there it is. A fancy old letter with a fancy purple seal. 

(He’s definitely not going to think about the fact that he kept it in his drawer at work and the possible implication of that. Nope.)

With shaky hands, he breaks the seal and opens it. The swoosh of the paper unfolding is the loudest sound he’s ever heard in his life. 

The letter says: 

Dear Jimmy, 

If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong. 

I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: The Ranch. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life. 

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honour the family name, my boy. Good luck. 

Love, Grandpa. 

PS: If the Sherrif is still alive say hi to the old guy for me, will ya? 

He puts the letter down and looks up at the ceiling for a second. 

In all the emptiness he feels, it’s like he’s just grown wing. 

🌿 loading🌿

The bus startles to a stop and Jimmy wakes up. 

“Pelican Town!” The driver screams. 

Jimmy looks around. There’s no else on anymore. He quickly grabs his travel bag and gets out. He says his thanks to the bus driver who just hums unhappily. Guess he really didn’t want to go that far out for just one person. 

On the side of the road is just a small clearing, with broken fences and dirt path. Someone is waiting for him, though. A man with cyan blue hair and an easygoing smile. 

“Hello, you must be Jimmy,” he sayswith a cheerful voice. “I’m Scott, the local florist. Mayor Grian sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival.”

It takes a second for Jimmy to find his words. The reality of what he’s done hitting him finally. He quit his job. He moved out of his appartment. He sold his things and bought a ticket for this small town in the middle of nowhere to become a farmer. 

“Nice to meet you, Scott,” he says after swallowing. “I…”

Gosh, he cannot screw this up. This isn’t like in the city. The people he meets are going to be the community he’s going to live with. He wants to make a good impression. 

Scott smiles, tilting his head to the side. He looks Jimmy up and down with mischief in his eyes in a way that makes Jimmy blush a little. He must be tired. 

“The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.”

Jimmy nods and follows him on the dirt path until they reach an area with a… house. Supposedly. 

“This is the Ranch,” Scott announces, waving his arm around to show the land that stretches before them.. 

The Ranch is an old building made out of wood. It looks like it’s been built in the last century. The farmland around, which was included in Scott’s gesture, is littered with some kind of forest. There are different types of trees, dead wood on the ground, bushes, and even some rocks! Is this really the farm his grandfather loved ? 

“What’s the matter?” Scott asks in a light voice. He’s got his arms crossed in front of him and an air of challenge about him. “Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication, you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

He turns back towards the house itself. Jimmy notes that there’s plenty of firewood on the side of the house. Someone must have stacked it for him. That thought settles in his chest, fluttering like a bird. He won’t sleep in the cold tonight, and that’s thanks to strangers. 

“... And here we are, your new home,” Scott says. 

Just like his words summoned him, a man opens the door and gets down the few steps of his porch to stop in front of them. He pulls the sleeves of his red sweater back to his writs and offers his hand to Jimmy. 

“Ah, the new farmer! Welcome, I’m Grian, the Mayor of Pelican Town.”

Jimmy shakes his hand and introduces himself. Grian nods, seemingly satisfied. 

“You know, everyone’s been asking about you. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. It’s quite a big deal.” He turns to look back at the house. “So… you’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house… very ‘rustic’.”

“Rustic?” Scott chimes in. “That’s one way to put it… ‘Crusty’ might be a little more apt, though.”

“Rude,” Grian says under his breath, his eyebrows frowning. “Don’t listen to him, Jimmy. He’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of Gem’s house upgrades.”

“Gem?” Jimmy asks.

“She’s the local carpenter. She lives north of the valley, near the mountain.”

Gem, the local carpenter. Jimmy tries to mentally catalogue. She makes house upgrades.  He turns his eyes towards Scott. He doesn’t remember if he said what he was doing. 

“Anyway… You must be tired from the long journey,” Grian says, looking back at the house. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself. The townspeople would appreciate that.”

He turns to leave and sees the box placed next to the mailbox. 

 “Oh, I almost forgot. If you have anything to sell, just place it in the box here. I’ll come by during the night to collect it. Well… Good luck!”

They are gone before Jimmy can really say anything else. But it might be for the better, because he’s exhausted. 

“I’m here,” he says to no one. Maybe to himself. Or maybe to his grandfather. 

Going into the house is a blurr. He barely have time to register the small table with one chair, the fireplace that was lit up for him and the bed. He just melts into the mattress and passes out.

#norwrites #traffic stardew au #stardew ranchers au #trafficblr #team rancher #jimmy solidarity

[turquoisephoenix]

Master Eon Versus the Town-Devouring Ghoul

A Skylanders one shot

Ghost Roaster becoming a Skylander Origin Story.

Several decades before the destruction of the Core of Light and the banishment of the Skylanders, Master Eon and Hex are called upon by one of the rulers of the Underworld to journey to the Land of the Undead and fight one of the most dangerous undead creatures - a ghost-devouring ghoul. Can he and his witch companion conquer this dastardly foe, or is Skylands’ most powerful Portal Master about to meet his match?

This story takes place several decades before the events of the first game, so Master Eon is still alive. Count Moneybone also isn't considered an evil villain yet. He's on his best behavior, don't worry.

Characters: Master Eon, Hex, Ghost Roaster, Count Moneybone

Content Warning: Minor body horror.

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

Out of all the wonderful locations in the infinite realm of Skylands, one of Master Eon's most treasured places was his garden. He was picturing his idyllic retreat right now, remembering its many abundances of colorful fruits and vegetables. The ripe strawberries, juicy tomatoes, and fragrant herbs, the rows of vibrant sunflowers swaying gently in the warm breeze, and the butterflies flitting from blossom to blossom all entered his mind and he smiled. Yes, he could even hear the bees buzzing, their gentle hum harmonizing with the gentle stream trickling through the field. His garden was a symphony of Skyland's endless bounty and a peaceful retreat whenever his Portal Master duties got a little too stressful.

A femur bone struck the wall inches from his head and Eon's smile instantly vanished. He certainly wished he was in his garden right now.

Instead of spending this lovely spring morning knee-deep in loam and tending to baby trees, Master Eon had been summoned on Portal Master duty by his old friend Count Moneybone to deal with, in Moneybone's words, "a horrible creature the likes of which have been unseen in hundreds of years." So now both he and Hex, his chosen partner for his journey through the Land of the Undead, were standing in the hallowed halls of Count Moneybone's Villa, waiting for an audience.

The problem was, so was every elected official that answered to Count Moneybone's district, and some of the Undead had the tendency to be rowdy.

Both Master Eon and Hex stood unmoving and unwavering in the doorway of Count Moneybone's mansion study as they waited for the right time to make an entrance. They watched, brows furrowed and lips pursed in unison, as a crowd of undead mayors, barons, and councilmen yelled at each other in a horrid cacophony of noise. Master Eon was the only creature within the vicinity with a pulse, and yet he was far less animated than the legions of rotted corpses in front of him as decayed limbs gestured at a map on a large dining table, at the air, or at the unlucky owner of the manor.

Despite the writhing mass of gleaming bones and putrid flesh all fighting for attention, and despite his less-than-remarkable stature (Moneybone would object to the word "short"), Count Moneybone was still easy to pick out in the crowd. Unlike the ragged robes or the ghastly cloaks befitting most Undead - even the ones that held a position of office - Moneybone liked elaborate purple cloaks, fancy purple gloves, and flashy golden armor. Under the highly expensive chandelier dangling above his head, Moneybone practically gleamed like a spotlight. 

Which, unfortunately for him, made him an incredibly easy target in this high stress situation. Even from the other side of the room, Master Eon could tell that his old friend was highly stressed out from the constant complaints. With a drooping mustache and a rapidly moving golden eye, Moneybone was fidgeting in place and was alternating between a customer service smile/grimace and quick flashes of temper depending on what was being said in his direction, and he was finding success with neither approach. 

He was in the middle of yelling at a smartly-dressed skeleton of a lizardman when his eyes spotted Master Eon and he immediately grabbed for that lifeline. Moneybone straightened up, put on his most charming smile, and assumed an extremely regal, composed tone of voice that he often practiced in front of the mirror.

"Ah, Master Eon and Mistress Hex, I do hope your trip to the Land of the Undead went w-"

Count Moneybone immediately realized that he had made a mistake. His efforts were dashed as the crowd of terrified undead noticed that he was talking to fresh blood and turned its attention to Master Eon and Hex. Moneybone gave an indignant yelp as the crowd unceremoniously shoved him aside. Skeletons, ghosts, and zombies began to plead pitieously.

"DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE GHOUL!" screamed a floating skull wearing a top hat.

"Yes, we're getting to that-" Moneybone tried to interject, but he was outnumbered.

"A GHOUL! A GHOOOOOUL!"

"WHO WILL FALL NEXT TO ITS INSATIABLE HUNGER? HOW MANY MORE TOWNS MUST FALL!?"

"SAVE US, MASTER EON!"

"TURN THE GHOUL TO STONE, HEX!"

"ENOUGH!"

A ball of crackling green magic formed in Count Moneybone's right palm, and with a swift, fluid motion, he thrust his hand into the air. There was a crackle of lightning, a powerful hum of necromantic energy that smothered all sound in its wake, the harsh smell of ozone, and then the crowd instantly fell silent. 

The rest of the undead stood frozen in place, eyes wide in terror, as they stared at Count Moneybone. Arcs of green magic still raced up and down his arm as he glared at the crowd, reminding them that the last hour or so of him tolerating their complaints was actually an act of mercy and patience from their benevolent leader.

"Let Master Eon speak!" Count Moneybone ordered. Everyone in the room was more than happy to oblige.

Master Eon, now feeling every eye on him, quickly moved through the room. The atmosphere was so quiet that the rustle of his blue robes sounded deafening as he shuffled across the carpet until he was face-to-face with Count Moneybone, who was now casually rolling a spark of necromantic energy between two fingers. Eon frowned as he looked at the giant, hand-drawn map on the table. Included with the map was a drawing of the ghoul. Eon picked it up and studied it.

"From what I can gather, we've been called upon to deal with...a ghoul? I must admit, I'm not familiar with ghouls. Are they rare?"

"They're exceptionally rare monsters, yes. And damned powerful too." Count Moneybone said, the other members of the undead in the room hanging on his every word. "Ghouls are not natural creatures. Usually, as the stories go, an evil necromancer living in a castle made out of bone will capture some unlucky villagers, horrifically transform them into ghouls and thus cursing them with an eternal hunger, and send them rampaging through the countryside as they devour everything in their path. Awful creatures, really."

Master Eon nodded. He was not at all surprised that Count Moneybone of all people would know about a rare creature created by awful necromancy gone bad. Although he wasn't doing the best job at hiding it - Eon was eyeing the magic still crackling off of Moneybone's hand - it was a well-kept secret that Count Moneybone used to be a necromancer back when he was alive. As far as Eon knew, Moneybone never created any ghouls. Moneybone was more of "reanimate the bones and sinew from his wife's pig farm in wacky experiments or resurrect the corpses of his pets" kind of necromancer before his untimely death. 

"And what makes them different from, say, an army of trolls or an army of dragons?" Master Eon asked carefully, his gaze still on the ghoul drawing. He could instantly recognize Count Moneybone's art style. The creature was very serpentine, with a snake-like tail in place of legs and a skull-like head lined with razor sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes, and four pointy head spikes. The ghoul was depicted in the drawing wearing a black suit with a striking red collar that rose behind its head like the hood of a cobra. The drawing made sure to draw the ghoul's bony arms held outward like it was roaring in anger. 

Eon made note of the clothes. Non-sentient creatures didn't wear clothes. Creatures that wore clothes could be reasoned with...

Count Moneybone continued, tugging at one end of his mustache. "You know how, when a dragon eats someone, they don't eat the ghost part of the person, and you usually get a very crispy spirit asking for residence in the Land of the Undead? Ghouls can eat ghosts. They're eternally hungry apex predators that can send anyone alive or dead to the afterlife, and a lot of my constituents want to remain uneaten and in this current life as they work through their unfinished business, thank you very much!" 

The crowd of undead upperclassmen started to murmur words of agreement before being silenced by a glare from Count Moneybone. 

The gears were turning in Master Eon's head. So a ghoul's power was its hunger. He could work with that.

"Give me a timeline of this ghoul. When did they first appear, and where can I find them." Master Eon pressed on. If he felt any strong emotions about being asked to face a creature that could instantly send him to the next plane of existence by eating him, his voice did not reveal it. Hex was even calmer than him as she stood next to him, her face completely serene and unreadable.

Count Moneybone sighed and pinched his forehead. He was desperately fighting off the beginnings of a stress headache, despite not having any of the flesh to get a headache. 

"About a month ago, this ghoul randomly materialized near the ghost town of Ribcage, where it immediately and swiftly devoured the entire population of ghosts. I of course acted quickly and had sent the mayor of Ribcage and a scouting party to kill the ghoul, but instead of doing what they were told, they trapped it, attached a ball and chain to it for reasons unknown, and let it roam free-"

The fashionable lizardman skeleton from earlier cut in, and it was immediately obvious from the way he grinded his teeth and gestured with his hands that they had suffered this conversation multiple times before.

"For the last time, I put the ball and chain on the ghoul because the best way to kill a ghoul is to root it in place and starve it to death!" The Mayor of Ribcage said this in an irritated snarl.

"Oh? And how heavy was the ball and chain?" sneered Count Moneybone.

"About fifteen pounds, give or take."

"Fifteen?! Did you want to starve the ghoul or did you want it to work on its triceps?! My mother could lift fifteen pounds! Fifteen pounds is nothing!" Count Moneybone snapped.

"Gentlemen! I believe we're getting off-topic!" Master Eon decided to cut in before things got violent. The lizardman, finger still raised in protest, then gave a quick bow and scurried away as Count Moneybone cleared his nonexistent throat.

"As I was saying, this ghoul has spent the last month haunting the surrounding area of Ribcage, eating anything it can get its horrible claws on. We still don't know how many citizens have lost their unlives and its territory has been gradually expanding as it's hunting for more food. I want you to take care of it before this problem gets out of hand! The entire Land of the Undead is at stake here!"

Sensing that the crowd of undead was still watching both his and Eon's every move, Count Moneybone then grabbed one edge of his cape with one hand and raised his other hand in the air as if reaching for heaven's light. He raised his voice in volume, going from "conversational" to "operatic". 

"So what do you say? Will you help us in our time of need, Master Eon?"

Master Eon paused, weighed his options, and, feeding into the theatrics for a bit, smiled and performed a bow and scrape before Count Moneybone, flourishing his hand as he did so.

"Consider it done!"

And with those words, Master Eon and Hex left the room to the sound of rapturous cheers and applause.  -----------------------

After quickly and reluctantly discussing the matter of Master Eon's payment with his new employer away from the crowd ("I have no need for gold coins." "Eon, you are not doing this job for free. If you won't take money, will you at least take a rare book from my collection?" "If you insist."), Master Eon and Hex left Count Moneybone's Villa and set off towards the town of Ribcage. Master Eon, with his long grey beard and sky blue robes making a stark contrast to Hex's midnight black, merrily trudged through the desolate land of the undead with his silent witch companion by his side. 

The air was thick with the stench of decay, and eerie moans echoed through the twisted trees that seemed to reach out with skeletal fingers, but Eon's mood remained cheery. Despite missing his garden earlier in the hustle and bustle of Count Moneybone's crowded study, he had to admit, it has been quite a while since he was asked to do a more traditional "Slay Thy Monster" quest. It felt nostalgic in a way. The Portal Master and his companion pressed on, their determination unwavering, for they had a quest to fulfill!

Hex did not share his enthusiasm. She quietly floated beside him, her face still passive and unreadable, as she exuded an aura of immense power. Her eyes glowed with a faint white light that pierced through the fog that permeated the land of the undead. She was always on high alert and she refused to waste more than a single word on such frivolities as "nice day we're having, Hex" and "it's been a while since you've last traveled to the Land of the Undead, Hex."

Master Eon had, of course, brought his trusty magic staff with him on his adventure. It crackled with energy as he used it as a walking aide. In addition, he also shouldered his enchanted satchel. Made of dark brown leather and decorated with a single red jewel, it looked like a regular, unassuming traveler's satchel, but it was enchanted to hold so much more than it seemed. Why, if it fell into a lake, it would easily swallow the entire body of water without changing size or weight. No self-respecting Portal Master went unprepared, after all! 

Today, however, his satchel contained no pilfered sea. Instead, he had packed his magical antique ladle (for making magical antique soup), a thermos that was currently holding a frightening amount of ectoplasm soup, more ingredients for soup in case Eon ran out of soup, various notes on the monster that they would soon face, and a map that would lead them to their destination (that now smelled faintly of soup).

It didn't take much travel time to enter Ribcage. Like most villages in the Land of the Undead, Ribcage lay in ruins, its buildings crumbling and decaying from years of neglect. But the unnatural stillness - the lack of unlife in the vicinity, the complete absence of friendly ghosts or zombies happily forming a community through broken boards and windows - was what made Ribcage feel particularly unwelcoming. The streets were littered with debris and overturned carts, evidence of the chaos that had ensued when the entire population was devoured. Clawmarks were gouged deep into the walls of several structures. Broken panes of glass and shattered doors lay on the ground.

Neither Eon nor Hex said a word as they searched the abandoned village for their monster. They could see that Moneybone's hunch was right. There were the telltale signs of a chain dragged through the dirt, and they looked fresh. The air was thick with an oppressive stillness. Not even the usual sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the air. Even the lowliest undead cricket was terrified of a hungry ghoul.

Their search did not last that long. The ghoul's tracks led to Ribcage's largest restaurant. It was once a quaint little hangout called The Spirits' Tavern ("Where the menu is to die for and the atmosphere is positively ethereal! Four point five stars on Yelp!") and it was in the same pathetic state of existence as the rest of the town. The windows were shattered, and a crowd of overturned chairs and tables sadly lay splintered and abandoned. Despite the constant decay that surrounded them, there was also the smell of something fresh wafting through the air. Master Eon gripped his walking staff with determination. He knew that they were close. Steeling his resolve, the Portal Master pushed open the restaurant's creaking doors and held them open long enough for Hex to float in first. Master Eon always held the door open for his companions as a common courtesy, even during death-defying monster quests. Inside, the remnants of several meals lay scattered across the tables and floor. No phantom pho, spectral soufflé, or midnight macabre martini was spared. The ghoul had been feeding here; its hunger so insatiable that no scrap of food was left untouched. Hex scanned the room for any sign of movement as Eon's staff began to glow with energy, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The Portal Master and his companion moved cautiously through the restaurant and made their way from the dining room to the kitchen and food stores. Once in the kitchen, they were greeted with an odd sight. There was a large smear of food mixture sitting on the floor, still wet and freshly made, with handfuls clearly ripped out of it rather than cooked. Master Eon bent down to examine it.   The Portal Master knew enough about cooking from his centuries of living in Skylands that he could tell that he was staring at one and a half cups of all-purpose flour, one cup of unsweetened natural cocoa powder, two cups of sugar, two teaspoons of baking soda, one teaspoon of baking powder, one teaspoon of salt, two teaspoons of espresso powder, half a cup of melted coconut oil, two large eggs cracked at room temperature, two teaspoons of pure vanilla extract, one cup of room temperature buttermilk, and one cup of coffee. But instead of baking this concoction into a fluffy, moist chocolate coffee cake, the creature skipped all of those other steps and gobbled up the raw cake mix with its bare hands. 

"I see our ghoul knows a thing or two about cooking. They even used measuring cups." Eon said in mild amusement. 

Hex didn't reply. She remained still, her entire body tense. Her head kept scanning the room, her hands raised and magic beginning to dance on her fingertips.

She could sense it. They were being watched. Inside the kitchen, next to the ruins of an uncooked cake, there were three occupants.

"Eon!" Hex cried. 

The air shimmered, and a hungry, malevolent ghoul suddenly materialized in the room. The long, sinewy creature with sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes floated in front of them, sniffed the air hungrily, and then lunged towards Hex with a loud, wordless scream, its greedy claws extended. Hex swiftly dodged the attack, her black cloak billowing behind her, as she countered with a blast of magical energy. The ghoul howled in pain as the undead magic struck it in the chest, but instead of slowing it down, it seemed to enrage the creature further. 

"SKREEAAAA!!!"

The ghoul swung its spiked ball and chain attached to the end of its body wildly through the air in a giant arc, forcing both Hex and Eon to dance out of the way to avoid being struck. Ceramic bowls exploded into shards. Flour and sugar filled the air. An egg timer ricocheted off the wall.

'Fifteen pounds is enough to do a decent amount of damage...' Hex mused to herself as the creature swung around and pounced on her, teeth snapping at the air and the ball and chain clattering on the floor. She caught both of its hands in her's as fangs closed shut inches away from her face. The ghoul's breath smelled of rot, ectoplasm, and cake batter.

"Hex!" Master Eon yelled as magic burst forth from his outstretched hand. The ghoul was knocked aside and away from its prey but it immediately rose to its full height. It howled in hunger and attacked again, saliva foaming at its mouth.

In its frenzied, feral state, the ghoul didn't realize just how hopelessly overpowered its opponents were. The Soul-Devouring Terror of Ribcage was used to inexperienced members of the undead and the occasional poorly trained lackey under Count Moneybone's employment. As the ghoul lunged, Hex and Master Eon both focused their powers, casting a series of spells that sent bolts of lightning and a cascade of conjured skulls hurtling towards their monstrous opponent. Their magic blended seamlessly as the two of the most powerful sorcerers in all of Skylands worked together in perfect harmony. The creature roared in frustration as it tried to defend itself against the onslaught, but Hex and Eon were relentless.

"Immobilize them!" Master Eon commanded.

Hex nodded. With a final incantation, the sorcerer summoned a powerful wave of dark energy that summoned a prison of bone that burst forth from the ground. The creature was instantly pinned in place, its body wracked with pain as it let out a piercing wail. Its energy drained, the ghoul was rendered helpless, and it could do nothing but thrash weakly and helplessly like a dying fish on a line. 

"State your business," Hex commanded the growling, pinned creature as she held a ball of crackling energy near their face. 

"HISSSSSSSS!!!" answered the ghoul.

"Now now, Hex. It's hard to state your business when you're hungry." Master Eon said. Already, he was pouring some ectoplasm soup from his thermos into one of the few bowls in the kitchen that remained unbroken from the onslaught. He then kneeled next to the ghoul and gently placed the bowl in front of its face.

The monster was so hungry, so ravenous and starving, that it temporarily forgot its imprisonment once it smelled the hearty stew of ectoplasm and spirits. Greedily, it ate, its face shoved into the warm liquid like a starving dog, sending droplets of green glowing ooze flying through the air as it inhaled the food. Horrendous lip smacking noises filled the room. The contents of the bowl were gone in seconds, and the ghoul rested its head on the ground, panting from the exertion.

A second bowl slid to a gentle stop near the ghoul's face.

"Take your time; I brought plenty. I'll ask you some questions when you're feeling better." Eon said.

"Hnn..hn..wa...?"

The ghoul's expression softened a bit as the ravenous hunger subsided and higher intelligence started to flood back into the creature's brain. They coughed, ectoplasm rising from their throat, as they slowly remembered how to talk. No one has asked them to say anything in a while now.

But instead of speaking, the ghoul instead devoured the contents of a second bowl of soup. Not as greedily as the first bowl - the ghoul actually grabbed onto the bowl and tilted the liquid into its mouth this time - but still just as hungry. A third bowl of ectoplasm soup was already waiting for them before the second one was finished. 

Eon and Hex patiently watched the ghoul in silence as it ate the third bowl, then the fourth bowl, and then the fifth. With each finished meal, the ghoul changed. This creature, still pinned to the ground by a fortress of bone, became less like a slobbering, feral beast in a fugue state and more like a person. When the wooden bowl clattered to the floor for the fifth time, the creature was holding their head in their hands, like the sudden onset of lucidity was causing them physical pain.

"Do you want Hex to free you so you can get more comfortable?"

"Nnn...hhh...no, I'm fff...fine...I'm fine. I'm fine. Fine." 

The words were hesitant at first, like the ghoul was remembering how to talk as they went along. The ghoul also seemed unsure about their own voice. Their brow was furrowed, and they tentatively sounded out some vowels to themselves. The ghoul held out a hand in front of its face and tentatively wiggled its clawed fingers as if seeing its own body for the first time.

They didn't want to ask for freedom yet. As the ghoul regained their humanity, they remembered that they weren't supposed to be a ghoul.

Despite the ghoul's pleas, Hex, her eyes still watching the creature with her stern, emotionless look on her face, made a gentle motion with her hand and the bone prison shimmered and melted away like a fading summer's memory. The ghoul didn't move from his spot. Those piercing yellow eyes that once glared at both Eon and Hex with malevolence and hatred were now wet with unshed tears.

Master Eon leaned down and placed a hand on the ghoul's shoulder.

"Do you have a name?"

Master Eon's voice was calm, patient. Understanding. 

"I should have a name..." the ghoul replied, a sob escaping from the back of their throat. They...He - he remembered that part - HE dragged a hand across his face as he lay there pitifully on his stomach. Everything felt wrong.  "But I can't remember it. Can't remember much of anything..."

Eon took out his thermos and poured out another bowl of soup.

"What would you like us to call you?"

The ghoul accepted more food and pulled himself into a sitting position. Chains rattled behind him and then around him as his unnatural tail - his punishment for his monstrous acts - formed a small, tight, protective circle around his body.

"What were they calling me...?"

As Master Eon stirred the soup with his antique soup ladle, he unfolded the piece of parchment from his satchel and squinted at the various titles written on the ghoul's rap sheet. "The Soul-Devouring Terror. The Fall of Ribcage. The Ghost Gobbler. The Ghost Eater. The Ghost Roaster. The Ghost Ender. The Nightmare Beast. The Spirit Shredder-"

"I like Ghost Roaster." The ghoul said glumly, choosing the least monstrous out of the list. It was starting to dawn on him that he just tried to kill and eat Master Eon, the most famous Portal Master in all of Skylands, a couple of minutes ago. He grabbed the bowl that was handed to him and stared down at the tasty, nourishing broth.

"I remember...roasting things? Before all of this..."

Master Eon remembered the cake mixture on the ground. There was a natural talent there, he recalled. Perhaps this ghoul had a hobby in cooking?

"Ghost Roaster it is."

"This could use a little basil and maybe half a clove of garlic..." Ghost Roaster said to himself without thinking as he examined his bowl of soup, confirming Master Eon's suspicions. This was the first serving where Ghost Roaster was using a spoon, stolen from The Spirits Tavern's storage.

"What do you remember?"

Ghost Roaster gnawed lightly on the spoon and racked his brain.

"I remember..."

Then the memory struck him and the spoon fell from numbed fingers.

Hot fire. Burning. Back arching. Muscles twitching. Cry of pain. Guts rearranging. Sinew ripping, tearing, reforming into new shapes. Cry for help. Mouth forced open as teeth kept growing. Growing. Skin melting. Reshaping. Hair falling. Legs growing. Fusing. Needles of lava piercing head. Writhing. Screaming. Howling. Hunger. Starving. Famished. Hunger hunger hungry hunger hunger-

"...pain." was the only word that fell out of his mouth. He looked down at his hands again, at his claw-tipped hands made out of yellowed bone, and then looked up at Master Eon. A raw and powerful disgust enveloped his body as his chest tightened. When he asked the question now burning in his mind, his voice sounded weak. Fragile. 

"Is...is there a way to change me back?"

For the first time this entire trip, Hex's face showed emotion. She - as well as Master Eon - winced as if struck as Ghost Roaster looked up at both of them with pleading eyes. When neither of them answered Ghost Roaster's question fast enough - how could they answer such a loaded question? - he tossed the bowl away from him as his emotions got the better of him. 

"Answer me! There has to be, right?" Ghost Roaster yelled, his voice shaking. His trembling hands grasped at Master Eon's cloak.

"I-I'm not supposed to be like this! I was something else and-and-and but then I tripped! -and I fell a long way and now...now I'm a monster! I don't want to be stuck like this! What if I hurt anyone else!? What if-" 

"I know how you feel."

Ghost Roaster's complaints died on his lips. "What...?"

Hex repeated herself. 

"I know how you feel." 

Hex turned her head and looked off to the distance as her voice became pained.

"Years ago, I too became a monster. I too was hunted." 

Ghost Roaster gazed at her in shock. He let go of Master Eon's cloak. Master Eon gently placed a hand on Ghost Roaster's shoulder but the ghoul didn't feel it.

"I was also cursed to join the Undead against my will, long ago. I hated myself too, at first. My skin was cold, my heart was still. I was a living corpse, forever tainted by undeath. I was abandoned by the people I once protected. Hunted by the people I once protected."

Hex turned her head to look at Ghost Roaster. Their eyes met. 

"I have wasted years trying to find a cure for my transformation. What I learned...is that the most common solution for an undead curse is destruction. You have been changed permanently and the sooner you make peace with that, the better."

But then, in a rare moment, Hex smiled.

"But you don't have to suffer your curse alone."

Hex held out her hand towards Ghost Roaster. Ghost Roaster, misreading her gesture and forgetting that handshakes exist, rushed over to her and instead swept her up in a hug. 

Hex awkwardly floated there, arm still outstretched, constricted in a rib-bruising embrace, as the ghoul that once tried to eat her was now loudly sobbing into her shoulder. She could feel her shoulder become wet with tears. 

Master Eon walked up to both of them, a warm smile playing on his lips. Hex shot Master Eon a look that screamed "do something!"

So Master Eon did the thing he was most known for.

"Have you considered joining the Skylanders, Ghost Roaster?"

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

Count Moneybone sat at his mahogany desk in his office, organizing paperwork. The soft glow of the chandelier above him (for Moneybone had a chandelier in almost every room of his manor) cast a warm light on various office plants and stacks of paper from the various undead towns and provinces that surrounded him. Politics was rapidly becoming a fun pastime for him but bureaucracy also took up lots of room in his office. 

'Mental note - hire a secretary,' Count Moneybone thought to himself as he sipped on a cup of tea, and that was when the door loudly burst open, sending some of his paperwork flying. Count Moneybone, his floral printed teacup still hovering near his mouth, narrowed his eyes as Master Eon triumphantly entered the room in a flurry of blue robes and greying facial hair. 

"Well!?" Count Moneybone asked, mildly annoyed. "Did you take care of the ghoul?"

Someone behind Master Eon cleared his throat. A spiked ball and chain dragged itself and dug grooves across Count Moneybone's plush purple carpets as Ghost Roaster, still signing official paperwork marked with Master Eon's signature with Master Eon's favorite fountain pen, floated into the room.

"He did, yes."

Count Moneybone said nothing as his teacup fell from his hands to the floor.

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

End

#Skylanders #Ghost Roaster #Count Moneybone #Master Eon #Hex (Skylanders) #Hex Skylanders #Turquoisephoenix tells a story #I haven't posted a fanfic in three years so I might be a little rusty...

[ozzgin]

I had another funny thought about our beloved whore of a reader…

Imagine there being a “Hall of Fame” located in a really important government building or something, that’s dedicated to her monster lovers. All the monsters that’ve successfully become her baby daddies are admitted to that special club. And there’s loads of memorabilia too. Like positive pregnancy tests (if those exist in the monster realm), soiled bedsheets that were fucked upon, etc.

It’s a place that monster visitors in the town, and out of town go to as a tourist attraction. After all, it’s a place that records a lot of important history. Potential monster baby daddies also go there to fantasize and seek out motivation for winning the next monster games. Gotta keep motivation when doing all those sets/reps of weighted hip thrust exercises in the gym 🤭

And something I’ve been wondering too, who is the mayor of the monster town? Is it the same monster who had tentacles and changed sizes in the original story post? Or is it a different guy? And how come the charms of reader don’t work on him? He immune?

-👘

I-

Perhaps it's my turn to look into the camera nervously. (I'm kidding anon, bless your creativity)

On the topic of Monstertown Mayor, I had a brief discussion with my partner about it (he likes to be involved) and he suggested an abstract, eternally burning existence similar to a biblically accurate angel. Because, see, who would believe him to be neutral or objective when dealing with Reader matters if he, himself, was shagging her behind the scenes? Some monsters have a physical form fit for mating, others less so.

But the Mayor, he's an amorphous, surreal blasphemy, a depthless sphere of darkness and blight with no beginning or end. Which, now that I think about it, makes the birthday scene even more hilarious. A spiraling dimension of eyes, sarcastically glancing at the cameraman every now and then, and conjuring some visible appendage to hold the coffee mug at his colossal office desk (no chair because he's just floating around). His speech is a foreign amalgamation of quantum vibrations, so they just added subtitles for everyone else at home.

#yandere monsters #maybe he's still secretly banging the Reader in her sleep or something #metaphysical coitus

[deceasedream69]

Bomb

This imagine takes place in 7x3

sumary: you're working on what appears to be a really mysterious case with your coworkers, until thing get complicated.

W: mentions of bombs and mental illness

_______________________________________________________-

-"What I'm saying is that it's possible that our unsub has what it's called "Capgras syndrome", Reid started to explain as we were investigating the unsub's childhood home.

-"What's that?", JJ walked towards Spence, Morgan and me next to him already.

-"It's basically an ilusion made by your eyes. You think everyone you know or love is not actually who you see. You get this "imposter" syndrome, where the rest of your senses are able to recognize your friends or family but your eyes trick you into thinking right the opposite. Now mix thinking everyone you love around you is an imposter with military training and you get... well, our unsub"

-"If this is true how should we proceed?", Morgan asked.

-"Is there a cure?", I looked at Spencer, maybe there was a way to save him after all.

-"there are treatments but not really a cure"

-"but what caused our unsub to get the syndrome"

-"it's cause by mayor brain damage like a tumor or...

"the car accident he had on friday", Spencer and I said it at the same time.

-"that'll explain why he's so calmed and focused, he's normal until he sees an "imposter", Morgan explained and Spencer nodded.

-"And he's looking for the last hope he has, his wife and daughter"

We went back to the BAU, informed by Rossi that our unsub kidnapped someone else we were thinking about options to get close to him.

-"I can't believe you can have someone you love so much in front of you and just...", I made a mimick of my head exploding. "it must be tiring and... so sad, you never really get to spend time with someone that you know"

I closed my eyes.

-"what are you doing?"

-"well I can recognize your voice..." I lifted my hands and started to softly touch his face. "You said you could recognize someone with the rest of your senses, like the touch", I smiled. "I can tell you're Spence"

-"you could just hear my voice, no need to get all touchy"

-"well your voice doesn't really allow me to see or... at least feel, your pretty face"

-"all set, let's call our unsub", Rossi intervened, but I could still see Spencer's red cheeks.

After the phone call we were all on edge, apparently they managed to find the victim our unsub was holding hostage but our unsub wasn't there, just a radio he used to trick is into thinking he was still there. But our worried grew even bigger when Penelope appeared.

- "a dead police officer inside Quantico was found"

- "inside?", Maybe I didn't listen properly, I hoped that was it but Penelope only nodded.

We were screwed.

The whole team entered in kinda panic mode, although no one would admit it. We had to get the unsub's wife and daughter Ina safe place inside the building. Rossi, JJ and Spencer were still in the desk area but Hotch sent me to grab some things from his office.

Rossi pressed the call option again, hoping to hear the unsub's phone ringing to at least have an idea about his location.

- "Luke?", Rossi asked.

- "now I want you to listen to me very carefully, we both know we don't want to make such a mess"

- "what do you mean by that?"

He pushed me out of the office, his hand grabbing my neck to guide me, and the bomb strapped to my shoulders falling onto my chest. I lifted my hands to show our team I wasn't armed, he hid himself behind me, holding a little remote on the other hand.

Morgan and JJ instantly got their guns out.

- "no!" Reid yelled at them, Rossi analyzing the whole situation, I decided to just stay silent, looking at the floor.

- "Now, no more tricks, or your agent here, along with us, is gone. Where is my wife and daughter?"

- "Luke?", A woman's voice sounded through a microphone.

- "sweetie? Is that you? Are you ok?"

- "yes, we're fine and safe, would you please let this innocent people go?"

- "go? After what they're doing to you?"

- "daddy, please, I want to go home", a little girls voice sounded this time, she sounded scared, and so was I. Lifting my gaze slightly to at least look at my team one last time, he tighten his grip on my neck, making me look back down.

- "please let them go, honey"

- "we can reunite you again with your wife and daughter", Spencer intervened. The team looking at him. "But you have to keep your eyes closed"

- "what?" He said grabbing my neck tighter.

- "ok... You- you have this syndrome, called the capgras syndrome, your eyes, basically, are playing tricks on you, making you feel like everyone around you is an imposter, but you just have to close your eyes"

- "please, darling, close your eyes and I'll come out"

- "please, daddy, close your eyes"

I couldn't hold the pain in my neck anymore, biting my lip to suppress any kind of whine or sound that could escape.

- "but you need to let our agent go", Rossi tried to get closer to us, but he pulled be back. After a few seconds, hesitating, he let me go. A couple of professional guys wearing suits grabbed me and took the bomb off me. I felt so relieved.

The unsub closed his eyes and was handcuffed, the wife entered the room, warning him to not open his eyes.

I fell to the nearest chair, my breathing uneven and my shoulder hurting as fuck.

- "hey, are you okay?", He kneeled before me.

I shook my head and let the tears flow as I rested my head on his shoulder, his hand stroking my back slowly.

I could hear the commotion at the background but I decided not to pay attention to it, I'll catch on it later.

Spencer and I stood there for a moment. Morgan tried to approach to ask me how I was feeling but Spencer shook his head so he decided to give us space.

- "how are you feeling?", He said stroking my head now.

I sniffed.

- "I was... Scared"

- "honestly", he voice was really soft, like he was whispering, "I was scared to, scared to not see your pretty face anymore either, not even being able to feel it", he said running a few fingers over my cheek. I smiled and closed my eyes , trying to steady my breathing.

- "it's all over, let's go home and get you some sleep", he said helping me up.

The end :)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer x y/n #the bau #bau team #criminal minds fic #criminalminds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader

[iww-gnv]

LOS ANGELES (AP) — Thousands of Los Angeles city employees, including sanitation workers, lifeguards and traffic officers, walked off the job Tuesday for a 24-hour strike alleging unfair labor practices. Picket lines went up before dawn at Los Angeles International Airport and other locations and a rally was planned for later in the day at City Hall. SEIU Local 721 said airport custodians, heavy duty mechanics and engineers are among the more than 11,000 LA city workers who are striking. The union said its members voted to authorize the walkout because the city has failed to bargain in good faith and also engaged in labor practices that restricted employee and union rights. “City workers are vital to the function of services for millions of Angelenos every day and to our local economy,” Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass said in a statement Monday. “They deserve fair contracts and we have been bargaining in good faith with SEIU 721 since January. The city will always be available to make progress 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.”

#news #los angeles #hot strike summer #strikes #strike #labor organizing #unions #labor unions #union strong #union

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

We're finally at the final (thank the gods)! Things that we talked about that I haven't seen discussed:

Nathalie trying to kill Gabriel is such bullshit. "You can't do this! You'll hurt someone!" Nathalie, you have known that since day one! You knew he was working on this all season and you're good now! Why are you only trying to kill him now? You were healthy most of the season! You even physically pinned him! Oh, right, because you're not actually good. It's all just "better than thou" lip service. Hypocrisy is the easiest way to make us dislike a character and Nathalie's a massive hypocrite, so we're not fans.

Evil Nathalie was pretty fun. "Good" Nathalie is aggravating and has as lackluster a redemption as they gave Felix or perhaps even more lackluster. Felix at least switched for love of Kagami. Nathalie switched because Gabriel didn't heal her even though she had zero knowledge that he truly had a chance to do so (she wasn't there and Gabriel has never given up an opportunity to save Emilie so that he could chase Ladybug before). Adrien was never Nathalie's motivation or else we would have seen her protest things like Gorizilla, Style Queen, and Chat Blanc.

Moving on!

The mass teleport to Ladybug should have killed everyone because the whole world is supposed to be after her. A couple billion people teleporting to the same location should mean people squish each other or that portals open over each other/on top of people. Just saying. Budget saved her life because Mirauclous' Earth has a teeny tiny population due to rendering costs.

SO was mad how anticlimactic the final fight between Marinette and Gabe feels. Oh two people who barely interacted, have minimal personal connection, and always hated each other are fighting? Such a big moment! I'm so invested! He talked about how other shows build up to moments like this by making the villain terrifying or by making the villain and the hero have a strong, personal connection or even by making the fight super fun to watch, but miraculous did none of that. SO seriously didn't care about the fight at all and, to be honest, neither did I when I first watched it. I only tuned in when Marinette detransformed and I went, wait, wtf are you doing?

We get to all the scenes with heroes in other locations and SO paused the show every few seconds to ask me who tf person X was. Fei resulted in multiple pauses because of her varied forms. So I can confirm that the casual viewer totally followed this part and it was a wonderful addition (that's sarcasm, btw). He did ask "why would the French say that they need a bunch of Americans to win?" Which I though was pretty funny. That's certainly one way to read the Americans showing up!

SO works in IT. He was so mad that the laptop wasn't remotely wiped after it was lost/Lila stole it. And why does it have access to the Agreste mansion and not just the police robots? I thought Tsurugi corp was a tech company? This is all security 101.

SO's final thoughts: well that was soulless. I feel nothing. I can see why you're so done with this show.

Credit where it's due: while the final was massively disappointing from a story perspective and while I don't think Caline Bustier was written like a good teacher for anyone above the age of 5, it is really cool to show a pregnant woman run for office, win, and then be allowed to do her job with her baby in tow without any of that being treated as a joke. That's a really powerful thing for a young child to see and I'm glad it was included even Caline would make a terrible mayor in real life.

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt #ml finale #suffering through a rewatch of season 5 for love of my SO

[nobodyfamousposts]

I feel like Chloe’s actions in Lady Wi-Fi and Rogercop were justified. Alya invaded her privacy, and Roger refused to do his job and at the very least investigate the accusation. If they had checked mari’s and Chloe’s bags, they’d have seen the bracelet was missing. These 2 were the only episodes where Chloe was justified.

I would grant you Lady Wifi. Especially since Alya's reasoning for doing it were ignoring boundaries as well as basic common sense and fully available information (Ladybug rescued Chloe in Origins 2).

But I have to disagree on Rogercop. There was no basis to Chloe's accusation against Marinette in the first place. And honestly, the situation escalated so quickly that Roger barely got a word in. What word he did get in was trying to simply deescalate the situation.

Per canon:

Chloé: (gasps) My bracelet! It's gone! I had it a second ago. (looks at Marinette) You! You stole it! Marinette: What? What are you talking about?! Chloé: You unpurposedly tripped on my bag so you could steal my bracelet! (to Roger) You're a policeman! Arrest her! Tom: My daughter is not a thief! Roger: (blows whistle) Hold on a minute, Miss Bourgeois, we don't accuse without proof! Now, everyone, calm down, please. Maybe you simply misplaced your bracelet. Chloé: You're calling me a liar?! Daddy! Mr. Bourgeois: Roger, I demand you search this girl! Chloé: Ha! Miss Bustier: Please, everybody! Mr. Bourgeois: Need I remind you that as mayor of this city, I am your superior! Roger: But sir, it's against the law! I can't just go-- Mr. Bourgeois: All right. Then you're no longer a police officer! Roger: Mayor, you can't be serious! Over a missing bracelet? Mr. Bourgeois: This is my daughter's bracelet we're talking about! You're incompetent and you're fired! Get out! Roger: Aww...

This all happened in all of two minutes. And Chloe wasted no time before demanding that Roger outright arrest Marinette before even searching her and confirming whether she had the bracelet or not. They hadn't even tried to check if the bracelet had fallen off the table or could be anywhere else before Chloe started to accuse Marinette. In a situation like this, the first thing to do should be to look around the area to see if the bracelet wasn't misplaced. A basic search would have taken a couple minutes and could have confirmed the bracelet's location without infringing on the rights of other people in the process. (Yes, we as the audience know that Plagg had the bracelet at that time, but the characters didn't and for all they knew, the bracelet COULD have been on the ground.)

Roger's very first action here was to try to stop the escalation and calm everyone down. This is something a good officer should do. And his initial suggestion was a fairly standard and reasonable one. Maybe it was misplaced? Check the area first before we start throwing accusations. It wasn't like he was letting everyone leave the room so any potential thief could make off with the bracelet, he was just starting with simple non-accusatory suggestions at to what could have happened to it.

As it was, he barely got the chance to even do anything else regarding his job or even to conduct a proper search for the bracelet before Chloe started whining and Andre started making demands to perform the aforementioned infringement of rights. Then Andre immediately turned to firing the man when he hesitated and tried to explain it was against the law to do what he was asking. Which as others have pointed out, Andre did not have the authority to do. (But hey, it's Miraculous and Andre apparently regularly does a LOT of things he shouldn't have the authority to do, so I guess we'll just ignore that.)

And given that Chloe has a longstanding history of bullying Marinette for little to no reason, this honestly comes off as yet another targeting of her standard victim. With all this in mind, it’s questionable if a search of Marinette’s bag would have mollified Chloe at all.

So I have to disagree about Chloe being justified on this one. Maybe there was a point about searching Marinette's bag. But she escalated the situation needlessly when there were already authority figures there to help her and there were a number of steps skipped to get to her demands because Chloe lacks the ability to be patient or have restraint.

And that's honestly been the biggest problem with Chloe throughout the series. It also limits her justification in episodes like Lady Wifi where she wasn't actually in the wrong. Chloe escalates things. Often and needlessly. To the point where even if she isn't technically wrong, she still loses any justification due to how she handles the situation.

In Lady Wifi, Alya was very much in the wrong for searching Chloe's locker, but she wasn't given suspension until Chloe demanded it despite suspension being the punishment for a completely different crime that Alya didn't commit. Alya was wrong for sneaking the picture but she was caught and still would have been punished with detention—which is arguably reasonable for a first offense of taking a picture of someone's locker. Violation of privacy, yes. Alya was wrong, yes. But she WAS receiving a punishment for it. It just wasn't to the extent Chloe wanted. So she escalated a situation that was already being handled and got Alya suspended for a relatively minor crime.

In Dark Cupid, Chloe wasn't wrong for turning Kim down. She has every right to not date someone she's not interested in. All she had to do was tell him some variant of "I don't like you like that" and they all could have moved on. Kim might have been hurt by the rejection, sure, but he wouldn't have been crushed. But instead of just telling him no, Chloe laughed at him, insulted him, took a picture of his misery, and sent it to everyone. Chloe again escalated the situation beyond what was necessary.

In Princess Fragrance, Chloe wasn't wrong for refusing the take Rose's letter to Prince Ali. She doesn't know what it says. She doesn't know what's in it. The guy is a Prince and there should by all counts be some rules for what he can receive and very valid reasons to have some barriers in place before things can get to him. Using Chloe to bypass those stop gaps could open him up to harm. It could also be considered a misuse of Chloe's position (understandably less of a consideration given how much Chloe abuses her own position regularly, but go with me for the sake of argument). Rose might have been disappointed with the answer, but she likely would have understood and accepted it without any akumatization as a result. She could even have learned of the proper channels and used them. So no, Chloe had no obligation to take Rose's letter and to the contrary had plenty of reasons to NOT take the letter. But she had NO REASON WHATSOEVER to insult Rose and just tear up the letter in front of her. But still Chloe escalated.

So no, under this light, I have to disagree about Chloe being justified in any of these episodes. She may have had a point and a valid reason behind her behavior, but her reactions and ways of escalating the situation lose her whatever justification she could have. Because while her stance may be justified, her behavior is not. And her behavior is the problem.

#ml salt #chloe salt #miraculous ladybug