#Primo Brown

[nofatclips]

Shut Tha Fuck Up by Cor Veleno

#music #italian music #cor veleno #primo #hip hop #primo brown #david maria belardi #grandi numeri #squarta #gabriele centofanti #dj squarta #giorgio cinini #francesco saverio #francesco saverio caligiuri #francesco caligiuri #SoundCloud

[darkputrex]

Condividiamo il nome, ma chissà quante altre cose, pensieri, umori, sentimenti e parole abbiamo sempre condiviso.

Hai sempre fatto della musica che spaccava, musica che aiutava ad andare avanti e ci riesce tutt'ora.. Ma chissà quanta altra roba avresti tirato fuori. Sei stata l'ispirazione di tanti, la luce di molti altri. Sono già passati 8 anni da quando sei andato via.. Grazie ancora di tutto Dà - Primo, un abbraccio, ovunque tu sia.

D.

#primo #Primo Brown #Cor Veleno #Spotify

[vvvounds]

fai a pezzi me, ti prenderai le schegge

#primo brown #vvvounds #musika

[kittesencula]

Primo Brown

#Primo Brown #Cor Veleno

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Al primo soffio di vento (Franco Piavoli, 2002)

#Al primo soffio di vento #Franco Piavoli #Piavoli #long shot #interiors #sun #colour #brown #sunset #summer #At the First Breath of Wind #2002 #documentary #flower #flowers #fruit #fruits #apple #decoration

[jossambird]

Personally hc that in his older years primo went bald and mourns for the long blond hair he had in his youth every day 😭

GOD I FELT THIS (not because Im bald I swear)

I love the idea of Primo having beautiful white blond hair and not many knowing until they see him without his mitre and they just go “HE HAS BEAUTIFUL HAIR???”

Rip Bone Daddy Secondo (but thats okay Secondo, Ill grip your head however I can 😎)

#YOUR SO REAL FOR THAT ANON #Primo: beautiful flowing white blond hair #Secondo: 👀 #Terzo: delectable raven black hair #Copia: grayed brown locks #jossambird confessions

[frozendistrict]

Milan Library Home Office

#Large trendy freestanding desk limestone floor and gray floor home office library photo with brown walls #a standard fireplace and a concrete fireplace stile primo 900 #pavimento in pietra #home office #libreria illuminata

[mayugene]

Kitchen Dining in Houston

#Example of a large farmhouse design with multicolored walls #a medium tone wood floor #and a brown floor. dining room #white washed #wine & bar cabinets #primo gas lanterns #vaulted ceilings #kitchen island lighting

[kala-ya-aan]

Today I unexpectedly discovered that my all-time favorite song, "Suavecito" (AKA the Chicano anthem) was co-written by a Filipino! Composer/Arranger/Vocalist/Guitarist ABEL ZARATE wrote the music with bassist Pablo Tellez, while the lyrics were by vocalist Richard Bean. The three of them, along with Jorge Santana (Carlos Santana's younger brother who passed away in May of this year) were original members of the legendary Chicano rock group, Malo.

#chicanx #oldies #malo #suavecito #abel zarate #pablo tellez #jorge santana #santana #brown pride #la raza #filipino-mexicano #long los primos #mexican #filipino #mi gente

[two-red-lungs]

The Kids Are Alright (Eddie Munson)

Your first date with Eddie Munson is fine, as far as first dates go. You get pizza together: meet awkwardly outside the door at 7pm, hands sweaty, exchanging nervous, butterfly-riddled smiles. You eat. He can't stop moving in his seat opposite you, tapping his hands on the sticky enamel tabletop. He looks at you with big brown eyes. Wary, at first, then as the night goes on and it becomes clear this isn't some string-along joke, or a prank, with boyish glee.

But the second date is the one that really shines.

Eddie, in all his intellectual glory, takes you to the Dollar Tree.

It's late, again, and the D in the logo flickers in and out of existence. The air inside smells like cheap plastic, dust, and the urban sprawl of capitalism. This is a place that's usually... dead. A pathetic sort of dead, where dreams come to die, the cashier looks about five seconds from falling asleep, agonizingly boring elevator music plays over tinny speakers, and Hawaiian themed teacups are on sale for ninety-nine cents.

You think god, what the hell are we even doing here? This is hardly a dinner date, or the bowling alley, or makeout point, or any of the usual dates your friends always bragged so cooling about. But then Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, spins on his heel, and throws his arms wide. His outfit jingles.

"Welcome," he says with a glint in his dark eyes, "to the goddamn kingdom of imagination."

You should leave. God knows to anyone else at school this date could sound like a horror story, an uncouth, uncool, unladylike disaster. But there's something in those eyes. Something vibrant and alive and real. So instead of leaving you think, okay. Why not.

Best decision of your life.

He knows this place by heart, every white-tiled aisle under the buzzing fluorescents. And he's funny, too: you didn't expect him to be so funny. As you both slowly amble and push your squeaky-wheeled cart he picks up random shit, talking as he fiddles.

A fuzzy caterpillar cat toy becomes his moustache. He wraps a crinkled paper streamer around his neck like a boa and faints dramatically against some of the shelves. He scurries to the aisle next to you and pretends to walk down a staircase, disappearing from view: when his moppish head pops back up again, his wild hair flounces.

Huh. He smiles like the sun.

Eddie asks about everything possible, and god, under his stoner slang he's whip fucking smart. You crack a joke or a sarcastic reference and he smoothly returns it with equal emphasis, two tennis players on the court.

You check out picture frames. Eddie suggests throwing a little spraypaint on it, a little silver paint to light the edges, some weathering with sandpaper, and suddenly you've got yourself some primo decor.

"You like to paint?" You ask him, standing in the aisle, holding the shitty wooden frame. He's looking over your shoulder. You can feel his body heat, this close.

"I'm a big believer in, uh. Creativity, y'know?" His smile is big, toothy. Still nervous. Like as extroverted as he is, as big as his personality could be, the sting of a scoff or a sneer could still hurt.

You tell him that's cool. Something in his eyes softens.

God, you don't know how many hours you spend in that place, just talking and touching shit and discussing potential DIY projects and cool ideas. You talk comics, and music, and Hawkins social politics. He tells you about Tolkien. You tell him about David Brin. He likes David Murray, you like Siouxie Sioux. You both agree the autumn leaves this time of year make the Hawkins High look like its roof is on fire (and god, if only).

Your cart is full of bullshit you don't really need, bullshit full of promise and potential, and Eddie is letting you ride the cart with your feet on the front bar as he pushes it down the aisle at mach one speed. He splutters behind you, your hair in his mouth. He's laughing.

The total comes to 12 dollars even. The plan for the next date is to turn the kids bathtub toys you bought- ducks and dolls and dolphins- into zombies and mummies and other creatures with the shitty barely-opaque acrylics set you scored.

The sky is black outside, and it's raining. He asks if he'll see you again this week, and you say yeah, duh. The air feels like fireworks- like lightning, like a live wire. You think for a second that he's gonna kiss you.

Eddie pulls out a silver-plastic tiara from under his vest, nicked free of charge from the girl's section, and sets it on your head. It's cheap, pattern-punched plastic with pink plastic gems. It's perfect. He's made you a fairytale.

Munson bows, smiles again- the one that makes his eyes crinkle- and then he's off in his van.

He's so weird. He's so strange. You don't understand him.

You think you really like him.

#eddie munson #stranger things s4 spoilers #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #my writing #I'M NOT DEAD I'M JUST IN UNIVERSITY

[kookies2000]

Because I feel like it.

Yellow sky? Bare footed characters? Mostly a mess? Over exaggerating some of the Hispanic features. I saw the first episode, and it was just poorly written in general. And what mother calls their son "cochinada." Roughly translates to dirty or trash.

What's good Latino/Hispanic representation?

Colombian 🇨🇴

In the Caribbean region of Colombia, they light up candles and lanterns on December 8, before sunrise. So the candle giving them magic was a wonderful detail. Generational trauma is a thing for us Latinos, and this film handled it in a healthy and matuer manner. And I love how they didn't shy away with how Spaniards attacked and colonized latin lands.

Mexicans 🇲🇽

Yes, us Mexicans love death. 🤣 But hey, I was always taught to respect death, La Muerte, and our ancestors. So, it makes sense that many Mexican films talk about death. But I also like that Maya and the Three have Aztec, Mayan, and Incan mythology. Natives to Mexico.

Dominican Puerto Rican 🇩🇴🇵🇷

Luz mom is Dominican, and Luz dad is Puerto Rican. I appreciate a good interracial couple and a mixed child. Luz name also translates to light, and some Latinos are known for doing witch craft. Or at least knowledgeable about witches and demons, and no, we aren't evil. We just know how to handle this stuff. Plus, the owl has many meanings in Latino culture. To some, I believe the owl is a messenger of death and is telling everyone that death/danger is near.

Afro Latino. Puerto Rican 🇵🇷

I am a massive sucker for interracial couples and mixed kids because of this. I was working at a hispanic store as a cashier. This woman walks past me and starts talking to the bagger. The bagger has blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin. The bagger looks at me worried because she doesn't speak English. So brown skin, black hair, me has to tell the bagger that the lady wanted ice in Spanish. I then talked to the lady in English. Her reaction? "YOU SPEAK ENGLISH!" Same for a dark skinned man. So many people skip me and talk to him in English. He's Dominican, and he only spoke Spanish. I appreciate films that show Latinos in different skin types and features. We're not all brown. So yeah, the mass diversity in this film is just beautiful. And I love how they wrote Miles relationship with his parents. Realistic conflict and healthy communication. Not falling into toxic stereotypes.

Spainard Puss 🇪🇸 Mexican Kitty & Perrito 🇲🇽

Spaniards are considered Hispanic but not Latinos like Mexicans. And again, interracial couples for the win. And I love the realism in their romance that heals through healthy therapy. Many people see Mexicans as toxic, so having Perrito as a therapist and the one helping everyone emotionally, it's nice. Not every Mexican is toxic. And I love how you can tell their Spanish and Mexican even though their animals. Puss Spanish accent, Spanish actor, him being a ginger like some Spaniards, flamingo dancing, and gazpacho. Kitty, Mexican accent, Mexican actress, black fur/hair like most Mexicans, quinceañera, and I love how they gave her a luchador mask. Something that originates from Mexico. Also, my brother and I joke how we as Mexiacns can't swim and Kitty nearky drowns in the 1st film. 🤣 Perrito, he's a chihuahua with a Mexican actor. Enough said. I also want to say death is Brazilian because of his actor.

I don't know much about Spanish culture, but someone said the wishing star has a connection to Spanish culture. Is that true? If so, COOL! Because death is connected to Mexican culture. So, Dreamworks finding a way to combine Spanish and Mexican culture in one film is 100% magical.

There are many more, like Beverly Hills Chihuahua 🇲🇽. 🤣 That film is better than Primos. Emperor's New Groove, Peru 🇵🇪, and Rio, Brazil 🇧🇷. Not Hispanic but Latino culture. But this post is getting long. Primos! A huge step down in Latino/Hispanic representation. Especially since we have so many good films and shows that have proper representation.

#primos #encanto #maya and the three #maya and the 3 #coco #book of life #the owl house #toh #owl house #puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: into the spider verse #into the spider verse #spiderman: into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman #spider man across the spider verse #across the spiderverse

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 22

summary: Javier arrives home in a grumpy mood because somebody (you) decided to tease him before work, and now he’s going to get his revenge. Once that’s taken care of, it’s time to meet his family to celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) and pretend like you didn’t get fucked within an inch of your life earlier. 

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, age gap (about ten years), soft Javier Peña, grumpy Javier Peña, dom Javier Peña, alternating pov, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, edging, light bondage (he uses his tie), dom/sub vibes, (1) pussy slap, spanking, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink (oh wow, are you told how good you’re doing), begging, spit mention, kitchen sex, I swear this chapter is really wholesome, domestic fluff, fluff, death of a parent/grief, emotional hurt/comfort, food as a metaphor for love, family fluff, family bonding, Javier and reader playing matchmakers, hanging out with Chucho and the fam, celebrating Día de los Muertos, Javier saying very romantic things)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 19.6k+ (in my defense, it’s a good time)

a/n: Hey, besties! Okay, so the general vibe of this chapter is good feels. Are there emotional moments that might make you tear up? Yes. But overall, we’re having a good time remembering Javier’s mom. A big thank you to @kilamonster, who helped me with the holiday info and double-checked what I wrote. Shoutout to @juletheghoul for making sure my Spanish made sense and always being by my side. And a huge thank you to @senorabond for betaing!

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

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The seasons had changed, and like a piece of twine, your and Javier’s lives had become so intertwined it was hard to see the individual threads—there was no you or him anymore; it was you both together always, a mated pair, making each other stronger and happier than ever.

Not only had your life melded with your boyfriend’s, his family, too, had taken you in, treating you like your last name was already Peña and happily including you in their get-togethers. Everyone was so warm and welcoming, introducing you to different aspects of their culture, which was important to you to know for your future children, Javi and you wanting them to be well aware and proud of their Mexican roots, both agreeing they’d be raised speaking English and Spanish. 

After the first tamalada (tamale-making party), the two of you made it a point to go to his tía María’s on Sundays for the weekly family gathering where everyone ate delicious food, drank too much beer and tequila, and hung out for hours. His tías ushered you into the kitchen as soon as you got there to cook with them, their daughters, and daughters-in-law, Javi always close by and getting roped into helping, too, since he followed you around like a big, beautiful, brown-eyed puppy dog. 

In the time that’s passed since first meeting your boyfriend’s extended family, there’d been a couple more tamaladas hosted with Javi happily included; the regular Sunday gatherings, of course; many birthdays; Día de la Independencia (Day of Independence or Mexican Independence Day) that ended up being a big party at Chucho’s where Javi’s primos (cousins) had gotten their hands on illegal bottle rockets and put on quite the firework show. 

Now you were celebrating another holiday with them. 

It was a Monday in November, Javi and you getting off work a couple of hours early, you arriving home before him while he was out running errands. You had changed into cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt to be comfortable while you cooked food for the evening, planning to get dressed closer to leaving. 

Your recipe journal was open on the kitchen counter, showing one you copied from your boyfriend’s mom’s recipe cards out at the ranch—a covered skillet was on the stove with chopped-up flank steak simmering in a tomatillo mixture, figuring out in your head when you should work on the next step that wouldn’t take too long, but also couldn’t be done too soon. 

The sound of the front door being unlocked out in the main room found your ears, hearing Javi coming inside, and shutting it behind him, followed by plastic rustling, assuming he was putting down what he bought on the couch. 

Frowning, you wondered why he hadn’t called out to you, which was usually the first thing he did after arriving home. 

“Javi?” you said loud enough for him to hear. 

Soft footsteps were getting closer, turning your head in the direction of the doorway to see him walking purposefully, strutting, your way with his face pinched in a grumpy expression, his gaze burning when it locked on yours, making you gulp. 

You were in trouble. 

And if you had to guess, it was because of what you’d done that morning. 

He’d discarded his grey suit jacket, half the buttons open on his white dress shirt, and his gold and charcoal tie undone, it resting around his neck on either side of his chest. 

“What’s wro—” Your sentence was cut off when his mouth crashed against yours, kissing you hard, his hands grabbing your waist to turn you toward him, glad you weren’t holding anything. 

His palms moved down to squeeze your ass, moaning when he shoved his tongue into your mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair's soft, thick strands. The way he was kissing you made arousal burn brightly in your belly, feeling it dripping into your panties. 

Your lips were fused together until your lungs ached with the need to breathe, him nibbling on your bottom lip, then your chin as you both panted. 

“What are you doing?” you asked through heavy breaths, gasping when he sucked on your pulse point. 

His head came up to look you in the eyes, his eyebrows dipping low, seeing his frowning lips were red and shiny from spit. 

“Finishing what you fucking started this morning,” he said in a deep rasp.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah— ” He glanced over to the stove. “—how long does that need to simmer for?” he asked, meeting your gaze once more. 

Checking your wristwatch, you answered, “Forty-fiveish minutes.” 

The wheels were turning behind his eyes, imagining him doing math in his head until finally, he nodded once. “That’s enough time.” 

Your eyes went wide. “Enough time for what? There are other things I have to do for the stew…”

“Fine, I’ll do it in thirty—pants off.” He crouched in front of you, pulling down your shorts to your ankles.   

“Javier,” you exclaimed. 

His head tilted up to look at you. “If you tell me to stop, I will.” 

“I don’t want you to stop—I’m just really caught off guard.” 

His eyebrow arched, still frowning. “You shouldn’t be with how fucking mean you were to me this morning, teasing me by wearing nothing but this fucking thong—” His fingers went into the waistband of it, tugging it down to join your cotton shorts. “—rubbing up on me, grabbing my dick, and then you got dressed and gave me one of those kisses that usually leads to more, and you just left me in the fucking kitchen hard as a rock.” 

“I was running late for work?” you tried. 

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit—you just wanted to fuck with me.” 

A smile pulled up on your lips. “Yeah, I did, and look at how needy you are,” you replied, stroking your hand through his hair. 

He freed your feet, standing back up with a grunt. His hands squeezed the globes of your bare ass then one landed on a cheek in a loud smack that had your breath stuttering. “I’m not fucking needy,” he said. “You got me horny on purpose and made sure I didn’t have enough time to jack off—you were a bad fucking girl—” He slapped your other asscheek. “—and now I’m gonna fucking give it to you.” A hot spike of arousal slammed into you at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Well, now you’re gonna fucking get it—hold up your hands.” 

Doing as he said, you put your hands up in front of your chest, watching as he pulled the tie off from his neck, your eyes going wide at realizing what he was going to do. 

“You don’t get to touch me,” he told you. The silky material was buttery soft as it went around your wrists, Javi moving quickly, wrapping them up in some practiced way that when he pulled on the ends of the tie, it cinched your arms together before he was knotting it. He stuck a finger inside to ensure there was a little gap so you didn’t lose circulation, nodding to himself when satisfied. 

His gaze met yours, his eyes softening. “Is this okay?” he asked gently. 

There was a double meaning to his question, him really asking if you were okay with his demeanor and being tied up—it was a resounding yes to both. 

Smiling, you replied, “This is more than okay, babe. Be grumpy again. It’s sexy.”

Curiosity was why you decided to tease him that morning, wondering what would happen if you left him hanging. Honestly, you expected him to show up at your work unannounced to drag you into a supply closet, but he hadn’t; he didn’t even call you on your lunch break, which was very abnormal. 

He huffed out a breath, a little smile on his lips. “Okay,” he said, his hand sliding along your jaw, cupping it. “But if it’s too much, tell me.” 

“Of course—I trust you.” 

“Good. I’ve got you, mi amor (my love).” 

Grabbing your waist, his lips found yours once more, kissing you while he walked you to the opposite side of the kitchen until your ass was pressing into the counter. Gripping your thighs, Javi grunted as he lifted you to sit on the countertop, taking up the space between your spread legs, breaking the kiss so he could work open the rest of his dress shirt, it falling to the floor when he shrugged it off. 

You leaned back, your shoulders and head resting against the wall cabinet, his attention coming back to you using one hand to lift your tied ones above you to hang them by the tie on a knob. Feeling the smooth wood under them, his other hand pushed one side of your t-shirt up your chest, pulling down the cup of your bra to free your breast. He pinched your nipple, his head dipping down to engulf it with the warmth of his mouth, making you gasp his name at the tingles shooting straight to your weeping cunt. 

Coming off your hard bud with a wet pop, he straightened, a serious expression on his face, meeting your gaze with his darkened pools.

“Keep your hands up like this,” he said. “Understand?” 

“Yes, Javi,” you answered, nodding your head. “Keep them up, and don’t touch you.” 

You could feel your heartbeat at the apex of your thighs, so turned on by the idea of being at his mercy. 

“My good girl,” he purred, rubbing his palms up your thighs, his words making you shiver.

He crouched down again, this time putting your legs over his broad shoulders, his big hands pulling your ass to the edge of the countertop, causing you to lean back further, the air biting cold on your wet nipple. 

You could see him there between your legs, his eyes on yours as he sucked two thick fingers between his lips, expecting it when he easily pushed them into your pussy, your mouth going slack at the slight stretch. His head moved forward, licking a broad stripe through your folds, the pleasure causing your back to arch, his fingers inside you sliding against your top wall to rub over that one spot only he could find, making your toes curl at how good it felt.

There wasn’t time for him to tease you or to draw things out, he was a man on a mission to get you off as quickly as possible with the time constraints, and he knew exactly how to play your body like a goddamn fiddle. 

His lips wrapped around the swollen berry of your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue side to side over it while his digits kept pressing into nirvana, again, and again, and again—the heat was building in your core, feeling the vibrations of his groans, moaning at the sensations that were getting you closer, and closer to your end. 

Sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead, your hands above your head struggling under the restraints, wishing you could pull his hair, the knot in your belly winding tighter. 

“Oh god, Javi,” you gasped. “I’m so fucking close—you’re gonna make me come.” 

Suddenly he was stopping, his mouth and hand leaving you, eliciting a pitiful whine from your throat. Your eyes widened as you looked down at him with his mustache and the bottom half of his face shiny with your slick. 

Pouting at him for ruining your orgasm, you panted, “Why’d you stop? I was almost there.” 

“What?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t like someone working you up, then stopping just to be mean?” 

You groaned. “Javi, I’m sorry! I didn’t do it to be mean. I just wanted to see what your reaction would be.” 

“Yeah? Well, I was a real asshole at work, and now you don’t get to come until I say you can,” he said, lightly smacking your clit, the shock of pleasure pulling a moan from your lips. 

He moved your legs off his shoulders so he could stand, and you wondered why you were so into this… Maybe it was relinquishing yourself entirely over to him and giving him all of the power in making you feel good, or him being a little mean which was very different—whatever it was, it had your pussy throbbing. 

He continued speaking, asking, “Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” you answered, frowning. “No coming until you say I can.” 

“Good girl,” he replied, his hands moving up and down your thighs while his gaze was on yours. His eyes went soft again. “I love you.” 

That made you smile, thinking it was sweet he was still so loving after you’d frustrated him so much. “I love you, too.” His lips quirked up a little. “I don’t know why, but this is really hot. When I decided to try out my experiment this morning, I kinda thought you might show up at my work to rail me in a storage room or something—definitely didn’t expect getting tied up and you being all dommy, which I’m really into, by the way.” 

Leaning in, his hands went beside you on the countertop, his head so close the tips of your noses were touching, smelling yourself on his face. “You wanted me to be so fucking horny that I’d fuck you at your work?” He nudged your nose with his, feeling the ghost of his breath on your lips. 

“Maybe,” you whispered.

He smirked. “My dirty fucking girl—I knew you were testing me.” His mouth was a hair's breadth away from yours, wanting him to kiss you. “You teased the fuck out of me, and I’ve had all fucking day to think about how I was gonna tease you back.” 

“Yeah? You gonna make me beg for you to let me come?” 

All his weight went to his right arm as he lifted his left hand to read the silver watch on his wrist, his eyes squinting. “We’ve got time for me to make you beg.” His gaze met yours again. “I’m gonna go hard,” he said, standing straight up while his hands went to the front of his pants where they were bulging, hearing the clank of him opening his belt and him pulling down his zipper. “And I’m not gonna give in the first time you beg.” 

Your cunt clenched hard around nothing. “Bring it on.” 

Javi snorted, spitting on his fingers and stroking them over his hard cock to get it slick. “We’ll see if you still feel that way when I don’t let you come a couple of times, baby.” He shuffled forward, notching himself at your entrance, and wasted no time pressing inside, sliding all the way to the root in one smooth thrust. 

Your mouths had fallen open, seeing his throat work as he swallowed hard, his cock stretching you open. It was truly fascinating that after the many, many times he’d been inside you, he still managed to steal your breath by how big he was on the first stroke. 

Your legs went around his middle, locking at the small of his back, feeling the splay of muscles move as he pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in hard, setting up a brutal pace that had your body jolting from the pounding he was giving you.

His hand snaked between your bodies to press his thumb to your sensitive little clit, the pleasure dancing in your center—his thick cock was easily moving in and out of you from how wet you were, rocketing you toward your release, unable to keep from moaning.

It was embarrassing how quickly he was working you up, his face screwed up like he was in pain, mouth open panting breaths, his forehead starting to glisten in sweat with a gorgeous flush moving up his chest and neck to paint his cheeks—he was breathtakingly beautiful as he fucked you, your fingers itching to touch his skin. 

“Can feel you fluttering,” he said through his teeth. “You close?” 

The heat in your belly was getting hotter, wanting to come so bad, but also not wanting to give in so easily, swallowing thickly. “Yes, I’m almost there,” you answered around heavy breaths. 

He came to a stop, pushed all the way inside you, his thumb moving off you, causing your teeth to clench, stifling your whimper from your orgasm dissipating. 

His skin shone with a sheen of sweat, his bangs wetly sticking to his forehead, eyes so dark barely any brown remained. 

His eyebrow rose, voice rough, “You gonna beg me to let you come?” 

“Nope,” you defiantly replied. 

“Right,” he said, not sounding like he believed you. 

He started moving again when you relaxed, his thumb back in place, circling your bundle of nerves a little harder, his thrusts at the same punishing pace as before. He leaned forward, the side of his face pressed against yours, as he said into your ear, “I think you wanna beg me to come.” The fire in your core was starting to rapidly build again. “‘Cause you know once you go, I can, and you want me to fill you up—you want me to stuff you full.” Your eyes had squeezed shut, trying to stave off your orgasm, his words adding fuel to the flames. “You want me to work it so deep it finally fucking takes.” 

Your brain short-circuited, it all too much. “Please let me come, Javi,” you whined.

Immediately he was stopping, and it made you whine his name louder. 

“No.” He kissed your cheek, his hand rubbing soothingly over your back. “Not yet, baby.” 

Your climax slipped away, the need to come starting to make you ache in your lower belly. You were breathing hard, your hands still over your head, wishing you could swat at his chest and settling with lightly knocking your head against his. “That was playing fucking dirty, and you know it,” you said, your body still coming down from the almost high. 

He moved to look you in the eyes. 

“Uh huh, says the woman who put on the thong l love and suddenly had to do a lot of bending over while I tried to get dressed for work. I’m the one playing dirty—pot calling the kettle, Cielito, and two can play your game.” He placed a loud smacking kiss on your cheek. “You good?” 

Your skin was wet with sweat, Javi’s too, and you weren’t entirely sure how much more of this you could take, knowing if you told him ‘yellow’ or your safeword, he’d let you come immediately. You didn’t think this warranted either of those words… yet. 

“I’m good.” You nodded. 

“Atta girl,” he said, kissing your forehead. “You’re doing so good for me, mi amor (my love).”

He went back to doing what he was before, his cock pounding into you while he thumbed your clit, once again finding yourself close to an orgasm in record time, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter. His free hand came up to squeeze your breast, his fingers tweaking your stiff nipple, and it was like he had a direct line to your cunt, making you clench around him, Javi groaning as gasping moans fell from your lips. 

The pressure was building inside you until he worked you up to your breaking point, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as you begged, “Please, Javi, I need to come—let me come. Please.” 

“Come for me, mi Cielito (my little heaven),” he panted in your ear. “You did so fucking good for me—come, mi amor (my love). Such a good fucking girl.”

That was all you needed to hear, pleasure exploding inside you, coming with a cry of his name—electricity radiated outward from your center, your body hot, tingling, and tensing up so tight it made his rhythm stutter, a guttural noise coming from Javi’s throat. 

He sounded wrecked. “‘M gonna come—fuck, I’m coming.” His face dropped to the crook of your neck, feeling his hot breaths, him thrusting faster, it sounding wet between your legs where you were joined. Finally, he pushed in to the hilt, bottoming out as he came with a strangled moan. His teeth bit into the meat of your shoulder, making you gasp at the sweet sting, feeling as he gushed inside you. 

Seconds passed as you caught your breaths, his head coming up to tenderly kiss you, all slow and languid—he lifted his hands above your head to free your own, and you immediately pushed your fingers into his sweaty hair, him humming appreciatively in the back of his throat, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close. 

Everything was forgotten, losing yourself in him, feeling him beneath your fingers, your lips, against your body; smelling his spicy cologne, and something that was uniquely him, something that was simply Javi, making you think of home and happiness. 

Panic slammed into you like a truck, suddenly remembering you’d been cooking before he interrupted, abruptly breaking the kiss. 

“The stew!” you shouted, pushing on his chest to make him move, Javi hissing as he pulled out, stepping out of your way. 

Hopping down from the counter, you ignored how his come was dripping down your inner thighs, rushing to the sink, quickly washing your hands, then moving to the stove, taking the lid off the skillet. A relieved breath left you as you used a large plastic spoon to stir the mixture, thankful it hadn’t burned and knowing you needed to work on the next step. 

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Javier Peña,” you said, turning down the burner to low to keep the food warm and walking over to your notebook to read the instructions. 

Arms wrapped around your middle, Javi kissing your hair, murmuring into it, “What did I lie about?”

“You said you could do it in thirty, and you used the whole forty-five—please, put your dick away and wash your hands. I need your help.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, kissing your head again, hearing him zipping up his pants and putting his belt on, finding himself beside you at the sink while he washed his hands. 

“Wash your face, too,” you told him, grabbing some paper towels from a roll on the counter, Javi cleaning his hands.

“If you begged sooner, I could’ve done it in thirty,” he said, splashing some water onto his face.

“Right, it’s my fault.” You rolled your eyes, handing him the towels he used to dry himself off, throwing them away in the trash can under the sink when he was done.

He turned toward you, resting his hip against the counter while his arms crossed over his naked chest, and damn were they looking good, seeing the muscle definition. There were dark and faded marks you sucked over his pecs and on the column of his throat, one a dark purple right where his left shoulder met his neck from biting him while you rode him in the bath a few nights ago. Your eyes lowered to look at his soft belly and the trail of hair leading down into his grey slacks, knowing what they were hiding. 

“I just fucked you,” he sounded amused, “and you’re undressing me with your eyes.” Your gaze met his, seeing him shaking his head with a fond smile. “It is your fault, Cielito, since you’re the one who started it this morning.” 

He had you there. 

“Fine, it’s my fault.” You frowned. “And, of course, I’m checking you out. You’re standing here looking sexy as fuck, and it’s like I can’t believe all this—“ You gestured at him. “—is mine. You love me. You’re going to marry me one day, and we’re going to have kids together, and as a bonus, you’re a goddamn sex god.” He snorted.

“I’m not a sex god.”

“Um, the absolutely ridiculous amount of orgasms you’ve given me begs to differ. You, sir—“ You poked the center of his chest. “—are a sex god, and I can’t be convinced otherwise.”

His large hand engulfed yours, bringing it up to kiss each of your knuckles and the center of your palm, his big brown eyes on yours. 

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he replied, pulling you toward him so you were chest to chest, his arm going around your back, his other hand cradling your jaw, seeing the devotion clear in his gaze. “And that you love me, want to marry me, and fuck, want to have my kids. Feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t all a fucking dream half the time.” He smiled. “And as a bonus, you’re so fucking beautiful and sexy and the best lay I’ve ever had, so I guess that makes you a sex goddess.”

“I am definitely not a sex goddess.”

He frowned, his eyebrows dipping together. 

“Stop that shit. We don’t do that anymore—we’re kind to ourselves, and if you get to call me a sex god, I can call you a sex goddess ‘cause it’s a fucking fact.” 

You smiled. “Fine, I’ll be your sex goddess.” That had him grinning, his dimple appearing. “And I’ll be kinder to myself like the therapist said, but the struggle is real.” 

“I know, baby.” He leaned in to kiss you gently. “You’ve got me,” he said into your lips. “I’ll help you like you help me.” 

After Javi had that panic attack months ago, he brought up seeing a professional, and you were more than happy to help him find one who happened to be a couple of towns over. It was such a massive step for him, and you wanted to be supportive and encouraging in him getting help, so you suggested the two of you try couple’s therapy, too. Not because there were issues in your relationship, but as a way to communicate better, and also help you through your own shit. Frankly, coming from a dysfunctional family that gave you an inferiority complex and low self-esteem really needed to be addressed, and he’d agreed to do it with you. He had weekly individual sessions, and the two of you went every two weeks. Both of you were noticing a big difference in him—he didn’t get caught up in his head as much and talked things out with you if something was bothering him. There hadn’t been any more panic attacks, and it felt like he was really healing and working up the courage to tell you about his past. That was something that still scared him a bit, but the therapist had said he needed to tell you when he was ready. 

Pulling back, you looked him in the eyes. “I love you,” you told him. 

“I love you, too.” 

“We better finish cooking. Can you start heating the pinto beans on the stove? We just need them warmed up, and I already got out the saucepan,” you said, pointing toward the stove. “I need to go to the bathroom and clean myself up because it feels wrong cooking with your come coating my thighs, and I’m not digging the whole no underwear thing.” 

He cupped your cheeks, looking at you fondly. “Go take care of yourself, mi alma (my soul). I’ll get the beans going and start chopping up the garnish.”

Smiling, you replied, “You’re perfect, and I love you so fucking much.” 

He matched your look, his head coming closer to kiss you. “I love you, too,” he said against your lips. 

An hour and a half later, the two of you had finished with the food, showered, dressed, and were making your way to meet Javi’s family. 

The scenery was aflame with vibrant gold and pumpkin autumn leaves, the weather finally cooling down as it got closer to winter. It was balmy outside, the kind of day where you could wear your nice, new dress you’d gotten for the occasion and not worry about sweating from it being too hot or needing a jacket because it was too cold. The burgundy red A-line dress was embroidered with long green stemmed pink and white roses that were identical to the ones in Javier’s mother’s flower garden at the ranch, your boyfriend wearing a matching colored short-sleeved button-up sans the flowers, and his usual tight-ass dark wash jeans. 

You were sitting beside him on the bench seat in his truck as he drove. 

“Oh my god,” you started, turning your head toward your boyfriend, your fingers laced together on your thigh, “we were so busy, I forgot to tell you the hot gossip from work.” 

His aviators were on, glancing over to meet your eyes with a smile. “Cuéntame el chisme, mi amor (Tell me the gossip, my love).”

“Okay, so Friday night, Robyn went to the bar and met some guy that she spent the entire weekend with, and as of this morning, he was still at her apartment, and Javi, that’s not the kicker.”

“What’s the kicker?” 

“She genuinely likes this guy a lot. She actually blushed while she told me about him and was so giggly—she’s got it bad.” 

“That’s such a big fucking deal. She hasn’t dated since—”

“Her fiancé cheated on her six years ago! I know! This is huge, and I’m dying to meet him.”

“Maybe we can all go out for drinks?” 

“Maybe.” You chewed on your lip. “I’d worry about spooking her, though. Relationships have freaked her out since her ex, and I really think she’s scared to fall in love again—doesn’t want to risk having her heart broken.” He hummed in agreement, the blinker clicking as he turned onto another street. “Apparently, they didn’t leave her place at all, and he kept up with her in bed. I’ll save you the details, and just say it sounded so fucking exhausting and absolutely put our marathons to shame.” That made him frown. “Wait, have you heard of a Pop Rocks blow job?” 

He looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “What the fuck is that?” 

You giggled. “Something I learned about this morning. You know the Pop Rocks candy that pops and crackles in your mouth?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Okay, so, with a mouthful of those, you go down on a guy, and I guess it’s a fun sensation for the person with a dick.” 

There was a thoughtful expression on his face. “Sounds… sticky. I don’t know…” His attention went back to the road.

“I’d be more worried about choking on the excess saliva in my mouth—now, flavored lube I could get behind. Make your dick taste like strawberries.” 

He chuckled. “We can go to the city and find a sex shop to get some,” he said, turning his head to kiss your forehead. 

That had you thinking of the things you’d find in such a place, the truck's cab suddenly feeling hot even though the air conditioning was at full blast. 

“Wait, find a sex shop?” you asked. “Don’t lie to me. You know exactly where one is.” 

“If it’s still there… I haven’t been since college.” 

“There’s so much stuff we could buy…” you mused. 

He perked up in the driver’s seat. “Like what?” 

You snorted. “We’ll talk about it later, babe,” you said, unlacing your hand to pat his thigh. “We can’t get horny right now.” 

“You’re the one bringing up candy blowjobs…” he grumbled. 

“It was a genuine question since, you know, you’re more experienced…” 

A long sigh left him. “You just called me old.” 

His fortieth birthday was on the horizon, and the closer it got, the more sensitive he was about getting older. 

“No I did not, Javier. I said experienced. There was no mention of your age.” 

His jaw flexed. “It was implied.” 

“Javi, baby?”

“Yes, Cielito?” 

“Apparently, you need a reminder that I do not care about how old you are and that I find you and your experience very sexy. I mean, you literally just made me come so fucking hard, and I was immediately horny for you again—hell, if we didn’t have plans, I would’ve dragged you to the bedroom for round two.” 

His chest puffed up, crookedly smiling when he glanced over at you. 

“Yeah? Round two? How would that have gone?”

“Stop trying to make us horny!” you laughed. 

His face went grumpy. “Then quit talking about sex!” 

“Fine! A safe topic. You said you were an asshole at work today, and since it was my fault, I feel like I should bake your office apology muffins.”

He sighed again. “Yeah, that’s a good idea—we can make apology muffins.”

“Then we will.” 

“Thank you, baby,” he said, taking your hand in his and gently squeezing it. “Cielito?”

“Yes, my love?” you asked, leaning in to kiss his cheek, making him smile. 

“¿Quieres saber un secreto (Do you want to know a secret)?”

“Sí, siempre (Yes, always).”

His hand moved from yours to press against his heart, the other squeezing the steering wheel's leather so tight it creaked. 

“Eres el amor de mi vida y mi mejor amiga (You are the love of my life and my best friend). Te amo más de lo que puedo expresar con palabras y soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo porque me amas (I love you more than I can put into words, and am the luckiest man on earth because you love me). Eres mi mejor amiga y mi media naranja y no cambiaría nada (You are my best friend and my soulmate and I wouldn’t change anything).”

“Oh, Javi.” You couldn’t help it, smothering his cheek and jaw in kisses. “Te amo mucho (I love you so much).” Your voice was muffled against his skin, speaking between each kiss. “Mi amor, mi vida, mi media naranja, mi mejor amigo (My love, my life, my soulmate, my best friend). Quiero ser la madre de tus bebés (I want to be the mother of your babies).”

He chuckled, his head moving to kiss your lips. 

“Te amo y quiero que tengas a mis bebés—quiero pasar el resto de mi vida contigo (I love you, and I want you to have my babies—I want to spend the rest of my life with you).” 

Pulling back, you were grinning. “Well, you’re in luck ‘cause you’re stuck with me until the end—we’re gonna be old as fuck and wrinkly, and I’ll still think you’re the hottest man alive.”

He laughed, focusing on the road. 

“Our kids are gonna be so fucking disgusted by us.”

“Isn’t that nice, though? Them being disgusted ‘cause we’re so sickeningly in love with each other, but we’ll be a great example of what they should look for in a relationship—like your parents. That’s the kind of love we want to have.”

He raised your hand to kiss the back, turning his head to look at you. 

“No need to want it,” he said. “We’ve already got it.”

And you couldn’t agree more.  

It wasn’t long before you arrived, both getting out of the truck and grabbing what you’d brought, finding it truly impressive the number of full plastic grocery bags Javi could strategically hold in one of his big hands and how many bouquets of brightly colored orange flowers were in his other arm—at the same time, you carried a picnic basket in one hand and a large red and white checkered picnic blanket in the other, pressed to your chest. 

The neatly cut grass cushioned your steps as you walked to your destination, a trek you’d become familiar with over the months you’d been together.

“Do you think we got enough flowers?” you asked, turning your head toward him. 

He met your eyes, smiling. “Pop picked up some, too, and he brought some of mi mamá’s (my mom’s) roses.” 

“Awesome.” Looking forward again, you spotted Chucho, saying, “Oh, good, he’s already here.” 

“Yeah, the church service would’ve gotten out a little while ago.” 

Approaching the older man, you found him on his knees with his back to you, a bucket of water next to him, and a scrub brush in his hand, scrubbing the wet grey stone in front of him. As Javi said, there were more flowers near his dad, along with a tote bag full of stuff and a small cooler next to a set-up brown and mustard-striped folding camping chair.

“Hey, Pop!” you greeted with a smile. 

His straw cowboy hat was on, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “Hola, mis hijos (Hello, my children).”

Quickly, you were setting down the things you held near Chucho’s stuff. “Do you need help with that?” you asked. 

“Yeah, Pop, let us help,” Javi added as you took the bouquets from him to set on the ground with the rest, having to do it a few times to empty his arm, the grocery bags getting put with everything else. 

“No, no,” his dad, replied, waving away your offers with his free hand. “Me gusta hacer esto yo mismo (I like to do this myself). Lo he hecho todos los años desde que ella ha estado aquí y seguiré haciéndolo hasta que me una a ella—casi he terminado (I’ve done it every year since she’s been here and I will continue to do so until I join her—I’m almost done).”

The engraved inscription on the gravestone was something you’d memorized over the half dozen times you’d visited here. 

Antonia López Peña 

November 17, 1937 - January 31, 1991

Beloved Wife, Loving Mother, Greatly Loved, and Sadly Missed

A couple of days after watching the home movie of his mom making tamales, Javi brought you to the cemetery for the first time to introduce you to her. He admitted that before then, he wasn’t able to bring himself to visit her in all of the time he’d been back and that the last time he was there was the day she was buried—it was too hard for him. 

With you joining him, he’d finally been able to go, taking beautiful white lilies to put upon her grave and giving Javi space while he talked to his mom through his tears, telling her about how happy and in love he was. He had turned to grab your hand and got you to stand next to him, while he introduced you to her, and it was your turn to speak with wet eyes, thanking her for bringing your media naranja (soulmate) into the world and raising such an incredible man, promising to love him and treat him right for the rest of your lives. 

After that, you’d been back a handful of times with either Javi or him and his dad, having family picnics or bringing her flowers. 

“If you’re sure, Chucho,” you replied. “Don’t think I forgot about you saying your knees were aching Saturday at the tamalada.” 

The family had gotten together to make tamales for the holiday. 

The older man chuckled. “I love you, too—you worry about me too much, Mija. I promise I’m okay. This is worth the pain, but the two of you will do all the decorating while I sit in my chair.” 

You smiled. “To oversee us?” 

He grinned. “Sí, tiene que ser perfecto (Yes, it has to be perfect).” 

“Yes, it does,” you agreed. 

“We’ll take care of it, Pop,” Javi said. 

“¿Cómo estuvo su día (How was your day)?” Chucho questioned you both, going back to cleaning. 

Your eyes went wide thinking about what had happened earlier in the kitchen, glancing over at Javi, who met your gaze with a smirk, clearly thinking the same as you. 

“Pretty fucking frustrating,” he said, staring you down, and it made you playfully punch his arm, mouthing, ‘You asshole,’ while he looked beyond amused. 

“His work,” you added, attempting the save and glaring at your boyfriend, who snorted, clearly trying to keep from laughing. “He had a really frustrating day at work, you know how it is, but we both got off early to get all the stuff done.”

“We did get off early,” Javi said, your mouth falling open that he’d say that in front of his dad. 

Pinching his side, you continued, “Needed to in order to get the stew ready in time.”

Suddenly, Javi was on you, keeping you against him while his fingers tickled you, squealing his name as you struggled to break away from him, annoyed that he was getting the spots on your sides he knew were super sensitive. 

You were laughing and writhing in his hold, batting at his chest. 

“Stop!” you giggled. “This is so rude.” 

Following your order, he hugged you to him, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss he was smiling into.  

“Dios mío (My god),” Chucho said in exasperation, a groan escaping him as he stood back up. “Son peores que nosotros, mi amor (They’re worse than us, my love). No los puedo llevar a ningún lado  (I can’t take them anywhere),” he chuckled. “Esto debe ser nuestro castigo por cómo actuamos cuando éramos adolescentes (This must be our punishment for how we acted as teenagers). Ahora entiendo por qué tu hermano mayor siempre estaba molesto con nosotros (Now i understand why your older brother was always annoyed with us).”

Javi’s tongue slipped between your lips, your fingers clawing at his shirt. 

“¡Por favor (Come on)!” Chucho exclaimed. “Nada de eso aquí (None of that here). Se que te hemos educado mejor que esto, Javier (I know we raised you better than that, Javier).”

The two of you practically jumped apart at being scolded, Javi’s cheeks pinking up, his reddened lips turned down in a frown, and glistening under the sun’s rays. 

“Lo siento, Pop (I’m sorry, Pop),” he said, scratching at the back of his neck while turning his head toward his dad. “I forgot myself.” 

“You’re always forgetting yourself around her.” Chucho sighed wistfully. “To be young and in love again.” He smiled. “Your mother always had me forgetting myself, too, but let’s not do that here with all the niños (kids) running around, okay?” 

It was then you registered the other people in the cemetery—a bunch of different families with children running around, some decorating graves, others eating food or sipping on drinks, seeing members of Javi’s family amongst them.

Javi grimaced. “Yes, Pop. Sorry,” he sighed. 

You felt bad, adding, “We understand and won’t let it happen again. We’re sorry.”

The older man walked close to you both, clapping his hands onto each of your shoulders, looking between you. 

“It’s okay,” Chucho said. “I’m just happy you’re here with me tonight—means a lot.” 

“Like we’d miss it, Pop,” Javi replied.

His dad frowned. “You missed last year, Mijo, and you’d been in South America for so long. You haven’t celebrated Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) since the first time you left Laredo—I know it’s hard for you to come here.” 

Your boyfriend’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

“It’s… easier coming here, now,” he said, looking at you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

A small smile appeared on Chucho’s face, his hand squeezing your boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that, Javi. I know tu mamá (your mom) would be happy you’re here. Do you remember how we’d decorate tus bisabuelos (your great grandparents) graves when we’d go visit your mom’s family in Mexico?” 

“Kinda?” he answered. “All the cempasúchil (marigolds), some pictures, candles, and we always brought their favorite food to eat, and mi mamá (my mom) and you would have the mezcal bisabuelo (great grandpa) liked.” 

“Sí (Yes),” Chucho replied, nodding. “It will be the same with your mother’s; I just add a little extra.” His attention turned to you with a big smile. “And she’ll love that you made her favorite foods! Thank you for doing it, Mija.” His face went solemn. “After mi Antonia passed, my sisters took over decorating our parents' graves, so I could focus on my wife’s, and since I’m not a cook like her or you,” his hand squeezed your shoulder, “I’d bring food from her favorite restaurant to eat with her. I’m happy we’ll have the things she loved making herself tonight—feels really special.”

“I was happy to do it, Chucho—for you and Antonia. I just hope it all turned out well.” 

He smiled. “It did. I have no doubt. Now, I’m going to sit down, and it has nothing to do with my knees.” 

You laughed. “I’m surrounded by a bunch of lying liars who lie! Go sit down—” You shooed him away. “—we’ll take care of everything. Just tell us if we’re doing something wrong.” 

The older man chuckled as he went back over to where all the stuff and his camping chair were, making a pained sound as he bent down to get into the tote bag to pull out a small handheld radio. Since he was already bending, he popped open the top of the cooler to grab a cold bottle of beer before taking his seat. His drink was put into the built-in cup holder while he turned on the little device hearing static, then quick snippets of songs or people speaking, until it landed on the channel he was looking for, music from his wife’s favorite Spanish station filling the air. 

Javi took a step toward you, his head getting closer, knowing he was coming in for a kiss, and you dodged it, him pulling back with a look of betrayal on his face.

“No,” you said, pushing on his chest. “I’m not getting in trouble again.” His eyes rounded, looking sad, and it made your heart hurt. You groaned. “Not the eyes! You know I’m weak against the eyes!”

Chucho was laughing. “He gets them from his mamá! Javi o mi Antonia me miraban con esos ojos grandes y marrones, y yo nunca podía decirles que no (Javi or my Antonia would look at me with those big, brown eyes and I could never say no).”

“Son peligrosos (They’re dangerous),” you replied. Speaking to Javi, you said, “Sé que puedes esperar un beso (I know you can wait a kiss).”

His lips were turned down in a deep frown. “Sé que puedes esperar por un beso (I know you can wait for a kiss),” he corrected. “Y no (And no)—” He shook his head. “—no puedo (No, I can’t).” You wouldn’t have been surprised if he stomped his foot, which had you holding back a smile. “Necesito un beso ahora mismo y estoy molesto porque no me vas a dar uno. (I need a kiss right now, and I’m upset because you won’t give me one).” He grabbed your hands, holding them over his heart. “Me estás volviendo loco (You’re driving me crazy). Solo un beso (Only one kiss). Bésame, por favor (Kiss me, please). ” 

“¿Siempre es así, tan malcriado (Is he always like this, so…)?” Chucho amusedly asked.

“What does the last word mean?” you asked.

“Spoiled,” Javi answered, the man pouting. 

You laughed. “Yes, he’s muy malcriado (very spoiled) and gets super dramatic when I won’t kiss him—acts like it’s the end of the world.” 

Your boyfriend loudly sighed, muttering, “I just want one kiss.”

Your eyebrow rose. “Uh huh, just one? You don’t have the self-control for just one.” 

His face pinched in annoyance. “Yes, I fucking do.” 

“Okay, prove it. One kiss—” You held up a single finger. “One PG-rated, won’t-have-your-dad-yelling-at-us-again kiss, and that’s it until we finish decorating.” 

“Fine.” 

“Deal. Lay it on me, babe.” As always, the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, grabbing a fistful of the cotton just below them to tug him toward you to crush your mouth against his in a somewhat chaste kiss. You felt his lips tip up after a few seconds, his arms wrapping around you to hold your body flush against his, pressing his mouth harder to yours like he couldn’t get enough of you. 

When you felt like it had lasted long enough, you broke away, him chasing your lips with a dreamy smile, and his eyes closed like a lovesick fool. 

“God, you’re cute,” you said, pushing his bangs off his forehead. Leaning forward, you kissed the tip of his nose, his eyelids blinking open when you finished, moving his head forward enough to nuzzle your nose with his. “Feel better?” you asked, unable to keep from smiling. 

He separated from you to meet your gaze. “Yeah.” His hands moved down to your hips, giving them a squeeze. “We better hurry up and decorate before I need another.” He ended the sentence with a wink. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled. “Okay—” You stepped away from him toward the bags. “What do we start with?” 

“Pictures,” Chucho answered. “They’re in that bag.” He pointed at the tote. 

Bending at the waist, you dug into where he indicated, finding two photos, bordered in ornate golden frames, that you carefully took out, one then the other, Javi ending up beside you as you straightened, holding them in each of your hands. 

The first you’d seen before hanging on the wall in Chucho’s living room of him and Antonia at twenty-something years old with Javi as a smiling toddler in her arms standing beneath the ‘Peña Ranch’ sign at the driveway entrance. This was the first picture you’d seen of your boyfriend’s beautiful mother, easily spotting the similarities between him and her—same eyes, nose, and chin. 

At the ranch house, you’d marveled at every photo hanging on the wall, and sitting upon tables, or stuck in albums, yet this second picture of Antonia was new to you. It was in color, and she was much older than in the other, slivers of silver hair amongst the same colored brown as Javi’s, standing in front of her cowboy-hatless husband. She wore a lovely cornflower blue dress, his arms around her middle, kissing the side of her head with her eyes closed, smiling delightedly in a way you just knew she was giggling at his antics. The thing that made your eyes get misty and the corners of your lips lift was how clearly in love they were, something that had never changed through the decades of photos you’d seen of them, knowing without a doubt it was a glimpse into your own future. 

“That was taken on our 35th anniversary, not too long before she passed,” Chucho’s voice was even and soothing. “I keep it on the table beside my bed to see her smiling face first thing every morning.” Javi hugged you from the side, kissing your hair, feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears. “Don’t cry, Mija. This is a happy day where the ones we’ve lost come back to us for the night, and we celebrate them—there’s nothing to be sad about.” 

You sniffed. “I’m not sad,” you replied, voice a little wobbly. “I promise they’re happy tears at the love you shared and how I can see us like this.” You finished the sentence by raising the photo. 

“Oh, yes.” He smiled softly. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to see so much of us in the two of you.” He pointed at you both. “How relieved I am that Javi finally found his media naranja (soulmate).” His eyes were starting to shine, having to take off his glasses to wipe at them. “These are also happy tears,” he chuckled. “Mi amor (my love) would feel the same as me, and she’ll love having you here with us.” 

“I’m happy to be here—do you have a preference for where you want these to go?”

“Against the headstone is fine. Javi can get the candles you brought.”

Speaking of your boyfriend, he cleared his throat, his voice rough with emotion when he said, “Sure thing, Pop.” 

Turning your head, you kissed his cheek, Javi’s head moving so your lips met, accepting the tender kiss, knowing he needed the comfort, his arm tightening around you. After some seconds, you pulled away with a smile. 

“That was a bonus kiss because I love you.” 

He smiled big. “I love you, too, Cielito.” 

“Good. Now get the candles. Let’s get to decorating.” 

“Yes, mi alma (my soul).” 

With that, you made the short walk to gently lay the two photos against the middle of the grey stone, your boyfriend joining you to place down a Virgin Mary votive candle beside them and three smaller red-waxed candles—one by the larger candle, the remaining two on the opposite side, Javi lighting them with a lighter from his pocket. Antonia’s resting place featured two flower vases dug into the ground in the middle, where you put bouquets of her roses, adding splashes of red, white, pink, and purple. 

Finally, it was time for the bright orange marigolds, Chucho coming prepared with scissors to cut off the blooms, which Javi decided to do while you laid them out on the ground. 

“We call those flor de muerto (flower of the dead),” Javi’s dad said as you placed the golden hues in neat rows a little wider than the headstone, the smell of them hanging in the air. “Their aroma attracts the souls of the dead, so they know where to go.” 

“They smell so good,” you replied. “And back at the house, the display you have in the entryway, that’s called an ofrenda (offering), right?” 

“Sí,” Chucho answered. “It’s an altar that most people put up for the holiday—I keep mine all year.” 

The long, thin, weathered oak table had a thick, woven runner on it in rainbow-colored, stripes, sitting below the framed pictures of his wife, along with other family members who had long been gone—parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Javi had told you who each person was, some photos in black and white, most in color, and you hadn’t known the table’s significance until you’d gone over for the tamalada Saturday, finding it decorated with bunches of cempasúchil (marigolds) in vases, brightly colored tissue paper cut into elaborate designs called papel picado (cut paper) hanging on the wall behind it, and an old clay pitcher adorned with hand-painted flowers. A plate contained pan de muerto (bread of the dead) shaped like a bun with crossbones on top and dusted in sugar and Antonia’s favorite pan dulce (sweet bread), a concha, that got its name from how it resembled a seashell. Skulls made from sugar were atop the tabletop, along with a bowl of oranges, apples, and mandarins, a bottle of tequila, and a variety of differently sized candles. 

The fiery blooms had been placed down to the first bouquet of roses, a pile of stems on the ground by Javi’s feet as he started to run out of flowers to cut. 

“You said the marigolds attract the souls of the dead,” you started, continuing your work, “do the other items have special meanings?”

“They do,” he replied. “The ofrenda (offering) honors our loved ones and has what they need to come here. We use pictures and their things to help them cross over and draw them home. The papel picado (cut paper) has holes for them to travel through so they can visit. Agua (water) to quench their thirst after such a long journey. The candles help guide them, and we put out the food as an offering for them to enjoy.” 

“I love that,” you said, putting down the last of the marigolds. “I also love how colorful everything is—it makes it feel so lively.” 

“Because it’s a celebration of their lives—a happy occasion.” 

“I can tell.” Dusting off the front of your dress, you got up to stand, Javi already putting the cut stems into an empty plastic bag to dispose of. “Is it time for food?” you asked. 

“Yes,” Chucho answered, nodding with a smile. 

Room was made beside his chair, where Javi spread out the picnic blanket, the basket put atop it. Delightfully, he sat down with his long legs crisscrossed, you sitting the same next to him with your dress fanning out around you. Two of the plastic bags held disposable bowls, plates, cups, and cutlery that your boyfriend got out as you emptied the basket—three large mason jars of stew, a dish piled with warm tamales under foil, a thermos, a bag of pan de muerto (bread of the dead) Javi picked up from Anna’s bakery, and a Tupperware container holding garnish (crumbled bacon, chopped onion, cilantro, lime wedges). 

It wasn’t entirely true that Javier hadn’t celebrated Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) since the first time he’d left Laredo. 

The apartments the government set up for him in Colombia were fully furnished and decorated, and he never bothered adding any personal touches. 

Until his mom died. 

Before returning to work after her funeral, he’d gone through one of his father’s many photo albums dedicated to her and taken two of the pictures—he had her rosary, and he needed more reminders as to what he lost while he’d been away and all of the time he’d never get back with the woman who meant the world to him. 

It was the guilt of how much he missed, wishing he had visited instead of exiling himself away in the southern hemisphere in shame. 

He needed the sacrifices he made to mean something, he needed to finish the job, and with her death, he was determined to do whatever it took to get it done—anything. Desperation had him doing the fucked up shit that got him fired and sent home, and maybe it was self-flagellation that made him go back, wanting a second chance to do things right, make up for his mistakes, and do something his mom would be proud of. 

So, when he got back to South America after she passed, two framed photos found their place on a small table in his living room—one of him and her when he started college standing in front of the Texas A&M sign, the second of his mom and dad on their horses, Sombra and Caramelo. He’d gotten a colorful table runner with a similar Mexican serape-striped design, and he wasn’t religious, but a votive candle found its way with the pictures to honor her. Then at the end of October, a small vase of cempasúchil (marigolds) appeared, papel picado (cut paper) going on the wall, a glass of water on the tabletop next to a plate with a single roscón de bocadillo o guayaba (guava paste stuffed sweet bread) he thought she would’ve enjoyed. And, for some reason, it seemed like a good time to make his mom’s pozole; the recipe scribbled on the back of an old paystub and stuck to his fridge by a magnet of a bear wearing a top hat and playing a trumpet that he was pretty sure was already there when he moved in. 

A bowl of the soup went on the table with everything else in some kind of hope that his meager ofrenda (offering) would help her find her way back to him. Talking to her rosary a lot during that time, he recounted all of his favorite memories of her while listening to a record she loved and eating his pozole. He did his best to celebrate the life she lived without letting his grief get the better of him and wasn’t embarrassed to admit the first few years, he cried himself to sleep.

His tiny altar was kept up year-round, always setting it up when he got new accommodations and doing the same thing every Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) while away. 

When he came home, one of the pictures was taped to the mirror in his bedroom, and the other was kept in his wallet, unable to put them back in the album from which they came because he’d grown attached to them—they brought him peace, and he needed them close. The one of him and his mom was now framed and hanging on the living room wall at the apartment he shared with Cielito, surrounded by more photos of his parents. 

It broke his heart that the only picture of her family she put up was one of her grandparents; no one else from her side deserved to be up with the people they loved and who loved them. Thankfully, she had his family now, who he sometimes felt loved her more than him with how often they invited her to do things with them. He didn’t need more proof than when they’d go to his dad’s for her to cook one of his mom’s recipes, and Javier would be left at the house while the two of them went grocery shopping in his father’s precious Mustang—that he always let her drive.

It wasn’t fair, but with how much fun they had together, it made him happy. 

She fit in so well with them all, Javier realized it wasn’t blood that made you a family; it was the people you chose to love, and they’d chosen her, like how she chose them. 

The previous year, Pop had decorated the ofrenda (offering), and though Javier hadn’t gone to celebrate at the cemetery, he’d spent hours drinking alone and going through the many photo albums at the house—remembering the stories his parents had told him about each and every picture with a sad smile on his face and tears in his eyes. 

Things were different now; that lingering sadness that plagued him since her death was gone and replaced with comforting contentment at celebrating her with his father and the love of his life. 

He wanted Cielito to see what the holiday was all about and what it meant to him and his family, overjoyed at how eager she was to participate and help. The first time it was brought up, his dad had happily explained the tradition, and without missing a beat, she was asking what she could do, offering to make one of his mamá’s favorite dishes for them to have tonight—she didn’t even bat an eye at them spending their Monday evening amongst the living and peacefully dead. 

His heart felt like it’d explode from how fucking happy he was that she cared so much about him holding onto his heritage and family’s traditions—he could cry because she wanted their kids to grow up like he did; celebrating the same things, having loving, supportive parents, and raised bilingual. 

He couldn’t imagine Lorraine even wanting to acknowledge their child being half-Mexican and was pretty fucking sure she wouldn’t have wanted them to speak Spanish—knew for a fact she wouldn’t have come with him to celebrate Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). 

And here was Cielito, the woman he was going to marry, pouring carne en su jugo (meat in its juices) she made into a bowl because his dad told her it was his mother’s favorite dish during the colder months. 

Javier was so in love with her it was taking a whole hell of a lot of self-control he really didn’t fucking have not to ask his dad for his mom’s ring right this second; four words were in the question that had started blaring in his head whenever he looked, talked, touched, or thought of her, and he was truly getting worried it was going to come out on accident—he bit his tongue so fucking hard to stop himself from asking it when she said she’d make the food for tonight, it bled. 

She didn’t have to tell him to put the toppings on the stew, having already opened the Tupperware and gladly accepting the first bowl he started garnishing. 

“¿Jugo de limón, Pop (Lime juice, Pop)?” he asked. 

“Sí (Yes). Más limón, por favor (Extra lime, please).”

“Está bien (Okay),” he replied, squeezing one slice of lime, then two, and tossing the rinds into a plastic bag he’d designated for trash. “Aquí tienes (Here you go).” 

“Gracias, Mijo (Thank you, my son).” His dad took the offered paper bowl and plastic spoon Javier had grabbed for him. “A tu mamá le encantaba preparar esto cuando hacía frío (Your mom loved to make this when it was cold),” Chucho said, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. “En invierno, era su comida favorita (In winter, it was her favorite food).” 

“I remember.” He finished garnishing another bowl, setting it in front of him on the blanket, and taking the next from his amor (love). “She always made caldo de pollo during the hottest month in summer.” He turned his head toward Cielito. “Caldo is a soup with whole pieces of chicken—drumsticks, thighs, breasts, and vegetables, but not like that Campbell’s Chunky Chicken Noodle shit. It has potato halves, whole leaves of cabbage, thick slices of carrot, celery, uh—“

“Those beans,” Chucho added, pointing his spoon at him. “Garbanzo beans, corn, cilantro, and onion—I liked to add hot sauce to mine.”

“So, good fuckin’ chicken soup?” she asked with a grin. 

Javier matched her look, nodding his head. “Good fuckin’ chicken soup.”

His dad took a bite of his food, humming appreciatively. “It’s good, Mija,” he said after swallowing. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.” She visibly relaxed. “Javi, remember when you were away at college, the first year, I think, and you got that cold?” 

Looking at his dad, he nodded his head. “Yeah, it was freshman year,” he answered, holding another bowl. Glancing at her beside him, he asked, “Baby, do you want everything on yours?”

“Yes, please,” she replied. 

Carefully, he leaned over to kiss her shoulder. “You got it, mi amor (my love).” Going back to putting the toppings on her soup, he continued talking. “During freshman year, I got a cold. Keep in mind this was the first time I’d been away from home for an extended period of time, and I made the biggest fucking mistake of telling mi mamá I ate some canned chicken noodle soup—” 

Chucho interrupted, laughing, “The condensed kind! Sin vegetales (Without vegetables). Mi Antonia was beside herself—made caldo and had me drive her the five hours to deliver it the next day!” 

Javier had a fond smile on his face at remembering the frantic knocking on his dorm room door and being shocked to find his mom and dad on the other side, her barging in and fretting over him. “Yeah—” He discarded the used lime rind into the trash bag and set Cielito’s bowl down in front of him, taking the last one from her. “—she even brought bibaporrú, that’s the vapor rub stuff, you know, Vick’s? Bibaporrú and caldo were her cures whenever we got sick.” A memory came to him. “When I was little and had to stay home ‘cause I wasn’t feeling good, she’d put the vapor rub on me, have me eat the soup, and then I’d lay on the couch with my head in her lap. She’d play with my hair and softly sing until I fell asleep, and I’d always wake up in my bed.” He’d finished putting the garnish on his bowl, setting it down with the other two in front of him. 

Arms wrapped around him from the side, Cielito squeezing him tightly against her body. 

“Your mom loved you so much,” she said, kissing his cheek. 

He rubbed her arm locked over his chest, his head moving to kiss her, saying into her lips, “I know.” He told himself he wouldn’t cry tonight, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat and pulling away, his eyes on hers. “Eat your soup, baby—you worked so hard on it.” 

“Okay.” She let go of him to grab her bowl, Javier handing her a spoon. 

He picked up one of the soups and leaned forward, reaching as far as he could to set it on top of the marigolds for his mom before picking up his own and digging in. 

The flavors hit his tongue, and he groaned happily, the broth rich and flavorful from the steak simmering in its own juices and the tomatillo mix for so long with a little bit of spice from the serrano peppers. It was delicious and so similar to what his mom used to make, taking him back to days growing up when it was so cold she wouldn’t let him leave the house without a sweater and beanie to keep his ears warm—on the walk home from the bus stop, he couldn’t wait to have the carne en su jugo to heat himself up, knowing, without a doubt, it’d be waiting for him and his dad, along with a bowl of freshly cut fruit. 

“It’s so fucking good,” he said once he swallowed his spoonful, quickly taking another. 

“You like it?” she asked. 

“Mhmm.” He nodded with his mouth full, saying when he could, “Love it. You made it perfectly, Cielito—such a good job.” 

His dad’s bowl was almost empty, and he leaned over his armrest to open the cooler to pass them both cold beers. Javier set his soup down to twist off the cap, it cool and refreshing when he took a long pull. The glass bottle went into the space between his crossed legs, Cielito setting hers atop the blanket as she ate her food. 

There wasn’t much talking with their mouths occupied, finishing his stew in record time, throwing away the bowl and spoon, along with his father’s trash. 

“Tamales, Pop?” he asked, pulling off the shiny foil covering them. 

“I’d love a couple—¿hiciste chocolate caliente (did you make hot chocolate)?”

“Sí (Yes),” he answered, putting two warm red chile pork tamales onto a paper plate and passing them to Chucho. “¿Quieres una taza (Do you want a cup)? Es la receta de mi mamá (It’s my mom’s recipe).” 

When he was younger, and they’d go to the graveyard in Mexico to celebrate, his mother always brought hot chocolate to keep them warm when the sun set, and the temperature dropped. Her recipe was similar to traditional hot chocolate you’d make on the stove with milk, unsweetened cocoa powder, and granulated sugar—hers just also included some cinnamon, vanilla, and a pinch of chili powder. 

“No, no,” he waved away the question with his free hand. “Esperaré a que se enfríe (I’ll wait for it to get colder).” 

“Está bien (Okay).” He made another plate with one tamale he set next to the full bowl of stew over the golden petals, then served himself three. “I didn’t even need her recipe card,” he said. “It’s one I memorized a long time ago—liked to make it when it got cold in Colombia.” 

“Did you make a lot of her recipes while you were down there?” Cielito asked, her bowl finally finished and ending up on the ground in front of her.

He’d unwrapped the corn husk from one of his tamales, putting his disposable dish beside him on the blanket to ensure he served her.

“How many?” he asked Cielito, holding an empty paper plate. 

“Um, two,” she answered. He piled them on, then handed it to her.

“Thank you, babe.” She came in for a kiss that he happily reciprocated, all short and sweet. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” he said when they broke apart with a smile, picking up his tamales again. “Your question: No.” 

“Ate out a lot?”

“Yeah, or Connie fed me.” He held a tamale, taking a bite, his eyes closing at how good it was—they tasted like home and when things were simpler, but he was happy he got to eat them now, with the person who owned his heart. 

Almost half of their freezer was filled with tamales, and he was very pleased about it.

Swallowing, his head turned toward her, meeting her eyes as he continued, “With my mom, she’d give me the ingredients and instructions, and we’d cook. I never learned how to tell if fruits or vegetables were good at the grocery store ‘cause she always gave them to me—which wasn’t her fault. I don’t think it ever crossed her mind, and I never thought to ask.” He shrugged. An amused breath left his nose, a smile curling up on his lips. “She also never told me measurements either. The hot chocolate, I can wing, but when I was gone and wanted pozole? I had to call her for the recipe from her card.”

“No radishes, right?” She smiled. 

He chuckled. “Yeah, no radishes. I didn’t make many of her recipes because I had no fucking clue how to get most of the ingredients and didn’t want to ask anyone for help.” 

“‘Cause you, my love, are very stubborn—” She bounced her shoulder gently against his. “—and if I hadn’t helped you find a good tomato, you would’ve forced yourself to eat a lousy BLT.” 

He frowned, sighing, “Yeah…” 

“You know what, though?” 

“What?” 

“You’re an expert produce picker now and make her recipes all the time, and I know she’d be happy you do.” Her face came close, pecking him on the lips. 

“She’s right, Mijo,” his dad interjected. “Tu mamá (your mom) would love you making her food.”

It warmed his heart to hear them say that, his eyes beginning to burn, so he distracted himself by taking a big mouthful of his tamale, everyone else doing the same. 

Music from the little radio was playing, hearing children's screams as they played, and people talking and laughing in the distance. 

His dad finished eating. “Barriga llena, corazón contento (Full belly, happy heart),” Chucho told them, patting his stomach happily. He groaned as he bent over to get a napkin out of a bag to wipe his hands and face. “That was delicious,” he said, his garbage getting set down by his feet. “You outdid yourself, Mija.” 

“Thank you,” she replied, her plate also empty. Javi was done and gathered all of their garbage to put in the trash bag. “How late do we hang out here?” she asked. 

“As late as you want,” his dad said. “Some people stay until midnight. Others with kids leave earlier.” 

“Remember what mi mamá would always say when I’d go out?” he asked Chucho, thinking about the words he’d hear every time he left the house for the evening.

“No podré dormir si estás fuera toda la noche (I won’t be able to sleep if you’re out all night).” 

Javier smiled. “Yeah, and I’d always be home before midnight, and you guys were already asleep.” 

They laughed. 

“I promise she was worrying about you when she’d go to bed,” his dad said. 

“Sure, she was,” he replied, taking a sip of his beer. 

“She was.” His dad nodded. “She’d toss and turn and finally get up at about one in the morning to make sure you were home and come back to bed. She’d sleep like a baby when you were safe at home.” 

His stomach plummeted. “What, uh—” He scratched at the back of his head. “—what about when I was gone…?” he asked softly. 

A somber look came over Chucho’s face. “She couldn’t sleep until she prayed for you, and the days she talked to you and could hear your voice, she slept best.” 

He remembered while he was in South America, she ended every phone call with, ‘Te amo, mi nene—que Dios y la virgencita te acompañen y todo salga de la mejor manera (I love you, my baby boy—may god and the Virgin Mary guide you and everything goes in the best way possible).’ Her praying for him nightly didn’t surprise him. It was the fact she couldn’t sleep until she did, and he felt awful for putting her through that, his eyes starting to water.

Cielito’s hand rubbed circles against his spine, resting her head on his shoulder. His arm went behind her back, the other around her middle, hugging her tightly while kissing her hair, holding her, soothing the twinge of remorse he was feeling. 

“Javi,” his dad said to get his attention, turning his head to meet the other man’s eyes. “She was proud of you, Mijo, and knew you were doing good work—she’d tell anyone who’d listen that her son was going to catch Pablo Escobar and look at all you did; all the good. Sure, you made some mistakes and did things you shouldn’t have, but in the end, you helped make the world better, and I can tell you your mom would be proud of you and all you’ve done.” A tear rolled down Javier’s cheek, having to clear his throat. “You know your mother was a pious woman,” Chucho continued. “She found comfort in praying for your safety every night and lighting a candle for you at Mass—she just wanted to keep you safe in God’s light and knew you wouldn’t pray for yourself. She loved you more than anything, Mijo, and needed to make sure you’d make it back home to us.” 

Another teardrop fell. 

“I was too late,” he croaked out, thinking about how she was on her deathbed when he finally returned. Cielito wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. 

“For her, it was perfect timing—she got to see her nene precioso (precious baby boy) before leaving this world, and that was the greatest gift you could have given her, being the last face she saw and knowing you were safe.” His dad’s eyes were getting wet, him sniffling as he took off his glasses to wipe at them. “Now, this is supposed to be a happy day, and we can’t be sad. You should go see your tías (aunts) and tío (uncle)—your primo (cousin) Sebastián is back from Dallas, and you can finally introduce her to him.” He nodded at Cielito. 

Sebastián was his tío Ángel’s eldest son.

He let go of his wif—girlfriend as she sat up beside him and got him to turn his head toward her. He smiled when she fussed over him by wiping away his tears with her thumbs and pushing his bangs off his face.

“Are you feeling okay?” she softly asked him. 

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice a little rough. 

“Okay.” She nodded. “I know what will cheer you up even more.” 

His eyebrows dipped together. “What?” 

Her voice went lower, trying to mimic his as she dramatically said, “Necesito que me beses ahora mismo (I need you to kiss me right now). No puedo vivir sin tus besos (I can’t live without your kisses). No puedo respirar sin tus besos (I can’t breathe without your kisses). Bésame, mi amor (Kiss me, my love). Por Favor (Please).” She puckered her lips, closing her eyes.

Air escaped his nose, smiling big.

“No sueno así (I don’t sound like that)!” he laughed. “Eres tan linda y te amo mucho (You are so cute, and I love you a lot).” His hand cradled her jaw, moving closer to her. “Puedes tener tantos besos como quieras, mi amor (You can have as many kisses as you want, my love).” He pressed his mouth to hers hard, kissing her so tenderly it felt like he was melting into her. 

She had him feeling better, knowing his dad was right and that this was a happy day, and they shouldn’t be dwelling on the sadness—they were here to celebrate his mom and their other family members who were no longer with them. 

Seconds passed, and they were separating, both smiling at each other. 

“Let’s go see everyone,” he said. 

“Okay,” she replied. “This Sebastián, how old is he?” 

That was a good question, Javier wracking his brain to try and remember. “Maybe early thirties?” 

“Mhmm.” There was an inquisitive look on her face. “All of your male cousins in Laredo are either—” She held up a finger. “—married—” Another finger went up. “—in a serious relationship—” A third finger joined the other two. “—or are too young. I don’t know anything about this Sebastián. Is he… single?” 

“What?” He looked at her funny. 

Why did she want to know?

“Don’t look at me like that, Javier! You know I’m not asking for me!” 

His eyes squinted. “Then who…?”

“Robyn!” She threw up her hands. “We’ve struck out on setting her up with any of your Laredo primos (cousins), and now a new Peña has appeared! Give me the deets, babe. Is he single? Is he into women? What’s his star sign? Is he cute—that’s actually a dumb question because all of your cousins are hot! Like no wonder they’re all married or in serious relationships and having a ton of babies. Sexy is apparently one of the attributes of the Peña genes.” 

His dad was laughing, Javier’s cheeks heating. 

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m sorry, baby, but Seb is married.” 

“Damn.” She visibly deflated, shaking her head.

“No, he’s not,” Chucho piped up, both of them looking over at him. “He got divorced last year—that’s why he’s back here. He needed a change.” 

“Bachelor number one is back in the game!” Cielito exclaimed. “Oh my god, okay, so what’s he like?”

He was loving her excitement, smiling when he said, “We can go find him, and you can see?” His face fell. “But I thought you said Robyn met a guy she was into…?”

“Well, yeah, but this is a Peña, and she hasn’t stopped bugging us about finding her one of your cousins.” 

That was true. 

Just about every time she saw Javier, she asked if any of his primos (cousins) over thirty had become available and if this would get her off his ass…

“Let’s go find him, Cielito.” He kissed her quickly, then grabbed his beer from between his legs, chugging the little bit that remained, her doing the same, the empty bottles getting set with the rest of the trash.

Groaning as he got up from the slight ache in his lower back and knees, he put his arms out to his wife—girlfriend once standing. He frowned, helping to pull her up onto her feet. 

She smoothed her palms down her dress. 

“Do I look okay?” she asked, checking herself for any wrinkles in the fabric. 

“You look more than okay, hermosa (beautiful),” he answered, taking her hands into his and bringing them up to hold against his chest, their gazes meeting. “You’re fucking gorgeous, and I love that you got this dress for tonight—it’s perfect, and mi mamá would love it.” 

The dress had been a surprise, and when she came out of their shared bathroom wearing it, he’d forgotten how to breathe—she looked beyond beautiful, and it dazed him, not believing she’d chosen him to spend the rest of her life with. 

Basically, Javier found himself falling even more in love with her from all of the thought she’d put into honoring his mother—the dress, the food, and celebrating with his family. Head over heels wasn’t accurate to how he felt; he was completely head over ass, so gone on her, he’d do anything for her, anything, and that included protecting her, too. He’d die for her. He’d kill for her. She was the air he breathed and the blood that kept his heart pumping; she was his life and the most important person in the world to him, and she chose him. 

“El tiene razón (He’s right),” his dad added. “Te ves bonita con ese vestido, Mija (You look beautiful in that dress, Mija).” 

She shyly looked away from them. “Thank you,” she replied. 

His hand went to her jaw, making her look at him as he smiled warmly. 

“None of that,” he said, knowing she was doubting the truth of their words. “I’m being completely honest, Pop is, too, and I wish so fucking bad you could see how I see you.” His thumb stroked over her bottom lip. “How beautiful you are, how incredible—god, I love you so fucking much.” 

His lips took the place of his thumb, his arm going behind her back to pull her into him, trying to make her feel the love he felt for her in his kiss—her fingers slid into the short-cropped hair on the back of his head, Javier shivering when she lovingly dragged her nails along his nape. 

“Estos dos están pegados por completo, Antonia (These two are completely stuck together, Antonia),” he heard his dad say. “Tú verás que en cualquier momento, nos van hacer abuelos (You watch, any minute now they’re going to make us grandparents).”

Cielito snorted, breaking away from him, while Javier sighed, pressing his forehead to hers and rubbing his hands up and down her spine. 

“Pop,” he groaned. “Me abochornas (You’re embarrassing me).”

“¿Digo la verdad y te abochorna (I tell the truth and it embarasses you)?” Chucho asked. He clicked his tongue, dramatically continuing, “Es la maldición de los padres (It’s the parental curse).” 

Javier turned his head, finding his dad sitting there with a shit-eating grin under his cowboy hat and a hand over his chest. 

He rolled his eyes, ready to go. 

“Nos vamos ahora (We’re leaving now),” he said, taking his girlfriend’s hand. “Quédate aquí con mi mamá y cuéntale cómo sigues molestándonos para que te den nietos (Stay here with my mom and tell her about how you keep pestering us to give you grandchildren).” 

“Oh, tu mamá sabe (Oh, your mom knows).” He waved away Javier’s words. “Hablando de mis futuros nietos, tambien un día disfrutarás avergonzándolos (Speaking of my future grandkids, one day you will also enjoy embarrassing them). ¿Sabes por qué (Do you know why)?” 

“¿Por qué, Pop (Why, Pop)?”

“Porque serás un padre increíble como yo y amarás a tus hijos más que a nada (Because you will be an amazing father like me and love your kids more than anything).” 

Javier’s breath caught in his throat. 

Emotion had his voice going gravelly. “Espero ser un gran padre como tú (I hope I will be a great dad like you).” 

“Sé que lo harás (I know you will). Te amo, Javiercito (I love you, Javier). Ahora, ve a ver al resto de la familia (Now, go see the rest of the family).” 

“Está bien (Okay). Estaremos de vuelta pronto (We will be back soon).”

“No voy a irme a ninguna parte (I am not going anywhere).”

That was something Javier knew without a doubt and could always count on—both of his parents were there for him, and no matter the mistakes he’d made, it had never caused them to love him any less. On the rough days in Colombia, there was always the thought in the back of his mind to just give up and go home to them, knowing they would’ve welcomed him with open arms. He’d kept going, though, the ranch a last resort, and when he was sent back to Texas after he horribly fucked up, all his dad asked was when he needed to pick him up from the airport, there was no question that he was coming back to the house for however long he wanted to be there. 

Chucho wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, and Javier knew that, planning to plant his roots in Laredo and grow his family here, wanting to stay as close as possible to his dad and the place where his mother was resting. 

He nodded at his father, leading Cielito away. 

“So,” she started. “Who’s all buried here?”

He slowed down to have them walking next to each other, their hands linked, glancing over at her through his sunglasses as he answered, “My mom and my paternal abuelos (grandparents). My mother’s family is back in Mexico—her parents and my tío (uncle) are still alive down there, but I haven’t seen them since, fuck, her funeral? They all moved back after she married my dad, and we’d visit them a few times a year when I was growing up.”

“Were your dad’s parents born in Mexico, too?” 

He smiled. “Yeah, but they immigrated here before they started having kids.”

“Good to know. Have you thought about visiting your mom’s family?” 

Frowning, he replied, “Maybe? Some of my uncle’s kids live here in the US, I’m just not sure where, and he visits my dad occasionally. It’d be nice to see my abuelos (grandparents)…” 

They were probably in their early eighties by now. 

She got closer to his side, hugging his arm to her as she looked him in the eyes with a smile. 

“Well, maybe we’ll just have to go visit them.” 

That had him sobering up and thinking about the job he’d been doing with the Sheriff. 

In the months he worked for Sheriff Arturo, the narcotics unit had managed to seize almost double the drugs and weapons than the entire previous year combined—not to mention all of the arrests they made. It was so substantial the DEA had set up an in-person meeting with him for that Friday, when up to this point, they’ve only communicated by phone. The agent in charge of Rio Grande Valley was a real prick, and Javier had hung up on him more than once, so he really wasn’t looking forward to sitting down with the guy.

He kept his promise to Cielito about only doing office work, spending the majority of his time reading over arrest reports and seizures, writing up analyses, and creating strategies for the narcotics team to use. With all of the pages he read, he felt like there was something he was missing, some kind of connection that wasn’t making itself known amongst all of the letters and numbers his eyes had scanned over—it was starting to bother the fuck out of him that he wasn’t getting any closer to figuring out where the drugs were coming from than when he began looking. 

“Maybe,” he said distractedly. Changing the subject, he continued, pointing ahead of them with his free hand, “Looks like tío Ángel is with my tías and tíos—Sebastián must be close by.” 

His abuelos had a long, flat headstone that sat amongst the grass, with ‘Peña’ etched in the middle in large letters, and each of their names on either side where they were buried, along with their dates of birth and death. 

The second time he’d come here with his wif-girlfriend, his dad had been with them and showed them where his grandparents were since Javier wasn’t stateside when they passed.

He was ashamed to admit it, but when they died, he’d put his work before his family like he always fucking did—so focused on taking down the Cali cartel he didn’t even think about using any bereavement leave to come home for either of their funerals that were only months apart. At the time, his secretary sent flowers to the family with his condolences like the cold-hearted bastard he was who didn’t even bother calling his tías or tío. 

Looking back, he felt like shit for what his father must have gone through—in less than five years, Chucho lost his wife and both of his parents, his only son away on a completely different continent, barely remembering to pick up the phone for their monthly calls. 

Javier was a real piece of shit then and deserved the dressing down his tías gave him when he’d come back for good. Now, he had his head on straight, understanding that his family was the most important thing in his life, and he wouldn’t waste any more time with them.

His grandparents’ resting place was decorated similarly to his mother’s: marigold blooms were bordering the gravestone and surrounding a large framed photo of his abuelos that was propped up behind it along with two large vases of the flowers resting on the upper two corners of the stone. Candles were also on the hard surface, a couple of votives, the others plain red-waxed, and in the grass were ornaments that were just paper skulls on sticks. His tías had put down a colorful rectangular platter that they had set a bottle of his abuelo’s (grandfather’s) favorite tequila, two cups full of something he wasn’t sure of, and two plates filled with food—chicken legs and thighs covered in his abuela’s (grandmother’s) mole (moh-lay), a sauce made from blackened, burnt chiles, chocolate, and other ingredients Javier couldn’t remember; There was also arroz rojo (red rice), frijoles (beans), and the tamales they made over the weekend.  

His tías Lupita and Rebeca were sitting on a large dark blue striped picnic blanket with a couple of their grandkids who were maybe five or six, his aunts' husbands sitting nearby in camping chairs. Tía María was on the other side of them in a chair next to her husband, another blanket on the ground by them where their eldest son, Danny, was sitting with his wife and two kids—a four- and two-year-old, with another on the way. Everyone was eating except his tío Ángel who was standing and nursing a beer, his youngest son Diego, who was in his late-twenties, next to him, scooping food into his mouth from a paper plate while they all happily chatted between bites.

His tía María spotted them first. 

“Javi está aquí y trajo a nuestra Chula (Javi’s here and he brought our Cutie).”  

All of them looked in their direction with smiles and greetings as they approached. 

“Hola (Hi),” he said. 

“Hi!” Cielito greeted with a wave of her hand that wasn’t holding his. 

“Come eat with us,” tía Lupita ordered, moving to make them plates. 

He was pretty full from what they’d already eaten, sharing a look with his girlfriend, both knowing they’d have to eat some of it, unable to keep from sighing simultaneously.

Something you learned very quickly once being introduced to Javier’s extended family was you absolutely, under no circumstance, refused food you were offered—you’re not hungry? You’re full? You’re not sure it’s something you’ll like? It didn’t matter. You took what they gave you, thanked them, and ate as much as you could. 

Knowing how much time and effort went into making their dishes made it make sense and was honestly great, so you happily accepted the flimsy paper plate loaded with food, and a plastic fork, thanking tía Lupita. 

“How was the carne en su jugo?” Rebeca asked. 

“Almost exactly like mi mamá’s,” Javi proudly answered, picking at the food on his plate like you were and taking small bites. 

“Bueno (Good)!” 

María addressed you, “You’ll come over next time we make our mamá’s mole, so you can learn.” 

“I’d love that,” you replied with a smile. “I’m assuming that’s what this sauce is?” You got some chicken with the mole on your fork to hold up and put it in your mouth. 

“Yes.” She nodded. “How do you like it?” 

Answering after swallowing, “It’s very good.” It was a little spicy, a little sweet, and had an earthiness to it that wasn’t bad, and you had no clue what was in it, assuming chiles, for sure. 

“The tamales are increíble (incredible),” Javier’s tío Ángel’s gruff voice said.

The first time you saw tío Ángel, you thought he wasn’t happy to meet you with how mad he looked. Turned out he just had the same grumpy resting face as Javi, which must make it genetic. His tío was actually really nice, even though he gave off ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes, and it made sense why the asshole horse at the ranch, Enrique, only let him ride him. 

Javier’s tío hadn’t been at the tamalada since he was busy working on the ranch. 

“Thank you,” you replied. “I just followed Antonia’s recipe as best I could.” 

“Well, they turned out great.” He raised his beer to you. 

“¿Dónde está Sebastián (Where’s Sebastián)?” Javi asked. 

The rest of the group had gone back to talking amongst themselves.

“Está en la tumba de su abuelo con su madre, y su abuela (He is over at his grandfather’s grave with his mom, and grandma).” He pointed with his bottle in their direction.

“Sebastián llegó muy tarde (Sebastián arrived really late),” Diego said, disposing his empty plate into a black trash bag. 

Diego had long hair like his dad, but where his dad kept his pulled back in a ponytail, Diego let his gorgeous black locks fall down to his shoulders—he also had a smile that was absolutely contagious and radiated happiness. 

“¿Cuándo regresó a Laredo (When did he come back to Laredo)?” Javi inquired as he took a bite of some rice. 

“Llegó aquí el jueves, pero se fue todo el fin de semana (He got here on Thursday but he was gone all weekend).”

“¿Regresó a Dallas (Did he go back to Dallas)?” Javi’s eyebrows were knitted together. 

“No sé (I don’t know),” the younger man shrugged. “No nos dijo a dónde fue (He didn’t tell us where he went). El llegó tarde hoy y fresco de la ducha (He showed up late today and fresh from the shower).” A mischievous smile appeared on his face. “No creo que haya pasado el fin de semana solo (I don’t think he spent the weekend alone).” 

“¡Ay!” Ángel said. “Deja de chismear sobre tu hermano (Quit gossiping about your brother).”

“Hey,” Diego replied, putting up his hands in defense. “Es bueno para él seguir adelante (It’s good for him to move on).” 

That had you frowning, hoping he hadn’t met someone. 

Your head turned toward Javi. “I’d really like to meet this mystery cousin now—please introduce him to me.” 

His eyes met yours. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Okay.” Looking back at his tío Ángel, he pointed with his free hand in the direction his uncle said, “He’s over there?” he asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while. What’s he wearing?” 

“Yes, over there—” He pointed with his beer again. “—and he’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Right, Mijo?” he asked his son. 

“Yes, papá (dad),” Diego answered. 

“Okay,” you replied. “On the lookout for a hot Peña in a black shirt and jeans—let’s go, babe!” Holding your plate in one hand, your other grabbed Javi’s arm as you started pulling him where you needed to go. 

Out of earshot of his family, you looked over your shoulder at him, “Hopefully he didn’t fall in love over the weekend. I wish we would’ve known there was an eligible Peña so we could’ve set him up with Robyn on a blind date or something.” 

Javi snorted. 

“You really think Robyn would agree to a blind date?” 

You thought about it for a second. 

“Yeah, I think she would, just for the fun of it.” 

He slowed down, dragging his feet to make you finally stop walking. 

“Cielito?” 

Confusion was on your face as you turned toward him. “Yes, Javi?” 

It looked like he was really choosing his words carefully. 

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up that we’ll somehow get them together…” he said the sentence gently. “You said in the car Robyn met a guy she actually liked, and with my primo being divorced, we don’t know if he’s even looking for anyone—divorce can fuck people up.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say is please don’t be upset if this doesn’t work out the way you want.” 

“Oh.” It felt like your stomach dropped down to the ground. “You’re right—we can’t force people together. But—” You smiled. “—we can test the waters, you know? See where your cousin’s at post-divorce. Like, is he just going through rebounds? Has he sworn off women? Is he ready to date again? We’ll just see how he’s doing and go from there.” 

He sighed, his eyes closing for a moment. “Okay, Cielito,” he replied, looking at you again. “We’ll test the waters.” 

“Thank you!” you squealed, moving into his space and being careful of the plates you were both holding to give him a kiss. When you pulled away, you grabbed his hand. “Let’s go find this elusive Peña!” you said, making him walk with you again. 

You were on the lookout as you passed other families around the graves of their loved ones and children playing with each other. The mood of the cemetery was upbeat and colorful from all of the marigolds and other decorations; some people including other flowers like purple orchids, pink carnations, white lilies, and chrysanthemums in various colors—music, laughter, talking, and children’s happy squeals could be heard as you continued walking down the row. 

Your eyes locked on a guy heading your way that matched Sebastián’s description, the unsuspecting man holding a beer bottle. 

Suddenly you stopped, Javi almost running into you. 

“Is that him?” you asked, letting go of his hand to point ahead. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes squinted. “Maybe…?” 

“I know this isn’t the time or place, but maybe we should look into getting you everyday glasses—and you can’t be upset about me suggesting it because you know how horny your reading glasses make me, so like, I just wouldn’t leave you alone.” 

You looked over at him to see he was frowning before it looked like he had a realization. 

“That’s… a good idea, but mi amor?”

“Yes, my sexy, hunky man who I love more than anything?” 

He snorted, his face getting close enough a shiver moved through you when his breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “You already don’t leave me alone, but I’m interested in seeing if the glasses really will make you wetter and needier for me—” His head moved abruptly, speaking louder, “¡Oye (Hey)! Seb!” 

The other man’s attention landed on you both, a smile turning up on his lips as he started walking faster. 

“¡Oye (Hey)! Primo!” he responded. 

Sebastián Peña was a little shorter than Javier, with a very defined jaw and cleft chin, his dark brown hair curly and cropped short to his head, his eyes a striking color of green, and as you assumed, he was very handsome. 

You could definitely see Robyn being into him. 

You watched as your boyfriend moved around you to hug his cousin carefully while holding his plate. 

“Hey, man,” Javi said when they separated. He patted Sebastián’s arm, smiling. “It’s been too long—did you get shorter?” 

His cousin laughed, and he had a good smile like his little brother. “No, pendejo (No, asshole),” he replied. “How’ve you been, Javi? I didn’t see you here last year.” 

“I, uh, had stuff going on, and I’m doing really fucking good. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned your way, grabbing your hand to pull you to stand next to him. "Primo, this is—“ He told him your name. “—y ella es mi esposa (and she is my wife).”

Your eyes rounded, Sebastián saying loudly, “¡¿Qué (What)?! Your wife?!”

The smile on your face was so big it made your cheeks hurt as Javi went red at realizing what he said, looking panicked. 

“Girlfriend!” he quickly corrected. “Ella es mi novia (She is my girlfriend).” 

“Actually,” you said, moving forward to hold out your free palm to Seb. “I’m his future wife—we’re basically pre-engaged, he’s just taking his sweet time to put a ring on it, and ‘wife’ is definitely a better descriptor than girlfriend.” You wrinkled your nose, Sebastián shaking your offered hand. 

“Oh, okay,” he said, releasing your palm. “Yeah, I knew Javi had a, uh, partner, and it’s nice to finally meet you.” He had a warm smile. “Mi familia (my family) has talked a lot about you and your cooking, especially the pork tamales you make like tía Antonia.” 

“Not as good,” you replied. “No one can top hers.” 

“Stop that,” Javi said, and you looked over to see him giving you a grumpy look. “She’s being modest—her tamales are fucking amazing, primo. You’ll love them.” 

“Well, enough about me,” you interjected. “So, Sebastián—”

“Call me Seb,” he interrupted, still smiling. “You’re family.” 

That had you feeling warm. 

Giving him the same look, you continued, “So, Seb, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living? When’s your birthday? Are you seeing anyone?”

“You a cop, too?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. 

“Just call me future Mrs. Detective Peña,” you answered with a wink. “But not really, I just don’t know anything about you, and I am beyond curious.”

He nodded, then took a drink of his beer. 

“Firefighter,” he finally said when the bottle lowered. “October 27th, and I’m not answering the last question, but I’m sure you already heard I’m divorced.” There was a frown on his face.

“Yeah,” Javi replied, frowning, too. “Sorry to hear about that.” His arm went around your back to pull you into his side. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about—don’t want someone who can’t be faithful.” He took another swig of his drink. 

“Oh, he’s definitely a Scorpio,” you said under your breath.

“Why do you say that?” Javi whispered to you. 

“They’re super loyal,” you answered just as quietly. “And possessive—it’s why I know I’ve got nothing to worry about with you since it’s in your top three.” 

He scoffed. “Didn’t need the fucking stars to tell you that.” 

“They’re reassuring.” You spoke normally, “So, Seb, how was your weekend? Do anything titillating?” 

He sputtered as he choked on his beer, going into a coughing fit. 

“Shit!” You moved to pat on his back. “I am so sorry. You’re just as bad as your cousin. Sometimes I worry I’m gonna accidentally make Javi choke to death.” 

Your boyfriend sighed, putting his hand on his hip and his weight to one side. “You always choose to say things that will get a reaction when I’m mid-drink, and I think you do it on purpose.” 

“I do not! It’s just a coincidence.” 

His eyebrow arched. “Uh-huh.” 

“It is! Are you okay, Seb?” 

“Yeah,” he wheezed. “My weekend was great,” he said, giving you a thumbs up.

Moving back to stand beside Javi, you decided to just cut straight to the chase. “Seb, here’s the deal. I heard you got divorced last year, and I’m trying to figure out if you’re even interested in dating again or if it’s more of a ‘fuck the pain away’ situation, which, honestly, either would work because I have this best friend who is amazing, and I think the two of you would get along swimmingly.” 

“You barely know anything about me…” he pointed out. 

“All I need to know is you’re a Scorpio and extremely compatible with my best friend, who’s a Leo.” 

He looked at Javi. “What is she talking about…?” 

“Astrology,” your boyfriend answered. “She likes that star shit, and some of it is pretty fucking accurate.” 

Sebastián didn’t look convinced. 

“Anyways,” you cut in. “I know this great girl I’d love to introduce you to.” 

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, but I met someone.” 

“Oh.”

“It’s… new, but I think there’s something between us.” 

You forced a smile, trying not to let your disappointment show. Maybe Robyn wouldn’t mind a younger man like Diego to get that Peña she wants—he was an adorable guy, and you knew he was single.

“That’s great that you’re moving on from your ex,” you replied. “That’s a really big step. We know you’ve been super hush-hush about this mystery person, but do you want to tell us about them? We won’t say anything to the rest of your family if that’s what you wish—I just bet you’d love to talk about them since they’ve caught your attention.” 

There was a visible change as his face went soft, knowing he was thinking about them. 

“She’s perfect,” he said. “Beautiful, funny, not afraid to order me around, a fiery personality, you know?” He gestured to your boyfriend with the glass bottle he was holding. 

“Oh, I know, and it’s great,” Javi replied, pulling you closer to kiss the side of your head, feeling like you were melting from the sweetness. 

“Yeah, I can see that. This girl is small and feisty with the most gorgeous long hair and red lips. She’s mi...” he said a Spanish word you didn’t understand. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, frowning. 

“She’s his what?” you asked Javi, looking at him and finding his eyes wide and mouth gone slack, not understanding what would get that kind of reaction. Maybe it was like when Javi called you his wife or something, and that was what had him shook. Suddenly he was speaking rapid Spanish to his cousin, which you were having trouble keeping up with. 

“What’s going on, babe?” you asked him. 

He stopped talking, bringing up the hand he held his plate in to look at his silver wristwatch.

“Shit,” he said, meeting his cousin’s eyes again. “We gotta get back to Pop, but we’ll see you around.”

That was a dirty fucking lie, and now you were dying to know what in the world was going on.

His empty hand went to your back to usher you away, feeling confused and curious.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Seb!” you called back at him. “See you around!”  

“It was nice to meet you, Prima (Cousin)!” he replied. 

“What’s going on, Javier?” you hissed at your boyfriend, trying to keep up with his long, brisk strides. 

“Hold on.” He turned you guys, heading for the cemetery entrance, him tossing his plate and yours in a trash can as you left the grounds toward the parking lot.

“Why are we out here?” you asked, him keeping you moving quickly. 

He only stopped when you made it to his truck, the two of you standing by the driver's side door, him looking around to make sure the coast was clear. 

Your gazes finally met as he said, “I’m sorry. I panicked.”

“About what…?”

“What he said.”

“What did he say?” A big smile appeared on his face looking pleased with himself, and he only looked like that when— “Oh my god.” Excitement bubbled up inside you. “You’ve got tea, spill—cuéntame el chisme (tell me the gossip),” you batted at his chest. 

There was a chance he’d literally start vibrating; he looked so giddy. 

“Baby, he said she’s his fucking petirrojito.”

Your eyes squinted. “I literally have no idea what that means? Is it something super romantic? Did he secretly get married over the weekend or something?”

“No, no—” He shook his head. “—petirrojo means robin..,” he said slowly.

With the -ito at the end, that’d make it—

“His little robin,” you gasped, your hand going to your mouth. “No fucking way, Javier. Maybe that’s just a cute endearment that’s purely coincidental–it can’t be what you’re suggesting, I’d know.” 

“It is.” His dimple was showing he was smiling so big while he nodded enthusiastically. 

No, you’d know if Robyn hooked up with one of Javi’s cousins. Unless she didn’t know. In all of the dirty details she spilled, she never once mentioned a name, but she was very descriptive of his looks, and now that you were thinking about it…

“Shut the fuck up,” you replied, your hand falling. “Are you positive? How can you be so sure?” 

“I double-checked and had him tell me more about what she looks like, and it’s Robyn, Cielito. It’s fucking her.”

The way he was so excited had you smiling, still unbelievably stunned your best friend actually bagged a Peña without your help. 

“More like he’s fucking her,” you said. 

Your boyfriend’s face fell, paling at what you assumed was him remembering your conversation in the truck. 

“No,” he said in a small voice. 

“Sorry, babe.” You patted his cheek. “You know too much about your cousin’s very adventurous sex life—can’t believe they fucked in the back of his Ford Bronco in the bar parking lot.” 

He made a disgusted face. “Don’t tell me that shit.” 

Amusement was on her face, and he had no fucking idea what she’d say next. 

Javier had been so excited about having what Cielito would call ‘hot gossip’ he’d wholly forgotten their talk on the way here. 

Pop Rocks blow job.

He shuddered, grimacing at remembering. 

“I mean,” she started, and all his attention went to her. “If they start dating, he’ll probably know too much about your very adventurous sex life.” She ended the sentence with a poke to his chest. 

He crossed his arms in front of him while his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why...?” 

Smiling, she answered, “‘Cause Robyn and I discuss, in pornographic detail, our sexual encounters—yes, she’s well aware you have a big dick, and I don’t want you to be mad. I just need someone I can brag to about the things you do to me.” That had his chest puffing up a little, making him smile. “Plus, we give each other pointers and ideas, which you’ve never complained about. I believe it was you—” She poked the tip of his nose. “—who had us get her a gift certificate to a spa after she convinced me to let you fuck my ass.”  

The memories of that had his pants feeling tighter. 

He nodded to himself. “Worth it,” he murmured. 

She looked so beautiful standing in front of him wearing her pretty dress. He grabbed her waist to back her up against the truck. 

Smiling, he told her, “I love you so fucking much.” 

She matched his expression. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“No.” He gently shook his head. “You don’t understand. I love you so fucking much—” He grabbed her palms in both of his and held them over his heart “—that I feel you here,” he said, pressing them into his chest. “That’s where you are—the place you live inside me, making my heart beat, or race, or thud. That’s you, giving me life. I love you so fucking much that you’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you, and this is our life now—fuck,” he sighed. 

Tears were brimming in her eyes as she smiled. “It’s taking everything in you not to ask me to marry you right now, isn’t it?” she asked. 

He huffed out a breath, his hands moving to hold her face. “Yeah,” he answered, not even surprised she knew. “I can’t do it without a ring, not after…” he trailed off, not wanting to say aloud his first proposal that he had hardly any choice in.

She made the cutest scrunched-up face. “Okay, yes, a ring is necessary, and honestly, I get it now.” 

“Get what?” 

“The whole wanting to go all out for the proposal because it’s your decision, you want to marry me, and want to propose in your own way, and that’s just really fucking sweet, Javi. Thank you for wanting to make it something special.” She kissed him, a relieved breath leaving him that he wasn’t expecting. 

“I love this,” he said softly when he pulled back. 

“What?” 

“How happy you make me, how relaxed, how we have fun—I have so much fucking fun with you, and it feels like I can breathe. I love this, I love you, god, I love everything about you.”

“Good.” She slid her hands up his shirt-covered chest to his shoulders. “Because I really fucking love you and everything about you, and you’re just so fucking perfect—I need you to kiss me right now, or I’m—” 

He didn’t let her finish the sentence, crushing his mouth to hers in a searing kiss, taking a step to have their bodies flush against each other as he eagerly licked into her mouth to tangle his tongue with hers. 

He felt the vibrations of her moans, groaning when her fingers moved into his hair, getting his thigh between her legs. 

It was like she inhabited every part of his being, feeling her in his heart, his soul, and along his skin like a sweet caress; She was everywhere within him, and he didn’t feel alone, knowing she was there with him always. 

It was crazy how he found himself somehow loving her more after all that happened. 

It felt like his future wife loved his mom with all she had done to show her respect and to honor her, making Javier feel like he might cry that they’d never get to meet. He knew without a doubt how much his mother would love her and approve of Cielito becoming her daughter-in-law, hell, she probably would’ve convinced him to propose by now. 

The way his family had taken in his future wife told him he was choosing the right woman—his dad loving her from their first meeting was all the evidence he needed.

She was the one, the only one.

There was no one before her, and there would be no one after—she was it for him, and he was beyond happy about it. 

“Javi,” she said between kisses. 

“Hmm?” He nipped at her bottom lip. 

Her mouth was on his again, her words muffled, “If you’re introducing me as your wife, are you gonna fuck me as your wife later?” 

He smiled against her lips. “I already fuck you like my wife.” 

She pulled on his hair to make him look at her seeing her delightfully smiling. 

“I fucking knew something was different when there was suddenly an influx of face-to-face positions!” She started kissing all over his face, not even caring his sunglasses were in the way as she said amongst presses of her lips, “You adorably, romantic, sap. You’re the sweetest fucking future husband anyone could ever ask for, and I love you so fucking much.” 

He was grinning, her placing a kiss on his dimple, then his lips, feeling so unbelievably happy he might burst. 

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her mouth. 

They would get this out of their system, then go rejoin his mom and dad, spending the evening together as the family they were—and maybe tomorrow, he’d go out to the ranch to pick up something his father was holding onto for him…

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

[pixiemunsons]

la petite mort (em)

you have two deep, dark secrets; you've never had an orgasm, and you're in love with your best friend. eddie thinks he can rectify them both.

la petite mort; the sensation of post orgasm as likened to death

(3.7 k words) soft sex, f!receiving oral, reader has nipple piercings and a praise kink, first orgasm, best friends to lovers, protected sex, reader really likes eddie’s rings and tattoos (same girl), no use of y/n or reader descriptions, weed and alcohol use, eddie and reader are in love w each other but also share a single braincell, reader is eighteen eddie is nineteen, no spoilers

this is a combo of two requests which i loved so thank u anons!!

there was absolutely nothing to do in hawkins, indiana.

as you got older, you might reflect on your childhood and teen years and everything you overlooked while you were too busy hating your hometown. the woods that offered endless hours of exploring, the lake in which you swam most summers. the video shop. the arcade. even the shitty roller rink that played nothing but cheesy 70s love songs.

before then, though, right now, your free time was best spent doing exactly what you were doing right at that moment; smoking weed with your best friend.

and listening to him bitch about a girl who didn’t wanna fuck him.

‘i just don’t get what she doesn’t see in me! like, she said i was weird looking.’ his head was laying in your lap as you buried your fingers in his hair, playing with the surprisingly soft strands and weaving tiny braids. 

‘i mean, i think i’m pretty hot!’ you looked down to his chocolate brown eyes, and shivered slightly at the way he was already looking up at you. your crush on eddie had been building for years, nurtured by the loving nature of your relationship, and by the time you realised you thought he was cute at sixteen you were already halfway in love with him. and yet, for some reason, here you were. eighteen years old, still pining after the one guy you wanted but couldn’t have whilst he complained that other girls didn’t like him. great.

‘i don’t think you’re the problem, eddie, i think she’s a stuck up bitch.’ you explained, reaching over to grasp the joint from his fingers. you’d both smoked two each already and were pretty high, but he’d insisted on finishing off what he’d skimmed from his supply and well, who were you to say no to some of rick’s primo shit?

’i think she needs to have a orgasm.’ your eyes widened as you choked on the smoke in your lungs, drawing half-breaths. eddie seemed totally nonplussed, as if he’d mentioned the weather or asked about a class of yours. bringing his left hand up to play with the sleeve of your t-shirt, the cold silver of his rings brushed against your arm, and you shivered once more. when eddie had started wearing rings the year before, it had pushed your crush into a whole new realm. they featured in every single fantasy you had; cold rings brushing your lips as he stuck his fingers into your mouth, imprints left behind after he smacked your ass, pushing up against you as he thrust his fingers deep into your-

‘you’re probably right. ‘m sure she’d benefit greatly from one.’ you laughed it off, stubbing the joint out in the ashtray by his bed and trying to play off just how horny you felt. talking about sex was something you had always avoided; the few boys you’d slept with had gotten you nowhere but disappointed, and admitting that you were eighteen and had yet to make yourself cum, let alone anyone else make you, was not a fact you were all too willing to give up. you looked down and let out a shaky breath as your mind ran away; eddie’s shirt had ridden down as he’d turned his face in your lap, and you could see the very edges of ink inside his collar. it made you feel hot under yours. eddie suited this new look so well, and you indulged in staring at him for a little while. you wondered what he looked like without his shirt, when all of his tattoos were exposed. you could feel your mind going hazy, the weed finally taking effect, and you couldn’t help but giggle softly at your own thoughts.

‘what’s s’ funny, peaches?’ he was peering up at you with an eyebrow arched, playing with the skin at the edge of your shirt sleeve, fingertips dangerously close to the curve of your chest.

‘nothin’, just thinking about what you said about her needing an orgasm.’

‘we could all benefit from one every now and again,’ he shrugged, and when you muttered an almost indecipherable ‘i bet,’ against your better judgement, you hoped he wouldn’t hear. but years of listening to shitty cassettes and teaching himself to play guitar from scratched records had given eddie an irritating superpower; he had fucking fantastic hearing.

‘what’d’you mean, “i bet?”,’ he sat up, making quote marks with his fingers around the last two words. 

your skin erupted in goosebumps, and you suddenly became very interested in the hangnail on your left thumb, pulling the skin between your teeth. eddie was transfixed on the way your teeth pulled, how your tongue darted out to swipe against the skin there, and he almost forgot that you’d been talking about until you spoke up again.

‘’s not a big deal,’ you whispered. ‘just never happened for me, ya know?’ you were looking hopefully up at him, and then it clicked.

‘you’re fuckin' kidding? no one’s ever made you cum?!’ he almost shouted the last words, and you buried your face in your hands. you could feel your skin getting hot and you knew you couldn’t look him in the eye as you spoke.

‘i-i’ve never done it with someone. or on my own, really, either. i just can’t let go enough to get there, it’s not a big deal.’

eddie wanted to reach out and take you in his hands, smooth your hair back and soothe your embarrassment.

‘it’s nothing to be ashamed of babe, but wow. i thought everyone had had an orgasm.’ you scowled up at his words.

‘way to make me feel better, eds.’ his eyes widened, apologising instantly.

‘i’m sorry babe, i didn’t mean it like that. look, i’m sorry, i’m just surprised is all. you’ve like… been with people, right?’

you frowned again. ‘yeah, a couple, but they’ve never got me there. they think they have, course, but i dunno… never seemed that important. i enjoy sex without it.’

eddie could feel himself going bright red, and he didn’t know what it was; the weed? talking about how much you enjoy sex? the knowledge you’d never had an orgasm? or the fact that you’d had enough sex with other people to know what you liked? he shook his head. of course you’d had sex, you were fucking gorgeous. anyone who you wanted to fuck was lucky. so lucky. so how had they had the audacity to not make you cum? that should be, like, a fucking crime. the more he thought about it, the more irritated he got, until finally, he snapped.

‘how about i make you cum?’

you had reached to take a sip of eddie’s beer, and at his words had spat it out all over yourself. your black shirt was soaked through and he really wished he hadn’t noticed how clingy it was, because it was making this a lot harder.

‘what- what the fuck did you just say?’ you sputtered, and eddie steeled himself, wiping his sweaty hands on his ripped jeans.

‘i mean, we don’t have to fuck. you don’t gotta do anything to me, you don’t even gotta do this. i just think we all deserve to have a really fucking good orgasm, and you said you can’t let loose enough to do it, and i thought maybe because we’re so close you’d trust me to-‘

you flung your arms around him, chests pressed together, and nuzzled your face into his chest. looking up at him with those doe eyes eddie couldn’t resist (he always said yes to you very quickly when you flashed them, mostly because they gave him a hard-on every time without fail) you fluttered your eyelashes, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth (it made him even harder whenever you did that) and sighing.

‘you’d really do that for me, eds?’ you spoke quietly, nervously. really, it was very sweet of him to offer. he wasn’t going to get much out of this - at least, he didn’t expect anything from it - and he’d asked so kindly, so sweetly…

‘of course i’d do that for you, baby,’ he brushed a piece of hair out of your eyes, cupping your face. a new tension had swept the room; you were both so excited the air was crackling. ‘are you gonna let me? need you to tell me you want this. also, i’ve caught you staring at the rings, i know you wanna know what they feel like.’

you hit his arm as he laughed, then leant forward to press your forehead to him. you heard him gulp, and you were glad for the weed you’d smoked, or you knew the two of you would’ve been too nervous to move on each other like this.

‘i’d like that very much, eds,’ you breathed, and that was enough for him.

he pushed you down gently by the shoulders, laying on top of you propped up on his elbows with his legs between yours.

‘you’re so goddamn beautiful,’ he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.

his lips were chapped but he tasted vaguely of the strawberry chapstick he had stolen borrowed from you months back. one of his hands was resting on your lower back, the other on your face as he guided you in the kiss. it was unlike any other kiss you’d had before; they’d always been rushed, tongue down your throat, sloppy. but eddie was taking his time with you, his lips moving languidly over yours, being careful to relax you into it. you almost wished he’d go faster, harder, but your mind was already cloudy from the weed and the feeling of his mouth on yours, and you wondered if it was always meant to feel like this with boys. his tongue probed at your lips carefully, not pushing, and when you finally let it in you felt the hand on your back slip to your hip, squeezing gently. you nipped gently at his bottom lip, and the moan that he pushed into your mouth in response sent you dizzy. suddenly, there was more; he was hitching your left thigh over his hip, creating delicious friction between you and he was tugging at your lip, tongue flicking over the back of your teeth. you couldn’t help the way your hips were moving of their own accord against him, it felt like you were floating above your own body.

eddie’s lips left yours to press against your neck, nipping and teasing down your throat, and you were sure you’d have marks tomorrow.

‘y’can leave marks, eds,’ you whimpered, tugging on his hair in response to a particularly hard bite, ‘can wear a turtleneck to school tomorrow, s’okay.’ he chuckled against your neck, moving his mouth up to a spot just below your ear.

‘don’t want you to hide ‘em, babe.’ before you could ask what he meant, he was sinking his teeth into the spot where his lips sat, a place you knew no jumper or jacket would hide, and you felt almost delirious at the idea of people seeing it tomorrow.

‘can i take your shirt off, baby?’ he asked, bringing you back to earth.

‘god, yeah,’ you sat up slightly to wriggle out of it, ‘take the bra too, shit,’ you moaned, and eddie started to laugh before he got your bra off and the laugh turned to a choke, then a cough, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

because you, his beautiful, kind, goody-two-shoes to everyone else, grade-a student best friend had your nipples pierced. and he was looking right at them.

‘fuckin’ hell babe, where’ve you been hiding these?’ he was practically drooling imagining how the silver bars would feel in his mouth, and if he hadn’t been fully hard before he was rock solid now.

‘got ‘em done a year ago, thought they’d look pretty.’ you were whimpering, squirming in the firm grasp he now held on your waist, and you cried out when he reached up to pinch one. ‘they’re real sensitive, fuck, feels like so much.’ eddie flicked out his tongue, bathing your left nipple in his spit before blowing cold air over it, making you tremble and moan out his name.

‘they’re very pretty, baby. i mean, i knew your tits were like, wow, but jesus christ i could spend every day the rest of my life playing with these.’ you laughed shakily, head thrown back for him to scatter kisses down your neck and chest.

‘anyone seen them before?’ he muttered, and you almost thought he didn’t want you to hear him.

‘no, just - shit eddie, i can’t concentrate when you’re playin’ with ‘em like that - just you, no one else.’ you swore you could see his eyes darken as he looked up at you, then latched onto your left nipple with a renewed vigour that had you arching your back, desperate for some friction. one big hand pushed your hips back down, sending a spark of electricity down your back as he manhandled you.

‘stop it, babe, gonna need you to wait there a minute, be a good girl f’me.’

what the fuck

what the fuck

what the FUCK

you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, and your eyes widened instantly, clapping a hand over your mouth. eddie stilled his movements, raising his head so he was eye level with you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. he pulled your hand from your mouth, observing the way your eyes had widened and how your cheek felt hot under his hand.

‘did you like it when i called you a good girl?’ he cocked his head to the side, and from the way you looked up at him, with such desperation in your eyes, he knew he had his answer.

‘no one’s ever told you what a good job you do for them, have they?’ he cooed, smiling down at you as you shook your head.

‘tsk. well that just won’t do, will it baby? i think you deserve to be shown what a fantastic job you’re doing for me, how good you feel in my hands. want me to show you what a good girl you’re being, give you a present?’

you had died and gone to heaven. that’s the only answer to this. eddie was on top of you, feeding into your most desperate of fantasies, telling you he was about to reward you for being a good girl for him. either that or you were dreaming. because he was pulling your jeans down, kissing down your thighs and telling you how cute your panties were, how wet you were for him and oh-

oh

well, you definitely weren’t imagining that. because you hadn’t known what it felt like when someone put their tongue on you, when they licked a stripe from your hole up to your clit and lapped at you so messily you could hear it, but you did now, so surely you couldn’t be imagining that-

‘baby, you okay? you with me?’ eddie’s voice snapped you back to reality, and you looked down to see your best friend, cheeks pink and led between your legs with his shirt off and a slick on his face; you on his face, and you couldn’t help but reach down, wind your fingers into his hair and tug him back to where he had been.

‘eager, are we?’ you could almost hear the smile on his face, and you knew he was trying so hard to keep up the cocky act, but you could see the way his hips were making minuscule movements against the bed and his fingers were going to leave bruises on your thighs with how hard he was gripping them.

‘shut up, you’re loving it too,’ you gasped, and in retaliation he seemed to ramp it up. suddenly, he was two fingers deep in your sopping wet pussy, head thrown back once more as he pressed them into the plush of your inner walls, right against a spot that made your mouth dry and your thoughts spin.

‘eddie, fuck,’ you cried out, and his other hand rubbed your thigh reassuringly. you imagined he would’ve spoken to you in reassurance had his teeth not been wrapped around your clit, tugging just the right way.

‘eddie, think it’s comin’, you were slurring now, and to eddie’s delight, when he looked up at you, you were toying with one of your puffy nipples, bucking yourself up towards him. his fingers were cramping up and his jaw hurt but he wouldn’t, couldn’t stop now, not when you were half riding his face. he lifted up, using his left hand to rub circles on your clit as his other hand fucked into you.

‘relax, sweetheart, you’re doing so good for me, y’can do it baby, just need to let go for me, eddie’s got you, such a beautiful good girl f’me…’ eddie was talking away, bringing you closer and closer to the precipice until you fell over the edge of it, body turning to jelly. you couldn’t believe you’d been so happy to miss out on this all this time, so willing to do this to boys and not have them do it back. eddie was working you through it, kissing your cheeks and your nose and your eyelids and your mouth, letting you ride the aftershocks on his hand. 

if you’d been more with it you’d have noticed how he was looking at you; like you were the only woman on earth, like he could never get enough of this, like he’d never leave this bed if it meant he could make you do that over and over and over until you were crying, begging, putty in his hands. you felt like it was lasting forever, riding wave after wave, until finally your whole body relaxed, flopping down against eddie’s bed.

‘so, sweetheart, how was it?’ eddie asked, almost nervous now that the energy in the room had dissipated a little. you were still naked and panting, making no effort to cover yourself up, which he supposed was a good thing; you still felt comfortable around him, didn’t regret what you’d let him do to you. he had half-expected you to leave after, too much for you to do that with him, so when you rolled over and kissed him like your life depended on it? a welcome surprise. even more so when you reached for his painfully hard cock.

‘whoa, baby, you don’t gotta just because i did,’ he sputtered, and you brushed him off, leaning up so you were on all fours above him. you were pouting. fucking pouting.

‘but i wanna. don’t wanna suck you off, not this time at least, ‘m too tired,’ he almost asked what you meant by this time before you interrupted him once more.

‘want you to fuck me, though, eds. please.’ 

he really hadn’t been expecting to get anything out of tonight other than spank bank material. he was more than happy to get you off then never speak about it again, if that was what you wanted. of course, what he really wanted was to marry you and fuck at least two kids into you, buy a house and live in the suburbs. but for now he’d settle for making you cum on his tongue and maybe, when you weren’t looking, steal your panties. but eddie munson was never one to say no to you, especially not when you were naked and begging, so he pulled his pants and boxers down in one movement before rolling himself on top of you.

your hand went to his cock instantly, rubbing a thumb over the leaking tip.

‘christ, eds, were you just gonna deal with this later?’ you asked, eyebrows pulling together in a concerned expression. ‘you’d have exploded.’

he let out a laugh, kissing your neck as he fumbled about in his bedside drawer. he was naked except for the guitar pick necklace resting on his chest, and you leant up to kiss it, hand still sliding up and down his cock.

‘fuck babe, i was just gonna beat it when you’d gone home,’ he gasped, batting your hand away so that he could roll the condom he’d fished up on himself. he looked down into your eyes, kissing you gently. ‘i’m not gonna last long.’

‘don’t care, just need you.’ you mumbled back, pulling him down into another kiss as he slid into you.

it felt like he was made for you. no painful stretch, no disappointment. he fit in you so perfectly you could’ve sworn this was exactly how it was always supposed to be; you and eddie, eddie and you. every other time with every other boy felt so totally redundant you had no idea why you’d even bothered when you could’ve been doing this the whole time. and when eddie moved, it was more like lovemaking than fucking. his left hand was intertwined with your right on the pillow, his other holding your face as he looked into your eyes. yours was pressed against his hip, guiding him into you gently as you writhed under him.

‘i’ve wanted this a really long time, sweetheart,’ he spoke quietly, honestly, and it was a far cry from the cocky eddie you’d come to know over the years. he seemed genuine. vulnerable. you kissed him again then, trying to pour everything you wanted to say into it as his hips rocked faster against yours.

‘shh, i know eddie, i know,’ you kissed his chest again, his necklace dangling in your face, and you used it as leverage to pull his face back to yours.

‘come for me, baby, c’mon,’ you were whispering against his lips, pressing your hips up against him for the new angle, and he came with a gasp of your name, gripping the back of your neck and kissing you.

when he pulled out, snapping off the condom, he pulled you onto his chest without a word. he was red and sweaty, hair frizzy and lips swollen, and you had never been so in love in your whole life. you traced the tattoo on his chest, new to your eyes, and you hoped you’d get to see it every day.

‘you didn’t get to come again.’

‘that’s okay, sweetheart. you’ll get as many chances as you want.’

‘you mean it?’

‘always, when it comes to you.’

#eddie stranger things #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson #Eddie munson smut #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunson #stranger things s4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 4

[futurecorps3]

I saw your Hobie x latina going going to the club para perrear and I loved it😭🤞🏼😩

BUT

Imagine Hobie going to a cantina with a mexican reader and just drink and hear corridos tristes (el video del vato que dice "porque que te quiero" y le meten el micrófono a la boca😭💀) or rather going to a cantina goes to her house and her family is making carne asada and drinking beer and there's literally a band in the party (soy norteña perdoname😭) and he is like "this food is bussing bussing" because he is British and their food is just "no good💖". At first he is nervous like he doesn't know what to do and at the end he is somehow riding a horse or he is playing with the band, he just loves it, the vibe and the food

(Love how you write 😭💖)

Hobie Brown meeting latina!reader's family <3

Masterlist <3

Ay hermana, soy chilanga we don't have horses up in this bitch😭 I tried to make it more general like Bee meeting your tías and primos but def adding the whole carne asada deal. (For my non-mexican readers, we call people from the city "chilangos" and northern people "norteños" and while we're from the same country, our experiences can be very different!). Also, tysm my dear, hope u like<3

-First off

-Giggling and kicking my feet 🤭

-Bro was persistent in meeting your family, and while you weren't exactly reluctant, you did have to warn him

-"Why not!? I want to meet your uncle Luis or- or Saúl!" He exclaims, recalling the stories you've told about your family members. "I'm not saying no, mi amor. I-It's just-" "What?" He grins, knowing you don't really have a solid argument. He kisses your pout and walks over to your room to get ready as you sigh, defeated by your pretty once more.

-Of course you wanted Bee to meet your family! But we all know how it can get at those big family gathering.

-One thing was meeting your parents, (which went by spectacularly, by the way) but him hanging out with your older tíos and younger primos was a whole other deal

-They aren't bad people, you love them dearly. It was the soft (hard and relentless) teasing (borderline bullying) you were worried about.

-It was easy to understand their humor when you grew up with heavy jokes, but Hobie would be new to all this. Plus, he was the first official boyfriend you'd introduce to the family! They were protective and honestly not afraid to show it.

-"Buenas tardes, Hobie Brown. Mucho gusto" you say slowly as you're both on the way to your tío's house, he repeats after you with a horrible accent. "Roll your r's!" You giggle, looking at him intently while softly showing him how to pronounce.

-He's really trying for you bestie </3

-Yeah he went blank after your aunt opened the door and dismissed his polite handshake with a bone-crushing hug.

-"Ay mija! He's so tall, I can barely hug him right. Pásenle, pásenle, Luis is in the garden with the kids. Welcome Hobie!"

-Bee just smiles and it widens when a horde of kids comes running down the hall and bolt towards you, saying hello to their favorite aunt and the strange bato she brought along.

-"Tía Y/N/N who is this?" Luisa (the youngest) asks, eyeing Hobie up and down with the sass of an old lady, making him suppress a laugh "Es tu novio?" now questions one of the boys, looking up at him amazed. "Hello brats" he smirks, high-fiving each and every one of your nieces and nephews excitedly.

-"You didn't tell me you were a tía already..." "Some of them will be by the age of sixteen, so I'm no rare event."

-Hobie is hard to lose on a crowd; all spikes, leather, chunky boots, and piercings

-Your nephews are thrilled.

-Asking all around about what his pins mean, if he finds it hard to walk with those boots, if he's not too hot with his jacket... you know, the type of questions kids ask.

-You laugh at him, trying to answer one question at a time patiently, and walk over to the table outside where your tíos, tías, primos, primas, cuñadas and some sobrinos were.

-"Y el novio mija?" Asks one of your tíos, already in a deffensive tone "He's inside con los niños, tío. Ahorita viene" you smile and promptly, Hobie walks through the door after the kids.

-The smokey scent of the carne asada filled his nostrils as soon as he walked outside, widening his eyes at how good it smelled. You walk over to him, grabbing his arm and smiling widely at your family

-"Les presento a Hobie, mi novio" you beam and your tíos can tell he truly makes you happy. "Yo no te di permiso, Y/N" one of them jokes, making everyone laugh and Bee follows after you translate for him.

-And he didn't like it but he really cared about their opinions

-He didn't give a single fuck of what other people had to say, but this was your family!!! He knew he was close and for the first time, strived for perfection

-The next few minutes were him trying really hard to memorize all the names, having a hard time pronouncing your aunt Rocio and Rosa's names.

-Everyone laughed at his attempts

-You sit between everyone at the large table, one of your tíos approaching you as you're too busy catching up with one of your cousins. Bee squeezes your hand to catch your attention, but you don't turn back to look at him, instead just squeeze back.

-He nervously places his hand out, and contrary to before, your uncle welcomes it. "Buenas tardes, Hobie" (oubi😭con acento mexa) "Buenas tardes, señor". God, did he rehearse that on the way...

-Your uncle seemed to appreciate him at least trying to talk to him in your mother tongue. He gave him kind of a smile and asked "Wanna help me with the asador over there?"

-Oh this was a test

-"Sure thing" he nods confidently even though he's shitting himself at the moment

-When he saw the carne asada let me tell you

-His mouth watered, heart eyes all over and he swore he was about to do that floating thing he's seen spider pig do

-Your tío taught him how to turn the steaks at the right time, after some aceite jumped and burnt him a bit :( your uncle could tell he was trying hard so he took it easy on him

-Personally? You fell in love all over again when he contained his tears the best he could at the smell and spice of the chiles floating so close to his nose <3

-You slapped his ass playfully when serving the food and he just smirked as your uncle side eyed you HARD

-“Bloody hell this shit is fucking amazing babe!” He almost moans when he bites into the taco of asada you made for him

-Your family might or might not know english but they know how bad words sound lmao

-They couldn’t blame him tho, not after he proved to love asada as much as them with the eight tacos he ate ☹️💕

-Him playing with the babies of your family bro :(

-He's so good with kids too

-I'm talking playing with them, having full conversations no matter how silly they got, following their train of thought and even making sure they weren't up to some stupid shit

-Girl, if you don't rail him stupid after that-

-He got along with your older cousins too!!! After all, they shared a similar taste in music and films so there was plenty to talk about

-Your tías chismeando with you about how handsome he is

-Let’s wrap it up, I got carried away and this is too damn long 😭

-He’s talking to one of your tías when the banda arrived at around 9 p.m

-My man is so confused please help him

-His spidey sense went off before the whole fucking commotion started lmao

-When he realized it was a live group playing and singing traditional music he lost his shit

-Asked you all about it!!! “What is that piano thing!?”, “What is he singing about?”, “Can I learn how to play that?”<3

-Eventually (and with no alcohol needed since he refused to risk doing some stupid shit with your family) he ended up dancing with your tía, her patiently teaching him how to move

-He had a hard time with his big ass boots but somehow managed!!

-Hobie was so happy when you went home ☹️ almost asking when you could come back and if you could cook some carne asada the same way your uncle (his best friend, he called him) did

-“Yo te amo mi amor” He smiled big, kissing you softly before falling asleep “Thanks for letting me meet your family… meant a whole lot y’know?” “‘Course corazón, seeing you there with everyone filled my heart with a joy I have rarely experienced”

-And with that you fell asleep, Hobie dreamt of asada and banda<3

#atsv hobie #hobie brown x latina!reader #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown x f!reader #hobie brown x hispanic reader #hobie brown angst #hobie brown #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown one shot #hobie brainrot #he’s my baby boy #spider man: across the spider verse #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman headcanon #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown fanart

[ktwritesstuff]

The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 1

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: PG (Later chapters will be explicit) Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Sarah's babysitter has a thing for Joel. Lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl, The Last of Us's number one fangirlie. <3

Part 1 (below cut) | Part 2 (posted 2/2) | Part 3 (posted 2/6) | Part 4 (posted 2/10) | Part 5 (posted 2/14) | Part 6 (posted 4/2) | Part 7 (posted 7/29)

Austin 2002

“Hey, Sweetpea!”

You looked up at the sound of your childhood nickname, not sure right away who was calling for you.  In a small town familiarity was de rigueur.  You went to school with people referred to exclusively as Cooter, Biggie, and Ears, so it could have been worse. 

You were waiting for the bus just outside the school cafeteria when your brother, Paul, came over in his football uniform.  He almost never talked to you at school, so you figured he wanted something.  He was old for his grade and had made the varsity team as a sophomore; your parents were over-the-moon.  In your opinion, it had gone to his head.

“You have a dollar?  I want to get a gatorade before practice.”

“Here,” you dug through your purse and fished out your last dollar, rolling your eyes as he sprinted off toward the vending machines without so much as a thank you.

“We’re going to the mall when Andy gets out of practice, you wanna come?” Your best friend, Cheryl, asked.  

“I can’t,” you said.  “I’m babysitting.”  

“Nah,” your friend Mercedes teased.  “She’s got a hot date with Papi Joel.”

“Oh my God,” Cheryl laughed.  “That’s so messed up, stop it.”

“Yeah, that’s super weird,” you laughed along, hoping they wouldn’t notice the blush rising in your cheeks.

The truth was, you had long-harbored a crush on your handsome neighbor down the block: rugged good looks and soulful brown eyes, hardworking, good with his hands, a loving father, the whole package left you feeling weak in the knees.  But you would never say so, not even to your best friend.  As nice as it was to daydream about, you knew it could never happen and admitting it would just make you look desperate and pathetic.

“Seriously though,” Mercedes insisted.  “If you had to pick a dad, he’s primo DILF material.”

“JJ’s dad is kinda hot,” Tina said, stubbing out her joint on the sidewalk ramp.

“JJ’s dad isn’t hot,” Mercedes corrected.  “He just lets us party in his barn–besides, clearly Mr. Miller has ulterior motives. What 12 year old still needs a babysitter?”

It was true, Sarah was getting a little old for a sitter, but Joel still asked you to keep an eye on her.  You figured he wanted her to have another girl to talk to.  Someone older and wiser she could confide in about bullies, to go shopping with her, and teach her how to use a tampon.  On paper, you were a certified good-influence: a church-going honors student, marching band, a literal Girl Scout.  

Joel couldn’t afford to pay you much, but he was a good guy.  He kept your favorite snacks in the house and gave you rides when your daddy wouldn’t let you use the Jeep; last summer he had installed a phone jack in your room so you could have your own line.  More than that, Sarah was actually a pretty cool kid; you liked hanging out with her.

“Seriously, Mercedes,” you warned.  “I know you’re just fucking around, but you can’t talk like that.  Not at school.  That’s the kind of shit that got Mr. Spaden put on a watchlist.” 

“That and flashing sixth period APUSH,” Mercedes laughed.   

“He’s like a widower, right?”  Tina asked.  “Kind of emo.”

Your brow furrowed.  

“I don’t know,” you admitted.  “They don’t really talk about Sarah’s mom.”

“I mean, she has to be dead, right?” Cheryl said.  “What kind of mom would just abandon her kid like that?”

You shrugged.  “Maybe that’s why they don’t talk about her.”   

The Millers’ house was just two streets over from yours.  At 4pm you met Sarah at her bus stop and walked her home.  

“So how was school?” you asked.  

Sarah shrugged.  “You know, it’s school.”

You wrapped an arm around Sarah, giving her an encouraging squeeze as you walked.  

“Guess what I brought,” you said, reaching into your bag for your copy of Clueless on dvd.  “We can make popcorn and paint our nails, give you a little makeover.  What do you think?”

“Sounds good,” Sarah leaned into you. “As long as you use real butter this time.  None of that diet crap that gave me the shits.”  

“Well excuse me,” you rolled your eyes.  “Not all of us can be effortlessly thin.”  

You ordered pizza–an indulgence, but Joel insisted on treating when he had to work late–and put on the movie.  By the time the credits rolled your mani-pedis had time to set, so you brought out your makeup bag and let Sarah pick out a CD to put in the stereo–some twangy duet.  A man and a woman singing along to a surprisingly cheerful tune.

Bye bye love, bye bye happiness Hello loneliness, I think I’m gonna cry…

“What happened to Destiny’s Child?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Sarah stuck her tongue out.  “It’s one of my dad’s.”

You knew Sarah had more alternative sensibilities–even more than yours–and sometimes struggled to fit in.  She didn’t shop at Hollister and Abercrombie, she didn’t have straight hair and pencil-thin eyebrows.  She didn’t even have a traditional family.  Everyone wanted to belong somewhere, but you hoped with a little guidance, Sarah could avoid some of the pitfalls you had faced in high school and figure out she didn’t have to change herself for the sake of others.

“You don’t have to like something just because your dad does,” you said as Sarah took a seat on the carpet beside you.  “You have to decide for yourself–make your own way in the world.”  

“For your information,” Sarah said.  “Loretta Lynn is very punk.”

“Alright, punk,” you laughed.  “We can work with that.”

You gave Sarah a mirror to hold as you dusted her eyelids with sparkly blue shadow and showed her how to apply pencil to her waterline.  

“You’re pretty enough as it is,” you said, dipping a brush into the blush to apply on the apples of her cheeks.  “We’re just enhancing your natural beauty.”

Sarah shifted her seat, her brows furrowing with tension.

“How do you find somebody,” she asked.  “Someone you like and let them know you want to get to know them.”

“I’m sorry, honey, I think I’m the wrong person to ask,” you said with a laugh.  “I haven’t had much luck in that department.  Just be yourself, anyone who doesn’t appreciate that isn’t worth your time.”  

“There aren’t any boys you like at school?”  

“To be honest, high school boys are pretty gross,” you said.  “Why, is there someone you’re interested in?”

“Do you like my dad?”  Sarah blurted out.

You froze; the hairs on the back of your neck prickling.

“What?  Are you being funny?” you forced a laugh, setting down your makeup brushes.  Your ears burned red.  “Of course I like your dad.  He’s super nice.”

“No, I mean do you like him like him,” Sarah pressed.  “Do you think he’s cute…”

“He’s a good looking man,” you stammered, hoping it sounded like it was the first time this had occurred to you.  “You know, for a grown up.”

“He doesn’t have anybody,” Sarah frowned.  “Doesn’t go out..Meet people…Date.  If he’s a good guy and girls think he’s cute.  It’s gotta be me, don’t you think?  I’m the reason he’s alone.”

“Oh Sarah,” you sighed, taking her hands.  “It’s not you.  And even if it were, you’re worth it.  Your daddy loves you more than anything–I wish my parents had half as much interest in my life as your dad has in yours.  You are amazing; you have such a good heart.  So you can’t think like that, okay?  You are enough.  You are everything.”

Sarah nodded and you dabbed her eyes with a tissue before her mascara started running.  

“Come here, let me put on the finishing touch.” You swiped peach-flavored gloss across her lips.  “What do you think?”

“I look different,” she said, observing her reflection in the little compact mirror.  “I think I like it.”  

“You should keep this one,” you said, handing her the lip gloss.  “Color looks better on you.”

Sarah held the tube of gloss in both hands and finally cracked a smile.

“It’s getting late.  You go wash up before bed, alright,” you told her.  “You want to take a bubble bath?  I brought Warm Vanilla Sugar.” 

You waited downstairs while Sarah cleaned up; she changed into her pjs and was in bed by 10:30.  You nodded off on the couch for a bit until Joel came in a little after 11.

“Hey, Sweetpea, thanks for staying,” Joel said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling a $20 out of his wallet for you.  “I really appreciate it.”

He looked tired.  In your half-dozing state, you wondered what it would be like to be the one he came home to at night.  To greet him at the door with a beer and a kiss.  To curl up on the couch together for movie nights with Sarah nestled between you.  To have someone to take care of and someone to take care of you.

“Yeah, of course,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes.  “She’s been good as gold.  Just got to bed about a half hour ago.”

“Let me just say goodnight and I’ll give you a ride home,” Joel said, heading up the stairs.  

You gathered your things while Joel tucked in Sarah.  He grabbed his keys and ushered you outside.  He opened the passenger side door of his truck for you to climb in.  

Joel started up the car and pulled out of the driveway.  His hand was resting on the gearshift.  You stretched, letting your hand brush against his.  He pulled away like you had burned him.  

“Your hands are freezing,” he said, reaching for the heater, turning the dial all the way up.  “It’ll warm up in a minute, put your hands up to the vent.”  

You drew your hands back into your lap, sitting stock-still and ashamed as Joel turned the car at the end of the cul de sac.   

“So how’s school going?” Joel asked, breaking the silence.

“Pretty good,” you nodded.

“You thinking about college, or–”

“Right now, UT Austin,” you said.  

“That’s a great school,” Joel said.  “Close to home.”  You watched a muscle in his jaw flex.

“It’s a guaranteed scholarship once I finish my Gold Award,” you said.  “I’m building a rosary garden for the church.”  That was if the stupid council ever approved your damn project.  Even after you had planted and mulched and hauled paving stones and gravel, they kept insisting you needed to do more.  Apparently anything less than solving world hunger fell short of their expectations–and yet the Eagle Scouts got all the prestige? 

“I remember, you were working on that the last time you came over,” he said.  “How’s it going?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you might let me borrow some tools,” you said.  “I’m building a pergola, you know, to shade the Blessed Virgin.”

You chuckled and Joel chuckled.

“Yeah, absolutely,” he said.  “Can’t let the Blessed Virgin get heat stroke, right?”

“I really appreciate it,” you said, glancing sideways at him.  “My daddy’s kind of useless.”

“Your daddy’s a good man,” Joel said sternly as he turned the truck down your street.  “A good man.”

“I know.”  You stared out the window.  Your father had helped the Millers out after Tommy got arrested at Benji’s drive in for decking some guy for calling him a wetback.  But clearly Joel had never seen your daddy drunk.  “I just wouldn’t trust him around power tools.”

Joel stopped the car along the curb at the end of your driveway.  You held your breath as he reached over you to unlatch the door and push it open.  

“You go on now,” he instructed.  “I’ll watch you get in the door.” 

“Goodnight, Mr. Joel,” you said, sliding down from the seat of the truck.  You were keenly aware of his eyes on your back as you made your way down the driveway.  

You paused with your key in the front door, looking back down the drive before you stepped inside.  Joel was still waiting; you waved at him and he smiled back before shifting the car into gear as you closed the door.

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tlou hbo

[spacelazarwolf]

I’m an Italian ger who’s being converted in an Ashkenazi community. I want to connect to my culture so badly!!! Is there any books you’d recommend, Italki food you love, or special rituals you do on Shabbat / during the week that are influenced by being Italian? I’d love to introduce more into my own practice!!

yeah! also this ended up being probably more in depth than you were asking for so apologies lmao.

so for some context (in case you or anyone reading this is not already aware), italki jews are a specific group of jews within italy. italki isn't like a nationality, so it's not a synonym for "italian jew", it's more like a regional identity. people from rome, naples, and venice are all italian, but they're also roman, neapolitan, and venetian. even if they move somewhere else, they'll likely still retain that regional identity. italy didn't become a unified republic until 1871, so culture and language and food varied a lot by region (which it still does), and that's true of jewish communities too, especially those that came from other places.

italki jews are jews who were brought to italy by the romans or traveled to rome to be merchants, and have been there since roman times. ashkenazi jews came during the middle ages, primarily settling in the north in places like venice. it's very worth noting that ashkenazim in italy, with the exception of one or two communities, have significantly different musical tradition, pronunciation, language, and food than other ashkenazi communities. sephardi jews came mostly after the expulsion from spain and portugal, though there were some living in sicily and southern italy.

with all that in mind, i'd definitely recommend doing some research into the demographics of the jewish community in the place you or your family is from. if you already live there, it should be much easier!

resources:

the jews in italy- their contribution to the development and diffusion of jewish heritage

cookbooks by edda servi machlin (she has several, but some are hard to find)

cucina ebraica

i highly recommend checking out torah.it. it's a fantastic archive of recordings and pdfs all about italian jewry. you will spend hours there and still have only scratched the surface.

rabbi barbara aiello also has a lot of different resources.

i highly recommend checking out the work of leo levi for research on italian jewish music. he spent years interviewing and recording chazzanut, scholars, and other community leaders and saved so many italian jewish melodies from complete extinction. (i believe all these recordings are uploaded to torah.it as well)

primo levi is another italian jew to research. he wrote many books that are available for purchase, including a memoir about his survival in auschwitz. there is also an institute in his name dedicated to the preservation, study, and celebration of italian judaism.

ensemble bet hagat put out an album of reimagined italian jewish music a few years ago and i believe they are also working on a second one. it is beautiful.

anyway that's probably enough nerding out, i can get to the more personal stuff and answering the actual questions you asked me now lmao.

right now, it's just me in my apartment so there's a lot of traditions i can't do, but if you have family or friends you can invite over, there are a lot of lovely traditions you can incorporate. i use a three branched candelabra for my shabbat candles. the middle candle is lit first and used to light the other two, as you would with hanukkah candles. if you have multiple people at your table, you can give them their own individual candles, in which case you will light the shamash (middle candle), pass it around the table for each person to light their individual candle, then the host will light the two other candles.

for food, i love making riso del sabato. it's a risotto dish with saffron and it is delicious. there's also a pumpkin ravioli in brown butter and sage sauce in cucina ebraica that is to die for.

#ask avishai #jew & a #italki jew